“That’s helpful.” She removes her gloves and stuffs them in her back pocket, effectively done with the scene. “I should be looking for a mental illness. The way the offender has delusionally associated the connections, finding ulterior, hidden meaning in everything… Another psychologist would profile a mental illness.”

“But you disagree.”

“It’s all too closely linked,” she says, shaking her head. “The pieces fit perfectly. Sometimes when I try to think about it from a distance, it feels too immense. And then…I don’t want to think about anything.”

With a lengthy exhale, she swipes a hand across her forehead. “Tragedy is the key here. Not mental illness. Although, through the offender’s method and disassociation with humanity, there could be some onset now. But…” She glances around the ravine, at the death, the mutilation. “There’s an anger here. If this is his art, it’s a violent art. The emotion in this chasm rages.”

My skin prickles at her assertion. The unnerving sensation made more apparent by her words, what I’ve sensed since I first entered the ravine.

“Everything links,” I say, drawing closer. “Always.”

“I know, you’ve told me. Synchronicity.”

“When you’re working a scene, the pieces don’t materialize. They were always there, waiting for you to see the connection. Nothing is ever complicated until we make it so.”

“Maybe that’s true for a person with an IQ of ridiculous.”

I chuckle unexpectedly, then tilt my head as I study her, seeing the smallest spark of her personality shine through the cracks. Halen is so beautifully broken, my chest aches at the immense thought of her.

Despite the gruesome scenery of our surroundings, or maybe because of it, I’m captivated by her all the more. She could slay me or redeem me with one command, and she still has no idea how much power she wields.

“However you want to define it for the heathens on the task force, you understand his design will be transcendent. His divine masterpiece. Even this dumpsite is a work of art. The macabre atmosphere. The depiction of anguish so gruesome. The feelings of dejected helplessness it conjures. It’s a glimpse into what makes him vulnerable.”

A flash of raw vulnerability registers in her features, but she quickly conceals this as she shifts to look at the sigils on my hand. “Some magical intervention would be appreciated to find the victims.”

Her implication doesn’t go unnoticed. She still believes I’m holding something back.

“The subconscious leads you to the answer, and when it suddenly clicks, it feels like magic.” I run the pad of my thumb over a sigil. “But really, your mind has known it the whole time. Don’t question the design, Halen. The universe never shares its secrets. Just trust the course.”

I drink in the shadow of awe behind the judgement in her expression. She is the loveliest work of art, a masterpiece herself.

“It just feels too convenient,” she says. “All the details, the associations. No case is ever connected this easily.”

“Well then, imagine how difficult it would be if you didn’t have your very own expert on the occult at your service.” I give her the full, beaming wattage of my panty-dropping smile. “In every way your filthy little mind could demand to be serviced. You should really take advantage of me.”

A laugh slips past her lips, the sweet tinkling cadence rushing my system like a potent aphrodisiac, and I swear to whatever higher entity lurks in the sky, my fucking heart damn near explodes.

If I can earn her laugh, then I can earn her trust.

Another gust of wind sneaks into the ravine to send her hair across her eyes, severing the moment, and she tucks the wayward strands behind her ear. “Damn, I really need a haircut,” she mutters.

“Don’t,” is all I say, stoking a heated ember amid her gaze as she looks up at me.

“Halen, here.” Devyn walks over from her zone to hand her a headband. “Use this.”

Halen accepts the gift. “Thanks. Mine snapped somehow.” The accusatory glance she directs at me is only marginally annoyed.

“So do we have proof all this—” Devyn waves a hand at the decomposing remains “—is connected to the same offender? Because Agent Alister is on his way over.”

Once her hair is tied back, Halen points to the symbol on the ravine wall. “We do. But all it confirms is what we already know. I’m not sure where it leads.” She holds up a finger and sets her notebook down. “Oh, and there’s this.”

After Halen locates a stick, she uses it to probe one of the deer carcasses. “Bite marks on the shoulder blade look to be human. I found a few more fresher deer in the remains with similar teeth marks.”

Her gaze meets mine, and the knowledge of what this means passes between us. A stag was found at the first crime scene that had been rend apart by a human.

Alister is texting on his phone as he approaches. “Show me the symbol.”

While Halen conveys the meaning of the philosopher’s stone to Alister, Detective Riddick finds his way over to the group. Suddenly this ravine is way too crowded.

“Did the 3D casts from the stag bite marks at the first scene ever come back with any definitive information?” Halen asks Alister.

Staring hard at the mutilated deer Halen pointed out, he shakes his head. “No match. It was a longshot anyway. That’s a defunct science.”

“It nailed Ted Bundy,” I say.

Halen sends me a warning glare. “Could the casts be used to compare to the teeth imprints on the deer here? To confirm that it’s the same person.”

This gains Alister’s full attention, and he looks directly at her. “What are you trying to say, St. James?”

I can sense Halen’s hesitation, and I see the moment she almost backs off. Then she lifts her chin to make eye contact with Alister, the blaze coming to life.

“Someone has been hunting and rending these deer—” she glances at me briefly “—what’s the word?”

“Sparagmos,” I provide.

“Which is a sacred sacrifice, and one the offender has obviously been practicing for years, according to the ranges of decomp in his open grave.” She bites her bottom lip, then: “There are potentially a hundred deer here. Rend apart. All missing pelts and antlers. Sacred items used in Dionysian rituals.”

“Spit it the fuck out, St. James,” Alister snaps.

My hackles raise, and I go to step forward, but Devyn latches on to my arm. It’s Riddick who bows his chest as he steps in beside Halen.

“The victim at the Harbinger crime scene had antlers implanted in his head.” She pauses to allow her words to sink in. “The question has never been raised whether the missing locals are actually victims…or not. Maybe when these people went missing five years ago, they didn’t want to be found.”

The implication chokes the air from the ravine.

Mystery schools follow. Secret societies protect secrets. Little Halen has been keeping her conspiracy theories all tightlipped and hush-hush. And as she glances around anxiously, she’s still not certain of her theory, but this is what she does; challenges the norm.

Alister parts the hem of his blazer as he braces fisted hands on his hips. “These people are losing body parts all over the fucking marshland. So as far as I’m concerned, anyone either forced or willingly sacrificed to become someone’s mystical dinner is a victim. Understood?”

Halen holds his severe glare a second longer, then nods. “Understood, sir.”

“If I hear even a whisper of this in the media…” He lets his threat trail off with the next gust of wind. “I want an updated profile including this scene before the end of the day.”

He turns to leave, but then says, “According to Agent Rana, the hemlock was likely raided by the second offender, your Harbinger killer. Get with her on this. Your profile better reflect that before the press conference tomorrow.”

As he stalks off in the direction of the agents striping the scene with caution tape, Devyn knocks into Halen’s shoulder conspiratorially. “Damn. You really get under the fed’s skin.”