There was a short sword in his hand, a kind of weapon Riley had never seen before, its sharp blade gleaming in the firelight.

The other two celebrants went to the hanging man, and each reached up to grasp one of his ankles. Then they moved slowly back toward the far side of the altar, pulling his feet back and holding them high until his upper body hung over the coffin and the woman waiting inside it.

Riley almost started forward instinctively when she realized what was going to happen, but that involuntary movement was halted when she reminded herself that this had already happened. Or it was a vision. Or even a figment of her Taser-disordered mind and imagination.

Bottom line, what she was seeing wasn't actually taking place before her.

There was nothing she could do except watch in horror.

The chanting became louder, the group around the fire danced more frenziedly-and then someone Riley couldn't see struck a bell sharply three times.

And everything stopped.

Only the snapping, popping fire offered any movement or life for what seemed an eternal moment. And then the man at the foot of the coffin spoke a phrase in Latin, sharply.

Blood is the power? That's what he said?

The man on the topmost boulder leaned forward, grasped the hanging man's head by the hair, and drew it back far enough so that he was able to place the sharp blade against that unprotected throat.

The man at the foot of the coffin spoke, again in Latin, a short phrase Riley tried to brand in her mind.

Blood is the life.

Then, her voice muffled and unidentifiable behind the hood covering her face, the woman in the coffin spoke. Her words were also in Latin, and her tone was eerily seductive.

I offer…this sacrifice…and draw from blood spilled…life spilled…the power of darkness…the power of evil…to do my bidding.

The bell was struck three more times, and on the third strike the hanging man's throat was cut.

Blood gushed out and down, splashing the coffin and the woman in it. She unfolded her arms, holding them out as though welcoming the blood or beckoning a lover. Her hips lifted and undulated. Scarlet coated her breasts and stomach and streamed down the insides of her thighs.

The robed celebrants grouped around the fire began their dancing and chanting again, this time more frantically, their voices rising as the hanging man's lifeblood was drained from his limp body.

The priest at the foot of the coffin chanted as well, his voice growing louder, more frenzied, until finally the woman convulsed and cried out in an orgasmic tone, and he cast off his robe and climbed into the coffin, mounting her writhing body.

Riley's stomach heaved. She wanted to close her eyes or look away, but she was helpless to do either. She could only stand there and watch the obscene copulation taking place, while the chanting of the other celebrants became shouts, and the dying man's blood continued to spatter the two in the coffin, and the smell of incense and blood stung her eyes and her nostrils.

This was wrong. Wrong in so many ways-

"Riley!"

She opened her eyes with a gasp, momentarily dizzy as she stared at the daylit clearing. No coffin. No robed celebrants. No victim hanging above the altar.

She could still smell the blood.

"Riley, what in God's name-"

Realizing only then that Ash's arms were around her, that he had undoubtedly pulled her away from the altar, she fought for the strength to get her feet under her and turn to face him. She was grateful when his hands continued to grip her arms.

She thought she would have collapsed onto the ground otherwise.

"What did I do?" she asked, the thick, rusty sound of her own voice unfamiliar to her.

"You went white as a sheet," he said grimly, frowning down at her. "And cried out something I couldn't quite catch. By the time I got over here, you were shaking and-"

He lifted one hand and touched her cheek, showing her the wetness on the tips of his fingers. "-crying."

"Oh." She stared at the evidence of her tears. "I wonder why I did that. I was horrified, but-"

"Horrified by what? Riley, what the hell happened?"

She looked up at him, wishing she didn't feel so weak and drained, so utterly bewildered. "I-saw what happened here. At least, I think I did."

"The murder?"

"Yeah. Except…" She fought to think clearly. "Except it wasn't right. He hadn't been tortured beforehand. And blood couldn't have splashed the flat altar stone because there was something lying across it, covering it almost completely. And there was too much noise, someone would have heard. And it was…wrong. What they said, what they did. Wrong in too many ways."

"Riley, are you telling me you had some kind of vision?"

"I think so. I've never had one before, not like that, but some of the others on the team have talked about them and-and I think that's what it was. But it was wrong, Ash. The details were wrong. The whole ceremony was…was like something you'd see in a horror movie."

He seemed to understand what she meant. "Over the top? Exaggerated?"

"In a way. As if someone who didn't really know what Satanism was imagined how it must be. Or knew and wanted to-to twist it into something truly evil."

"Maybe one of those fringe groups you mentioned earlier?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe. It's nothing I've ever heard of, I know that much. An actual human sacrifice is about as evil as you can get; add that to a weird ceremony that includes getting drenched in a dying man's blood while you screw in a coffin, and-"

"Screw in a-Jesus, Riley."

"Believe me, it looked as horrifying as it sounds. And from what I heard, I gather the purpose of the ritual was to draw power from the sacrifice and the sex."

"Power to do what?"

"I have no idea. But there has to be some reason behind it, some need for supernatural power."

"Same as with the arson? Attempts to harness elemental energy?"

"Yeah, and a hell of a lot of it. I can't imagine why someone would need so much power, but-" She felt herself slump a little, and thought her energy reserves must be really low.

"Riley-"

"I'm fine, Ash. I'll be-"

Riley sat up in bed with a gasp, her heart racing. She almost immediately recognized her bedroom, quiet and lit only by moonlight filtering through the blinds on the windows. A quick look showed her Ash sleeping peacefully beside her.

The clock on the nightstand said it was 5:30 in the morning.

Oh, Christ.

She slipped from the bed, finding her sleep-shirt on the floor and putting it on with an icy sense of déjà vu.

It couldn't be happening again.

Not again.

She went into the living room and found the remote to turn on the TV, her hands shaking so much that just pressing the right small buttons on the device was a challenge.

CNN confirmed her fears. It was Thursday.

She'd lost more than eighteen hours this time.