19

Nuallan ordered the chief and Hank to remove Aaron’s body from the cold bag and carry him into an empty exam room. Liz and I took up space along the wall and watched. There was no way in hell any one of us was leaving her alone with Aaron.

On the floor Nuallan drew a circle, but this one was not of salt but of ashes. “Ashes from a corpse,” Liz leaned over and whispered as Nuallan held the container and slowly poured out her circle. I didn’t ask how she knew that, just gritted my teeth and tried to remain emotionless.

Nuallan stepped inside the circle and made a seven-pointed star. Once she was done, she set the urn outside of the circle and then turned to Hank and the chief, motioning them to place Aaron’s body in the center. After they’d finished and stepped back to the wall, Nuallan faced us with a smug grin and satisfaction lighting her eyes.

I knew then that something terrible was about to happen, that Nuallan Gow was about to exact her price.

“To halt the Dark Mother from taking back what is hers, one must offer a trade in return. A sacrifice.” Nuallan pulled a ritual dagger from her bag and twirled it expertly in one hand. In her cocktail dress, heels, and perfectly coiffed chignon, the image was disconcerting. “Someone here must give of themselves. A body part will do nicely.” The knife twirled around and around. “A toe. A finger. An ear.” Her gaze met mine. “A tongue, perhaps?”

I cocked my head and shot her my best you’re-an-asshole look.

Hank stepped forward. “I’ll do it.” He bent over and began to remove his shoe. “What’s one toe, right?”

I blinked. My chest felt funny as I stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and awe. He’d already given up something of great value to him; I wasn’t about to let him give anything else.

“What?” he asked me, glancing up, hair falling into his line of sight.

“Nothing. I’ll do it. I owe him.”

“Yes, Charlie will do it,” Nuallan said, cutting off Hank’s argument. “How noble. I knew you would. What’s it going to be, Detective? The Dark Mother has a special love for tongues and nipples.”

My blood pressure rose, and my pulse began a slow, heavy drum in my ears. I drew in a deep breath, my face growing hot. Nuallan cocked her head, watching me intently. “Better yet … how about your hair?”

“My hair is not a body part.”

“A sacrifice does not always have to be in blood. It is very much a part of you. She will accept it because it’s something you love.”

That’s it? We went from body parts to my hair? My eyes narrowed, and I had an epiphany that Nuallan wasn’t doing this for the goddess she worshipped, but for herself. To shame me somehow, to take something she thought I held dear, to make me feel less me in some way.

Fuck her. I stepped into the circle, pulled out the band, and shook out my long hair, letting the wavy mahogany length fall. I did love my hair, but she could shave me bald. I didn’t care.

Her hand shot out as she stepped aside. She grabbed my hair, wound it around her fist, and yanked me back against her, baring my throat. A sinking feeling swept through my gut. The others instantly tensed, eyes widening in realization.

And then The Bitch cut my throat.

The sting of parting flesh followed the path of the razor-sharp dagger. I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I was, and that, coupled with her quick reflexes, left me momentarily stunned.

Hank and the chief leapt forward, but as soon as they hit the circle a wall of protection flew up, blocking their path. A wall of smut. They banged against it repeatedly. The chief fired a few nitro rounds and Hank summoned his power, placing his palms on the smut and sending arcs of muted blue power into the barrier, but nothing broke a Master Crafter’s circle.

The scent of warm iron wafted to my nose as blood slid down my neck and over my collarbone. Nuallan used the dagger to roughly saw off my hair. As the last few strands were cut, she angled me around and shoved me toward Aaron’s body.

I landed hard, dazed, chest-to-chest with the corpse of my friend as a wave of nausea bloomed in my belly. Nuallan knelt down beside us. “Turns out I didn’t even need this.” She held up my large clump of hair before dropping it in a heap beside me. “Don’t move. Stay on him and bleed.”

My eyelids fluttered, brain scrambling out of the dumbfounded haze her actions had put me in. I was still breathing and not choking on my blood. I coughed, feeling a small trickle of it sliding down my throat. She hadn’t pressed deep enough.

Nuallan rummaged through her bag and produced a short beige candle, marbled with thin red lines. “This is a candle made from human tallow. Liposuction is such a wonderful thing, much more convenient than butchering and flaying to get to the fat.”

The candle lit with the snap of her finger. She made a nest on the floor with my hair, set the lit candle in the center, then picked up the ritual dagger and gave a quick slice to the pad of her middle finger, milking the black blood—she definitely wasn’t human—and letting it drop randomly on the candle and my hair. Her red lips moved, and the chant that came from her throat was soft and unintelligible.

She flung her hand, flicking her blood all over me, Aaron, and the circle. “Sit up,” she ordered, eyes taking on a faint grayish glow.

The smut in the circle grew denser, choking me as she drew on the dark power of Charbydon and filtered it through her corrupted soul. The power was indifferent, as was the natural energy found in Elysia. Both could be drawn here, and both could be manipulated and used in black crafting. Charbydon’s energy, however, seemed to lend itself better to the dark arts, easier to bend to the will of the user, especially if that user was natively Charbydon.

Nuallan Gow, with her black blood and glowing eyes, was not human. What the hell was she? And what the hell had we gotten ourselves into?

My hands were covered in the sticky pool of my own blood—I was always amazed at how quickly the life-giving substance turned cold. I gathered my strength and pushed against Aaron’s chest, sliding off him. I sat up near his hip, facing Nuallan as she sat on the other side.

“Take my hands,” she commanded, reaching over the body, not looking, mouth continuing to move in her soft chant. “Now!”

I grabbed her hands, my blood squishing between our palms, as she squeezed painfully. Her power leaked into me, creeping up my arms like millipedes hunting food. I shivered and swallowed, the movement causing the sting and ache in my neck wound to hurt fresh.

Her chant grew faster, more demanding. A thin cloud of darkness formed from the link of our hands, spreading out over Aaron, enveloping him and then easing down, settling over him like a shroud.

A wave of dizziness flooded my brain and stole my vision. I swayed, knowing I was losing too much blood. I struggled to stay conscious, blinking hard a few times to force the fog away, my vision returning as I lifted my heavy eyelids.

Nuallan’s face shifted like a TV losing its satellite signal. I squinted, unsure of what I was seeing. Her human face shifted again, this time a fraction longer and giving me just a brief glimpse of another face—sallow skin, graying in the dips and shadows of sharp bone structure. Bald. Long, pointy ears. Thin, pale lips drawn back from a mouth filled with two tiny rows of sharp teeth on her upper and lower jaw. Eyes that were round and as black as pitch. She looked like a skull with skin and teeth.

A ghoul.

Nuallan Gow was a ghoul.

A moment later, the hideous face was gone, and the Nuallan I knew and hated stared back at me. She dropped my hands, snaked a finger out, and dragged it through the wound in my neck before I had a chance to prevent it. I gasped at the sudden pain as she with-drew her finger, and with my fresh, warm blood, drew a complex symbol on Aaron’s forehead—one I’d never seen before.