“Okay.”

“I was kind of into this stuff when I was in junior high. And high school.”

“You were a Goth?”

“Well, yeah, sort of. I got into it to avoid dealing with my sexuality. It was a great release, and there were a lot of other kids who were confused, as well. We did a bunch of experimenting, and I ended up with. ..quite an education.”

“Renn, you never cease to amaze me. So you can be our resident expert in all things occult?”

“T. guess. But do we have to tell everyone? I feel sort of dumb about it.”

“We’ll see how dumb you feel when you’ve helped close seven murders in one fell swoop, okay? Tell me more about the video. You said the pentacle was for protection. The victims certainly weren’t protected, so maybe they were meant for the killer’s security?”

“It’s much more than that. The fangs were real. Whoever starred in the film had them created, filed, lengthened with bonding agents to look that way. There are dentists that will do that kind of work. We should take a still shot around to some of the local cosmetic dentists and see if any of them recognize their handiwork. We’re dealing with someone who believes they are a vampire. Most are content to role-play-there are very few genuine sanguine vampires out there. Combine that with the symbols-this is someone who is trying out several different religions, trying to find their place.”

“Sanguine?”

“Blood drinking “

“Right. So this was a religious killing done by a blood-drinking vampire?” she asked, her sarcastic incredulity ringing though the car. Hell, she didn’t believe in vampires. Or witches, for that matter.

“No. It doesn’t feel like we have a true believer on our hands, someone who is against the pagan world and trying to make a point. This feels more like seeking to me. Someone searching for answers, for their place in the world. The symbols from the letter are old markings. A couple of them are obvious-the pentade again, the moon and sun represent the seasonal cycles of the earth, the cross and the thunderbolt. The inverted triangles and the circle with the cross inside, they may mean something else. It could be a bunch of drawings meant to look like pagan symbols, too. They may mean nothing to the killer, outside of looking interesting. You never know.”

“‘So if the symbols aren’t meant to portend evil, what the hell is this self-described vampire doing sending letters with them? And why does it say ‘we^’?”

“More than one, probably. A coven. If you could drop me at the library, I bet I could find their meanings quicker.”

She turned the ignition over, edged out onto Broadway. “Sure, but why not look online?”

“Well, I could, but I’ve got a hunch about these. Have you ever heard of the Strega?”

“No.”

“Stregheria, or Italian witchcraft. It’s an earth-based religion, pagan to its core, probably the oldest of the pagan religions that’s still practiced today. Nature is life, and magick, spelled M-A-G-I-C-K, is knowing how to control the inter-connectedness of all the natural forces of life. Strega look for ways to manipulate the earth through their worship. It’s a positive journey. They aren’t worshiping the devil or anything like that. No animal sacrifices to dark angels. Not anymore, or at least not publicly.”

She glanced over at him, saw he was trying to tease. It didn’t work, they were both too rattled. McKenzie continued, looking out the window.

“Some of these look suspiciously like Strega symbols. We’re talking mythology worship here, the polytheistic society. Earth, moon and stars, all represented by the different Gods and Goddesses.”

“Let me guess. You speak witch, too?” He shot her a look, saw she was teasing him back. “You’re funny. Didn’t you study the classics in college?”

“I took a class in mythology to satisfy one of the liberal arts credits I had to take, but that’s it. All I remember is Zeus and his lightning bolt and something about the Tower of Babel.”

“Poor you. It’s very cool stuff. All of the pagan religions are based in polytheistic pantheon worship. The Christians had to work within the confines of the pagan structure when they converted the masses. That’s why Catholicism has so many pagan rituals. The incense, the candles, the feast days, the saints. Mary correlates to the Goddess, Christ to the God. The saints are also a direct corollary to the pantheon of Gods and goddesses. They represent the same things, protection for specific parts of life-crops, welfare, war. It’s fascinating, actually.”

“Honey, we’re in the belt buckle of the Bible Belt. They didn’t teach us about that. It is interesting, but what does it have to do with this case? You think we’re dealing with pagans? I thought you said sanguine vampires.”

He sighed. T m thinking that there’s more to all of this than meets the eye, and I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“Well, I think we’re dealing with crazy people, people who took it upon themselves to kill seven children. I can get all romantic about the old ways too, but that’s not going to solve this case. I have to produce a suspect, and fast. Which means regular old police work instead of a history lesson.”

“Let me go do some research. The killer might be in an altered state, especially if he’s under the influence of drugs.

We can’t forget that someone shot the video, and that shakiness means handheld camera. We’re certainly dealing with more than one person.”

“Great. Just what we need.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe the killer in the video is the person Lincoln saw in the videotapes we took from the scenes last night. God. We have seven dead, one clinging to life, a letter from someone claiming to have killed them and a film of the whole event. Vampires and witches running amok in Nashville. This will definitely make the national news,” she muttered, turning onto Eighth Avenue, then onto Church.

She stopped in front of the Nashville Public Library. The soaring three-story stone edifice with its Roman columns seemed overwhelmingly prescient. Great, she was going to be seeing symbols in everything now.

A homeless man wandered near the car and glared at her, then turned back to his meandering shuffle, across to the park to join his cronies. The irony wasn’t lost on her-the library and its traditional representation of enlightenment and education being watched over by the forgotten people.

“Do you still want to go with me to Hillsboro? I can pick you up on the way.”

“Yeah. That sounds good. I’ll call you in a bit. This shouldn’t take me long.”

He climbed out of the car, already lost in his world. He disappeared through the ornate doors and she sighed. She didn’t know why, but seeing him walk away reminded her of Memphis. James “Memphis” Highs my the, the Viscount Dulsie, special liaison to the terrorism Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico for the Metropolitan Police at New Scotland Yard, to be precise.

Baldwin had seen Memphis in Quantico last week, moving into his new office. She hadn’t told Baldwin that Memphis had also been in touch with her.

Memphis had been good for the past few weeks. After their interlude in Florence, a kiss that stayed with her for days after, she’d received a few discreet texts and e-mails, nothing that couldn’t be shown to Baldwin if the question arose. But yesterday, before she’d been publicly reinstated, a bouquet of white roses had appeared on her desk. The card simply read, Love, M.

She’d gone through all of the appropriate emotions, and the not so appropriate ones, as well. Love, M, indeed. It would have been fine-nothing-really, if Baldwin hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t said anything, but clenched his jaw so tightly that the muscle jumped deep in the flesh. She hated Memphis for upsetting Baldwin, hated him for being so arrogant as to send her roses with a card that read, Love. But she was happy at the same time, and didn’t understand what that meant.