Twisted Sisters (The Orion Circle Book 2) (16 page)

Mr. Kincaid nods. “That or foster care.”

“She was also angry that Angela got to live while she died,” Logan adds.

“On that note, I thought of something earlier.” I lean back as Poe hops across me, heading toward Logan’s plate. He grabs a piece of bread crust in his beak and settles down on my lap.

Carl snorts. “Weird doesn’t even begin to describe that.”

“Shh,” Rebecca admonishes. “Go ahead, Kacie.”

“People tend to concentrate on the victims and forget the survivors. Angela had a terrible life after the murders. The trial itself had to be an ordeal. She was in and out of mental hospitals. Maybe if we can make Tracy understand how much Angela has suffered, she might calm down.”

Rebecca’s fingers click away on the keys. “It says here that she was originally charged as an accessory to murder one. She pled out and agreed to assist the DA. In return for testifying, the accessory charges were dropped to felony mischief. She received a thousand hours of community service.”

Logan frowns. “That seems rather harsh, given she was a victim as well.”

“You have to understand the culture in the early seventies,” Rebecca says. “The whole MKUltra thing was unheard of. Modern behavioral psychology was in its infancy. What the police and the court saw was a girl besotted enough with a man that she’d do anything for his love and his drugs. And this was also on the heels of the Manson murders, which to this day are memorable to say the least. I think they wanted to send a message that this type of excuse would not be tolerated. It never occurred to them that the depraved professor used drugs and emotional abuse to create an almost Stockholm Syndrome with her.”

“Stockholm Syndrome?” Carl asks, scrunching up his face. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? She wasn’t a kidnap victim held prisoner for years.”

Rebecca shakes her head. “Maybe not but emotional and physical abuse in a relationship can also lead to Stockholm-like characteristics. She was manipulated emotionally through the use of suggestion and drugs by someone she admired. Over time, she lost all sense of self as she became immersed in his fantasy world.”

“Problem is… she didn’t stay in that fantasy world.” My chest aches, a dull pressure that makes it hard to breathe. I can only imagine what that poor girl felt when she was finally herself again. Despair, hopelessness, self-loathing. “Once separated from him and the drugs, she recovered fairly quickly. Then she couldn’t live with what she had done.”

“Add to that the trauma of the trial…” Daniel stops his pacing to meet my eyes. “Can you imagine what a circus that must have been? The photos, the statements, all while having to be in the same courtroom with the monster who tormented her.”

“You’re right on that account,” Rebecca says after some rapid typing. “The defense tried to paint Angela as the instigator and murderer. According to accounts, the cross-examination was brutal. I can’t find a transcript of the trial… not that I’d want to read it anyway. All I know is that Angela didn’t make it through the trial. She suffered a mental breakdown on the stand. The defense didn’t go for insanity or anything, even though Dr. Rosenthal was caught at the scene of the crime covered in the blood from all four victims.”

Carl looks up. “Four?”

Rebecca nods. “Four. Angela’s blood was on him too.” She pauses and continues to scan the story on her laptop. “When Angela was led from the sorority house in handcuffs, she was covered in blood‌—‌her own blood, but no one knew that yet. The media painted them as Bonnie and Clyde serial murderers for two weeks until the police announced that Angela was cleared of any murder charges. I can’t believe the defense tried to pin the whole thing on her.” Rebecca lets out a wry laugh. “Stupid plan, didn’t work.”

“Doesn’t matter much though,” Logan says. “Angela never recovered from the ordeal.”

“She never lived her life,” I say, biting my lip. “She never got over what happened, never moved on. She’s been living in her own version of Purgatory for forty years.”

“No kidding.” Rebecca’s fingers hit the keyboard in an angry staccato. “Would you believe that crazy professor wrote a book from death row? He was also interviewed by numerous media personalities, and lived life in the limelight until he was executed.”

“Perfect for someone with a narcissistic personality,” Mrs. Finley murmurs.

“That totally sucks.” Daniel resumes his restless pacing. “The freak criminal is immortalized, and the victim suffers as a pariah.”

“We need to show Tracy how much Angela suffered,” I say, feeling a burst of determination. “She needs to know that her murderer was convicted and executed years ago. Angela has suffered daily and never lived her life. Tracy needs to know that Angela never forgot about her, thought about her every day of her life.”

Logan pats my shoulder. “Sounds great in theory. But I think she’s far beyond listening.”

“I agree,” Mr. Kincaid says. “In fact, I’m not sure I can, in good conscience, let any of you back in that house.”

“I agree… what did Anna say?” Mrs. Finley asks, referring to Mrs. Kincaid, our Circle chapter leader.

“She arranged for an exorcism team to meet us at the house in an hour.” Mr. Kincaid taps at his phone a few times. “Chief Diving Eagle, Pastor Emilio and his assistant Rosalina, along with…” He pauses, his eyes moving to Mrs. Finley. “You, Marianne.”

“No, Mom,” Logan says, struggling to his feet. Though he groans at the pain, it doesn’t stop him from striding up to his mother. “It’s far too dangerous.”

“Really, honey?” She lets out a nervous laugh. “You still plan to go there tonight, and yet expect me to just allow it.”

“But an exorcism? It isn’t the same.” Logan crosses his arms over his chest, wincing from the movement.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is for your father and me to allow you to dive into these dangerous situations?” Mrs. Finley wraps her arms around his shoulders and leads him back to the sofa. “You have a gift, and so do I. We have a duty to use our gifts to help others. You can’t protect me any more than I can protect you, dear.”

Logan flops down on the sofa, letting out a pained hiss. When he glances at me with pleading eyes, I shake my head. Nothing I say will change Mrs. Finley’s mind either. I place my hand on his thigh, stroking his leg through his jeans.

“There’s a simple solution,” I murmur, leaning my head close to his. He looks at me with such hope, I feel guilty about my next words. “We move Tracy on… convince her to go into the light on her own. Then no exorcism.”

“The Circle didn’t use an exorcism last time,” Rebecca says. “Will that make a difference over the banishment ritual they used?”

“An exorcism isn’t permanent,” Mrs. Finley says as she eases herself down into a blue armchair. “Spirits, demonic or otherwise, can return, exorcism or no. It’s a more intense form of eviction and may last longer than a simple cleansing or banishment ritual. An exorcism is for powerful spirits, the stubborn ones who are too powerful for their own good.”

“And demons,” Raven says as she enters the room carrying a bundle of greenish wreaths and small pouches. She places them on the end table beside our high priestess. “We were low on blackberry so I wove in some clove and ivy.”

“Good thinking, dear,” Mrs. Finley says while inspecting the wreaths. “You have a real talent for herbs.”

Raven bows her head. “Thank you, High Priestess.”

Blake stands behind Raven, almost as though he’s her bodyguard. His dark eyes never leave her, stalking her movements like the wolf he is. Silence continues as Mrs. Finley and Raven pass out the wreaths and pouches. The wreaths go around our necks, and I’m happy there aren’t any mirrors nearby. I’d rather not see how ridiculous I look sporting a wreath. Pouches of mixed protection herbs are placed in our pockets. I inhale, enjoying the woodsy aroma. If nothing else, at least we all smell pleasant.

Mrs. Finley sits down beside me. “How is that bracelet working?”

“Fine. But I have to admit… it drives me crazy with the constant vibrating.”

“Does it distract you? When you’re on a case?”

I think about her words. “No. I’d like to say yes, because I do find it annoying. But the vibrations ebb and flow with the surrounding negative energy. I can sense psychic attacks coming seconds earlier than before. It’s becoming more a part of me every day.”

“Good, good.” She pats my leg. “That’s what I hoped to hear.”

Logan groans beside me, and we both turn to him. “Premonition,” he murmurs in a strained tone while clutching his head with his hands.

“What did you see, dear?” Mrs. Finley asks, her voice calm and soothing.

He drops his hands and leans his head back against the sofa. Samson and Delilah let out simultaneous
mewls
and butt his legs with their heads. He moans again, his fingers clenched in his hair like he might tug it out. Premonitions seem to be painful for him. I don’t have them, so I don’t understand why.

“It… hurts.” A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead, and I motion for Blake. He doesn’t hesitate, having seen this before.

Blake’s quick reaction eases the tension in my shoulders, and I allow myself to relax a bit. There is something so refreshing about the werewolf. Even as I cradle Logan in my arms, I can’t help but be relieved at Blake’s quick understanding and action. Everyone in the Circle is always full of questions. Blake too but he is also action-prone‌—‌he does what’s needed and asks questions later. He returns from the kitchen, handing me a rag soaked in cold water, and I place it on Logan’s forehead, wiping in gentle motions. Everyone remains silent as we wait for Logan to recover and reveal what he saw. He takes the rag from my hands, running it across the back of his neck.

“Honey, what did you see?” his mother asks.

“Death.”

Chapter Twenty — Death Omen

Chapter Twenty

Death Omen

Logan

Pain lances through my head, and I bite back another groan. Can’t let anyone know how messed up I really am, or they won’t let me hunt. After this premonition, I know I have to be there. Everyone stares at me… waiting for the big reveal, but I can’t find the words. My stomach drops as I recall the hazy image, the unseeing gray eyes. I just saw my best friend’s death.

I run the wet washcloth over the clammy skin at the nape of my neck. A shiver courses through me, traveling from my torso down my arms and legs. I feel detached, floating. Part of me wants to ride that detachment right into insanity. But I force myself back into the present. I can feel again: the soft fur of my familiars beneath my fingers, Kacie’s breath against my cheek as she whispers words of encouragement, and Poe pulling at my hair, tickling my ear with his beak. Really? It’s the crow that finally pulls me from the darkness.

“Enough, Poe.” I gently prod at the crow until he hops off my shoulder. He lands on the back of the sofa, his beady eyes never leaving me.

“You back?” Kacie asks in a soft voice.

“Yeah… but…” I trail off, unable or maybe unwilling to continue. Premonitions are scary things‌—‌twisted, hazy, hard to understand. Yet this one was the clearest I’ve ever had. Daniel’s dead, unseeing eyes staring up at me from his prone body. I didn’t see the surroundings. I don’t know where or when it will happen. I don’t know anything!

“I need everyone to clear out.” Kacie makes a waving motion with her arm. “Please, it’s important.” Everyone stands and heads toward the kitchen in silence. “Wait, Raven, I need your help.”

She sits on the chaise by my leg. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take his other hand,” Kacie says as she takes my right. “Logan, close your eyes.”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“Listen to my voice.” Kacie squeezes my hand. “Raven and I are open to you. Use our strength, our psychic power. Visualize your premonition. Is it fuzzy?”

“Yes.”

“What do you see?”

“Daniel.”

Kacie and Raven both gasp in unison.

“What is Daniel doing?” It’s Raven’s voice. Kacie must be too shocked to speak yet. It will only get worse. Raven pulls on my hand. “Concentrate! What is Daniel doing?”

“H-he’s… dead.”

Silence. Complete utter silence.

Raven recovers first. “Are you sure? I-I mean are you sure he’s dead?”

My eyes burn through my closed lids. “Yes. No question.”

“Where is he?” Kacie asks in a shaky voice. “Can you see where it happened?”

“No. Everything’s dark. God, D-Daniel,” I say, choking on the words. “Stop. Stop making me see this!”

Raven grips my hand harder, covering it with her other hand. An arm encircles my shoulders, and Kacie leans her head close, resting against my cheek. Her aura pulses, dark red, full of power. Red is never calming. But it fills me with strength and determination, clouding my doubt. The image sharpens, and I can see things I missed before in my grief. A room, in disarray, horrible disarray. Daniel wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt lying in a pile of shattered glass. A large shadow figure looms above him, reaching down with dark, ethereal limbs.

My eyes fly open. “The sorority house,” I say through a gasp. “He was killed at the sorority house.” I think… it’s still too hazy to make out anything but the glass and the dark phantom, but can I take the chance? Hell no.