something I need to do here. I’m not leaving until I find out what it is.”
Coletti’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and saw that it was Kirsten Douglas, the reporter from the Daily News . He pressed ignore. A moment later his desk phone rang. He picked it up, ready to scream at the reporter for harassing him, but it wasn’t Douglas. As he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, his mouth pressed together in a pale thin line. He jotted down some notes on his pad.
“Thanks,” he said before hanging up, a troubled expression on his face.
Both Mann and Lenore looked at Coletti, waiting for him to explain.
“We’ll have someone take you over to your hotel,” Coletti told Lenore. “And we’ll assign you a security detail until we can make some other arrangements for you.”
Lenore looked from Mann to Coletti with fire in her eyes. “I can take care of myself,” she said defiantly. “I don’t need protection.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” said Coletti. “That was the crime scene unit on the phone. They found a handwritten note stuffed in Mrs. Bailey’s mouth along with the mud that killed her.”
“What did it say?” Mann asked.
Coletti looked at them both before reading the five words from his notepad. “It said, ‘I’ll be back for Lenore.’”
CHAPTER 4
By noon, the rain had stopped, and the raven was perched high in a tree that loomed nearly six stories over Sedgley Woods. Most of the tree’s dead branches had fallen off long ago, but the trunk remained. It was split in two, like a divining rod stretching toward the sky.
But unlike the rods men used to detect trinkets in the ground, the tree was used by the raven to detect power in the air. Most men didn’t believe in such power. Oh, they said they believed, even wrote of it in their most holy scriptures, but only something that lived in the air could see it.
The raven was such a creature. He spent his life in the air, stretching his wings and gliding on gusts that carried with them all the good and evil in the world. He lived in the air, where words of love and hate escaped the lips of men and floated skyward, coming apart and releasing themselves into the universe.
There was power in words. The raven knew that intuitively, but men did not. That was why the raven’s master needed him. The bird could go beyond finding the power in words. He could unleash that power.
Perched on the tree, standing two feet tall, his eyes filled with intelligence and his neck feathers fluttering in the breeze, the raven himself looked powerful. His wings, which spanned four feet across when he was in flight, were pressed tight against his body. His claws, sharp and strong, sunk deep into the tree’s damp wood. His sturdy bill looked more like a weapon than a mouth. In fact, his entire body was a weapon. It was set off by a word that held more power than most. “Lenore.”
That word was the reason for the raven’s existence. It was the task for which he’d been trained. It was the thing that had driven him back to Fairgrounds Cemetery time and time again. That word was nothing less than his destiny.
For a year, the raven had been trained to recognize that word and the woman to whom it was assigned. He was taught to identify her face, her walk, her scent, and her voice. He was starved each time he failed and rewarded with treats of bloody lamb hearts each time he triumphed. The meat fed the raven’s need for flesh, and the bird’s resultant obedience fed the master’s lust for power.
The two of them now depended upon each other. The man, for his part, was the raven’s provider, and the raven was the man’s enforcer and protector. He was an extension of the man himself.
The raven watched from the top of the tree as the scene in Sedgley Woods took shape. He saw Kirsten Douglas, still shaken, being led from the woods by police. He saw the media contingent, their ranks swollen by bloggers, YouTubers, and curious
Coletti’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and saw that it was Kirsten Douglas, the reporter from the Daily News . He pressed ignore. A moment later his desk phone rang. He picked it up, ready to scream at the reporter for harassing him, but it wasn’t Douglas. As he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, his mouth pressed together in a pale thin line. He jotted down some notes on his pad.
“Thanks,” he said before hanging up, a troubled expression on his face.
Both Mann and Lenore looked at Coletti, waiting for him to explain.
“We’ll have someone take you over to your hotel,” Coletti told Lenore. “And we’ll assign you a security detail until we can make some other arrangements for you.”
Lenore looked from Mann to Coletti with fire in her eyes. “I can take care of myself,” she said defiantly. “I don’t need protection.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” said Coletti. “That was the crime scene unit on the phone. They found a handwritten note stuffed in Mrs. Bailey’s mouth along with the mud that killed her.”
“What did it say?” Mann asked.
Coletti looked at them both before reading the five words from his notepad. “It said, ‘I’ll be back for Lenore.’”
CHAPTER 4
By noon, the rain had stopped, and the raven was perched high in a tree that loomed nearly six stories over Sedgley Woods. Most of the tree’s dead branches had fallen off long ago, but the trunk remained. It was split in two, like a divining rod stretching toward the sky.
But unlike the rods men used to detect trinkets in the ground, the tree was used by the raven to detect power in the air. Most men didn’t believe in such power. Oh, they said they believed, even wrote of it in their most holy scriptures, but only something that lived in the air could see it.
The raven was such a creature. He spent his life in the air, stretching his wings and gliding on gusts that carried with them all the good and evil in the world. He lived in the air, where words of love and hate escaped the lips of men and floated skyward, coming apart and releasing themselves into the universe.
There was power in words. The raven knew that intuitively, but men did not. That was why the raven’s master needed him. The bird could go beyond finding the power in words. He could unleash that power.
Perched on the tree, standing two feet tall, his eyes filled with intelligence and his neck feathers fluttering in the breeze, the raven himself looked powerful. His wings, which spanned four feet across when he was in flight, were pressed tight against his body. His claws, sharp and strong, sunk deep into the tree’s damp wood. His sturdy bill looked more like a weapon than a mouth. In fact, his entire body was a weapon. It was set off by a word that held more power than most. “Lenore.”
That word was the reason for the raven’s existence. It was the task for which he’d been trained. It was the thing that had driven him back to Fairgrounds Cemetery time and time again. That word was nothing less than his destiny.
For a year, the raven had been trained to recognize that word and the woman to whom it was assigned. He was taught to identify her face, her walk, her scent, and her voice. He was starved each time he failed and rewarded with treats of bloody lamb hearts each time he triumphed. The meat fed the raven’s need for flesh, and the bird’s resultant obedience fed the master’s lust for power.
The two of them now depended upon each other. The man, for his part, was the raven’s provider, and the raven was the man’s enforcer and protector. He was an extension of the man himself.
The raven watched from the top of the tree as the scene in Sedgley Woods took shape. He saw Kirsten Douglas, still shaken, being led from the woods by police. He saw the media contingent, their ranks swollen by bloggers, YouTubers, and curious
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