Chapter 5 #2
One set of shelves held dozens of glass jars, some filled with dried herbs tied into bundles, while others contained liquid substances.
He squinted to read the labels, finding hyssop, mugwort, and rue in the herb jars, as well as various oils and something called Florida Water in the liquid ones.
Mateo moved on, discovering candles of various colors and sizes, some etched with markings.
On the shelves beneath those, he found wax hearts, skulls, and coffins—specialty candles for rituals of some sort.
“Aveline?” Donovan called out. “You here?”
Mateo noticed a set of steps in the shadowy back corner, then heard the sound of footsteps from overhead.
He moved to the middle of the shop, where glass display cases sat filled with neatly labeled items. He was familiar with some things but unfamiliar with others.
There were gris gris pouches, jars of crystalized powder marked for ‘spiritual baths’, a collection of French Catholic prayer books and others he assumed contained spells.
There were also tarot cards, bone-reading sets, and an array of amulets for protection.
“I thought you said she was a medicine woman,” Mateo whispered, edging toward Donovan. “There are more than herbs at play here.”
“Welcome to N’awlins,” Donovan drawled.
“Agent Donovan,” said a woman appearing at the bottom of the stairs.
Mateo wasn’t a linguist, but he easily identified the Haitian Creole accent.
She emerged into the light wearing a flowing, patterned skirt and a white, off-the-shoulder blouse.
A headful of salt-and-pepper dreadlocks hung down her back, a scarf matching the skirt tied around her head.
Colorful, beaded bracelets covered her wrists, and a collection of necklaces and amulets lay against her chest. From among them, Mateo picked out a cross, an evil eye, and the symbol of St. Michael the Archangel.
Donovan leaned down to accept a kiss on the cheek from the woman, whose brown skin was a few shades lighter than his and lined around the eyes and mouth.
“It’s been a while,” Aveline muttered. “You act like you don’t know me since getting promoted.”
Donovan leaned against one of the glass display cases and gave her a charming smile. “Don’t do me like that. You know I come around when I can.”
“Mm-hm,” she murmured, casting Mateo a glance.
For the split second their eyes met, Mateo felt as if he’d been turned inside out.
One of her eyes was a dark, velvety brown.
The other was greenish hazel that burned into him an intensity that made him want to look away.
With a flick of her lashes, she dismissed him, but he couldn’t help but feel as if the woman had read everything about him in a single glance. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Garcia, a supervisory agent from D.C. We came across something on a case, and I thought you might be able to help. Are you familiar with these symbols?”
He slipped the coin from his pocket, still in the plastic bag, and laid it on the glass.
Aveline produced a pair of glasses from around her neck and slipped them on before picking up the coin and holding it up in the light.
Mateo held his breath, despite the intrusion of logic telling him this was a long shot.
He had never worked a single case where this demonic bullshit turned out to mean anything.
But Donovan had been right; they had nothing to lose.
“Come with me,” Aveline mumbled.
Without waiting for them to respond, she went for the staircase with a whirl of her skirt.
Exchanging a look with Mateo, Donovan shrugged but then followed after her.
Mateo trailed them up the stairs, which led to an apartment above the shop.
The colorful patterns of curtains and throw rugs surrounded them as Aveline guided them past a few closed doorways and into the living room.
An open door displayed a kitchen beyond, and the smell of something cooking made Mateo’s mouth water.
Light flooded the space when Aveline flipped a switch, illuminating the bright yellow, red, and orange tones of her décor.
In one corner of the room, a setup that could only be called an altar occupied a considerable amount of space.
The multi-tiered table was draped in black cloth and adorned with candles covered with images of saints.
Between them, he found a hodgepodge of framed photos draped in garlands of flowers and rosaries, small canvases etched with strange chalk markings, a mirror, various charms, and bundles of herbs.
On the wall over it all hung a Haitian flag.
Aveline approached them from the bookshelf, a leatherbound volume in her hands.
“It’s an obscure symbol, but one I have encountered before,” she declared, opening the book and flipping through its pages. “If I could just find … ah, here it is. This, Agent, is the Seal of Azrael.”
Mateo’s hands shook as he accepted the book from her.
Donovan peered over his shoulder and studied the drawing on the page.
Two triangles made up a pentagram, which was nestled in the curve of a half-moon crescent.
A circle surrounded it, with straight notches carved through it at geometrically balanced points.
It was an exact match for what was etched onto the silver coin.
Something within Mateo vibrated, thrumming through his bloodstream and sending his pulse racing.
“Never heard of it,” Donovan murmured.
“Few have,” said Aveline. “The worshippers of Azrael are an obscure group, headed mostly by elites. They call themselves The Veil. The symbol is made up of various elements, all of which are significant. The triangles making up the pentagram represent the trinity of death, sacrifice, and rebirth. The crescent is the arc of judgment. The circle embodies the eternal cycle of life and death, and the notches are geometrical points for ritual orientation.”
She reached out and turned the page, revealing a passage and a printed painting of an angel. A sinister angel wearing a hooded robe and holding the staff of a scythe. He was surrounded by bright, white light, with several pairs of wings stretching out behind him.
Mateo read the description from the opposite page out loud:
“Before flesh, there was Shadow. Before voice, there was Breath. And before Death bore its name, there was Azrael, He Who Stands Upon the Threshold. He is not the end, but the Divider—the Keeper of the Threshold, who severs the thread between falsehood and flame. To walk the Path is to offer the self in fragments. To drink the Silence is to awaken.”
“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” Donovan snorted. “What does that even mean?”
Aveline snatched the book and glared at Donovan.
“This is no laughing matter. The Veil might be a small order, but they are a dangerous one. In some religions, Azrael is known as the angel of death. He is said to possess a register of all the souls of mankind, and only he knows which of them are blessed or damned.”
Mateo crossed his arms over his chest, his mind racing a mile a minute as he tried to put this information together with what he knew about the crime scenes and the UNSUB. “So, this cult worships the angel of death, but the sigil indicates that life and eternal judgment are factors as well.”
“The judgment part makes sense if we consider our victims,” Donovan offered. “Every one of them was high risk, with past arrests for prostitution. All except one.”
Mateo winced, ignoring the other man’s gaze. He hadn’t had time to discuss the particulars of Mari’s case with Donovan and didn’t relish doing so now. If Donovan had read the case files, then he would have known why the UNSUB had deviated from his victimology for one kill.
“Imperfect sacrifices,” Aveline said. “That is what Azrael requires, according to the doctrine of The Veil. Only through the spilling of blood and sacrifice can the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead be thinned. Only when the veil has been thinned can purification begin—purification of the world and enlightenment. When the veil is thinned, and the eyes of Azrael peer into the realm of the living, the greatest truth of all will be revealed.”
“What truth is that?”
Aveline shook her head. “That, I cannot tell you. The Book of Azrael is a fiercely guarded relic. There are only a limited number of prints in existence. As extensive as my collection is, I don’t have a copy of that particular text.
From what I can gather, The Veil thinks their rituals will eventually result in the manifestation of Azrael in some way. ”
“In the end, it doesn’t matter why,” Donovan said. “All we need to know is that this UNSUB is clearly involved with The Veil somehow. He could be an acolyte or even a leader.”
“Maybe he’s just a weirdo who stumbled on this Azrael shit online,” Mateo countered.
Still, even if the UNSUB had picked this Azrael shit up by accident, it revealed something critical about him.
He drew a sense of comfort—or, at the very least, a sense of purpose—from the ritual.
It likely tied into a belief system centered around purification or divine judgment.
Anyone compelled to kill under the influence of religious fanaticism would be far more dangerous than a killer without such convictions; they believed their actions to be righteous, which made them relentless and unrepentant.
A frown split Donovan’s brow. “That doesn’t make him any less dangerous. It only means he’s working alone. But, if the opposite is true…”
“Then this case is about more than just a single UNSUB. We need to get back to the office so we can discuss these developments with the team. I’m going to put Darcy to work finding information on The Veil.
Until we can uncover surveillance footage from outside Solstice or identify our latest victim, there isn’t much else we can do. ”
“Tread carefully,” Aveline warned. “The Veil is small but powerful. Their connections to elite circles ensure that they are protected from scrutiny. They will do what is necessary to guard their secrets.”
“We will,” Donovan assured her. “Thanks, Aveline. You might be responsible for helping us putting this case to bed.”
“In that case, I’ll expect a check in the mail from the FBI,” Aveline quipped, guiding them back to the staircase. “If I uncover anything else that might be useful, I’ll call you.”