Rana regards me curiously, but says, “Dr. Markus was just stating that the herd could point to a secret occult society, saying it stands to reason that as this is Mrs. Lipton’s basement, she’s the most likely suspect.”

“It’s simple heuristics,” Dr. Markus states. “You said this suspect is a prone leader, the person this town looks to for direction. She fits your profile, no?”

Riddick chuckles as he approaches the group. “No offense, but I’ve known Mrs. Lipton for years. She’s eccentric and overbearing, but the leader of some cult? That’s absurd.”

Kallum steps in his direction, and a nervous flutter bats my chest, my heart thrashing as hard as the moth’s wings.

“Not cult. Occult,” Kallum stresses. “There’s a critical difference, detective.”

Riddick squares his shoulders. “Christ, am I about to be tortured with a longwinded lecture on the subject?”

A muscle tics in Kallum’s jaw, his smile tight as he twists the ring around his thumb. “Well, you have come to the right place for torture.”

Dr. Markus interrupts, seemingly oblivious to the aggression. “It’s quite simple to distinguish the connection,” he says, flipping through pages on his tablet. “Hermetic magick was practiced by many secret occult groups. For instance, the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. This society was heavily involved with alchemy, and kept very hidden.”

“Until their secrecy was broken by Aleister Crowley,” I supply.

Kallum sends me a subtle wink. “After Crowley revealed detailed accounts of the Order’s teachings, other orders started incorporating their practices, deemed renegade members.”

Riddick interjects, “If these secret groups were so secret, how would the suspect even know them?” He doesn’t try to mask the incensed skepticism in his expression as he narrows his gaze on Kallum.

Rana’s eyebrows draw together as she studies the detective’s apparent animosity toward the expert consultant.

Kallum doesn’t waver. “Perhaps this person is a descendant of one of those renegade members. Families pass down all kinds of creepy histories. Or they’re just lazy and impatient and copied right out of one of the books in the mansion library.” He matches Riddick’s defiant stance. “But I assure you, they’re no proficient.”

The accusation in Kallum’s words is unmistakable, his remark delivered as a direct insult to the alchemist suspect.

The shrill flapping comes louder, the unnerving sound raising the hairs along my body, and anxiety prickles my chest as I watch the wild flutter of the moth’s gray wings, the way the insect savagely rams its frail body into the bulb.

Shadows bounce along the ground, the rocking motion assaulting my head with another wave of dizziness. The moth probably hitched a ride on someone’s clothes. Now it’s stuck, attracted to the one source of light, unable to find its way out.

Out of habit, I seek the comfort of the verse inked in my forearm. Only my fingers are met with the course stitches rather than my scar, and my anxiety mounts.

Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Hernandez mention motive, then a flurry of voices rise around me and pulse in time with the pounding at my temples.

I’m having an anxiety attack.

Hernandez breaks through the haze as he says, “He wants something pretty fucking bad, whatever the motive.”

“Obsession,” I blurt.

A number of gazes fall on me. “What was that, Dr. St. James?” Rana asks.

I watch the moth spiral down into the cage, where it flaps, helpless, unable to take flight.

“This room is full of dark obsession,” I say, my throat dry. “From a person who would go to any length, even hurt the ones he’s trying to protect in order to obtain that obsession.”

The bulb stops swaying, and I blink to clear my vision. When I look over, I’m met with the intensity of Kallum’s gaze. What’s not being said between us as polluting as the stagnant air of this chamber.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Rana says absently, her attention aimed on a point past my shoulder. She then offers a curt “thank you” to the team before heading in that direction.

I yank off a glove before touching my forehead, the floor feeling unstable. A tingling cold sensation touches my lips as black borders my vision.

I feel the press of Kallum’s hands on my body as I’m held upright.

“You’re bleeding.” The deep baritone of his voice grounds me.

Shock has me covertly checking my legs before he brings my forearm up, a bloom of bright red staining the material with fresh blood.

“Shit,” I say, feeling how inflamed the skin is. “Okay. I’ll tend to it later.”

“We’ll tend to it now,” Kallum says, adamant.

“Jesus.” Riddick inserts himself into our space. He takes my wrist in hand, his touch firm but gentle. “Who the hell sutured your arm, Frankenstein?”

“I did, actually,” I say, releasing a forced laugh. “My skills are lacking.”

“I have a medical kit in my truck.” Riddick’s thumb glides over my irritated skin. “Why don’t you let me mend you up right?”

Kallum’s nostrils flare, his fury simmering beneath the stifling air. I lock onto the dark flare of his eyes and issue a warning with mine.

As I lower my sleeve, I try to remove Riddick’s grasp on my arm. “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t like needles. It’ll be fine. My equilibrium is just off down here.”

Kallum secures my wrist, forcing Riddick to release me. “What she needs is water. I’ll get you a bottle.”

“I don’t want anything from this house.” My eyes fall on the jars of blood. “I just… I exerted a lot of energy before.” At my coy smile, the tension I sense coiled within him eases a fraction, but only just.

Riddick doesn’t take the hint. “You need proper treatment, Halen.”

“She doesn’t need it from you.” Kallum’s fingers thread through mine possessively.

Nodding his head slowly, Riddick smiles. “She damn sure needs more than water and philosophical bullshit from pretentious professors.”

Kallum wets his lips, a dark smirk overtaking his features. “How long have you been practicing that line, detective?”

“God, enough,” I say, failing to bite back the burst of anger. “Give me your jacket,” I demand of Kallum.

With smug countenance, Kallum effortlessly removes it from my bag and holds the garment open. I slide my arms into the sleeves, effectively covering the blood on my blouse.

“Professor Locke,” Agent Rana calls, garnering both our attention, and I’m thankful for her interruption.

She heads our way with a middle-aged woman in a sophisticated pantsuit in tow. “This is Dr. Keller.” She makes the brief introduction. “As she’s arrived on-scene, we can complete the transfer paperwork at the department later, but Professor Locke is now under her monitoring.”

Kallum still hasn’t removed his gaze from me, and my skin heats under his intense study. The hard press of his clashing gaze states his concern for me, and the only way to move this forward is to make some reassurance.

I face Agent Rana and my replacement. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Keller. I’ll head back to the hotel and clear my belongings from the joint room. I’m sure Iris can find me accommodations for the night.”

Agent Rana tilts her head, a suspicious pull to her mouth as she looks over Kallum’s jacket. “That’s helpful, Dr. St. James. Thank you.”

I nod, then meet Kallum’s shrewd gaze, the one I’m not fooling. “Good luck, Professor Locke.” I take my tote bag from him, then turn toward Rana. “I’ll reconvene with the task force tomorrow.”

Riddick enters my line of sight. “I’m heading back that way. I can drop you off.”

“She has a ride.” Kallum directs a stern look at Hernandez, giving him a silent command.

“I’m all right to walk,” I snap, a hot surge of anger twisting my insides.

Even though there was never any charges levied against Kallum for the altercation with Alister, rumors can be just as damning. If Kallum can’t resist his violent nature and hurts Riddick or worse…