8. Chapter 8
Riley
The next afternoon we headed back to Alpine to meet Zaria and finish searching Viggo’s cabin. I’d set up an appointment with the witch a few hours after we left the café, but when I texted her to confirm, she didn’t respond. I hoped she hadn’t forgotten.
Gunnar typed on his iPad as Ash drove. The thing looked tiny in his dinner-plate-sized hands. “We need to find out what’s at this GPS location.”
I nodded. “Whatever happened to my dad seems to be connected to Viggo’s disappearance. And based on what Beau thinks, the government may be tracking and eliminating people who know about these places.”
“Your dad wrote in his journal that the Rocky Mountain ‘site’ was ‘going active.’ Maybe whoever’s behind this is activating the Yellowstone site now.”
I gazed out at the mountain range, wondering what secrets they held. Ash turned onto the unpaved road leading to Viggo’s property, slowed down, and studied the line of cattle skulls marking the boundary. “Why does a retired park ranger think he needs so much protection?”
I studied the forbidding entrance. “At first, I thought he hung them to intimidate trespassers and visitors.”
Ash stared up at the skulls. “This is a protective ward. In my tribe, we regard animal remains, especially skulls, as a link to the other world and an effective way to ward off bad spirits.”
“Do you think that’s why he has them?”
He didn’t answer. Ash’s Empath power brushed the perimeter of the property. “Something isn’t right. If it’s a protective barrier, it’s been breached.”
The cabin came into view, looking much as it had before. But the dark pine forest behind it looked menacing, and the cabin’s aura felt tattered and frayed, as if hanging in shreds like cobwebs after a storm.
Ash parked the SUV and glanced at Conall. “I don’t sense anyone around, but I smell something. What about you?”
“They could be masking their presence.” Conall’s nostrils flared as he scanned the tree line.
When we stepped out, I noticed the front door hung slightly ajar, and one of the symbol-etched windows was shattered. The tree growing through the center of the house seemed to droop, its leaves curled as if in distress.
Conall froze, and a low growl rumbled from his chest. “I smell blood.”
Gunnar’s hand moved to his sidearm. “Human?”
“Yes, and something else.” Conall’s eyes began to shift from gray to gold as his wolf rose closer to the surface.
Ash stilled. “Blood… and death.”
I walked up the steps behind them, and at first, I sensed nothing. Then a faintly coppery, rotten scent hit me, mixed with something sharp. The coldness inside registered the smells clinically. Blood, human tissue, urine. The unmistakable constellation of violent death.
“Stay behind me,” Conall ordered, his voice dropping an octave as his wolf pushed forward.
Ash stepped forward, his own weapon drawn. “We need to clear the cabin.”
The implant sent a sharp chill through me, transforming fear and revulsion into analytical detachment.
“The scent is strongest in that stand of trees.” Conall’s eyes glowed yellow as Ash nodded.
“I’ll check behind the cabin, and–”
“No,” I interrupted. “We stick together… At least in pairs.” Even with the coldness, my mind rebelled at us splitting up. Conall didn’t argue.
“Gunnar and I will check the cabin. Zaria told us there are wards, and we didn’t trigger them last time.”
Ash nodded, and Conall grasped my arm. “If you sense anyone inside, you get out and scream loud.”
Gunnar and I slipped inside the cabin together. I held my gun steady in a two-handed grip as I pushed my energy out, searching for anyone hiding in the small structure. I shook my head at Gunnar, and we silently and quickly cleared the cabin, then headed back outside.
As we approached the grove of trees, the scents of burnt herbs, sulfur, and sharp chemicals intensified. Energy signatures collided and clashed around us. Viggo’s protective wards, Zaria’s magic, and dark, greasy signatures I hadn’t felt since Roswell. The implant buzzed in cruel recognition.
When we came up to the clearing ahead, Gunnar and I both slowed.
Zaria’s naked body hung suspended between two trees, her arms stretched out in a macabre crucifixion.
Her white hair, now matted with blood, hung in lank strands around her face.
Below her bare feet, someone had meticulously drawn an inverted pentagram in salt, the white crystals catching the filtered sunlight.
Sorrow and rage slammed into me as I registered the details with clinical precision, cataloging the evidence as if I were reviewing case photos rather than standing before the brutalized corpse of a woman I’d just met but had somehow formed an attachment to.
“Goddamn it,” Conall whispered.
Ash moved forward, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. “This happened last night. Maybe ten or twelve hours ago.”
I stepped closer, but Conall’s arm shot out. “Riley, you don’t need to see this.”
“I’m an ISB agent. This is my job.”
Ash rested a hand on Conall’s shoulder. “Trust her. She needs to read the vibrations and any traces of energy.”
Conall’s mouth tightened, but he nodded and stepped back. I let out a breath, then took his hand and squeezed it for strength. We were both learning to respect each other’s abilities while maintaining our independence.
Even before I stepped up to the crime scene, my analytical mind and the implant were already cataloging. Cuts crisscrossed the body. Burns on all four limbs. Toenails torn off. Eyes open and clouded in death.
They’d tortured her for information, and the wounds were inflicted to cause maximum pain. Someone had also drawn an inverted pentagram beneath her, an overt symbol of black magic. But it’d been drawn with painstaking precision, each line measured and straight. It looked too perfect and deliberate.
“They’re trying to make the kill look like a black witch or a dark worshipper did this,” Conall observed.
Ash nodded. “They missed a few things, though.”
Zaria knew my father, and she’d helped us yesterday. She’d even sensed the implant and offered to help me with its effects. I looked around. Where was Edwina, her cat?
Conall stoically took in the gruesome scene. “What do you sense?”
“Some of her magic still clings to her, but a dark practitioner would never leave it behind. I agree with your assessment. The pentagram is too perfect. Witches rely on instinct and energy, whereas this was crafted by someone trying to mimic ritual magic.”
Conall knelt beside the pentagram, careful not to disturb the salt lines, and bent over to sniff the ground. “The smells are wrong too.”
A breeze kicked up, and Zaria’s body swayed, the ropes creaking in the wind. Unreasonable grief bubbled beneath the frost inside me. “This wasn’t personal or ritualistic. It was systematic and professional, just like Apex Mentis. I think they came for her because she knew something.”
“We need to call the local authorities,” Ash murmured.
“Where’s Edwina?” Zaria’s cat was nowhere to be seen.
Conall blinked. “Who?”
“Edwina. Zaria’s cat. She’s a Pixie-bob, and probably her familiar.” I called out a few times, but only birds and an angry squirrel answered back.
I studied Zaria again, taking in the defensive wounds on her forearms, scrapes on her knuckles, and blood under her fingernails. She’d fought back. I hoped she’d caused damage before they contained her.
As I stared up at the carnage, something shifted inside me.
The ice encasing me since Marlowe had the implant inserted shifted.
A thin fissure appeared, and through it seeped a scalding rage, burning hot against the perpetual cold.
It wasn’t a muted anger but a primal, visceral fury that made my hands shake and my vision tunnel.
I didn’t know how long I stood, still as a Greek statue, staring up into Zaria’s dead eyes.
“Riley. A stór, come back to me.” Conall’s arms wrapped around me, gently drawing me back from the scene.
“They killed her, just like they did my father,” I whispered. “And they’re trying to pin it on other witches.”
“I know.” Conall’s voice was soothing. I’d disassociated for a time, but he gently held me.
Gunnar called the local sheriff’s office, and I half listened as he explained to the dispatcher who we were and what we’d found.
Conall guided me back to the front of the cabin. “We’ll find them,” he promised.
Over the next few hours, we watched the local police process the scene and answered their questions. I also called Emmett. He was silent for so long, I thought I’d lost him. Finally, he exhaled slowly.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I’m worried about her cat. Is there someone who can check on it?”
Emmett laughed mirthlessly. “I’m a bear shifter, so I’d be the last person she’ll want to see. I’ll ask Donna. What’s the cat’s name?”
“Ed.”
“That’s… different.”
“It’s short for Edwina. Let me know if Donna finds her.”
Later that evening, I sat at the kitchen table, studying the coordinates from the receipt. Gunnar stood at the window, his wide shoulders tight with tension.
“Something hit me this morning. When Langston was blathering on yesterday, he said Fergus was aware Langston was here to take you in.”
“I remember. He also said Fergus approved it.”
Gunnar ran his meaty hand down his face. “Why didn’t Fergus call and warn us?”
“Maybe he didn’t have time. Or Langston was lying to us.” I calculated possibilities. “You think he deliberately didn’t warn me?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
Fergus had been one of my dad’s best friends. “He and my dad were close.”
“People change over sixteen years,” Gunnar countered. “And friends can turn on you when there’s enough money or pressure involved. Don’t forget what happened with Henry.”
I wondered how the late ranger’s little girl was doing as my mind calculated the likelihood of Fergus betraying us.
It would mean the corruption ran deeper than we suspected.
It was a depressing thought. I needed to talk to Conall and maybe ask Drew, the Pack’s tech expert, to quietly investigate Fergus.
A dull ache formed in my chest. “I think we should operate under the assumption that we can’t trust him until proven otherwise. Have you talked to anyone else?”
Gunnar shook his head. “Thought I’d talk to you first.”
I appreciated his uncharacteristic tact. “I need to go to Denver for the FBCI debriefing tomorrow. But after that, I want to find this site.” I pointed to Viggo’s coordinates.
Gunnar stuck his little pinkie in his ear and dug around as he talked. “One of my cousins lives near the Grand Teton National Park, and she owes me a favor. She could get us gear. I figure we shouldn’t use official channels if we don’t know who to trust.”
The reality of our situation hit me. “How long will it take to get the equipment?”
“Not long. I’ll head out tomorrow while you’re with those FBCI assholes.” He hesitated, his gravelly voice dropping. “You sure you trust them? They might do more than ask questions.”
The implant at the base of my skull seemed to pulse in response to his concern, as if agreeing. “I don’t have a choice. If I don’t show up, they’ll arrest me. Conall will be there. Besides, maybe they’ve figured out a way to remove this thing.”
Gunnar looked at me dubiously. “What if they find out you’re slowly going cold? Or worse, decide to detain you?”
“It would be stupid to try anything with Conall there and the Pack Council backing him.” It was a calculated risk. If the FBCI discovered the implant was still active, they might claim I was compromised or dangerous. They might even decide I needed to be contained.
Or eliminated.
“Just be careful, Blackthorne,” Gunnar rumbled. “I’m gettin’ used to you as a partner. You don’t suck.”
From the troll, that was high praise.