It was the most powerful experience of my life. Choirs often set the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. But this was a thousand times more powerful. As the witches’ voices swelled, they managed to hit a pitch that literally shook through the room.
My brow was now well and truly plastered with sweat. My heart was shaking, too. Though Sarah had commanded me to concentrate on Fagan, he was the last thing on my mind as I watched the séance kick into full gear. Just as the witches’ chanting hit what appeared to be an impossible pitch, the candles all extinguished.
Before I could gasp, they relit themselves, one by one. And as they did? It felt like there was… a presence in the room.
“Now,” Sarah said, her voice different, powerful, certain, “concentrate. Concentrate on Fagan. Bring his embodied presence into this room. And we will do the rest. We will find him,” her resonant tones echoed through the warehouse.
My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow. I’d curled my hands into fists, and I could almost feel blood trickling between my nails.
Now was when I should turn back, right? It was when the old me would have turned back. Heck, the old me would never have agreed to do a séance. Then again, the old me would probably have died of fright from the vision of Fagan slicing through her heart, so the old me could go hang for all I cared.
Despite my better judgment, I bared my teeth, closed my eyes, and concentrated. On Fagan. On his goddamn shined leather shoes. On that black suit, on his sickening smile. On his presence, his hatred, and his greed.
As I did, though I couldn’t fully appreciate it, a charge of magic pulsed through me.
“Good,” Sarah encouraged in that same strong tone, “continue to concentrate. Draw him towards us. Draw him towards us.”
“Draw him towards us,” all the other witches said at once.
Though my back crawled from the power of the experience, I held on. Held onto Fagan with all my might. I wasn’t going to die at his hand. I would do anything – anything to stop this from happening. And as my determination swelled in my gut, so too did that magic.
Though I was aware of the fact I was still standing there with my eyes tightly closed and my feet pressed against the cleaned and polished concrete floor, suddenly I felt myself moving. It was a dizzying, awful experience, but somehow I managed to concentrate on it without falling over.
I started to see Fagan. Really see him. This wasn’t me conjuring him in my mind’s eye – this was me witnessing him like a dream being played over my tightly closed eyes.
There was someone before him – a large man with a broad chest, a man I’d… a man I’d seen before.
Dimitri.
He was standing by a door as Fagan faced him, as Fagan laughed.
Dimitri had his hands in his pockets, and as a satisfied smile spread across his face, he pulled out a set of keys. The enormous set of transport keys I’d seen him show me in the bar.
He twisted them around his finger, smile only ever growing wider.
“Bring me back a finger – that will be enough,” Fagan said.
Dimitri chuckled. “Right you are, boss. A finger it will be.”
Dimitri curled the keys around his finger once more, and they jangled like an orchestra.
“Get a hustle on, Dimitri,” Fagan warned in a snap, “time’s a ticking. I want that little seer’s heart by 7:07 on the dot.”
“And you’ll have it,” Dimitri said as he threw his keys up and caught them one final time.
He twisted hard on his foot and headed towards the door at the end of the corridor. He selected one of his keys, jammed it in the lock, opened the door, and walked out.
I expected him to exit into some kind of building somewhere. I was wrong.
He walked out of a crypt and into a graveyard. The rows and rows of neatly arranged headstones were unmistakable.
By now I was only very dimly aware of where I stood in that warehouse. Luckily, I had enough concentration to remain standing. Though, if anyone had been watching carefully, they would have seen me swaying on my feet.
The longer I spent in this vision, the more real it became, the closer I seemed to concentrate on Dimitri. Until, as he strode off between the headstones, I kind of melded with him. My point of view became the same as his, almost as if I’d taken up root inside his skull.
It was an awful, confronting experience, and I tried to jerk back, tried to end the vision, but there was nothing I could do. I could vaguely hear the chanting of the witches, and it seemed to be locking me in place.
I struggled and struggled, even tried to call out to Max, but I couldn’t control my throat, because suddenly my throat felt like Dimitri’s throat.
He chuckled and whistled to himself as he continued to walk through the neatly arranged headstones until finally he came to a freshly dug grave. The turf that had been arranged on top was unmistakably new and did not match the long, lush grass around it.
Dimitri paused, shoved a hand into his pocket, and angled his head over his shoulder, obviously looking for witnesses.
When he was satisfied no one was around, he pulled something out of his pocket. I expected it to be the key chain. It wasn’t. Instead, it was a tiny plastic object which, on closer inspection, appeared to be a spade.
Before I could question whether Dimitri
