Page 20 of Crown of Tides and Fury

“Aye. I want to see if she’s remembered anything since Lennon and I visited.”

He got out of the truck and walked cautiously to the door, shouting Sarah’s name a couple of times as he went. Lennon had told us how they’d been zapped with electricity after they’d knocked on the old woman’s door, so I watched eagerly to see if Wickham would get the same sort of greeting.

The man bent beneath the low-hanging roof to knock on the door. When he pulled back sharply, Kitch laughed.

Wickham held up a fist. Something was wrong.

As silently as he could, Kitch opened the truck door and got out, pulled out his sidearm with his right hand and a knife with his left. Wickham stood where he was and gestured for Kitch to circle the house to the right. No sounds came from within, and the ground was moist enough to quiet his own steps.

Around back, large chunks of thatch lay on the ground. Halfway up the slope of the roof, a gaping hole the size of a door, as if something had dropped from the sky. There was no threat from the dilapidated outbuilding—it was missing so many boards Kitch saw clean through it. No one hiding in wait.

He moved to the single window, maybe 16 inches square and recessed into the thick white wall. No movement inside. Still no noises. So he continued around the house until he reached Wickham’s side.

“No movement,” he murmured. “Big hole in the roof.”

Wickham nodded. “Door was ajar. Smells like blood…and worse.”

Kitch noted the silver blade in Wickham’s grip and quickly exchanged his sharp knife for his silver one. If Orion’s monsters were inside, only silver would do damage. Sharpness wouldn’t matter.

Kitch dropped to a knee before the door and pushed it open. When nothing moved, he edged inside, scanned the room, then stood and moved aside for Wickham. They checked the rooms on both ends of the building but found no threat.

Old Sarah hadn’t been so lucky. Her body sat in the back corner of the main room, her legs wide as if she’d tried to hide herself along the floorboards in both directions. Her midsection had been relocated and lay on top of her long skirts between her spread legs. Not a drop of blood on her hands, her face, or the scarf around her hair, which meant her disembowelment had happened instantly. No time for arterial spray.

No heart visible.

Wickham examined the small table. Two teacups on the surface, along with half a dozen little figures, another handful scattered on the floor. He pointed to the cups. “She had company. Any sign of another body?”

Kitch shook his head. “So she let in one visitor.”

“Aye. But the monsters weren’t allowed through the door.”

“Ye’re thinkin’ Orion, then?”

“Aye. He wanted to know what she knew, though, before he set his dogs on her.”

“You reckon she told him about the dolls?”

“Aye.”

“Ye think she told him about the others who came askin’? Meanin’ Lennon and yerself?”

“Aye. I reckon she told him everythin’ she told us. Maybe more.”

“Was Sarah the one who told ye to look for Mercail’s power on the North Sea?”

“No, that was Jez—dammit!” Wickham ran out the door.

Kitch followed, shouting as they clamored into the truck. “I thought Orion couldnae get into Muirsglen!”

“Two possibilities.” Wickham turned over the engine, threw it in reverse. “First, he tortured some Muir witch for the information and an invitation.”

“Or?”

“He found a way through the tunnel! Which means we have to get to Castle Ross. But first, we have to grab Jez. If the bastard hasnae found her first.”

“Uh, Wickham?”

“Aye?”

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