“You don’t need to stay in here,” he told me, voice low. I tore my gaze from the body, met his green-gold eyes.
“No.” I breathed deeply, took a few seconds to find my way back to a reasonably calm center. “No, I can handle it.” I released othersight and looked back at the body, this time focusing on the person and not the arcane trash suffusing her. Her face held a deceptively peaceful expression, though I knew there’d been nothing peaceful about her death. Her body had been thoroughly washed, her long black hair blow-dried and laid artistically over her shoulders with no trace of blood matting it. I saw now why Pellini had been so certain she hadn’t been killed here.
“She’s not someone off the streets,” I noted. The Symbol Man’s victims had been the sort of people who could disappear and wouldn’t be missed. This woman was in good physical condition, nails neat and short with a coating of pale polish, brows waxed, and with faint tan lines from a bikini.
Even without othersight, the sheer magnitude of the arcane residue remained a constant distraction. I easily sensed the dance of the potency on her body, rhythmic, enthralling. I moved toward her again, welcoming the increasing tingle in my sigils as a reminder of what was done to me, and to her.
Ryan remained at my side as I advanced. “No, not a street person, for sure.”
I glanced around to make absolutely sure no one else was in the trailer with us or within earshot. “The sigils aren’t the same,” I said, keeping my voice low.
Ryan knew what I meant. “I haven’t had a good look at yours, but I’m inclined to agree.” He gestured to where the sigils crept down her legs. “Hers are on more of her body, too.”
His voice sounded oddly distorted through the rising whir coming from the dead woman. Couldn’t he hear it? Like a piece of paper stuck in a fan, louder and louder. The rhythm of her sigil potency changed, strengthened, and I shifted to othersight to not miss a flicker of its fascinating, patterned beauty. I stepped over the curve of red chalk marking the circle, sucked in a breath as my scars, my sigils, began to pulse with fire, to match the cadence of hers.
Kara? A distant voice queried.
“Rowan,” I murmured, correcting him.
Something in my mind snapped like a winter twig. Rowan? No! I summoned every shred of my will, focused. Everything crystallized into stark clarity. Potency coalesced in ruby coils between the woman’s breasts, like a snake poised to strike. I gritted my teeth, tried to throw myself back and away from the trap. Pain like molten metal seared through my scars, but I couldn’t budge.
“Kara!” Ryan’s voice cut through the din like a chainsaw through cardboard. The whir crescendoed to a thundercrack, and the world flashed red as something hit me hard from the side, drove me into the wall and knocked the wind out of me.
Ryan. His arms supported me, kept me from going down. Full understanding of what happened slammed through me, and I couldn’t be sure if the fire that writhed through my scars came from the heat of my fury or the effects of the failed trap. Breathing heavily, I shoved away from the wall and Ryan. Kara. Kara. I’m Kara, I thought fiercely—and without a shred of doubt, to my utter relief.
“Everything okay in there?” a voice called out from beyond the open doors.
Zack stepped to the edge of the trailer and stood casually, silhouetted against the daylight beyond. “Yep!” he said, tone amused and buoyant. “Just us clumsy Feds tripping over our own feet.”
“A fucking Kara-trap,” I growled, jaw tight, eyes locked on the body. An attempt to activate Rhyzkahl’s contained virus. “That poor woman suffered and died for what? So the Mraztur can get their way? Can get their tool?” My breath came in harsh rasps. “The assholes still want to use me. It’s not happening.” I finally pygahed, allowed the anger to dull a bit, though it did nothing to ease the pain in my scars. I dragged my eyes away from the body, looked up. Ryan stood in front of me, face set in determination and his eyes full of worry. “You saved my ass,” I said. “You okay?”
“I feel like I touched a live wire, but I’m good,” he said, concern easing somewhat.
I pygahed again so I could deal with people who didn’t know about demons and lords and nefarious otherworldly plots. “Okay, let’s finish this and get out of here.” I willed myself to focus on the mundane aspects, moved to the open door of the semi. “Pellini,” I called. “Can we turn her?”
“Let Baxter get his pics,” Pellini said, giving a jerk of his head at the tech. “Boudreaux and I need to see too.”
I stepped back as the lanky crime scene tech swung easily into the truck, followed by Pellini and scrawny Boudreaux.
“Already got my pics of all this,” the tech said with an easy smile. “Just waitin’ for y’all to finish your looksee.”
“We’ve lookseed the front,” I told him. “Now we want to looksee the rest of her.”
His smile didn’t flicker at my acerbic tone. “Not a prob! C’mon, detective,” he said to Boudreaux. “Turn the princess here so I can do my shots.”
Boudreaux and Zack turned the woman over and settled her onto her stomach. Zack gently pulled her hair aside, showing the sigils that spread over her upper arms, back and buttocks, and down her legs to her calves. Beautiful and horrible. And only the barest trace of arcane residue now. Everything had coalesced for the trap and then dissipated.
Zack gave me a nod, confirming that it was safe for me to approach. I hated to do it but I pulled on gloves, crouched and carefully eased her legs apart, then shone a flashlight at her vagina and anus. “God damn it,” I breathed. The plastic of the flashlight creaked as my grip spasmed on it. It was hideously obvious she’d been raped and sodomized.
I closed her legs, stood. Pellini cursed under his breath, and when I glanced back at him I saw his eyes on the body, outrage and anger naked on his face.
“I will see these motherfuckers fry,” he muttered to himself. I gave him a slight nod. That was one thing we could totally agree on.
Pellini’s phone rang. He looked at the ID and headed out again.
My gaze skimmed over her as I looked beyond the sigils. No ligature marks. Bruising at her wrists, thighs, and breasts. Held down, not tied for the rape. Immobilized with either drugs or arcane power for the sigil cuts. No obvious sign of what killed her. Possibly blood loss, though I had a feeling the cause of death was arcane in nature.
Exhaling, I stepped back, tugged my gloves off. “Thanks for letting us have a look,” I told Boudreaux.
“Sure thing,” he said. “You’ll tell me or Pellini if you get anything, right?” His voice held an almost desperate edge. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He knew in his gut that this was way out of their league.
“Damn straight I will,” I replied with a firm nod as I lied through my teeth. Sorry, Boudreaux, but I don’t think you want most of what I might get.
I stepped out into the sunlight and hopped down from the trailer bed, feeling as if darkness sloughed away from me as I left the confines of the semi. Ryan and Zack climbed down, each giving sighs of relief that echoed my sentiments.
I disposed of my gloves in a biohazard bag, then walked over to Pellini as he tucked his phone away. “Thought we had an ID, but it didn’t pan out,” he told me then nodded toward the trailer. “Related to the Symbol Man?”
“It might be a copycat,” I told him honestly, “but I think you have a brand new flavor of sicko on your hands.”
“Lovely,” he muttered.