Page 29 of Panther in the Shadows
The words hang between us. Heavy. Terrible.
"Someone did that." Flat. Dangerous. "Someone looked at necromancy and sea-witch magic and decided they wanted both badly enough to trade their humanity for it."
My throat closes. “Someone was able to raise Elspeth from the dead and bind her spirit. They've been feeding on her terror for a long time. Building power. Waiting for the right moment to complete this ritual."
Tension radiates through his frame. "And people are already dead because of it."
Words won't come past the grief and rage.
Rafe's hand covers mine where it rests on the grimoire. Warm. Solid. Grounding me when screaming seems like the only reasonable response. My sister. Used. Tortured. Turned into a weapon against me.
"We're going to find them." His thumb traces circles on my knuckles. "The person who did this. The one who bound Elspeth. Who's killing people to complete this ritual. We're going to find them and end this."
"How? They have both types of magic. I only have one. You have shifter magic but not this kind. We're outmatched."
"Maybe. But I don't need magic to kill someone. I just need to get close enough. And you're going to help me figure out where the next death will happen so we can be waiting when they show up."
The map draws my attention again. Multiple locations marked with evidence of completed rituals. More remaining. The pattern suggests an order. Not random. Building power methodically. Moving from weaker convergence points to stronger ones.
"The next death will likely be at the lighthouse." The eastern cliff marker gets a tap. "It's the next point in the sequence based on the pattern. If I'm reading this correctly, they'll need to complete it soon. Within days. Maybe tonight if the tide and moon align properly."
"Then we stake it out." His phone appears, fingers typing rapidly. "I'll have my men watch the other locations in case thesequence is wrong. But you and I are going to the lighthouse. When this summoner shows up, we take them down before they can kill again."
"What about the brotherhood meeting?"
"We tell them what we found. Get them searching for anyone who might have both types of power. Someone had to make that bargain years ago, which means they've been living on this island all this time. Hidden. Waiting." His expression hardens. "The brotherhood has resources. Information networks. They can help narrow down suspects while we prepare the ambush."
Back to the grimoire, studying the ritual requirements one more time. A detail nags at the edge of awareness.
A notation in the margin. My grandmother's handwriting again, but smaller. Almost hidden.
The anchor must feed the summoning with their own blood. Each death requires the summoner's presence. They cannot work from distance. Must be there to bind the drowning. To corrupt the magic. To steal the victim's final breath.
"They'll be there." The passage gets a point. "Whoever's doing this. They have to be present at each death. Which means if we're at the lighthouse waiting, we can catch them in the act."
"Before they kill again." His smile turns predatory. "Before they complete the next ritual. And once we have them, we end this permanently."
Dangerous. We're planning to ambush someone with magic I barely understand. But the part of me that's been running from my power for years refuses to hide anymore.
They used my sister. Turned her death into torture. Built an army from my failure.
My trying to hide, to distance myself from that fateful day, stops now.
"I'll need to prepare. Salt-blessed water. Protective wards. Something to counter necromantic corruption if they try what Elspeth did last night."
"I have a locked storage room." He gestures toward a door I haven't noticed before. "Whatever you need. My smuggling operation includes rare ingredients. Some of them magical. Help yourself."
Through the door, breath catches. Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with ingredients I've only read about in my grandmother's grimoire. Rare herbs preserved in glass jars. Crystals humming with residual power. Vials of liquid glowing faintly in the dim light. Wine racks holding bottles worth more than cars. Expensive ingredients nestled beside magical supplies.
"You have everything hidden in here."
"The criminal underworld pays well for certain items." He leans against the doorframe, watching. "Take what you need. No charge for healing that wound and saving my life last night."
White sage for purification goes into my bag. Black salt for binding. Moonstone ground to powder. Dried rowan berries that protect against malevolent magic.
Everything needed to fight someone who wields death and water in equal measure.
Rafe doesn't interrupt. Just watches with those predator eyes while I work. His gaze tracks my movements. Assessing. Cataloging. The same intensity from last night when he promised we'd hunt together.
