tingle.
Why would they dress a witch in black Nike high-tops?
CHAPTER 9
I he shoe was so incongruous that for an instant Thea thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her. It was the atmosphere here-the dim, echoing room with all its macabre booths. If she looked away and then looked back . . .
It was still there.
I should wait, I should call somebody. This could be something terrible. There are human authorities; I should at least wait for Eric. ...
Thea found herself moving in dreamlike, slow speed.
She took the edge of the oilcloth between finger and thumb and lifted it just an inch or so.
There was a leg attached to the shoe.
A blue-jeaned leg. Not part of a dummy. And another shoe.
Horror and adrenaline washed over Thea. And,
strangely , that helped. Her first thought was. It's a person and she may be hurt. She went into emergency mode, slamming a wall between herself and her fear.
Hang on, are you okay, just let me see . . .
She pulled the rest of the oilcloth off, tugging to get it free. She saw legs, a body, curled fingers clutching the sleeve of a black-dressed witch dummy . . .
Then she saw the head and she reeled backward, both hands pressed over her mouth. She'd only gotten a glimpse, but the picture was burned into her mind.
Blue-gray face, hideously swollen. Grotesquely bulging eyes. Tongue like a sausage protruding from between black lips . . .
Thea's knees gave out.
She'd seen the dead before. She'd been to leave-taking ceremonies where the mortal remains of witches were returned to the earth. But those had been natural deaths, and the corpses had been peaceful. While this ...
I think it was a boy. It had short hair and a flat chest. But there was no way to recognize the face. It was so distorted-didn't even look human. . . .
He died violently. May his spirit be released; not held here by the need for revenge. Oh, Sekhmet, lion-headed goddess of
Egypt
; Mistress of Death, Opener of Ways, Sekhmet Who Reduceth to Silence . . .
Her disjointed thoughts were interrupted as sunlight fanned into the room. At the door, Eric shouted, "I'm back!"
Thea stood up. Her legs wanted to cave again. She
opened her mouth, but what came out was a whisper. "Eric-"
He was hurrying toward her. "What's wrong? Thea?"
"It's somebody dead."
She saw his eyes widen in absolute disbelief-and then he looked past her. He took a step toward the thing on the floor, stopped, crouched, and stared for a second. Then he whirled back and grabbed her as if he could somehow protect her from what he'd seen. "Don't look at it ; don't look over there," he gasped. "Oh, God, it's bad." * "I know. I saw it." "It's bad; it's so bad. ..."
They were both holding on to each other. It was the only safety in this nightmare.
"He's dead. That guy is dead," Eric said. It was obvious, but Thea understood the need to babble. "There's nothing we can do for him. Oh, God, Thea, I think it's Kevin Imamura."
"Kevin?" Black dots danced in front of Thea's eyes. "No, it can't be-"
"I've seen him wearing that shirt before. And the hair . . . And he's on the committee to decorate this place. He must have been setting up that dummy." Thea's mind showed her a terrible picture. A crusted dark line on that bloated face-like the wound made by a slashing razor. And the soft black hair . . . Yes, it could have been Kevin. And that meant- Blaise.
"Come on," Eric was saying, his voice dazed and quenched. "We've got to tell the office."
Numbly, Thea let him guide her. Her mind was in another place.
Blaise. Did Blaise know . . . could Blaise have . . .
She didn't want to form the thought even to herself, but she couldn't help it.
... finally gone all the way? Not just spilled blood, but taken a life?
It was forbidden to witches. But the Harmans were part lamia, and vampires sometimes killed for power. Could Blaise have gone that far into the darkness?
After they got to the office, things happened fast, but Thea
Why would they dress a witch in black Nike high-tops?
CHAPTER 9
I he shoe was so incongruous that for an instant Thea thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her. It was the atmosphere here-the dim, echoing room with all its macabre booths. If she looked away and then looked back . . .
It was still there.
I should wait, I should call somebody. This could be something terrible. There are human authorities; I should at least wait for Eric. ...
Thea found herself moving in dreamlike, slow speed.
She took the edge of the oilcloth between finger and thumb and lifted it just an inch or so.
There was a leg attached to the shoe.
A blue-jeaned leg. Not part of a dummy. And another shoe.
Horror and adrenaline washed over Thea. And,
strangely , that helped. Her first thought was. It's a person and she may be hurt. She went into emergency mode, slamming a wall between herself and her fear.
Hang on, are you okay, just let me see . . .
She pulled the rest of the oilcloth off, tugging to get it free. She saw legs, a body, curled fingers clutching the sleeve of a black-dressed witch dummy . . .
Then she saw the head and she reeled backward, both hands pressed over her mouth. She'd only gotten a glimpse, but the picture was burned into her mind.
Blue-gray face, hideously swollen. Grotesquely bulging eyes. Tongue like a sausage protruding from between black lips . . .
Thea's knees gave out.
She'd seen the dead before. She'd been to leave-taking ceremonies where the mortal remains of witches were returned to the earth. But those had been natural deaths, and the corpses had been peaceful. While this ...
I think it was a boy. It had short hair and a flat chest. But there was no way to recognize the face. It was so distorted-didn't even look human. . . .
He died violently. May his spirit be released; not held here by the need for revenge. Oh, Sekhmet, lion-headed goddess of
Egypt
; Mistress of Death, Opener of Ways, Sekhmet Who Reduceth to Silence . . .
Her disjointed thoughts were interrupted as sunlight fanned into the room. At the door, Eric shouted, "I'm back!"
Thea stood up. Her legs wanted to cave again. She
opened her mouth, but what came out was a whisper. "Eric-"
He was hurrying toward her. "What's wrong? Thea?"
"It's somebody dead."
She saw his eyes widen in absolute disbelief-and then he looked past her. He took a step toward the thing on the floor, stopped, crouched, and stared for a second. Then he whirled back and grabbed her as if he could somehow protect her from what he'd seen. "Don't look at it ; don't look over there," he gasped. "Oh, God, it's bad." * "I know. I saw it." "It's bad; it's so bad. ..."
They were both holding on to each other. It was the only safety in this nightmare.
"He's dead. That guy is dead," Eric said. It was obvious, but Thea understood the need to babble. "There's nothing we can do for him. Oh, God, Thea, I think it's Kevin Imamura."
"Kevin?" Black dots danced in front of Thea's eyes. "No, it can't be-"
"I've seen him wearing that shirt before. And the hair . . . And he's on the committee to decorate this place. He must have been setting up that dummy." Thea's mind showed her a terrible picture. A crusted dark line on that bloated face-like the wound made by a slashing razor. And the soft black hair . . . Yes, it could have been Kevin. And that meant- Blaise.
"Come on," Eric was saying, his voice dazed and quenched. "We've got to tell the office."
Numbly, Thea let him guide her. Her mind was in another place.
Blaise. Did Blaise know . . . could Blaise have . . .
She didn't want to form the thought even to herself, but she couldn't help it.
... finally gone all the way? Not just spilled blood, but taken a life?
It was forbidden to witches. But the Harmans were part lamia, and vampires sometimes killed for power. Could Blaise have gone that far into the darkness?
After they got to the office, things happened fast, but Thea
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