Alexandra Sokoloff - Book of Shadows

Garrett paced the polished plank floor impatiently until Selena looked up at him and said, “Detective, perhaps you would be more comfortable in a chair.”

Garrett sat, and watched them, seven million conflicting thoughts in his brain. It’s easy enough to stage, he argued with himself. Cabarrus knew about the grimoire, and why wouldn’t she have told Fox about it? There’s no mind reading going on, it’s simple con artist tricks.

And then he remembered the steel strength of the woman’s hand on his arm and the sizzle of electric shock when she—yes— read him.

At one point Tanith covered her face with her hands and the elder woman put her hand on her neck, comforting her. Garrett wanted to speak but felt rooted to his chair, felt like an intruder watching something intensely private.

After a long time they closed the book and sat down in the chairs with the lion-paw hand rests. Selena looked drained, her skin fragile as paper.

“Well?” Garrett demanded, looking at Tanith.

“He was doing rituals to summon the demon Choronzon.”

Garrett tensed. “So it was Moncrief. He killed them.”

Tanith said, “No,” immediately, and Selena said simultaneously, “I don’t think so.”

Garrett looked from one to the other, focused on Tanith. “You said that was what the killer is doing.”

Her voice was tightly controlled. “What Jason was doing was on a very elementary level. It is dangerous, and dangerously stupid, but there is no indication he was considering anything involving sacrifice.”

Garrett bristled. “I saw the spell for the ‘Hand of Glory.’ And Erin’s left hand was missing.”

Selena frowned, looked to Tanith. Tanith shook her head impatiently. “The Hand of Glory is a spell that shows up commonly online. These kids who get involved in ritual magic for thrills… they collect spells like that.”

“Oh, really, now?” Garrett lashed out. “That’s convenient. Do you have some proof? Because a spell using a corpse’s left hand and a dead girl missing her left hand is a pretty great match to me.”

Selena clucked her tongue. “But if this young man kept such an incriminating spell in his grimoire, so openly, why would he not have kept spells of the actual sacrifice, of rituals using sacrifice?” she asked reasonably. She waved a hand over the book. “There’s nothing like that here. Nothing indicating any intention to perform human sacrifice.”

Garrett remembered that he had gone all through the book, that one long night, and studied all the sketches, and it was true that there was nothing drawn that resembled human sacrifice, and no spell titles that contained the word “sacrifice.” The Hand of Glory had been the most ominous of the drawings by far.

Selena nodded, as if he had agreed with her. “You see, a grimoire, like a Book of Shadows, is as illuminating as a diary, really. The magician makes very detailed notes of his or her preparation for a major ritual—the cleansing, the fasting, the gathering of instruments, the position of the moon and tide. Come, Detective, and look.” She lifted a graceful hand, beckoning him to her side, and Garrett rose, crossed to her. She pulled the book toward her and looked up at him. “We know the sacrifices were performed on Sabbats, do we not? Erin Carmody’s murder was on the night of Mabon, the fall equinox, September twenty-one. The killing of that other poor girl was on August first, Lammas, or Lughnasadh. But look.”

She opened the book and turned pages to the month of June. “The entries for June are spells of money, success, fame.” She turned pages and stopped on the sketch of the hand with the candle. “Here, you have the Hand of Glory spell. A loathsome thing. But it is only after that, in August, that Choronzon’s name and sigils begin to appear. A dangerous path, make no mistake.” She turned more pages. “But then in September… ah, this is telling, I think. The spells are for attraction. Love.” She turned more pages, to where the book went blank. “And after September nine… nothing.”

She looked up from the book, into Garrett’s face. “There is no indication here that he was preparing for major rituals. Moreover, there is no mention of Choronzon in September at all.”

Garrett stared at her, trying to process what she was telling him.

“This boy has not been circumspect in his magical practice. He wrote down what he was doing. According to these entries, the obsession with Choronzon was waning, not increasing.”

And maybe he just knew enough not to write about it, Garrett thought, and Selena smiled. “You think he was dissembling. Perhaps. But my experience is that a nineteen-year-old boy is not a paragon of control, including in matters of deception.” Her eyes twinkled at him, and Garrett was uncomfortably reminded of his biggest doubt he’d had about the case from the beginning: that a nineteen-year-old could be capable of the kind of precision and control that he felt in this killer.

“Ah, you do understand,” Selena said.

“So what else do you see in this—diary?” Garrett said roughly, resisting the pull to trust her.

Her twinkle disappeared. “A very troubled boy indeed.”

“Stupid,” Tanith muttered. “Stupid. Reckless. Arrogant.”

Selena sighed. “Yes. All of that. And more.” She glanced obliquely at Tanith. “Children—people—who feel powerless will seek power wherever they can find it. Even a power that tricks and traps and enslaves. And this particular darkness is very aware of the weakness of vulnerable people.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Garrett said, even though on some level, he did.

“This is how he got caught up in all this. This is why he’s in such peril,” Tanith said impatiently. “You open a door like that with thoughtless experimenting and anything can come through. He invited the demon in, and it used him for its own purposes.”

The words shot a chill through Garrett. He suddenly remembered his encounter with Jason: that stretched-tight face and guttural voice, the layers of babbling voices on the tape of the interview… “You’re saying Moncrief is possessed?” He stared from one woman to the other.

“Not possessed… but infected, perhaps.” Selena’s eyes were clouded. “Evil is a contagion.”

“It used him,” Tanith said. “Found Erin through him. Even framed him.”

“The demon framed him,” Garrett repeated incredulously.

“Through its human instrument,” Tanith answered. “So he would not be interrupted before the time came. Jason is being used as a pawn. A distraction.”

Garrett felt prickles of doubt, like sandpaper scraping on his skin. All this time we’ve had Jason Moncrief locked up, McKenna’s been out there, completely under the radar…

He walked in a circle on the Persian rug, and laughed. “If you believe Moncrief is infected with a demon, what would make you think he didn’t kill these girls? Or at least was part of it with”—he almost said McKenna—“someone else’s help?”

“The same thing that makes you think it,” Selena said calmly. “The truth that you see. The fact that he didn’t.”

Garrett stopped his frenzied circling and looked at her.

Behind him, Tanith exploded, with raw nerves. “Talk to him. The point is, talk to Jason. He’s communed with the demon. That’s your most direct link.”

“Exactly,” Selena affirmed. “That’s your most direct link. Go.” She looked from Garrett to Tanith. “Both of you. Go now.”

Garrett stared at the older woman. “Take her into Suffolk County? There’s a warrant out for her arrest.”

“Then if you’re caught, you were simply bringing her in, weren’t you?” Serena said placidly.