“When Elizabeth Thompson was found last year, she was in the center of a chalked pentagram. Black candles at the points.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “They didn’t mention that in the paper or on the news.” There was a beat of silence in which Sampson held my eye; finally, I rolled mine with a soft, snorting laugh. “Wait—they think it was witchcraft? Have you seen The Craft? Teen Witch? That’s Freak Out Your Parents With Wicca 101.”
“She had an incantation carved into her flesh.”
I blinked. “Carved?”
“I consulted both Kale and Lorraine.”
I sucked in a breath, willing Sampson to stop talking. Kale and Lorraine are the Underworld Detection Agency’s resident witches. Kale was recently run over by a car but spent her down time controlling the elements, and Lorraine was the most powerful Gestalt witch the Green Order had seen in decades. She was also a top Tupperware saleslady and if anyone knew a true incantation—or, for Lorraine, how to burp a lid—it was these ladies.
“They both confirmed that the incantation was legitimate. Elizabeth Thompson’s killer was summoning a demon—and not a good one.”
“Oh.” The word came out small and hollow, dying in the cavernous room.
“As I mentioned, Elizabeth’s body was found seven days after she went missing. It was obvious that her attacker wanted—or needed—her to be found on that day.”
“I don’t understand. How do you—why—how do they know that?”
“According to the police report, an anonymous call came in at 7:07 that morning.”
“Seven-oh-seven on the seventh day?”
“Of the seventh month.”
I frowned, resting my chin in my hands. “Maybe her killer is just OCD, did anyone explore that angle?”
I knew the significance of sevens—and I knew the demon Elizabeth’s murderer was calling.
“Seven is divine. Seven-seven-seven is—”
“Satan.” The word took up all the space in the room and I found it hard to breathe.
Everyone knows 6-6-6 as the devil’s “call” sign—or they think they do. And while it does have true significance—mostly in movies, fiction, and speed metal songs—it is more like a pop-culture high-five to the Prince of Darkness. The trio of sevens is the summoner.
My heart was throbbing in my throat. I knew the answer, but still had to ask. “Do they think the other girl—”
“Alyssa.”
“Alyssa, do they think she—that she may have been abducted by the same person?”
Sampson’s hulking silence was answer enough.
Something tightened in my chest, and Sampson, his enormous cherrywood desk and his entire office seemed to spin, then fish-eye in front of me. I gripped the sides of my chair and steadied myself.
“We want you to go into Mercy and see what you can find out about this so-called coven.”
“Are they even rela—”
Sampson held up a hand, effectively silencing me. “The girls in the coven were absent from class the day that Alyssa Rand went missing.” He eyed me now and swallowed hard. “They were also absent the day Elizabeth Thompson’s body was found. The PD’s notes say that these girls were cited for bullying Elizabeth.”
A memory wedged in my mind and I was fifteen again, awkward, terrorized, cornered in a Mercy High bathroom by a selection of mean girls with Aqua Net hair and slouchy socks.
“How long has Alyssa been missing?”
“Forty-eight hours,” said Sampson.
“So we only have five days,” I said, licking my lips. “We should get to work.”