Page 72 of Girl, Unseen

Ella couldn’t deny her curiosity. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s not about alchemy. It’s about sacrifice. Pseudo-science that even the alchemy world thought was too far.’

She turned to her partner and hoped he was taking this in. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Not much is known about it, but the general premise was that sacrifice through the elements could change your connection to the earth. It’s not about the Magnum Opus like other alchemy principles. It’s about youth, health, wealth, status.Hermes believed that sacrifice could heal sickness.’

The words carried a weight that made Ella rethink everything. She felt the investigation tilting beneath her feet like a ship taking on water. Everything that had seemed solid an hour ago – Ezra as her killer, the cult connection, the book – was dissolving into questions.

‘The author.Hermes Trismegistus. What can you tell me about him?’

Ezra laughed. ‘There’s your first mistake.’

‘What mistake?’

He ambled back to the bench and sat down. ‘I’m done talking. I want to speak to a lawyer.’

‘Will you give us a list? Or do we have to track them down ourselves?’

Ezra stretched out on the bench like it was a daybed at a Roman feast. ‘All I’ll say is that none of my brothers are killers. Understand?’

A buzzer signaled a new arrival to the holding cell area. Ella turned and saw Ross’ frame fill the doorway.

‘Dark, Hawkins. Out here. Now.’

Ella turned and walked out. She didn't trust herself to say anymore to Ezra, because the worst part wasn't that he might be innocent. The worst part was that she still might not have a clue exactly what she was dealing with.

Out in the corridor, Ross’ face held that specific shade law enforcement got when the devil was running out of dances. It meant one of two things. Either Ross had found something that confirmed Ezra Crowley’s innocence.

Or an external factor had confirmed Ezra Crowley’s innocence.

‘Just got a call,’ Ross said.

Luca grimaced. ‘Don’t say it. God, don’t say it.’

‘Sorry, agents. We’ve got a fourth body. A glassblower out in Bedford Hills.’

Earth, water, air.

Now fire had claimed its due.

Their prime suspect sat twenty feet away in an iron box, which meant either Ezra Crowley was the world's greatest ventriloquist or they'd just wasted precious time interrogating the wrong man.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Bedford Hills in November shouldn't feel like the surface of the sun, but Victor Ashford's studio hit Ella with a wall of heat that reminded her of a recent tangle with an inferno. Even through the door, waves of scorching air rolled out into the grassy lot and distorted the world like a desert mirage.

Her legs seized as muscle memory kicked in. Fire had a way of rewriting your DNA.

‘Jesus.’ Luca hung back near the car. His burns probably sang the same song as hers, but he’d barely said a word to her since they’d left the precinct. She couldn't blame him. She'd violated his trust to score points in an interrogation, and now she had to pay the price via the silent treatment.

‘Ready?’ Ross asked from the doorway.

No. She wasn't ready. Not for whatever waited inside this fortress of fire and glass. But being ready wasn't part of the job description.

The smell hit her first - scorched wood and melted sand and something underneath. Something that belonged in crematoriums, not art studios. The place sprawled through what had once been an industrial warehouse. Brick walls rose to steel rafters thick with cobwebs. Ancient windows let in weak light, and tools hung on pegboards like surgical instruments. A few half-finished pieces dotted steel tables - vases and bowls and statuettes.

And there, above the furnace that dominated the far wall, five symbols spread across the old brick in black strokes.

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