“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Norwood asked. Taylor ignored her.

“Susan. Can you write it? Can you write his name down?”

“No. I can’t betray him. He’ll kill me.” She singsonged the rhyme again.

“I can’t believe this,” Mrs. Norwood muttered. She reached over, grabbed Susan’s hands from her face and slapped her. ‘Stop being like that this instant and tell the lieutenant who this Raven is. Right now.”

Taylor was around the table in a heartbeat, got Mrs. Norwood to her feet. “Ma’am, that’s not necessary. Perhaps you and Mr. Norwood would care to step outside while I finish Susan’s interrogation.” She wasn’t giving them a choice, shot Miles Rose a hard stare. He rose and patted Mrs. Norwood on the arm.

“It might be best. I’ll stay, I won’t let them hurt her.” They didn’t listen, were staring at their daughter as if she were a stranger.

“She was involved in our boy’s death?” Voice soft, Mr. Norwood was still processing, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy seeking water.

Her mother was yelling now. “That’s not possible. Susan, tell them right now. Tell them you weren’t involved.”

The girl straightened in her chair. ‘“I wasn’t involved in the murder of my brother, Lieutenant. He wasn’t supposed to be a part of this.”

“Holy Jesus, you do know something about it. Why, Susan? Why?” Her mother was getting overwrought. Taylor didn’t want her hitting the girl again; that simple action shed quite a bit of light on Susan’s home life. Taylor slipped a hand under the mother’s elbow, touched Mr. Norwood on the shoulder.

“Best let me take it from here. Why don’t y’all step out into the hall for a breath of air?”

It took both Miles and Taylor to get them out of the room. Sobbing, Mrs. Norwood allowed her husband to put his arm around her, still staring trancelike at his daughter.

When the door closed, Taylor looked back to the girl. She unfurled the parchment that Ariadne had drawn, put the picture on the table. Susan stared at it, eyes wide.

“Is this Raven?” Taylor asked.

Susan didn’t say anything, just nodded.

Taylor rolled the paper back into a tube.

“Tell me everything,” she commanded.

Raven drove the Rat back to Fane’s house. He turned onto her street and saw the maelstrom-vehicles, uniformed officers walking in and out, even someone with a dog. Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Where was Fane? Where was she?

He texted her, desperation making his hands shake so hard that he couldn’t get his thumbs on the keys properly.

She didn’t answer.

Ok, Azrcel, hast thou forsaken me already?

He slammed on the brakes, put the car in Reverse and shot back up onto Hobbs. What to do? What to do?

The light turned red at the intersection of Hobbs and Estes-he was stuck. He took a moment and looked inside, feeling for the tendrils of the souls of his followers. He found none. He was abandoned. All the tenuous threads to his coven had been broken. A heartbreaking sense of loneliness crashed through his body, leaving him breathless with the pain of knowledge. He was alone. Oh, what had he done wrong? The spells were right, the actions just. Why was this happening?

“Why?’ he screamed, smashing his hands on the steering wheel.

They wouldn’t talk, he was sure of that, but he needed to run, just in case.

He’d been running too much lately.

He turned into the driveway of his house and rushed inside, gathered all of his material goods-his Book of Shadows, his portable altar. His laptop, stuffed into his book bag. A change of clothes and his cloak, his makeup bag. His athame, slipped into a sheath of soft leather. The tickets to Los Angeles. There was still hope.

He went downstairs, aware that he was breathing fast and hard, like he’d been running for miles. Panic. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart, then entered the cool, drafty basement.

The smell had dissipated, the freshly poured concrete thin but solid underfoot. He walked over them, blatant disrespect showering down with each step. The bastards. This was all their fault.

He knew the combination on the lock to the safe. He turned the dial to the right numbers, smiled when he heard the thank that indicated the safe was unlocked. He opened it, reached in, helping himself to the provisions. The metal weapons clanged in his bag. He tossed in as many rounds as he could? then swung the door shut on the empty safe.

Fury, fright, loneliness, all rushed into his mind. He felt the rage begin to build, turned and struck the cinderblock wall. Again, and again, until his knuckles bled, then he turned his hand and pounded his fist against the cement. A red haze covered his eyes as he fought the intractable object. He didn’t know how long it lasted, but the release of pent-up anger helped; as the blood dripped from his fist, he could see clearly again.

He glanced at the floor, the new cement dark against the old. He couldn’t take the chance of them coming after him.

A canister of gasoline stood quietly in the corner. Raven’s eyes fell on it and he smiled. How fitting. That’s what he needed to do.

He took his bags upstairs, lugging the heavy one over his shoulder. He loaded it all into his car, then went back into the house. The gasoline, just enough for a lawn mower date on a given Saturday afternoon, splashed merrily against the walls, the stink welcome in his nose. It was time to shed the chrysalis once and for all.

He took a cigarette from the pack of Camels that had sat on the counter for the past three weeks, the lighter, too. He was careful not to inhale-he would never sully the temple of his body with something so unnatural. A few puffs got the end glowing red, and he threw it down the stairs to the basement. There was nothing.

Frustrated? he took the lighter and a dish towel, walked halfway down the stairs, lit it and tossed it to the floor. A thin blue flame ran from the rag, and the fire caught, chuckling into a roar as it found the edges of the gasoline.

Raven rushed out of the house and jumped into the Rat, his worldly possessions lined up behind him, the stink of fear and regret washing away as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway for the last time. He glanced back, swore he saw a flame waving goodbye to him, and then the house was engulfed.

There was only one place where he would be safe tonight. He drove the car west, to his graveyard, to shelter under the oak. In the morning, he would show them all what it meant to be a God.

Ariadne woke with a start. The image from her dream was vivid against her closed lids. She let it coalesce for a moment, then sat up and began to draw. Bars. A uniform. The pale face of a young man, far from home. Sadness in his eyes.

Then a fire, a raging inferno took him, burning his soul. The boy appeared under an oak tree, in a graveyardf curled into a ball, weeping.

Ariadne knew^r where he was.

She laid back against the pillows, noted absently that it was deeply dark out. She’d been asleep for several hours.

After a few moments, she threw back the covers and went to her altar, intent. She must meditate on this vision. Find the right path to combat the evil.

If the police wouldn’t listen to her, she’d have to do this alone.

Fifty

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