At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(90)

Before long, the cidiots would be everywhere.

He typed in EARTH LAW and was rewarded with a series of articles arguing that Nature with a capital N should be allowed to defend itself in a court of law, or at least its proxies should. That ecosystems, like humans, have the right to exist without being violated or abused.

He tried Diana once again—still voice mail—then dug Christina’s business card out of his pocket and dialed her number. When she answered, he thanked her again for her help.

“I just have one more question,” he said. Then added, “At least for the moment.”

“Fire away, Evan. It’s nice to hear your voice again so soon.”

His neck grew hot. Stay focused. Ask her out for a drink when this is all over. “Did the Vikings ever sacrifice directly to the earth?”

“Hmm. Good question. But I’d have to say no. Not in the way, say, the Greeks sacrificed to their earth deity, Gaea. The Vikings didn’t see the Earth herself as an entity.”

“I see.” Nothing like having a bucket of ice water dumped on his theory.

“But,” she continued, “they certainly sacrificed to those spirits we talked about. Many of the so-called Others were spirits of the land.”

He perked up. “Meaning if you inflict some kind of injury against the land, it might be considered an insult against these spirits?”

“Oh, it most definitely would. And the spirits would not be happy about it.”

He stood and went to a window. He stepped onto the footstool he kept on the floor in front of the panes. Outside, the clouds had bunched themselves in dark clots. A few flakes of snow drifted down. His breath misted the glass.

“What does it look like when the spirits are unhappy?” he asked.

“Any number of things could happen. It depends on the spirit. Tidal waves, tornadoes, ice storms. A great many people could be swept up by the spirit’s fury. Or it could be far more personal. A direct attack against the sinner.”

“What would happen to them?”

“A lone man or woman who offended the spirits? God help them. Death, most likely. And not an easy one.”





CHAPTER 28


Addie held her hands steady as she studied the photographs. Five pictures showed the torture that James Talfour had suffered before his death. Five more revealed Desser’s agony.

The full-color glossies had been in a manila envelope the evidence tech found partially concealed beneath the driver’s seat. Written on the envelope in red marker was her name.

To: Detective Bisset

From: The Viking Poet

Feeling faint, she looked around the parking lot as if Raven would suddenly leap out from behind a car. She scrutinized the crowd gathered behind the police tape. No Raven. No tattooed Viking reenactors. Just a mix of curious Black and Asian teenagers along with a few alarmed white middle-aged women who were probably wondering what criminal had decided to stake out territory in the parking lot of their neighborhood store.

Still, she felt watched.

More than that. She felt naked and exposed.

Rustle up some anger, Addie, she told herself. You are so going to take this guy down.

Patrick was suddenly at her elbow. “The hell is that?” he asked, pointing at the envelope she held in her gloved fingers. “He wrote your name on there?”

She summoned a smile. “Feeling left out?”

But he stared at her, aghast.

“We’ll need to get our digital specialists to look at these,” she said. “Maybe they can pull something out of the background.”

Almost instantly, Patrick’s horror turned to rage at the implied threat against his partner. She watched it happen, as if someone had changed the set design in the middle of a play.

And just as suddenly, with a boil and snap in her blood, there it was: her own anger.

“We’ll find something in these photos, partner,” Patrick growled. “Not to worry. We’re gonna get this guy. I promise you that.”

“Damn right we are,” she agreed.

She waited until Patrick and Criver had put on gloves, then passed the photos over to them. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. Evan.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Patrick.

She felt his eyes on her as she stripped off her gloves and walked away, chin held high, heading toward his car. She let the phone keep buzzing until she’d slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. Then she answered with, “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Check your email.”

“What is it?”

“Locations. Take a look and call me back. I’m still working.”

“Wait—”

But he was gone.

She scrolled through her email in-box until she found Evan’s note. She read it with growing excitement, then opened the attachments and scanned the series of maps. She dug around in Patrick’s car until she found his spiral-bound city map stuffed into a pocket behind the front seat and spread it open on her lap. Then she rang Evan.

When he answered, she said, “Tell me what I’m looking at.”

“Diana put together a map of the bog body sites in England. Right now, all I have is a theory, but I believe the killer is doing a one-to-one mapping of his victims and intended victims with those graves in England,” he told her. “The maps I sent are my best guesses, so don’t read too much into them. But it’s a place to start. Or rather, places to start.”