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The Scorpio Murders: Front Material/Prologue |
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"What is it?" Damien asked. "Bell, book, and candle?" "More than that." Puck's fingers fluttered over the gathered objects upon the makeshift altar. He listed them all from memory. "Bell, book, athame, censer, chalice, pentacle, wand, and candles. What you might call a real Satanic setup." "So who put it here?" The singer frowned at the dank surroundings, at the painted walls with their grotesque skulls and red streaks. "This doesn't look like Scorpio's work. There's no trademark M." "No, there isn't," Puck replied, "and don't expect to find one. Because this isn't Scorpio we're dealing with." "I suppose it has something to do with your friends," Kincaid murmured from the doorway behind them. Damien turned to look at him; Kincaid only looked back, then nodded meaningfully in Puck's direction. "He's right," Puck said, picking up the grimoire and hefting it. "I remember these things. I've used them myself." "You?" Damien exclaimed. "You mean these are the tools of those guys who beat you up? But I thought there were only three of them--" Puck nodded, opening and paging through the grimoire. He glanced at the altar. "They may have joined forces sometime recently," he said. "And it looks like they're getting ready for a ceremony." Damien swallowed; the dank little room suddenly seemed very cramped and claustrophobic. "What kind of ceremony?" he managed to ask, though his voice was very faint. Puck looked back at him, his cool gray-green eyes glittering in the dim light, as if he should already know. "A ceremony of sacrifice," he replied. "Human sacrifice." OFFICER JONES DIDN'T LIKE THE SIGHT THAT GREETED HIM. "Damn," he muttered as he pulled his squad car off of the highway and onto the shoulder, pulling up beside a slew of people milling around the woods. He rarely every got to go on patrol himself, and now that he did, something bad-looking [sic] had to come up. He unbuckled and climbed out, casting a glance over the hood. Several of the people looked up at him but did nothing except talk amongst themselves. There was already an ambulance and a Highway Patrol vehicle parked nearby, and he wondered just what the vague message he'd heard over the radio had meant. He pushed his way through the crowd--"Okay, okay, come on, everybody clear out, okay? There's nothing here to see"--and finally reached the top of the slope leading down into a leaf-littered ravine. He stopped, seeing the state trooper and several paramedics, tiny below. Also seeing the partially-covered [sic] body between them. "Shit," he breathed. When he reached the bottom of the ravine the trooper was kneeling over the body, picking up one of the hands--it was long and slender, looking very frail in his grasp--and looking it over. He glanced up at Officer Jones as he approached, the wet leaves scrunching beneath his shoes, and stood. The police officer stopped, recognizing him. "Oh," he said, unable to hide the catch in his voice. "It's you." The trooper shrugged. "I haven't changed anytime recently." He nodded at the body. "You hear anything about this?" "No," Officer Jones said, casting a look at the body. It was a young woman, lying facedown, her ruddy blond hair spilled out over her head and neck. It looked as if she were wearing no shirt, but he couldn't be sure from the leaves covering her. "I was wondering what was going on...Jeez. This is what you found?" The trooper nodded. "Been dead a day or two. Those two people up there--" nodding at a couple in jogging clothes standing atop the hill, with a German shepherd between them "--found her earlier today. She was obviously strangled. I made a call and was waiting for anybody to show up. I guess you're the first." "Yeah, well, I guess I am," Jones replied, not too pleased. He shuddered at the thought of a murder--a murder, right here in Cheboygan. Yes, it had happened before, several times, but that had been years ago! "Did you move her any?" "Not yet. You can help me." "Thanks," he muttered, following the trooper back to the body. They both stooped this time, and Officer Jones watched while the trooper took her by the shoulder and rolled her over. The officer and paramedics, as well as the people up on the hill, backed away with a collective gasp; even the trooper's expression changed slightly. The woman's shirt--or sweater--or whatever--was missing; her top was naked, and carved into her chest was a bloody five-pointed star. "Jeez!" Jones exclaimed again, turning away and clenching his eyes shut. [Per Note: I had really wanted Jones to say, "Jesus Christ!"--but refused to write this, as it seemed too sacrilegious. I also believe I meant "squinching his eyes shut."] "Do you recognize her?" the trooper asked. "Hell, no! I've never seen her before in my life!" "Well, you obviously recognize the marking." Jones forced himself to turn back, to look at the trooper to make sure he wasn't jesting. The trooper's icy blue eyes met his and locked. Jones averted his gaze and shrugged, letting out his breath in one big whoosh. "Yeah, I recognize that," he admitted. "But--but I thought this was all over. Years ago." In response, the trooper let go of the girl's shoulder, and she slumped forward, onto her face again. "Apparently not," he replied softly. "Not by a long shot." |