Page 41 of Enticing Monsters

It’s apparent that, at one point, this building had a staggering amount of security. I see a thumbprint scanner, number pad, and a place to swipe a security badge. I wonder if I can somehow pull the records of everyone who entered the building through these pieces of equipment—though I have the distinct impression that it’s already been wiped. The killer hasn’t survived this long by being dumb.

“Devyn.” Angelica Morose steps up beside me, her aging face set in a severe frown.

She’s an older woman with gray hair, always kept in an immaculate, high ponytail, and sun-kissed skin from hours spent outdoors. Normally, she has a warm smile on her face, but not today. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I saw her smile. It certainly has been months. This case has been taking its toll on everyone in the division, not just me.

“You need to see this.”

I nod and follow her down a short set of stairs, into a room at the very end of a long hall.

Like the rest of the building, this part of the area has been abandoned, but unlike everything else, it isn’t empty. It reminds me of one of those post-apocalyptic movies where everything is left behind in the state of an evacuation. Clipboards lie on rickety metal tables, the ink smudged and blotted, and strange machinery connects to the electrical outlets, and?—

Cages.

Lots of fucking cages.

They’re not normal cages, though. They almost resemble glass cylinders. The very first one holds a girl—perhaps between the age of twenty and twenty-five—with matted ebony hair and sunken cheeks. Her sightless blue eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling.

Revulsion and horror twist my gut as I drop to my knees to see the dead fae better.

God, what the fuck did theydoto her? They didn’t just starve her or keep her captive. They tortured her. Her skin has been peeled away from her muscles, fissures and cracks exploding across the surface like burning paper, and in its place are bright, bloody wounds. A stained hospital gown adorns her slender frame.

Fear jolts through me, as cold as ice water, and I scrub a hand through my hair.

“Get the medical examiner here. Now,” I bark. “And call Boss.”

I don’t check to see if anyone will listen. I know they will. This is my goddamn case, after all.

Though sometimes, like today, I wish it wasn’t. The mantle of responsibility has never felt so heavy before, so staggering. I can barely breathe around the weight on my chest.

“Sir…” Angelica hands me one of the clipboards, and I take it with more force than necessary.

“Is this…?” I suck in a haggard breath, my thoughts stalling. My pulse rushes in my ears.

“Her medical chart? Yes.” Angelica sounds just as disgusted as I feel.

Swallowing, I begin to sift through the papers, my horror at this discovery quickly morphing into an almost incandescent anger.

Bethany Washer.

Kitsune.

Seelie.

North Dakota.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

My grip tightens on the clipboard before I force myself to relax. To stand. To lift my gaze off of the dead woman…only to immediately focus on a bloody handprint on the glass, as if she tried to break free before death claimed her. Or maybe she attempted to plead with her captor, praying someone would take pity on her and help her escape.

A tide of raw fury threatens to batter down my composure, but I hold it back through sheer willpower.

“Her name is Bethany Washer,” I say through numb lips. “She lives in North Dakota. We need to notify her family right away.”

Angelica places a gentle hand on my arm and gives it a squeeze. “We’ll catch this guy, Devyn.”

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