I notice the corner is the first blind spot hidden from the cameras positioned around the room.
“And of course, this is in the blind spot. Let me guess, they didn’t capture anything on camera,” Sacha says.
“They didn’t. There was also no sign of forced entry,?
? Marcus states.
“That tends to mean the vic knew the killer,” I say.
“Usually, yeah,” Carter says skeptically.
“You don’t agree?”
“You’ll see,” Marcus replies.
The words are ominous. Around the corner is an image from a nightmare. I’m looking at a meat suit. A body without a head is a lump of flesh. Arms, legs, and a torso with no identity. They’ve stripped this man of who he was. Our faces emote. It’s the first line of conveying how we feel. The most powerful tool we have in our arsenal of communicative tackle. Blood splatter lines the walls and puddles of congealed blood line the floor in dark pools.
“This looks like a scene from a slasher movie,” Fel whispers shakily.
“When you sever the head, the blood that pumps to the brain has to go somewhere,” Marcus explains.
I cover my nose with my sleeve as I study the stump. Insanely clean, it appears the doctor’s head was taken in one fell swoop. The wound is uniform.
“What the hell would make a clean cut like that other than a guillotine or an executioner’s ax?” I wonder.
“I’m looking forward to seeing how the coroners spin this one when it comes to cause of death.”
“You’re the witches. Tell me why someone would need a head?” Marcus says.
Sacha shakes her head. “I wish we could tell you that.”
“Is this some Macbeth level shit? They put into a cauldron and cook up a spell?” Carter asks.
I scowl. “That is not how magic works. Besides, there are far easier ways to procure a skull. Ones that won’t draw police attention.”
“They either needed it fresh or needed it from Dr. Glands specifically.” Fel’s voice is muffled by her sleeve.
“I want to see if I can find a power signature. Can you give us a few minutes?” I turn to look at Carter and Marcus.
“Yeah, we’ll step out for a few minutes.”
“We need to cast a circle,” I say once the building is empty.
“Okay, why the precaution?” Fel asks.
“Whatever this thing is, it’s powerful, and now it knows we’re hunting it. We take every precaution we can moving forward when it comes to things connected to the sigil.”
“You sound scared,” Sacha says thoughtfully.
“I am, and you will be once you hear about last night. Cristobal doesn’t get upset over trivial things.” I hold my hands out. “The sooner we get this over, the quicker we can get out of here. The smell is strangling me.”
We join hands, and I call down the powers of our ancestors, the elements, and the watchtowers for protection. I take the girls’ offered energy and direct them toward the dome made of pure white energy we’re erecting around ourselves. People often misunderstand magic. It’s not a matter of which school of thought is correct, but the strength of the faith the practitioners themselves have. Their belief is the determining factor along with skill, practice, and some natural inclination. The air shimmers and I feel the shield settle into place.
Sacha waves her hand over the room, seeking signs of magic or summons.
“We’re here too late to pick up anything.” Fel’s voice is full of disappointment.
“I still maintain there’s no way these events are separate. It’s too bizarre even for Louisiana.” Sacha remains faithful to the serial magic worker theory.