5th Pentagram: The sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 3 of the Darc Murders Trilogy) (Book 3 of the Darc Murder Series) by Ben Hopkin Read Free Book Online Page A

glanced up at the bald detective, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. All of her defiance and belligerence seemed to have evaporated with the sight of the crime.
    “No. Never. I mean we use pentagrams and stuff, but…” She stared down at the picture in her hand. “… nothing like this. It’s like something out of a horror movie.”
    “So you have no idea who could have done anything like this?” Darc pressed.
    A modicum of her previous spark seemed to come back to Yana. “I said no. Wiccans don’t do this shit. This is… unnatural.” She appeared to be thinking for a moment. “There is another group out here that gets into some pretty freaky stuff. I run into them sometimes at farmers’ markets and stuff like that.”
    “Who?” Trey asked.
    “The Satanists. Some of them are pretty creepy.” Her eyes flickered back to the photo, and she shook her head. “But look, most of them are just in it to be weird, you know? I can’t believe even they would do anything like this.”
    “Do you know how to get a hold of any of them?” Trey tried hard not to give Darc his I-told-you-so look. Who had mentioned Satanists right out of the box? Not Darc, that’s who.
    “No, not really,” she answered. “But I think they have a website.”
    A website? For Satanists? Trey shook his head at that. That was just wrong on every level.
    “Okay, thanks,” he told the girl as he gave her his card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
    “I will,” she said as she stood. “And, Detective?”
    “Yes?”
    “Make sure whoever did this burns for it, okay?”
    Trey was puzzled at that. “Why’s it important to you?”
    She cocked her head at him. “It’s like every bad horror flick out there. They give witches and the occult a bad rap. It pisses me off.”
    “Well, we’ll do our best.”
    Nodding, she moved off toward the exit, her long skirt sweeping the floor behind her. She was a little strange, but Trey liked the girl.
    He turned back to Darc. “Well, time to go Satanist hunting.”
    For once, Trey’s partner didn’t correct him.
    * * *
    The lines of logic formed around the information on the computer screen, glowing the green of uncertainty. There were vital facts here, facts that Darc knew he would be able to use. But something was off.
    None of the threads were joining together. The symbols were fighting their placement. There was something here that was familiar, but every time Darc came close to discerning the source, the nonsensical numerals at the top of the pentagrams entered, splintering the pathways and destroying his train of thought.
    According to the website, Satanists of all disciplines met each month on the day nearest the new moon, at astronomical midnight. They would travel out separately by ferry to Bainbridge and then join together on the one traveling back into the city, so as to be joined together at the appropriate time.
    The new moon was tonight, and astronomical midnight was at 1:15 am. Darc found that information to cause rumblings in his interior emotional landscape. His date with Mala was this evening, and for a brief moment he had thought he would have to cancel. That had caused a surge of unfamiliar feelings to rush through him. The closest he could tell, those feelings were ones that typically accompanied the relieving of some sort of pressure. Strange.
    And when he realized that he could travel out to the ferry after his date, the attendant emotions were ones that he associated with not obtaining something positive. Disappointment. Discouragement. At least those were the words that thesaurus.com had provided for him.
    Perhaps this odd set of reactions was something he should discuss with Mala on their date. She was, after all, a psychologist, even if her practice specialized in children. She could very well add some insight into his burst of illogical sensations.
    Trey sauntered over to Darc’s desk, looking over his shoulder at the Satanists