Page 57 of Soulmarked
“But why here? Why Millbrook?” I studied the room again, trying to see the bigger picture. “This town's not random. Something about this location matters to them.”
Sean moved to the window, scanning the street with hunter's instincts. “Could be ley lines. Old towns like this, sometimes they're built on power points. My old man used to say the oldest churches were usually on top of something ancient, something the early settlers either feared or worshipped.”
“Or burial grounds, or ancient sites, or any number of things that could help them punch holes in reality.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “We're missing something. Something obvious.”
“So what's our next move? And please don't say more federal paperwork.”
I pulled out my phone, already texting Alana. “We need to dig deeper into this town's history. Property records, old newspapers, anything that might tell us why Phoenix is interested in Millbrook.”
“And the Guardian's research? That journal we found?”
“I know someone who can decode it. Someone who specializes in this kind of thing.”
Sean's eyebrows rose. “Another fed with unusual expertise?”
“Something like that.” I met his gaze steadily.
“You're full of surprises, aren't you?” He laughed softly. “Let me guess, some nerdy professor type who lives in their mother's basement surrounded by ancient texts?”
“We should go,” I said instead. “Before local PD gets curious about why we're still here.”
“Lead the way, fed. But I'm driving.” He dangled the keys with a grin. “And I get to pick the music.”
13
TOO LATE
Sterling's office held its usual ordered chaos. His files were arranged in precise stacks, artifacts that looked like modern art but carried deeper purpose, everything positioned with careful intent.
I sat across from his desk, trying not to fidget as he reviewed my report on the Sullivan case.
“Cut the crap and walk me through this again,” Sterling growled, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he studied the crime scene photos. “The body was found in his home office, completely drained of blood, but with no obvious entry wounds? You expect me to believe that?”
“That's correct, sir.” I kept my voice steady, professional despite his gruff approach. “Initial ME report suggests some kind of toxin might have been used to thin the blood, making extraction easier, but we're still waiting on full tox screens.”
It wasn't exactly a lie. There had been something in Sullivan's system, just not anything a normal lab would be able to identify. The real cause of death would never make it into an official report: ritual draining by something that fed on more than just blood.
Sterling looked up, his eyes hard as flint behind those reading glasses. “These photos...” he slapped the printouts with the back of his hand, “they're from after the scene was processed, correct? Your initial report mentioned electronic interference at the location. Convenient.”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded, relieved he'd noticed rather than caught me in a contradiction. “We couldn't get digital equipment to work properly at first. These were taken after the... phenomenon subsided. Roughly six hours post-discovery.”
“Interference just magically cleared up on its own, huh?” Sterling remarked, studying me with narrowed eyes. “Ain't that just perfect timing.”
I maintained eye contact, though my pulse quickened. “The tech team suggested it might have been related to electrical anomalies in the house's wiring. They documented similar cases where supernatural-appearing phenomena had mundane explanations.”
“Save it for someone who's buying,” Sterling set the photos aside with a harsh scrape across the desk. He'd been more than just my director over the years; he'd become the father figure I'd lost that snowy night so long ago. Which made lying to him feel like swallowing broken glass.
“And these symbols found under his desk? The ones that keep corrupting our photography equipment even in these later images? You got some fancy technical explanation for that too?”
My heart skipped, but I maintained my calm facade. “Likely related to whatever cult activity we've been tracking. The patterns match some known occult groups operating in the area.”
“You know what this reminds me of, boy?” He yanked off his glasses, polishing them with rough, impatient movements. “That case in Boston last year. The one with the 'ritual killings' thatturned out to be a cover for corporate espionage. You think I'm too old to see the connections?”
I nodded, grateful for the reasonable explanation. “I've been looking into Sullivan's work. His involvement in the Phoenix Pharmaceuticals merger might be relevant.”
“Might be?” Sterling's laugh was harsh and cold. “A high-level executive dies right before a major acquisition, his blood completely drained, and occult symbols carved into his furniture? That's not 'might be,' that's staring you in the damn face!”
The familiar rough tone twisted in my chest. How many times had he guided me through cases, helped shape me into the agent I'd become? And here I was, hiding the truth about what really lurked in our city's shadows.
