Surprises around every corner, whether in a dark alley or sliding across the desk at work.
Three young thugs, more stupid than thug, headed in her direction as she walked toward the government building along the sidewalk in the early morning.
It looked like they had stayed up all night and were probably heading home.
They eyed her dress and made assumptions. Annoying assumptions. Knowing the way humans and their television exhibited women dressed like her, she guessed they thought she was one of those girls who dressed up and went to comic-cons or other conventions for fans of movies and TV.
Valerie KuriaKen took a left and stepped into the alley to allow the young guys to either pass or make a poor decision and follow her.
A voice spoke in her mind. Five dollars says they come in here.
“No bet,” she whispered. “And what money are you betting with?”
She stopped talking because the three guys had made a poor decision.
Sixty seconds later, she left the groaning young men behind her. “Next time, figure out who you are going to touch before you do any touching,” she called over her shoulder. At the corner of the sidewalk and the alley, she tossed a final suggestion. “In fact, just ask, and don’t be a dick.”
It was a shame. If the guy in the middle had been polite, she wouldn’t have minded a conversation with him.
Chapter One
FBI offices were not the place for paranormal introductions. Hell, nowhere was a good place to learn about witches that can destroy cities.
Well, not unless it was “one of those days.” And for Benjamin Carter, it was going to be one of those days. It was a shame no one gave Ben a signal about the day to come.
Unless the “signal” was a discussion with his boss about his milk challenge. If that was the case, Ben would later decide it was a shitty signal.
He stifled a yawn. A cell phone rang in the office in front of him. He hesitated before the slightly open door to see if his superior would answer it. He didn’t want to interrupt.
Nope.
Behind the desk, Samuel Patterson ignored the ringing phone and continued to type. His beefy fingers flew across the keyboard, rapid-fire.
Now feeling in the clear, Ben tentatively pushed the door open and poked his head in. “Now an okay time, boss?” He looked around to make sure no one else was there.
“Come on in, Benny.” Sam waved at him but didn’t look away from his computer as he spoke.
Must be working on something important, Ben thought. Figures.
Ben plopped down in one of the scratchy office chairs near the desk. As usual, towering stacks of books, folders, and notebooks covered the surface. Sam was one of the agents at Salem’s FBI Headquarters who’d never taken to paper-free workflows, and his desk was a flagrant example of his outdated ways.
Ben surveyed his boss. Looks more tired than usual, he thought as he took in Sam’s deeply creased face and the saggy pockets beneath his eyes.
In other offices where Ben had been stationed since starting with the Bureau, he’d been wary of informal chit-chat. But with Sam, it was the norm. The expectation.
Sam actually encouraged it.
Ben took a moment and stretched his legs. “You got something big on the line, there, boss?”
Sam’s fingers didn’t stop as he lifted his gaze and nodded. When he looked back at the screen, it was with concern. His brow creased as he pecked one final key, then sat back in his office seat, shoulder blades kissing the worn leather.
“You could say that.” He tented his fingertips together.
Ben nodded. It wasn’t a surprise. Seemed like all the good, high-stakes cases went to the higher-ups at this office. He tended to get stuck with the administrative stuff and worse. He had to pay his dues before getting a good case, or so he was told.
Frequently.
“Good weekend?” Sam wanted to know. “How’d the bust go at the farm?”
Ben chuckled. “You make it sound like I got some action. All I did was close down Myron Pickram’s illegal milk business.” He cringed at the memory.
Sam’s gray eyes sparkled with subtle amusement. For the moment, whatever had concerned him on the computer seemed forgotten. “There are laws. Milk’s gotta be pasteurized before it hits the shelves.”
“Sure, but really?” Ben eyed his boss. “Rolling up on him with backup didn’t seem justified.”
“Ha. I can imagine the surprise on his face. He cooperated?”
“He was as polite as can be. The whole thing was wrapped up by Saturday morning, nine o’clock,” Ben admitted.
“How about the rest of your weekend? Everything good on the home front?”
Ben’s brow furrowed. Home these days was a barren, sterile-feeling apartment, moving boxes still lining the walls.
He’d unpack one of these days.
“Eh. Okay, I guess. I’ve been catching up on that docuseries, the new one about paranormal encounters. Fascinating stuff. The one I watched last night was about this old hotel out west. There’s been a string of documented ghost sightings, and the interesting thing is that all the guests—”
Sam cut him off with a raised palm. “You can tell me about it another time, Benny. Right now, we’ve got a more important challenge on the table.” He pursed his lips as if considering whether his decision was right before he shrugged and plowed ahead. “I might have something more stimulating than dealing with milk shenanigans if you’re up for it.”
For the first time since waking up that morning, a zing of energy jolted through Ben. It was better than the cup of java he’d picked up on the way to the office.
“Yeah? Don’t tease me, Sam.”
Sam chuckled. “You young ones are always so eager. You get to my age? You want those sleepy office days. Close that door, would you? I’d do it myself if my knees were less creaky today.”
Ben raked his fingers through his hair as he crossed the room. With a push, he secured the door, making sure he heard the click, then returned to his seat.
He pulled out his phone so he was ready to take notes. He wished he’d brought his laptop. Maybe this wouldn’t be a humdrum debrief on the Pickram Farm Case after all.
He leaned forward, fingertips over his cell with a notes app pulled up.
“What’ve you got?” Ben asked.
“The Boston office has been on me since ten last night about a series of hospital visits they’re seeing at various clinics across the city. Bunch of people, same symptoms, checked in to ERs, raised that good old red flag. I investigated it myself, though it wasn’t easy accessing records. Been up all night, mostly talking with hospital administrators.” He scrubbed his hand over his face.
That explains the bags under his eyes, Ben reasoned.
“My wife wasn’t too impressed with all the calls I made,” Sam added with a shake of his head. “I need to get a soundproof office at home or start making calls in my car. She barely slept, and lord knows I didn’t.”
One of the perks of being single, Ben supposed. No partner to get upset about noises at night. Not that I’d mind much. If I had a woman in bed next to me, I’d want her to get her beauty sleep.
His thoughts veered toward his ex, Shaina, back in Houston. They split when he got the orders to move to Massachusetts. Of course. Ben had learned early in his career with the Bureau that he wasn’t made for long-distance relationships. And seeing as he got transferred so often, it made dating tough.
Not only tough. Impossible.
Sam tapped on his desk to get Ben’s attention, then slid a packet of papers to him. “Anyway, for the most part, I got cooperation. Especially since I hinted we’d get a warrant out and have a look through the dang records if they didn’t feel like working with us. A lot speedier. The big fish at the Boston office passed this situation our way since all the patients hail from Salem. And… You’ll see. All their symptoms have to do with a warehouse out on Dow Road.”
Ben grabbed and flipped through the packet. He skimmed the detailed information swiftly and picked up on a pattern within minutes. “These are all accounts of visual hallucinations.”
“Well, that’s what it looks like.” Sam nodded.
Ben felt his superior’s eyes on him. It was usual for Sam to fall silent like this. He sensed he was supposed to see more from the papers in his hand.
His gaze slid down the text a second time. “All told, eleven different accounts of a green glow in the sky. I see at least, uh, six mentions of shifting geometric patterns. That’s more than a coincidence.”
“What do you make of it?” Sam wanted to know.
“Well…” Ben considered his options. Actually voice his opinion, which mostly didn’t go well when it came to these things, or stick with a conservative approach.
“Go on, say it,” Sam prompted. “I know you’ve got thoughts up there in that noggin. I’m not gonna laugh.”
“You might.” Others have.
“Nope, I won’t.” Sam shifted back in his seat and kept his gaze on Ben. “This is only between us. I asked you in here for a reason, Benny. All those shows you watch, the documentaries, the books I know you keep stashed away in your desk…” He gestured toward the door and the cubicles beyond.
Still, Ben was wary.
He’d been tempted to discuss his fascination with the supernatural before, and it never, ever went well.
As a kid, he was ridiculed.
As an adult, the consequences were often more severe. It was difficult to keep track of the number of times he’d been transferred out of a field office for voicing his unorthodox views. I almost had time to unpack this time. He swallowed hard.
Sam’s fingers drummed the desk. “Okay, then. Never mind. I thought you might have an opinion on the matter. I guess I was wrong. I’ll let you get back to your—”
“Wait.” Ben’s mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. Only the dread of another case similar to the Pickram Farm yawn-fest made him decide to speak up. “I—I do have a few thoughts.”
Sam nodded his approval and settled back, rolling his hand in a circle to encourage him. “And?”
“Visual hallucinations, if they’re actual hallucinations, vary significantly from patient to patient. Given that all these people reported seeing the same thing, I think they did see a green glow in the sky, geometric patterns included. The thing is, people see these things and immediately start to doubt. They call doctors, they want MRIs. The more logical answer is that the light was there. The patterns were there.”
“And?”
The gears turned in Ben’s mind. They groaned and creaked with lack of use, the settled dust giving way to a well-oiled machine he hadn’t used in a long time. It felt good to think like this.
He glanced at the list at the bottom of the page. It was this list that intrigued him the most. “I assume these are your notes.”
“Correct,” Sam told him.
“Well, this list…” He tapped the drawings. “Every item is related to witch sigils and symbology. You’ve listed a bunch of the big hitters.” He looked down. “We have air, earth, water, fire, the pentagram, the hexagram, hell, even the Eye of Ra, Hecate’s Wheel, and the Daisy Wheel. So, I think this light people saw is related to witchcraft.”
“Is that so?”
Ben was too excited to stop there, though part of him wanted to. This was dangerous territory. Grounds for getting transferred at best, booted from the Bureau at worst. “Since they originated at a warehouse, I’m guessing something is going on in that building. It’d be good to figure out who owns it.”
“Already have,” Sam answered. “It’s back further in those notes. A gentleman by the name of Dr. Michael Chen purchased it two years ago.”
“Then I’m guessing he’s involved. He’s connected to these reported sightings. More than connected, I’d say. More likely, he’s the cause of the green light.”
Sam pursed his lips but had nothing, so he asked, “How so?”
“I don’t know.” Ben placed the packet on Sam’s desk. “Wish I had an answer, boss, but I don’t.”
Sam tapped his tented fingers together.
Ben clenched his jaw. I did it again. I said too much. No one wanted to hear this stuff, even someone as cool as Sam.
“I’ll get back to my desk, then,” he stated stiffly.
“No, you won’t. Sit.” Sam’s tired voice had the gruff notes of a man who had done this so long his skin had turned to leather and held him up on bad days simply because it could.
Shit. Ben remained in his seat. Is this it? he wondered. Did I finally say the wrong thing to the wrong person on the wrong day?
He slouched, waiting for the worst.
Sam remained quiet as he reached carefully into his desk drawer. He pulled out a photograph, looked at it for a long second, then turned it around and handed it to Ben.
Ben sensed it was something important. Secretive, even.
He peered at the image, instantly curious. In the photo, Sam appeared younger, with no wrinkles on his wide face and dark hair, unlike the silver he now sported. The young Sam crouched near a symbol etched into the earth.
Ben recognized it. Hecate’s Wheel. Beside the carving was a gruesome blood stain as large as a body.
He’d seen enough violence and brutality with the agency. Yet, for some reason, this image made him avert his gaze.
He lowered the photograph, looked out the window, and cleared his throat. Outside, the May morning sun blazed. Buds were popping out on the tree branches, and the snow had finally given way to green grass.
“I was there,” Sam spoke up, his tone hushed, somber. “You recognized the scene, right? I figure, given your interests…”
Ben nodded.
Of course he’d read about the Sisters of Hecate. The cult had been a dark joke of the last century, a bunch of “loony” women in the backwoods of Vermont. Mass media had plenty to say about their wacky, “dangerously misguided” rituals, and none of it was good. For the most part, the big-name newspapers directed the narrative with headlines like Seven Cult Members Arrested for Mistreatment of Kidnapped Woman.
“I was the first on the scene,” Sam admitted carefully. “They didn’t know I was there. Came in unannounced. You know how it goes. And, what I saw—” He paused and looked out the window. “Let’s say there’s no way to explain it given our current, accepted view of the world.”
“Our current view leaves a lot to be desired, boss.” Ben eyed the photograph, “But back then, it was worse.”
Sam nodded. “That scene… Whew. Oh, boy. I’ll never forget it. First time I ever learned about SHVAs. I saw one in action that day. Only for a moment, but damn. Most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. I still have nightmares.”
“Sheva’s?” Ben had never heard the term.
“Spelled SHVA, but we call them Sheva. Special kinda witches, those. I hope I never have to see one again. A Sheva Witch is powerful, mystical, and lethal as all get-out. A real force of destruction. I learned later that they can level cities, incite wars, stir hurricanes into action. Nothing can stop ‘em. The one I saw, I still can’t really wrap my head around her.”
Sam appeared lost in time. His skin had paled to ash white. He scrubbed a hand down his face, then shook his head as if trying to clear away a haunting memory.
“Look.” He returned his gaze to Ben. “I need someone like you, Benny. Someone who’s not walled off to the possibility of this stuff.”
Ben wanted—no, needed to make damn sure he understood his boss. “You’re talking about the supernatural.”
Sam nodded. “Yes. Magic. Paranormal phenomenon. All of it. Not in theory but in actuality. I need to know if you’re open to that.”
Are you kidding me? Ben couldn’t hide a smile. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole career.”
Sam nodded, clearly pleased. He swiveled his chair and squinted at his computer screen. “I’ll only tell you what you need to know for now because we’re short on time. I requested a consult with a Diplomata Pacem. Last night was such a frenzy, talking with all the damn hospitals, I haven’t had a chance to confirm the meeting.”
Though Ben knew his boss was now intent on figuring out the details of the upcoming meeting, he couldn’t contain his curiosity.
Finally, I’m getting a glimpse into the world that fascinates me.
“Diplomata Pacem? Is that what you said?”
Still distracted, Sam waved his hand toward Ben in a throwaway gesture. “They’re friendly enough. Cooperative as all get-out. Their one aim is to help us human folks get through difficult times in a peaceful manner. I reached out, seeing as this warehouse issue intersects with their turf.”
Their turf.
Witches.
Ben’s excitement built.
“You mean, one of them is coming here for a meeting?”
Something tells me that Valerie and Ben are going to be meeting very soon. Find out on July 31st, when
