Nobody asked how she knew. Not only because there were only two other guests staying the week, both parties of two, but because all of them were staring down at the paper like they’d felt the same chill.
It was them. The witch hunters. Here in this inn, somewhere over their heads.
“Well,” Bronagh said, “let’s go see who we’re dealing with.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
DAYNA
It was the room from her vision.
The main difference was, of course, that the beds and the chair were empty. The sheets on the beds were thrown back in a careless tangle, and the room was filled with drifts of laundry and papers scattered across every available surface. Dayna wandered in before she really thought about what she was doing, and Bronagh hissed at her. Something about checking for traps.
She hung back and looked around while the Callighans moved past her, muttering spells under their breath, hands in the air. The hotel room didn’t make her feel the way she’d thought it would. Now that she was here in person it didn’t seem all that threatening.
“All right, come in, it should be fine now.” Brenna waved at them, and Dayna glanced over at Bronagh, who was still muttering and tracing a finger in the air as if she were admonishing any dark magic that might be hiding in the corners and then up at the black marks and swirls on the walls. They were done in a smudgy, shaky hand, as if whoever had traced them had been in a hurry.
“It’s fine,” Faye said waspishly. “Hardly expert-level work.”
Dayna wandered in, staring down at the papers strewn on the desk. She picked one up, and then dropped it as if it burned her hand. The symbol on the paper was not well drawn, the lines shaky and heavy-handed, but she recognized it as the Butcher’s symbol.
There were no names on the wallpaper, though. That had simply been a part of…what? Whatever was going on in the man’s head?
The room seemed to have passed inspection, for Bronagh had finally paused in front of a cupboard in the wall, head cocked to one side. As she stared, the cupboard door drifted open a bit at a time, as if entirely of its own volition. Faulty hinges or a warped door, perhaps, though Dayna thought it probably had more to do with Bronagh’s stern gaze. You tended to do what you were supposed to when the oldest Callighan looked at you that way, even if you were only a cupboard door.
Behind the door was a heavy iron safe. Bronagh sank to her knees with a grunt. She did not touch it, just let her hands glide over the door, as if she were warming her palms on some sort of heat radiating from the surface.
“Spelled,” she muttered. “Nasty, too.”
Yemi shifted uneasily, placing herself in front of Dayna and Reagan.
“Ugly stuff,” Bronagh said, and she waved Faye and Brenna over. “We’ll need to concentrate. Reagan, watch the hallway.”
Reagan didn’t argue. She seemed almost relieved to shuffle out of the room and plant herself as sentry at the door, and Yemi followed, the two of them speaking in low whispers.
While the three older women broke into the safe, Dayna drifted around the rest of the room. The symbol that had appeared at the crime scenes repeated itself on many of the papers. Like one of the brothers had drawn it over and over in the heat of obsession.
She bit her lip, suddenly uneasy. It reminded her a little too closely of her mother’s chaotic scribbles on the page at the library.
When she glanced at Meiner, she was frowning thoughtfully at the twisted sheets on the bed. Then she turned, stooping to pick through the nearest pile of clothing.
“Have these people never used a dresser drawer?” Dayna wrinkled her nose. “Uh, why are you touching their manky clothes?”
Meiner didn’t look up. “Ticket stubs, parking slips, anything to give us a clue where they’ve gone.”
It was smart, and as much as Dayna’s skin crawled, she forced herself to join Meiner in pawing through the dirty laundry. She found nothing in the pockets of a sweater, and a pair of grass-stained jeans proved empty.
She saw Meiner pick up what looked like a silver snuff box on the nightstand by the bed, flinch, and then put it back in place, face twisted in disgust.
Fishing in a pair of torn corduroys earned her a slip of white paper. She unfolded it, finding a receipt for gas from an area she recognized. It seemed the witch hunters had visited the Cliffs of Moher. Dayna frowned, puzzled. Why visit a tourist spot in their hunt for witches? Maybe they’d been following someone?
Meiner made a noise of triumph, straightening up with a white slip in her hand. “They went to Glendalough.”
Dayna waved her own receipt. “Moher.”
Meiner shook her head, brows creased. “What the hell?”
Another slip revealed a pamphlet about the tombs at Newgrange and a receipt from somewhere in Cork. “I don’t get it.” Dayna let the receipt flutter to the floor. “They went sightseeing between murders?”
“Sacred sights,” Brenna said from her crouched position by the safe, and then went quiet as Bronagh snapped at her to concentrate, unless she wished to lose a hand. Dayna took a step away from the safe.
Brenna was right though; the tickets and receipts were from locations that all had some link to the gods.
From the safe cupboard there came a sharp click, and Bronagh made a noise of disgust. “Nasty magic, but it fades fast. Give it a moment.”
There was a second of loaded silence while they all stood in front of the safe, and Dayna tried to peer past the Callighans. There was something flat on the floor of the safe. Her stomach fluttered.
It was the right shape for a book.
Let it be the book.
Finally Bronagh reached in and pulled out a heavy brown leather journal. Etched into the cover was Carman’s symbol.
For a moment Bronagh only stood there staring down at the book. Her face looked stricken. Then she shook herself, tapping the cover with one finger. “There’s powerful magic in this.”
Dayna couldn’t seem to stop herself from reaching for it. Something about it drew her almost helplessly, a magnetic pull she felt deep in her guts. This time there was no wild dog to stop her. She needed to touch it.
Her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around the spine. Bronagh blinked, but she didn’t protest when Dayna drew the book away. In fact, Dayna could feel the older woman studying her with interest while she cradled the book in her arms. She didn’t care; all she could do was stare at it.
It was so strangely familiar that an ache had started in her chest. It was like something in her had been missing, a memory, a stretch of time she had not known was gone. She badly wanted to sit down and pore over the pages, to rediscover what she’d forgotten.
Dayna smoothed one hand over the cover, and as she did she was hit by the unshakable certainty that she’d done this before. This cover, the symbol on it, smooth and flat under the tips of her fingers, was familiar. She’d held it before.
Just as fast as it had come, the feeling was gone, and Dayna stared wide-eyed at the book, feeling a little dizzy. The book was magic, obviously. It was some kind of spell. Simply another of those strange déjà vu surges.
She’d never held this book before. Had never even seen it before the joint reading.
“Let’s go.” Bronagh straightened up, her lined features filled with satisfaction. “I think we’ve some reading to do, but they’ll be back in…” She checked her wrist, or maybe the back of her hand, Dayna wasn’t sure. There was no watch. “They’ll be back soon.” She frowned then, suddenly uncertain, eyes searching the room. “Yes, they’ve gone to do something.” She squinted at the doorway and then blinked when Reagan appeared suddenly, Yemi hovering behind her, face anxious.