But the town wasn’t the same as before. Skye wouldn’t admit it, but Rafe saw it. He’d lived there as an outsider for months before the demons came to town, and he saw-and felt-the changes. Before the demons swept through Santa Louisa, the quiet community nestled between the ocean and the Los Padres Mountains had been filled with kindness. Neighbors helping one another. Picnics in the park. Kids playing ball in the parks and riding bikes down the street, carefree. Rafe had been comforted by the small-town normalcy of Santa Louisa, the way everyone knew everyone else.
Now? The violence the demon Envy created had torn families and friendships apart. The jail was full, the court docket nearly exploding as people were held accountable for the crimes they committed after Envy stripped away their conscience. The distrust and lingering sense of envy and the anger it spawned among so many people, even those not directly affected by the demon, cast an invisible shadow over everything.
Rafe felt it, even if Skye was in denial. And it greatly disturbed him.
“Amazing,” Takasugi was saying. “And you didn’t notice this on gross examination? I’ll need to go back and look at the craniums of my other bodies.”
“This first victim had pronounced neovascularization of the brain stem with secondary aneurysm formation. He collapsed two hours after a basketball game, and died approximately thirty minutes later. In the second victim, I didn’t see anything to warrant the same diagnosis, until I did a micro exam two days ago. But both seem to have new blood vessels feeding into the brain stem, and an enlarged amygdala.”
“The brain stem?” Rafe spoke up for the first time.
The scientists seemed to have forgotten he was in the room. “Yes,” Fielding said, eyeing Rafe curiously.
Rafe shook his head. He had a thought, but his training was in psychology, not forensics. He waited for more information.
“The amygdala has a primary role in the processing of memory and emotional reactions,” Fielding explained. “That there are new and extensive blood vessels going from the amygdala to the brain stem is unusual.”
“Highly unusual,” Takasugi concurred.
“And that might make someone act irrationally?” Rafe said, carefully choosing his words. Psychology was an imperfect science-human beings couldn’t be pigeonholed in established boxes-but there was always a cause for human sociopathy. Sometimes hereditary, but usually environmental. Sometimes nature, but mostly nurture. Or lack thereof.
Human conscience helped people overcome their primal urge toward violence, lust, and greed. But without such restraints, there’d be no end to the anarchy. It made the release of the Seven Deadly Sins even more nefarious. Demons on Earth were bad, but what if people acted just like them? There would be violence without remorse, scorched earth, destruction across the globe.
Chaos. End-time.
Takasugi said, “The brain is the most complex organ in the human body and there’s more that we don’t know than we do know. The amygdala is also involved in pheromone production, epinephrine, and other natural chemical responses. A deformed or damaged amygdala could manifest any number of presentations, from headaches to irrational behavior to chemical imbalances-”
“And death?” Rafe said. Chris Kidd, the senior, hadn’t committed any envy-related crimes, but he had the same demon mark as the other victims.
“Possibly.”
Fielding said, “Mrs. Rucker acted irrational and out of character prior to intentionally crashing her car. Her death was due to the trauma of the crash, so I only did a cursory exam of her brain at the time. But when the other bodies came in with similar marks, I went back and reexamined what I could. One of the victims had already been cremated, another buried, but these two I still had access to.”
Fielding glanced at Rafe. Ned Nichols had been cremated-or, technically, salted and burned in a crematorium-after Nichols manifested as a vengeful spirit. Fielding had never felt right about doing that, not only because it was against the law without next-of-kin authorization, but because he had jeopardized his career and reputation by acting without said authorization.
Takasugi removed Mrs. Rucker’s brain from its container and placed it in a sterile tray. Rafe stepped back, queasy. He didn’t generally have a weak stomach-he’d fought off one big-ass demon that wasn’t pretty-but this was different.
“Amazing,” Takasugi repeated. “I have a brain that looks remarkably similar to this in one of our recent corpses.”
“Do you still have the body?” Fielding asked.
“No, it was released to the family-an ex-wife and his children. They buried him, I believe, but I’ll have to check the files. However, we kept the brain for further research considering the anomaly.”
“Ugh, that’s so gross!”
Rafe turned and saw Moira standing in the doorway behind him, staring distastefully at the brain displayed on the exam table.
“Almost as gross as the crypt,” she added.
Moira didn’t look like herself. Sarcastic, sure, but her eyes were troubled and her skin was pale. Rafe caught her eye, but her expression was unreadable.
Fielding introduced Moira to Takasugi. “Where’s Sheriff McPherson?”
“I bailed before the autopsy,” Moira said. “Main room, if you want to watch the festivities. Can I borrow Rafe?”
“What’s wrong?” Rafe asked.
“Nothing.” She smiled at the two scientists. “Dr. Fielding, don’t leave without Skye, okay? She gave me the keys to her truck.” She held them up.
Rafe snatched them from her hand. “You don’t have a license.”
“Yes I do. Just not in the States.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so it’s expired, but I know how to drive better than you.”
“I’m driving. Skye doesn’t need any more trouble.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
Rafe thanked the men and left them to science. He had the information he needed-only he wasn’t quite sure what it meant yet. He walked out of the room with Moira. “Learn anything?” he asked.
“Plenty. I’ll fill you in on the way. You?”
“I think I know how the demon is operating.”
She stopped walking as they reached the main doors. “That’s huge! How?”
“The brain stem is the most primitive part of our brain. The most basic part, and the most important. The amygdala is bigger than it’s supposed to be in the victims, and it’s feeding off an increase of blood to the brain stem. The amygdala is responsible for human emotional responses. What if the demon takes away something-a barrier of some sort, a biological or spiritual control valve? That explains why these people have no restraint. And it explains the basketball player in Santa Louisa.”
“Chris Kidd? How?”
“He didn’t act on his impulses.”
“We don’t know that he had them. He was marked, but maybe it hadn’t manifested yet.”
“What if he was fighting the impulse? What if the process was somehow incomplete or imperfect and Kidd was resisting? What if his conscience was stronger than the others, and he fought back? His blood vessels ruptured. That didn’t happen to the others.”
“So what does that mean, Rafe? If someone doesn’t fight the urge to act on envy or lust or pride, they kill someone and then die? If they do fight the urge, they still die? Where does that leave us? Tilting at windmills?”
Rafe didn’t have the answers. “I don’t know.”
“Well, Don Quixote, that certainly makes me sleep better at night,” Moira said as she walked out of the morgue.
“Moira-wait.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around. Rafe put his hands on her shoulders. “What had you so freaked when you saw me in there?”
“Freaked? Not me.”
“You weren’t yourself.”
“Okay, fine. The corpses were creeping me out. Satisfied?”
“That just means you’re human.”
“Oh, joy.”
Rafe turned her to
face him. “Give yourself a break. You’re not superhuman.”
She mocked surprise. “What? You mean I have to give back the cape and golden lasso?”
He smiled and touched her chin. “I didn’t say you weren’t a superhero.”
He’d said it to make her feel better, but she turned away. “I’m not.”
“Moira-”
“Dammit, Rafe! Look what we’re up against. I don’t see this ever ending.” She shook her head, then looked at the blue sky. “I hate this! If God wanted to help us in this battle, He’d leave clearer instructions.”
“We just need to figure them out,” Rafe said.
“I’d rather have a rule book, thank you very much.” She glanced back at him. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Velocity. It’s a club in West L.A., and so far, it’s the only connection between all the victims. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch the demon before anyone else dies.”
SEVEN
“There’s nothing for you here,” Detective Grant Nelson told Skye after the autopsy was complete. “If we learn anything more, we’ll let you know.”
Skye bit back her anger. Antagonizing this homicide cop wasn’t going to win her friends. She needed him on her side. Or at a minimum, to not stand in her way. “I’d appreciate it,” she said, keeping her voice calm.
“Where’s your cult expert?” he asked, shooting his partner a sly grin.
“Getting air,” Skye said. “She’ll be back shortly.”
“I have to get back to work,” he said, glancing at his BlackBerry with a frown. “But I’ll call.”
I get your point. He wanted Skye out of town. Cops didn’t like others invading their territory, and as far as Grant Nelson was concerned, she was a small-town sheriff and he was a big-city detective. He showed her the common courtesy between colleagues, but nothing more.
Jeff Johnston, his rookie partner, gave her a warmer goodbye and said in a low voice out of Grant’s earshot, “His bark is worse than his bite. I’ll make sure he lets you know what’s up with these deaths.”
“Thanks.”
When she was certain the detectives were gone, Skye went back to where the pathologist Fern Archer was sewing up the body of George Erickson, the swinger.
“Nelson made it clear I couldn’t talk to you without him in the room,” Fern grumbled.
“That’s fine; I don’t want to talk to you about his case.”
Fern smiled widely. “What can I do for you, then?”
“A favor? If you get another body with a similar mark on it, would you call me?” Skye put her card down on the stainless-steel table behind Fern.
“Sure.” Fern bit her lip. “You think this really is a cult?”
“Of a sort. These deaths are somehow connected to the bodies in Santa Louisa.”
“My boss is signing the death certificate as a cardiac arrest.”
“But you said there were no signs of heart failure.”
“I said heart disease. But there’s no other explanation. His heart just stopped.”
“But you don’t have the toxicology reports back.”
“We have the prelims. We have a lab right here, can run standard screens 24/7. No drugs, low alcohol, no common poisons. And there’re no signs of trauma, aneurysms, anything that could be a contributing cause. But then I heard that my boss is talking to your coroner about the dead guy’s brain. Want to clue me in?”
Fern had been more than helpful, so Skye told her, “Dr. Fielding found something unusual about the brain stem, and wanted a second opinion. Dr. Takasugi was very kind to help.”
“And?”
“And they’re not done.”
“Don can be tight-lipped sometimes,” Fern grumbled.
“I’ll let you know if anything interesting pops up.”
She grinned. “Thanks.”
Skye resisted the urge to smile. She liked the petite black girl-she was spunky and held her own against the arrogant Detective Grant Nelson. “If you ever want to move out of a big city into small-town America, let me know.”
Fern beamed.
Skye added, “Seems that the victims have only one thing in common: they were horny men.”
“Oh, maybe a scorned woman or stalker?” Fern grinned. “I like that. Female stalkers aren’t that common.”
Skye raised an eyebrow, and Fern said, “I read crime novels, what can I say?”
“Maybe you should have been a cop,” Skye said.
The intercom system beeped. “Fern, you still back there?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“You got to come to Receiving. You’ll never believe this. Bring your camera.”
Skye raised an eyebrow.
Fern said, “Let’s see what’s going on. Should be fun.” For a young woman who worked in the morgue, Fern seemed almost happy-go-lucky.
Skye followed her to the receiving room. A City of Glendale crime-scene van had backed up to the main double-door entrance. One of the investigators was signing paperwork at the desk while five people stood around a white freezer with a police seal on it.
Fern said, “There’s a body in there, isn’t there?”
“Bingo,” the investigator said without looking up from his paperwork.
“Amazing,” Fern said. “What’s the story?”
“Found by the housekeepers when they were cleaning out Kent Galion’s place. We don’t know for sure he killed her, but she’s been missing more than a week. It’s just a matter of putting together the evidence. If she was frozen right after death, the evidence should be well-preserved.”
“Wow, I haven’t had one of these before.” Fern sounded excited. “Let’s get the freezer weighed, then take it to the decomp room and let it thaw in a controlled environment. Hopefully we can autopsy in twenty-four.”
Skye went over to the investigator and showed her badge. “Would you mind if I take a look at the file?” she asked.
“Help yourself,” he said.
She flipped through the crime-scene notes, then turned to Fern. “Did you say earlier that Kent Galion was the name of the other body with the demon’s mark?”
“I did; he’s long buried.”
“He attacked someone?”
“Galion was the owner of Velocity. Think that’s the connection? Because the college kid died in the alley?”
“Nelson said Erickson was also at Velocity the night he died.”
Skye jotted down the victim’s and the suspect’s addresses, trying to act nonchalant. She might have to risk ticking off Detective Nelson, because Skye needed Moira to check out the houses. One of them might lead to Fiona’s coven.
Her phone vibrated. “Thanks,” she said, handing the file back to the crime-scene investigator.
“Find what you were looking for?”
“Just curious,” she said. She mouthed thank you to Fern, then stepped out of the building and answered her phone.
“McPherson.”
“Skye. It’s Anthony.”
Her heart fluttered just a bit, enough to remind her that she already missed him. “Where are you?”
“New York. I have a few minutes before boarding. I wanted to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad.”
“What’s going on in L.A.?”
“Three men have turned up dead, apparent heart attack, but with demon marks on their backs. Rafe and Moira are checking out the only connection between the three, a nightclub they were at immediately before they died.”
“Where are you?”
“At the coroner’s, waiting for Rod. I was just about to call Moira and give her some addresses to check out using her-” Skye was at a loss on how to describe Moira’s ability to feel the presence of magic.
“Be careful, sweetheart.”
“You, too.” Quieter, she added, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Skye. And I’m worried. I wish I were there.”
“Me, too, but more so we can have our house to
ourselves. It’s getting crowded.”
“I’ve been trying to find Moira a place to stay, but-”
“Only Moira?”
“Rafe needs time to heal.”
“Rafe is fine.”
“Skye, the situation is complicated.”
“I’m not obtuse, Anthony. I understand the complexities of the situation.”
“Skye-”
“We’ll talk about it when you come home.”
“I’ll call as soon as I land in Sicily. I need to board. Mi amore, please be careful.”
She hung up the phone and rested it against her forehead. She didn’t want to snap at him, especially now, but for the last two weeks Anthony had been pulling away from her. He didn’t realize it, and she knew it had nothing to do with his love for her. His love was one of the few things in which she had complete confidence. It was more what he didn’t say, the pressure St. Michael’s had placed on him since Father Philip died. Struggling with Moira O’Donnell’s presence. Several times when Anthony and Moira verbally sparred, Skye had the feeling Anthony wanted to slug her, yet Anthony wouldn’t hit a woman. He believed in chivalry-in opening doors, in the small, sweet gestures that showed his deep respect for women, coupled with the way he treated her in bed, insisting that her pleasure was more important than his. For a macho guy, Anthony was a true gentleman. Except with Moira.
She called Moira. “I’m texting you the address of the first known victim of the demon, and the address of a woman he allegedly killed before he died. Can you check them out and do your thing?”
“You mean check for magic.”
“Right.” Skye shifted on her feet. She still had a hard time talking about demons and magic as if that were a normal part of her job.
“Will do, as soon as we finish with Velocity.”
“Are you there yet?”
“Hardly. There are so many flippin’ cars on the road we should have walked.”
EIGHT
Almost immediately after Moira hung up the phone with Skye, the text message came in with two addresses. She had no idea where they were, but Skye had a GPS in her truck. But first things first: Velocity.
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