Another woman’s voice began to speak, chanting some incantation in a language that Sonja’s bones recognized, even if her brain didn’t.
A twine rope slipped over her head and someone tightened it around her neck. The skin squeezed in on itself, crushing her windpipe. Her hands twitched, compelled by instinct to remove the force.
“Don’t fight it,” the woman said, brushing Sonja’s hair away from her face. “Find peace in the moment.”
Sonja’s muscles loosened at the command. She stared at the cloudy sky and the snow that drifted down. The ache of her feet, the chill of her skin, the spasm of her lungs, these sensations were all remote things to the calm that had come over her. She welcomed the darkness that spread over her vision, and she never felt the knife that pierced her heart, nor the one that slit her throat.
I stood in the middle of a snowstorm. Small white flakes blew around my body as I looked around. On either side of me dark evergreens were largely hidden under snow.
Something about this place tugged at my memory. Hesitantly I crept forward, and out of the snowstorm I made out gray and white stone.
The falling snow heightened the unsettling silence of the place, and as my heartbeat sped up, it became the only sound ringing in my ears.
I climbed up a short staircase, my steps faltering as a sense of déjà vu washed over me. It was right on the edge of my mind, that memory. But the moment I tried to focus on it, it dissolved. A wisp of smoke carried away.
I stared at the large door, dread soaking through my skin.
Evil lurks within.
The thought had only just crossed my mind when the door creaked open on its own.
That thought was all it took for me to stumble away.
“Wait.” The voice was rich and deep; the kind that came along with a beautiful face.
I knew that voice.
Even though every muscle screamed at me to run, I froze. I saw his almond-shaped eyes first. They glittered as though they were lit from behind. Then his chiseled features came into focus. The deep shadows threw his high brow, square jaw, and cruel lips into sharp relief. He looked even more sinister than I remembered.
I backed away from the devil, never taking my eyes off of him. Dangerous creatures were better out in the open than hidden in shadows.
“You do not need to fear me,” he said.
My teeth chattered as a shiver racked my body. “That’s what you said on Samhain,” I said, “right before you beat the crap out of me.”
He left the shelter of his castle, and his hair ruffled in the storm. It was such a human detail that, for a moment, it felt ridiculous to fear him. Then I remembered who I was dealing with, and I did what I wasn’t supposed to do: I took my eyes off the devil to turn and run down the stairs.
I flew down the steps, my hair whipping around me as the wind blew it about.
He materialized at the bottom, arms crossed, and I yelped.
He cocked his head. “Why you haven’t learned is beyond me, but you. Can’t. Escape. You can’t outrun me. You leave when I say you do.”
There was nowhere for me to go. I couldn’t get past him—not without brushing by him. The thought repulsed me. My only other option was up.
“I’m not going to let you go until you take a tour of the castle,” the devil said. “If you remember, I never got the chance.”
I pushed down my nausea. “I’m not going in there.”
“Yes you are.”
I curled my lip. “Over my dead body.”
He flashed me a cruel smile. “We can arrange that.”
The devil’s hand shot out and snatched my wrist. My skin crawled at his touch, and my stomach twisted in knots as I felt his presence wash over me. Evil was very much a physical sensation when it came to the devil.
A scream bubbled in the back of my throat, and terror had my heart jackknifing in my chest.
“Come, consort,” he said, approaching the staircase and yanking my arm.
“Let go of me,” I whimpered, tugging back on my arm.
As if he couldn’t help it, the devil closed his eyes and leaned in, breathing me in. “Your fear smells so damn good. I can practically taste it.” The devil’s eyes opened, a smile blossoming along his face. “I am going to enjoy devouring you piece by piece.”
Fuck. My. Life.
I spoke through my terror. “You really know how to charm a lady,” I managed to bite out.
He ran a hand down my hair, and I shuddered at the sensation. “Don’t worry, little bird, I’ll make certain you enjoy it as well.”
I made a small sound at the back of my throat, and his gaze flicked to my lips.
No. Oh please, no.
I swallowed and leaned back as he leaned in. His gaze crept back up to mine and he smiled at me again. “You make this too much fun.” He ran a hand down my arm, and I yanked against the wrist holding me. His grip tightened. “It’s only a matter of time until you’re mine, but how I hate waiting.”
My gaze moved between his eyes. He looked so human. It was such a stark contrast to the ungodly chill creeping over my skin.
“Come, consort,” he said, tugging my arm.
“No.”
“Hard way it is.” He yanked me forward.
I stumbled and tripped on the slick steps. The devil lunged to catch me, and I had a split second for the sight to strike me as funny—the devil was trying to accommodate me.
My head struck the sharp stone staircase, and I jerked awake.
I sat up in bed, my breathing labored. Just a dream. It was just a dream.
Then again, when in my life had a dream ever been just a dream?
Our first stop the next morning was the morgue. I stifled a yawn as I followed Grigori through the Politia’s offices, only barely managing to resist the scent of brewing coffee. I knew from experience that coffee and corpses didn’t mix well.
I rubbed my arms when we dipped below ground. Down here the air had a deep chill to it. It didn’t help that the smell of mildew and rot assaulted my nose.
Grigori opened the door to the morgue and Caleb and I filed in. I’d seen several bodies since the first time I stood in the morgue with Caleb, but I never got over the nausea that accompanied them. The decaying bodies, the scent of chemicals and death that filled the air—it overwhelmed my senses.
The pathologist greeted Grigori in Romanian, and Grigori gestured to us, presumably explaining who exactly we were. The pathologist’s eyes widened, lingering on me. And then he crossed himself.
I guess my reputation preceded me.
Next to me Caleb snickered, and I covertly flipped him off, which only made him chuckle louder.
“Let us go see the body,” the pathologist said, his accent thick. The three of us followed him across the room, where he’d already laid the body out on an examination table.
I breathed through my mouth as I approached the victim. She had been beautiful once—angelic. But in death even the most beautiful faces looked grotesque, and hers was no exception.
The pathologist drew down a paper sheet that had covered most of her body. He pointed to a deep knife wound across her neck and spoke to us in Romanian.
“This is one of three lethal injuries that killed the victim,” Grigori translated.
The pathologist pointed to a deeply bruised swath of skin just above the neck wound and spoke again. “Here’s the second,” Grigori translated, “the discoloration indicating where the noose was tightened around her throat.”
The pathologist pulled the paper sheet down further, revealing a third lethal injury. I grimaced when I saw the stab wound through the victim’s heart. In all the photos, her stained dress had obscured the wound itself, but now I could see the split skin.
Bile rose at the bac
k of my throat. Don’t vomit on the victim. Don’t vomit on the victim.
The pathologist spoke, this time in English. “All happened at roughly the same time. All contributed to death.”
For the next twenty minutes the pathologist went over the details of the open wounds—both made by a dagger, both done in a single stroke, both made while the victim was still alive. Given the fact that both wounds happened simultaneously, that meant that two knives were used.
“So, unless the killer was extremely dexterous, …” I said.
Grigori finished the sentence for me. “We have more than one killer on our hands.”
As my eyes moved over the victim, a familiar smell wafted off of her. Ash. Beneath it was an even fainter smell of something floral. The body had been dead for too long and exposed to too many people to know for sure that this scent belonged to the killer. But it was enough to develop a theory.
Grigori’s phone chirped. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it, walking to the other side of the room to talk.
Caleb walked around the examination table and he whistled low. “It’s hard for me to believe that the victim wasn’t under duress,” he said, staring at the victim’s feet.
I came to his side and studied the feet. They’d been cleaned of blood and debris, and it was easy to now see just how severely they’d been sliced up.
I had to agree. People didn’t just willingly injure themselves this way. My eyes drifted back to our victim’s face.
Her feet were the only evidence of duress. There were no broken nails, no scratch marks or bruising that would indicate our victim fought back. It was as though she’d chosen to walk barefoot until her skin was raw. As though she’d agreed to be murdered.
Very strange.
The click of Grigori’s shoes drew my attention up to him.
“Gabrielle, Caleb,” he said, clasping his phone in his fist, “we need to go. There’s been another murder.”
Chapter 7
I scowled at the snowy scenery we drove past while Caleb chatted with Grigori. We had a serial killer on our hands—oh, excuse me, serial killers. There were at least two of them. And it was my job to capture these sickos. In the middle of a blizzard. While bloodthirsty vampires were holding a trial I needed to stay far away from. Happy fucking holidays to me.
My cellphone vibrated as a text from Oliver came in.
What address are you staying at, Sabertooth? I want to mail you your Christmas present. Long distance bosom hugs for my favorite consort in the world. Muah!
My lips twitched as I read Oliver’s message. I sent him my address before setting the phone aside. God I missed my friends.
The car slowed as we approached a line of parked vehicles, and I glanced one final time at the map of Romania resting on my lap. I’d snatched it up back at the station when I’d learned that the second murder scene was located in an entirely different region of Romania. One that had taken us over two hours to get to.
Two areas had now been circled, representing the two crime scenes. The latest one had occurred in Bistrița-Năsăud County, located northeast of Cluj.
I set the map aside as Grigori parked the car along the side of the rode, and then the three of us hopped out.
Caleb, Grigori, and I followed the stream of inspectors into the forest. Like the last crime scene, this one was also located in the woods. By the time we arrived at the small clearing where the second body was located, investigators and crime scene technicians swarmed the area.
An inspector approached us, greeting Girgori and eyeing Caleb and me. Just like the pathologist, his eyes lingered on my face, and I saw a mixture of lust and repulsion within them.
Ah, infamy, thou suck.
After exchanging a few more words, the inspector handed Caleb and me a set of gloves and motioned for us to follow him.
I tugged on the gloves and weaved through the throng of officers and forensic technicians. My breath caught when my gaze landed on a wooden altar. The victim still rested on it, a thin film of snow now covering her body.
I couldn’t look away from the peaceful expression on her face. Laying there, she reminded me of Snow White. Dark hair, pale skin, delicate features.
The group of us approached the altar, each focusing our attention on the latest victim.
Unlike the last altar, which seemed to grow out from the earth itself, this one was made of polished wood and intricately carved. Had it been set up specifically for this murder? If so, that took an amazing amount of time and organization.
I crouched down and studied the designs cut into the wood. Flowers and fruit were carved along the edges of the altar, and inside them were a series of images broken into frames. In one, a female figure knelt in a field of flowers. In another a man held a screaming woman. In another a different woman stood alone, a desolate expression on her face. The images were sad and disturbing, and I couldn’t make sense of them.
I pushed myself up and stared down at the body laid out in front of me. The twine noose cinched tightly around her neck was still there, now discolored with her blood. I pressed my lips together as my eyes moved to the severed skin below it, where her throat had been slit. Just like the first victim.
My eyes traveled down. She wore a white gown marred by a deep crimson stain above her heart. A third wound—probably a stab wound to the heart—again, identical to the last victim.
My nose flared at the smell of blood. She smelled heavenly. Literally. The scent hit the back of my throat and I could taste holiness in it. It should’ve been impossible to sense, but I could, just like I could feel evil. I knew that if I had a sip of her blood, I’d taste God in it.
Another angelic victim. The similarities between the two deaths were so precise. So organized.
I circled the body, wanting to get a look at her feet. Would that detail be the same too? Could the killers really have replicated the first murder so completely?
As soon as the victim’s feet came into view, my mouth thinned. Blood and grime stuck to them, just like the last victim.
My eyes moved back to the white shift she wore. No one wore an outfit like this in the winter, which meant she’d changed—or someone had changed her. And the exposed skin along her hands and arms was unblemished. She hadn’t fought her attackers either.
None of it made any sense.
Finally, my gaze landed on her face. Death had already turned her loveliness into something disturbing. The snow that came to rest on her forehead, nose and mouth didn’t help. No living person would lay in the same position long enough to collect that much snow.
A gust of wind blew through the trees. I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched a few strands of the victim’s hair stir in the breeze. She’d never again be able to brush that hair from her face.
I closed my eyes. Now was not the time to think of her as a human. Not if I wanted to keep it together.
I breathed in and out in an effort to calm myself. Instead, my back went ramrod straight as a smell caught my attention. It was the same smell I noticed back in the morgue. The smell of ash and something else, something floral.
I almost jumped out of my skin when a hand landed on my arm. “What is it?” Caleb asked.
I’d been so hyper focused on the crime that I’d forgotten about the people around me.
My eyes moved to his. “I think I know our killer’s scent.”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “Could you follow the scent to its source?”
I chewed the side of my lip. “I could try.”
Caleb nodded, and I heard the excited thump of his heart. “Do it.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in, cringing when I smelled a healthy dose of desire wafting off of Caleb—that was so inappropriate right now—until I found the scent I was looking for. It came from two different directions. T
he strongest was near the victim’s head, but a fainter scent drifted in from the forest beyond.
I turned, keeping my eyes closed, and began walking towards the source of the scent. Next to me I could hear Caleb’s footfalls shadowing mine. “Will you let me know if I’m about to run into a tree?” I asked, eyes still shut.
“And ruin all the fun?”
I whacked Caleb in the shoulder.
“Ow, Dracula,” he said, “how did you know where I was?”
“I followed the scent of stupid right to you.”
“Low, Gabrielle,” Caleb said, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
I grinned as well. I missed the easy teasing between the two of us. A wave of desire hit my nostrils, and my grin slipped. “Caleb …”
He groaned. “It’s not like I can help the way I smell. I’ll just … try staring at a tree while I follow you,” he said, “… hopefully the one you run into,” he added under his breath.
“Hardy-har-har,” I said.
The scent recaptured my attention and I moved towards it, letting my nose guide me. The smell got stronger, and then it ended. I stopped and opened my eyes, glancing down at the object in front of me.
Nestled in the dead leaves was a glossy black business card. Caleb crouched down and picked it up.
“It’s an advertisement for Thirst, a nightclub in Cluj,” Caleb said. He flipped over the card and his eyes widened. “Looks like you have a murderous admirer.”
“What?”
He handed the card over to me. “See for yourself.”
Careful to only touch the edges of the card, I read the message: Be here tonight at midnight. I look forward to meeting you, Gabrielle.
I chewed on the nub of my pen as I went over the case with Caleb. “So far we know that the victims died in the same manner, that more than one person has to be involved—”