of darkness, come bend us.
Angel of darkness, bring our true natures to the fore.
Bring us your power, and a sign of your blessing. We call to you, O ancient one, who dwells beyond the realms.
You who once reigned in the time before time. Come, hear our call.
Assist us to open the way, give us the power!
They repeated the poem three times, building into a tuneless chant.
Then Raven spoke, his arms spread wide, his head thrown back. “Bless us for finding the strength to rid the world of those who hurt us, who deceived and tortured. Fight our oppressors—punish those who are cruel to us. Allow us to know your divinity, to understand your ways, to find a painless path to keep us from shame. Show us the way, oh, Azræl. Night and need give life to your helping fire. Rectify our darkness, spread your wings of shadow through our souls. Watch over our houses, deflect their ire.”
At the end, they repeated their nocturnal God’s name over and over and over, turning in circles, winding themselves around each other, sinuous as snakes, then at the moment they felt the energy peak, consecrated their prayers with the Great Act. Raven and Thorn were so attuned to each other that they were able to climax at the same time. Their energy, like their seed, spilled into the earth, sanctifying their pact. The girls kissed, and the boys. They smeared the fluids along each other’s bodies, intricate glowing trails of symbols, then switched partners. The men writhed together while the women brought each other to a wild, breathless climax. They were all so good together, so right. The strongest magick was cast during the Great Act at the moment of shared orgasm.
Panting in the dust, they allowed their minds to come back. They stood, shakily, and unbound their cords. Raven thanked the corners, bid them hail and farewell. He closed the circle, careful to walk deosil, clockwise, to close their downward portal.
There was still energy in the air, crisp and crackling, so Raven told his coven to ground again so it wouldn’t drain their essences. Raven shut his eyes and envisioned a long, glowing root leaving his body and securing itself in the land, then let all his extra energy pour down the root. He felt better when he finished, smiled at Fane. They busied themselves with ending their prayers, burying the stone and the finger, blowing out the candles, dressing silently.
A breeze started, getting stronger until their hair was whipping around their faces. Thunder rumbled in the distance, then again, and lightning flashed, suddenly close. The sharp scent of ozone invaded Raven’s nose. He smiled.
“I didn’t think it was going to rain tonight,” Fane whispered.
“It wasn’t. Azræl has blessed our prayers,” Raven said. “We have been blessed. Nothing can stop us now.”
Five
Nashville
7:50 p.m.
Baldwin circled the Vanderwoods’ house until he found a quiet spot in the backyard.
“Sorry about that, Garrett. Needed to get clear of a situation. What’s up?”
“Well, I don’t have good news. The crypto boys sent a report in about some things they found on Charlotte Douglas’s computer.”
Baldwin stood straighter. Charlotte Douglas was a profiler he’d worked with years ago, and again just a few months back, on the Snow White case. She’d ended up embarrassing the Bureau before her untimely demise at the hands of a killer she’d recruited into her life—the same killer who stalked Taylor now. The Pretender was Charlotte’s creation, first an apprentice of the Snow White, then a self-named terror who’d invaded all of their lives.
Charlotte had brought death to their doors, and now it sounded like the Bureau was resurrecting the past. He held out hope that Charlotte’s records would help identify who the Pretender really was. But when she died, and the Bureau tried accessing her files, they self-destructed using a sophisticated encryption. Their best people had been working for months to resuscitate her work.
Charlotte was just as dangerous dead as she had been alive.
“And?”
“It seems she has some files pertaining to you. To a…relationship the two of you were having. She was rather graphic. And she’s made some other allegations against you.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yes. Well, we knew parts of this might come back to bite us. Don’t worry, okay?”
“Garrett, you know that Charlotte—”
“Baldwin, I know. Trust me, I know. I’m sorry, but this is out of my hands. I’ve been instructed to recall you to Quantico immediately so you can go before the disciplinary board first thing tomorrow morning for a little chat. I caught a shitload of heat when I told them you were in Nashville. So get yourself back up here. I’ve sent the plane for you. It should be ready to collect you shortly.”
“Is this serious, Garrett?”
His boss was silent for a few moments. “Yes, I think it is. They haven’t disclosed everything to me. I’ve arranged for Reginald Beauchamp to represent your interests at the hearing, just in case.”
“Whoa, I need counsel? I thought you said this was just a chat.”
“Baldwin, I’m not willing to take any chances. I’ve already defended you, told them any charges against you by that woman were ludicrous. But they’re very insistent.”
“Making an example out of me,” Baldwin grumbled.
“It’s possible. They have her files now. The focus isn’t on you and Charlotte—it’s gone deeper. They’re especially interested in the Harold Arlen incident. The past is catching up with us.”
This time Baldwin groaned aloud. “Damn it, that case has been closed for years. I was cleared of all wrongdoing. Why are they bringing it up again?”
“You know why.”
Baldwin breathed deeply through his nose, surprised that all he could smell was burned leaves tinged with fresh blood. He’d spent years trying to forget, to move on. To erase the dank scent of basement rot, the vision of shattered lives. The self-fulfilling prophecy that was Charlotte Douglas. God, Taylor couldn’t know. He needed to make sure of that.
Garrett was speaking again.
“I need to warn you. Apparently, Charlotte’s files had some extras that weren’t in your original reports. They want…clarification.”
“Clarifications that include lawyers and hearings. Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
“Yes. Obviously, the phone…”
Baldwin felt himself shutting down, the rigid professionalism that got him through the most heinous of crime scenes filtering into his system. His detachment was his gift, and he readily employed it now. To think, to speculate about what might be waiting for him in Quantico would surely derail him before they asked the first question. He’d need all his powers of stability to face this issue all over again. The last time it had nearly cost him his life. He
