Willie’s signal indicated she had found something of interest in the derelict building. Sam thought the structure looked unsafe, teetering on the edge of disintegration. That made it just like all of its neighbors. The whole neighborhood seemed to be decaying.
It had been several hours since they’d lost Glover at the edge of the sleazy East End. Sam had held little hope of picking up the druid’s trail, but Estios had insisted they sweep as much territory as possible. Expecting little, Sam had agreed. They all felt the pressure of time.
Willie signaled again, just after Sam had conducted his own astral reconnaissance of the building. The whole place had felt uncomfortable, and he hadn’t been able to get a good look at several areas; the psychic static was too strong. It was as if something terrible had happened within, something…he really wanted to say evil, but it sounded silly and he had no desire to be laughed at by Estios. He tried to shrug off the sense of foreboding. At least he hadn’t seen any living opponents. Willie’s signal confirmed that there was no one there.
Estios went in first. The tall elf was arrogant and unlikable, but he had courage. In this benighted part of the plex, there was always the possibility of a trap. Some thrill seeker might set one for kicks, or some paranoid squatter might be defending his stash. Astral senses couldn’t detect mechanical or electronic mechanisms with any reliability, and Willie’s sensors weren’t infallible.
O’Connor remained with Sam and Hart. The division of forces was uneven, but had become standard procedure. The suspicious Estios always wanted one of his party with Hart at all times. Sam suspected O’Connor had orders to kill Hart if anything went wrong.
Estios waved from the doorway. Trying to appear casual, Sam and the others crossed the street one by one and disappeared into the building. Estios led them to the basement, toward the place where the psychic static had been the worst. Before they reached it, Sam smelled the stink of blood and feces.
The room was an abattoir. In characteristically opportunistic fashion, the sprawl’s scavengers had gone to work. Already the remains of the butchers’ handiwork were being spread around. Sam counted five skulls, three orks and two norms. Chittering and squalling at the interruption, the scavengers fled.
Willie’s drone sat in one corner. A red telltale winked several times in greeting as its camera eye swiveled to track the motion of their entrance. The upper ring of blades just under the comm dome began to whirl, buzzing as they did. The lower ring began its counter-rotation. As soon as both sets achieved speed, the drone lifted from the floor and folded its five-part landing gear together into a cone. The half-meter-long cylinder, with its twin whirring necklaces of distortion, flitted through a window. Willie would be standing sentry while they investigated.
There were little more to the remains than skeletons. Organs were strewn and dragged around, but there was a noticeable absence of meat. A close look showed that the bones had been cut and there were scrape marks where flesh had been razored away.
“This is a Bone Boy kill,” Estios said.
“What’s this got to do with the druids?” Sam asked.
No one answered. Sam stood in the midst of the carnage. He could do no more than stare. He had heard of the Bone Boy killing spree on the media, but it had seemed no more than the everyday violence associated with the overcrowded sprawls. Even the most sensational reports didn’t match the reality of standing in the place where helpless victims had died. He understood the psychic static now; his astral senses had been defeated by the pain and suffering of the dead. His stomach roiled.
“No, Hart,” O’Connor said.
Sam turned to see what she was forbidding Hart to do and found O’Connor staring at the skeleton. Hart and Estios were in conference by a doorway that led deeper into the building. O’Connor had been talking to herself.
She had said no heart.
O’Connor looked up to find him staring perplexedly. “There’s no sign of the hearts of any of the victims.”
Among all the organic debris, Sam wondered how she could be sure. “It could have been eaten.”
“The other organs have been gnawed. Some have been almost completely devoured, but there’s enough left to identify them. I don’t see any heart tissue at all. The killers must have taken their victims’ hearts along with the flesh.”
“Then, it’s not ghouls,” Sam said.
“Not their pattern,” O’Connor confirmed. “They might have taken the meat, but if they were organ eaters, they would have taken the rest as well.”
“The kills were physical, but there is residual spell energy,” Estios said.
“It isn’t random violence,” Hart said.
“Did you seriously think for a minute it was?” Estios asked sneeringly.
Sam didn’t like it when Estios talked to Hart that way. His anger leaked heat into his voice. “Why couldn’t it be? There are senseless killings every day. The sprawls are full of crazies and people who would kill for any one of a thousand reasons, including the thrill. Some of them even use magic.”
“Why, then?” Hart asked Estios as if Sam had never spoken.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Estios replied. “It’s a ritual killing.”
“The Hidden Circle?” Sam didn’t really want an affirmative answer.
“Insufficient data.” Hart’s brow furrowed as she thought, “The timing of the Bone Boy spree is suggestive. Our having lost Glover even more so. If he had help, there would have been more than enough time for this atrocity.”
“There was help. Marks in the blood show at least a half-dozen individuals,” O’Connor said.
Sam was distracted from the continuing evaluation of the evidence by the receiver tucked in his ear. Its insistent tone told him Willie had spotted somebody. The coding of the tone said police.
“Badges coming,” he told the others nervously. “We’d better get out of here.
Estios cast a spell to clean their shoes and garments as they left the massacre room. They would leave no tracks of blood.
It was only a short walk to a tube station, where they buried their trail in the crush of humanity.