We hurried to the front wall of the building. The light beneath the doors was so vague that I suspected it came from somewhere deep within. The doors were ancient, and would wake the dead if we tried to open them, so I motioned for us to go around the side. There’d be a side door somewhere, which most likely would lead into an office.

Bingo.

After taking positions on either side of the door, Hank reached for the knob. I held my breath as it turned, wincing at the slight click as the latch separated from its nest.

We waited.

Nothing. Hank entered. I held my Hefty with both hands against my chest, my back flat against the wall as a weak shaft of light spilled over the threshold. I ducked inside and slid up next to my partner, shoulders touching, and scanned the area. Long L-shaped counter, behind which was a dusty desk straight out of the seventies and a few metal shelving units.

It started so faintly. The softest whisper as though carried on a meandering current. Like a mother soothing a sleepy child. “You hear that?”

“No.” He frowned. “What is it?”

“Whispering.” I returned his frown. If anyone should hear it first, it should’ve been Hank. “You sure you don’t hear it?”

His brow lifted in question, but I could swear I heard it. I couldn’t sense life or anything else to suggest a presence in the building, so I focused on the path of light along the side of a makeshift wall, which separated offices from the main warehouse floor. I led the way toward the flickering yellow light that spilled from an open door far down the wall.

It was also the source of the feminine murmuring still floating inside of my head like an unhurried sigh. The scent of candle wax and sage was strong as we approached.

I did a low duck into the room. Cavernous space. Candles on the floor. Flames made a play of light and shadows over the walls and floor. I flexed my hand on my weapon, drew in a preparatory breath, and then slipped inside the room, Hank right behind me.

Against the far wall sat a massive, rectangular structure on a wooden pallet surrounded on all three sides by pillar candles placed on the floor. Wax had pooled on the concrete, linking the candles together.

Hank stopped, gazing down. I followed his move and found myself staring at an enormous seal drawn in the floor. “Solomon’s seal,” he said.

We inched closer, weapons at the ready, until we stood in front of what appeared to be an enormous sarcophagus made of a single block of agate. It was smooth and free of design. The lid was at least five inches thick and completely flush with the walls of the sarcophagus. Only the rim of the lid bore any marks.

They were the same patterns on the warehouse walls, and the same odd script I kept seeing beneath my skin.

“It’s a coffin,” Hank whispered.

I eyed the enormous agate box. “You don’t think that’s …”

“Solomon? No, I don’t. If there’s a body in there, it could be an old priest of Solomon’s, a jinn, or it could hold a very powerful object. Agate is said to mask power.”

“Or it could hold the star Llyran has been going on about.”

It was obvious the thing hadn’t been opened. It was perfectly aligned. No crowbar marks of any kind. Not a single scratch that I could see. But then again, some beings had the power to move things without the use of tools. The stone was incredible, the undulating waves of honey, flaxen, and tawny yellows ringed with jagged cream lines and flecks that sparkled in the light.

“Tennin has to be involved,” I said tightly. “Llyran has the ring. Tennin has this … whatever the hell it is.”

“Tennin is a jinn. His association with Solomon is only natural if what Cerise said is true … Question is, are they working together?”

“Well, if they’re not, Tennin’s got his hand in it, playing the situation somehow.” And he sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to leave his property unprotected like this … unless it was a set-up or he wanted us to find it.

A bang echoed from somewhere in the warehouse.

“Shit!” I whispered, spinning around as my eyes quickly scanned the room. At the far end was a long wall of closets. We hurried over and ducked in the open side as a cloaked figure swept into the room and immediately went to the stone sarcophagus.

Please don’t let him sense us. Please.

I did my best to envision my usual black curtain sliding over my aura as I watched the figure kneel down and bow his hooded head. Then, nothing. We stayed like that for at least five minutes before Hank nudged my arm. We needed to find out who was beneath that cloak. I turned sideways and eased through the space. Once out, I squared my shoulders, took a few quick breaths, and then marched purposefully across the floor.

“Put your hands on the back of your head,” I said a few feet behind the figure. The head slowly lifted and then stilled. I repeated my request.

The figure stood, rising to a height similar to my own. I felt Hank’s presence behind me, and knew he’d have his Nitro-gun pulled.

“I’m going to ask one more time …”

The figure didn’t listen and instead turned, the face shadowed in the darkness of the hood. Slim bare hands reached up and pulled the hood back.

“Bryn?”

I squeezed my eyelids closed and then opened them again.

My sister?!

Her features seemed glazed over as though just waking from a dream. The moment realization hit her, she went white and tears sprung to her confused eyes, sliding down both cheeks.

“Bryn,” I repeated, grabbing her arm, “what the hell are you doing here?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t know.”

During the drive back to the station, Bryn wouldn’t speak. She just cried softly as I sat there cycling through fear, shock, betrayal, concern. I finally gave up trying to talk to her, instead shooting glances in the rearview mirror to check on her, to see if that was truly my sister sitting back there.

Once we were back at Station One and in our office, I helped Bryn remove the cloak. Her aura, oddly enough, was completely blank. Totally unreadable. She sat down in the chair that Hank had pulled from the many extras littering our space, put her hands in her lap, and waited as I leaned my hip on the edge of my desk.

“Guess I’ll start,” I finally said. “Who the hell are you and what have you done to my sister?”

Bryn frowned. “Ha ha, Charlie.”

“Okay, then explain to me what you were doing in a warehouse that Grigori Tennin owns, worshipping some sarcophagus.”

She squirmed in the chair and her cheeks flushed. “I told you, I don’t know. I don’t even know how I got there.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, in complete disbelief. At her words. At the fact that she was here. What the hell had happened to her? “You really don’t know.”

“No, okay? I don’t. I told you already, but in case you weren’t listening: I don’t remember going there. I don’t remember putting on this stupid cloak. And I don’t remember kneeling down at some stone box. Get it? I. Don’t. Remember.”

I let my eyelids flutter closed. I counted to three. “Did you go to the support group meeting this morning? Do you remember that?”

“Yes. I did. We all talked afterward, had coffee and Krispy Kremes, and then I left. I don’t remember anything after that.”

“What about when you were in the warehouse, in front of the sarcophagus?” Hank said. “Anything? Even emotions will help.”

Bryn bit her bottom lip, her brows scrunched together. “I don’t know, I felt … relieved … impatient … wanting to see her.”

“See who?” I asked.

Bryn blinked. “What?”

“You said ‘her.’ You wanted to see her.”

“Oh.” Bryn’s face twisted in confusion and she rubbed both hands down her face, leaving her palms over her eyes for a moment before dropping them in her lap. “I don’t know. The person inside the tomb, I guess.” She suddenly threw her hands in the air. “Don’t ask me. I don’t even know why I said that.”