The Immortals by J.T. Ellison Page A

cottage, but still spacious with a lovely, well-groomed yard. A pumpkin sat on the steps, not yet carved.
    Marcus met them at the door, face pale.
    â€œShe’s in the back room. And just so you know, that’s not the only part of the pattern that’s broken. She’s not a Hillsboro student, she goes to St. Cecilia’s.”
    Taylor took that in. “Hmm. She wasn’t in her bedroom, either?”
    â€œNo, a den. Looks like she was doing her homework. She’s on the floor behind the desk. Her mom said she likes to work in the window seat. The dog is lying next to her. He won’t leave her side.”
    His voice was thick with sorrow. Taylor empathized. They were all going to be taking turns with the department shrink after this was over. Now they were up to eight. Eight teenagers in a single day. The only way it could get worse was if it had happened at school, with more children witnessing the deaths of their classmates.
    A narrow hallway, voices from the kitchen. She caught a glimpse of color—a red blouse, the mother sobbing at thekitchen table—then they were at the entrance to the den. The room was paneled in walnut, small and cozy, with bookshelves lining the walls and a big bay window. Taylor and Sam stepped behind the desk.
    A chocolate lab growled at them, the whites of his eyes showing. He dropped his head on his paws and whined, the hackles raised on the back of his neck.
    â€œDown, boy. It’s okay.” She turned to Marcus. “What’s his name?”
    â€œRanger.”
    â€œOkay, Ranger. It’s okay.” She inched closer. The dog seemed to sense the inevitable. He bared his teeth and snapped at her, then slowly, as if his bones ached, got to his feet. His back legs hitched as he moved. Hip dysplasia, Taylor noted absently. Poor thing was old.
    â€œYou’ve done your job, Ranger. She’ll be safe with us.” As Taylor spoke, she gently eased her hand around the dog’s neck and got ahold of his collar. She could feel him shaking. “He’s exhausted. Okay, sweet boy. Time to go.”
    The dog sighed, then allowed himself to be led away. Taylor scratched him behind the ears as she handed him off to Marcus, then turned back to the body.
    The girl was petite, blond hair in a disheveled ponytail, strands sneaking out and falling in tendrils around her face. Her lips were blue. She was naked from the waist up, her budding breasts smeared with blood, the top button of her jeans undone. The pentacle carved in the long curves on her flat stomach was oozing blood. Her small body started to shake.
    â€œWait a minute,” Sam said. “Son of a bitch. She’s convulsing.” Taylor saw a small bubble of blood form on the girl’s lip. She stared in dull horror for a moment, then both women leaped to the girl’s side. Taylor pushed her fingers into the girl’s neck, felt a tiny, thready pulsing.
    â€œGet the EMTs! She’s alive.”
    Â 
    The ambulance screamed away into the night, EMTs pumping hard on the girl’s chest, her mother crying, holdingher free hand. Taylor stood in the doorway to Brittany Carson’s house. Ranger was cuddled against her legs.
    Sam was behind her. She ripped off her gloves, snapped, “It’s been within the last hour. And it’s definitely drugs—her pupils were fixed and pinpoint. Whatever they’ve taken, it’s some kind of narcotic.”
    Taylor turned back to her best friend. “Do you think that’s why the dog wouldn’t leave her side? Because he knew she was alive?”
    Sam tucked a swoop of bang behind her right ear, then rubbed her hand across her eyes. She suddenly looked older, more harassed. She sighed, then said, “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s probably a moot point. She’s lost a lot of blood, and she was cyanotic. All the other bodies were carved up postmortem. Their hearts weren’t pumping blood. Hers was a steady,