I stared around, then cleared my throat. “So … either the new homeowners are highly opposed to redecoration, or the cult member still lives here.”
Aaron didn’t disagree. Not even Justin could argue.
Though there were windows and overhead doors visible from the outside, on the inside, the garage was an unbroken room. False walls made of plywood sheets covered the other access points, and everything had been painted scarlet—the walls, ceiling, and floor. In the middle of the room, a silver circle ten-feet across gleamed, mimicking a summoning circle but without the Arcane and demonic markings.
A wooden lectern sat at the head of the room, a three-armed candelabra on top of it. Behind the pedestal, a ruby-red tapestry hung from a pole, its center embroidered with the symbol of the cult: a three-pronged crown inside a circle.
Withdrawing my phone, I opened the camera and began snapping photos. A nervous sweat broke out over the back of my neck as I walked to the lectern and stopped behind it. As I aimed my camera across the room, I realized why I felt such disquiet.
A single worshipper might set up their own personal shrine, even going so far as to decorate it. But why include a lectern? Was it an ugly fill-in for an altar, or was this where the cult’s leader stood to address his followers?
Except the Enright cult had been wiped out. There couldn’t be a leader or followers, not anymore.
As my heart thumped sickeningly, my gaze dropped, scanning the lectern for something to contradict that terrifying assessment. Beneath its flat top was a shallow gap for storing papers or notes, and I hesitantly slipped my fingers into the darkness.
They brushed against paper, and I pulled out a cheap flip calendar, the kind realtors mailed out every Christmas. The cover had been ripped off, revealing January’s page. A different day each week was circled in red.
“Aaron?” I called uncertainly, my stare locked on the calendar. “What’s the date today?”
“January twenty-fourth.”
On the calendar, today’s date was circled in red.
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t like this idea,” I muttered.
Aaron, Justin, Blake, and I stood shoulder to shoulder, staring up a wooden ladder. We’d found the hatch in the garage ceiling—not immediately noticeable since it was painted the same scarlet as everything else—that led to a shoddily constructed storage area made of plywood screwed to the ceiling beams.
It was the only hiding spot in the garage.
“Do you have a better idea of how to spy on whatever plans the cult has for today?” Aaron asked.
“No.” I wrinkled my nose. “But whatever that circled date on the calendar means, it might not be happening here.”
“Which is why only two of us will go up there, and the other two will watch the house.”
My gaze flicked to Aaron, and he surreptitiously tilted his head toward Blake. He didn’t need to explain the covert indication. I knew what it meant: he didn’t trust Blake and wanted to be the one partnered with the terramage. And since it didn’t make sense to shut two powerful mages in an attic, that meant Justin and I were getting ceiling-spy duty.
Yay.
“Justin and I can take the attic, then,” I declared like it was entirely my idea. “Better that you and Blake stay mobile.”
The terramage arched his eyebrows, then nodded.
It took only a few minutes to prepare, then I was climbing the ladder, a flashlight in one hand. The beam shone across dancing dust motes as my head rose into the storage area. Mr. Cultist had an excessive collection of cardboard boxes stacked all around the hatch, leaving a small square of empty space in the center.
I crawled through half an inch of dust, my nerves jumping with each creak of the ceiling under my weight. Lying on my stomach, I pressed my face to a crack between sheets of plywood. Surprisingly, I had an unobstructed view of the lectern and silver circle.
“Looks good,” I said. “I can see the room pretty w—”
I broke off with a sneeze. Ugh, the dust.
The ceiling creaked as Justin climbed up after me. As he scooted along the plywood, I spied Aaron walking into the middle of the circle. He peered up at us.
“Dust is sifting down,” he observed, “but I can’t see anything. As long as you two don’t move, no one will have any idea.”
“Got it.”
He tugged a black earpiece with a curly cord from his pocket and plugged it into his phone’s headphone jack. “Mic check.”
I got mine out—already plugged in—and hooked it over my ear. “Test.”
“Test,” he replied. “Seems good. We’re heading for the trees now. I’ll let you know when the homeowner returns or if anyone else shows up.”
“We’ll be here,” I said unenthusiastically.
He grinned up at the ceiling, then walked out of view. His and Blake’s footsteps clunked against the concrete floor, then the door shut, plunging the room below into darkness. A rattle as Aaron relocked the deadbolt. Silence.
I glanced at Justin, stretched out on his stomach beside me so our weight wouldn’t bow the plywood, then flipped off my flashlight. Pitch blackness swamped us.
“Well, this is fun.”
“It is, actually.” Justin’s voice floated out of the darkness. “Kind of. I’ve never done a stakeout before.”
“Never?”
“It’s more of a detective thing. I’m just a beat cop.”
“Oh.” I flipped the mic off on my earpiece so Aaron wouldn’t have to listen to our chatter, then pillowed my chin on my folded arms. “I’ve experienced a lot of new things in the last eight months.”
“Like spying on cults?”
“Not specifically. Lots of other stuff, though.” I rolled my eyes up in thought. “Rescued Aaron when a guild with a vendetta took him hostage. Saved a teen girl from an evil sorceress. Stopped a rogue guild from enslaving a powerful fae. Hunted the demon that got loose in Vancouver. Battled mutant werewolves …” My nose scrunched. “Jeez. Now that I’m listing it off, that’s a lot of crazy shit.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Justin muttered. “Except ‘dangerous’ as well as ‘crazy.’ Also … mutant werewolves? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” I twitched my shoulders in a shrug he couldn’t see. “I guess it was all pretty dangerous, but I was with Aaron, Kai, and Ezra for most of it, and they’re top-notch mages and experienced bounty hunters.”
The plywood creaked as he shifted. “I don’t mean this in an offensive way, but if they’re so good, why did they need you in those dangerous situations?”
“Well, they …” A cold, sinking feeling dragged at my gut. “They didn’t need me … it was more that I was involved. But I was useful!” I added defensively. “I helped.”
He was quiet, and I bit back another round of defensive explanations for why I’d been part of all those crazy/dangerous situations. Going into detail would mean revealing I’d gotten myself into most of that trouble.
“So …” he murmured after a moment, “compared to evil sorceresses, rogue guilds, and mutant werewolves, how dangerous is this?”