Devil's Own (13 page)

Now he had thudded back down to earth like a burning meteorite.

Niall grunted again, as seemed to be his habit first thing in the morning, and gulped his own coffee with swift efficiency. “One of the secret passages led farther away from the house—and yeah, there’s probably more of those where that came from—and at the end was a cavernous space with an altar and religious paraphernalia. And Millicent Marsden, dead as a doornail.”

Yup, that’s what Gus had heard the last half a dozen times Niall had recounted the tale of woe. Wigging out, he sipped at his coffee to try to make sense of the world. Yet, no new insights came to him. His mind was a total blank. All he could hope for was to be helpful in this second murder investigation as, quote, an occult expert, unquote. Hughes’s words, not his.

“How was she, um, killed?” Gus felt queasy just asking.

“Stabbed through the chest. The knife’s still in place. CSU’s waiting for us to see the body before processing the scene and the murder weapon. That’s why we’re rushing there.”

“Awesome…,” Gus mumbled, grimacing and holding back bile as best he could.

But there was no avoiding the grim situation as they drove up to the mansion. Gus had never been there, but the ominous feel of the place gave him chills. He wanted to hold Niall’s hand, but he knew better than to try. He wished Niall had at least offered, no matter how inappropriate.

What Niall did, however, was give Gus a look, a kind of tender query, conveying all the concern and affection he felt for Gus with a single gaze. That soothed Gus’s frantic nerves, and he smiled courageously and nodded back. Niall seemed to accept these gestures as confirmation of Gus’s ability to handle the situation, so side by side they walked into the house.

Hughes met up with them in the foyer, looking awfully grave and gritting his teeth. He welcomed Niall and Gus with curt nods, and Gus didn’t think it would be a good idea to insert any levity into the serious affair right then.

“Sorry to rouse you from your beauty sleep, buttercup,” he said to Niall, who pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “But we got a real sitch here.”

“Where is she?” Niall obviously didn’t plan to beat around the bush, for which Gus was glad. He didn’t want to spend one minute longer than he had to in this creepy place.

“Come on. Follow me.” Hughes waved a hand and headed down the hall into a dimly lit sitting room with an unlit fireplace, heavy drapes, old-fashioned settees, a couple of bookshelves, and stuffy air. “Over there.” Hughes pointed at the wood-paneled wall, where there was an opening narrow enough to allow a crouching person through. Behind it opened a shadowy passageway, complete with dancing flakes of dust and hanging cobwebs. Grimacing, Gus knew he didn’t want to enter.

“That the secret passage?” he asked moronically, trying to buy time.

“Yeah.” Hughes didn’t sound like he thought it had been a stupid question. No, his irk suggested he would have been happy if there had been nothing sinister about the mansion at all. “Turns out the Talbots ran an illegal speakeasy here back in the ’20s, during Prohibition. There’s a tunnel from one of the kitchen storerooms leading to the shore of Lake Washington. Another goes to the estate garden, and from there onto a back road, probably so trucks could haul the illegal liquor. So, Florian Talbot—or any ancestor of his between the Roaring Twenties and now—must’ve connected the secret passages from the 1880s to the tunnels of the 1920s. This family’s got secrets up the wazoo. Clever guy, that Florian Talbot.”

Niall growled. “Any sign of him?”

“No.” Hughes sounded even more pissed off about that, and Gus could relate. “There are at least three exits out of the tunnels we found that Florian could have used to make his quick getaway. There’s a BOLO alert out on him, but so far nothing.” He was shaking his head, and Gus had no trouble telling how miffed he was at this latest turn of events.

“Is Farrah Talbot better?” Gus asked to show these two depressed men that they had done something good in the case so far.

Hughes nodded, and his hardened expression did soften. “Yeah. Farrah had only minor injuries, and she’s gonna get out of the hospital tomorrow. And so will her husband, Goddard. They were both dehydrated, malnourished, and soiled. But no worse for wear.” Hughes glanced at Niall knowingly. “And before you ask, no, Goddard sure as hell isn’t faking his condition. He’s a cripple, legit.”

Niall nodded with a flicker of a smile. “I figured. He didn’t seem like the killer type.”

“You still think Florian Talbot killed the guy who looked like him? Titus?”

Niall rubbed his stubbled jaw, the scratchy sound making Gus a bit warmer and tighter in the groin area. “It makes sense. Apart from Farrah, no one knew about the secret passages.” Then he scoffed sadly. “Well, except for Millicent. I think that’s why she ran—and why she was ultimately killed.”

“This Florian Talbot is so bad he would kill his own aunt?” That was a level of evil Gus couldn’t even imagine, and the mere thought made him nauseous. He had to remind himself there were good people in the world too, and the bad element was in the minority.

Niall looked at him joylessly, as if he was embarrassed and sorry for bringing Gus into this mess. “From what I hear, yeah. Of course, I don’t know for a fact, since I haven’t met the man. I guess we’ll see if we catch him.”

“When,” Hughes corrected him sternly. Then he waved them over and led the way into the secret passage.

As much as Gus hated going into the belly of the beast, he was happy to find that in the narrow, dark place Niall had no compunctions about taking Gus’s hand in his own. And that made Gus smile with the light of love in his heart.

“F
UCK
.” N
IALL
coughed and sneezed for the hundredth time since he, Hughes, and Gus had entered the damp cavern underground. Gus felt for him and squeezed his hand in a show of sympathy. He was rewarded with a smile from Niall, who despite his wheezing condition, actually appeared more upbeat now that Gus was there. “I’ve been to the fucking desert and the jungle, and now some stupid moldy cave is giving me a lung problem? Fucking great.”

Gus suppressed a giggle. “Don’t worry,” he whispered in his boyfriend’s ear. “You’re still my stud.”

Niall actually beamed upon hearing that, sporting that flirty confident grin of his.

Then Gus’s attention veered from his hot man to the cold corpse on the floor.

Millicent Marsden, the grand dame of the Talbot lineage, lay stiff on the ground in her black dress and white pearls, her posture contorted from when she had fallen down. Her right fist was halfway clutching the tiny handle of a dagger sticking out of her chest. A dark, wet spot had seeped into the fabric, but the pool of blood mostly spread out from underneath her body.

Blinking and swallowing hard, Gus looked away. He took a couple of deep breaths as he focused instead on the altar. Made of dark wood, the altar was handcrafted, a stylish piece, probably an antique. The whole thing stood on a raised wooden dais, low and poorly built, not at all fitting for the masterpiece on top of it.

On the top of the altar, which was covered with a black altar cloth, stood satanic supplies, and Gus recognized the majority of them. They were macabre, sinister versions of pagan paraphernalia. Blood red candles were stuck on fake skulls, black candles stood on black marble blocks etched with red inverted pentagrams. Behind the altar on the wall was a black tapestry with an inverted pentagram, Baphomet’s visage in its center, and in a circle around it were Hebrew letters spelling “Leviathan.” The Satanic Bible lay on the left of the altar; three sharp knives lay on the right. There was also a big black statuette, a demonic figure with fangs, red jewels for eyes, and big bat wings spread wide.

“Pretty grim stuff,” Hughes commented, coming to stand at Gus’s side.

Surprising even himself, Gus defended what he saw. “People often think Satanism is the worship of evil. It’s not exactly that. Satanism acknowledges that humans are basically animals, with the basest urges ruling their actions. It’s chaotic and self-indulgent and all too easy to succumb to, but evil? I guess it’s a matter of interpretation.”

“You’re singing a new tune,” Niall said, coming to stand at Gus’s other side.

Gus tried not to shudder at the thought. “The practitioners of this faith believe their way is the most honest of all religions, liberating and intellectual. I have to admit I understand that part. Neo-pagan religions are that way too, intellectual and rational. Wicca is more than a religion for me; it’s a way of life. I value, respect, and worship nature, the balance of light and dark, feminine and masculine aspects of people, the seasons and what they signify. That connection is honest to me… kind of like the connection with Satan or some other rebellious deity that Satanists have.” He frowned, not comfortable with the implications of this line of thinking but unable to ignore them. “Wicca rebels against patriarchal religions, focusing on the Goddess. Our churches are in our hearts and outside in nature, not inside stone buildings. Our priesthoods are available to all of us, not reserved for a select privileged few.”

“So… there are similarities.” Niall spoke in a hushed tone, suggesting he understood how much discomfort Gus felt about these associations.

But Hughes interrupted them. “Yes, well, that’s all fascinating, but what I wanna know is what are we supposed to make of all of this? Is this for real?” He vaguely waved his hand toward the altar.

Gus sighed. “That demon statue with wings. The etchings are Enochian. I hate that I recognize them by now.” He cringed but went on. “The face is familiar. It took me a moment. That’s Anton LaVey in demonic form. His form of Satanism is different from theistic Satanism. Oh, that’s when believers worship Satan, or his equivalent, as a god, while LaVey’s Satanism is atheistic. For him, Satan is represented in a man’s inherent nature, a beast who satisfies his own urges. Basically, the rebellious god exists within each and every man. Acknowledging it is what makes their faith honest, or that’s how they see it. Since I can’t find any divination supplies, I’m inclined to lean toward the notion that this altar is for the worship of symbolic Satanism, not deistic.”

Hughes eyes had glazed over a bit even though he kept nodding. “So… real?”

“This?” Gus nodded. “Yes. This is a satanic altar.” Then he shook his head, frustrated. “But with a little investigation, this could all be faked. This could be just casual practicing, for show and thrills more than actual faith.” He looked squarely at Hughes. “To whom does this place belong? Florian Talbot?”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” Hughes replied, obviously grouchy at not getting a clear and definite answer. Then he glanced at Millicent Marsden on the floor, with two people from CSU around her, processing the scene. “Why she’s here… we don’t know yet. With any luck we’ll get fingerprints, DNA, and other forensic evidence from here, enough for a preliminary theory at the very least.”

Controlling his instinct to throw up as best he could, Gus followed the detective’s gaze. One of the CSU team was removing the knife from her chest, and Gus felt his stomach churn and his throat clog up.

“Holy shit, that looks eerily familiar.” Niall’s words made Gus open his eyes.

A black-handled, double-edged dagger was being pulled out of Millicent’s chest.

“Oh no…,” Gus whispered, shocked and wide-eyed, unable to look away.

“Calm down, Gus.” Niall’s warm hand pressed against the small of Gus’s back, a solid and soothing presence. “Juliette and you’ve both told me that Satanists use a lot of the same supplies as Wiccans. I know you hate seeing an athame as a murder weapon, but this has nothing to do with your faith and is all about a murderer’s motives that we don’t know yet. Let it go. Come on, babe. Just shrug it off.”

The main thing that brought serenity to Gus’s soul was the endearment, offered freely and spontaneously. His heart lit up, and he fell a bit more in love with Niall. “I’m good,” he promised, nodding jerkily. That was when he saw the handle of the knife more clearly as one of the CSUs shone a light on it. “Oh my God….”

“What?” Niall asked, alarmed, his voice dropping low and dangerous.

Gus swallowed hard. “Can I see that closer?” The CSU guy stood up carefully and gave Gus a better view of the murder weapon. Gus had indeed seen right. “Look at this symbol.” The black handle was carved with a crescent moon that had a cross attached to the bottom. “This is one of the symbols of the demon Lilith. She has many others, but I know this one.”

“Who in the hell is Lilith?” Hughes asked, clearly annoyed at this new turn of events.

“She’s a demon, a dark goddess of the underworld. She’s known in many cultures and religious mythologies. Lilith stands in stark contrast to Eve, the first woman, according to the lore of Christianity, representing the darkness to Eve’s light. Lilith has many names, such as Ereshkigal in Mesopotamian mythology.”

“Why is any of this significant?” Hughes demanded, seemingly reining in his temper.

Gus exhaled, wondering how to convey his thoughts. “Well, uh…. Not a lot of men actively worship Lilith. She’s more of a… a woman’s dark deity.”

“Wait.” Niall lifted his hand in a stop gesture. “Are you saying it’s possible this altar belongs, or belonged, to a
woman
?” His gaze veered briefly toward the deceased lady on the floor.

Glancing over his shoulder at the altar and then at Millicent, Gus was at a loss. “I can’t say for sure. Nothing on the altar stands out as gender specific.” He turned back to the knife, studying it. “But this symbol on the dagger indicates Lilith.”

“Who is mainly worshipped by women,” Niall finished on Gus’s behalf. When Gus didn’t reply with more than a halfhearted shrug, Niall sighed. “Great. More complications.”

Gus felt ashamed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you guys.”

Hughes let out a loud snort. “You’re kidding, right? Look at us. Who among us would have recognized some silly scribbles on a handle as significant? No one. You’ve been a great help, Goodwin. Don’t doubt that for one minute.” Gus did feel better after that, managing a smile to thank Hughes, who then continued, “Come on. Let’s get back to the mansion. If you think Millicent being dead is all I have to show you, you’re dead wrong.” Then his cheeks pinked a little, and he coughed to clear his throat. “No pun intended,” he added, grumbling.