Disturbed Earth (Ritual Crime Unit Book 2)

by E. E. Richardson

  Red Key were clearly taking their preparation seriously—but no matter how much effort they put into the defences, they couldn’t know their designs would keep the demon contained. A ritual as big as this couldn’t have been refined and repeated before it was set down in the occult texts: it might well even be a hypothetical projection, never put into action before tonight. Just because they followed every step outlined in their books didn’t mean that the ritual would work.

  Pierce looked up at the sky, hoping for rain or snow to disrupt the proceedings, but despite the chill and the clouds there was no sign of salvation.

  Her escort didn’t give her or Doctor Moss time to gawk, hustling them uphill past the stone circle and through a farm gate into the next field. A knot of penned sheep stood huddled there, packed shoulder to shoulder and bleating in agitation. Lambs to the slaughter, she thought—all too literally. The fire pit inside the circle would need sacrifices to feed it, and she doubted that the sheep were all the summoners had in mind.

  There was probably a reason they were keeping her and Doctor Moss alive, and she doubted very much that it was altruism.

  Past the pens were several JCBs parked on the churned-up earth, and a large metal shipping container, padlocked and watched over by one of the guards. Pierce already had an idea of where this was going before their escort prodded them towards it.

  “Drop your phone on the ground,” the guard who’d spoken before ordered her. “Got a watch, got any police equipment, got any other electronics? That goes too.” He jerked his head at Doctor Moss. “You, drop your bag and do the same.”

  Pierce could see that though Moss’s jaw was trembling, it was set, and she feared the lecturer would cause herself trouble by refusing. Wary of giving any verbal caution against it that might put thoughts in the guards’ heads, Pierce tried to forestall any conflict by obeying instructions herself. She winced as her phone hit the ground, hoping that the springy grass would shield it from the impact. She doubted she was going to get a chance to snatch it back, but if she did, she needed the thing working.

  She stripped off her watch, and, more reluctantly, the malodorant spray from her belt. Her silver cuffs were still on the panther shifter they’d arrested at the university. Her penlight probably counted as electronic equipment, but it was on her keys; she might get away with keeping it, or at least be able to claim that she’d overlooked it. Might as well try her luck.

  For all the good the tiny rebellion might do her.

  Beside her Doctor Moss grimaced unhappily, but after a moment she lifted her bag from her shoulder and moved to set it down at her feet. The guard raised his Taser warningly. “Don’t bend down. Just drop it.”

  She held his gaze, pressing her lips together. “There are materials in here that could potentially interact to cause a magical effect,” she said. “While I don’t countenance what you’re doing here, I don’t think it will help anybody if I introduce unpredictable effects to the equation.” She stooped deliberately slowly to set the bag on the grass, and this time the man let her do it without incident.

  Once they’d finished divesting themselves of items of interest, he gestured for them to step away, and then had one of his associates give them a further pat-down, as efficient and impersonal as any the police themselves could have delivered. Pierce was tense until he’d finished searching Moss and stepped away, apparently finding nothing of concern besides her cigarette lighter.

  Then the lead guard banged on the doors of the metal shipping container, an echoing clang that must have been deafening to anyone inside. “Get back from the doors!” he ordered, and aimed the weapon through them as the man beside him hauled them open. Pierce wasn’t sure what a Taser would do if the electrodes struck the metal walls of the storage unit, but she hoped no one inside was eager to test it and find out.

  There was no rush from out of the darkness, and another jerk of the guard’s chin motioned her and Moss inside. “Get in. Down the back,” he ordered. They obeyed. This was a tight operation, no obvious carelessness or blind spots in their captors’ procedures that they could easily exploit to get away. Meekly biding her time didn’t sit well with Pierce, but trying something half-baked would almost certainly just fail and make things worse. These people might be willing to keep them alive for now, but that didn’t mean they’d stick to that plan if it became more trouble than it was worth.

  And she and Moss clearly weren’t the group’s only captives; as she shuffled into the dark interior of the shipping container, she was conscious of dim shadows and rustling noises further down, an unknown number of people at the back.

  The guards threw the doors closed behind them with an echoing clang, and the gloom abruptly gave way to pitch black; the only way to tell which way was out were the thin lines of light that framed the doors. The inside of the shipping container was distinctly chilly, but the air felt still and stale. Pierce avoided any mental speculation on how close it was to airtight and how many hours of air it held. Nothing they could do about it either way inside, and panicking would only burn through the air supply faster

  “DCI Pierce, Ritual Crime Unit,” she said aloud, once the ringing echoes of the slamming doors had died away. “Who else is here? Identify yourselves.”

  “Guv?”

  Pierce felt a stab of relief as she recognised Freeman’s voice, sounding even younger than her twenty-something years without visuals to back it up. “That you, DC Freeman?” she asked. No first names now—emphasize rank, make it clear they were police, try to act in control for the benefit of any panicking members of the public. “Who else is in here with you?”

  “I’m here, Chief Inspector.” She recognised the sonorous voice of Archdruid Greywolf. “We came alone. No one else was captured with us.”

  “All right,” Pierce said. “Everybody stay calm. People know where we are, and they’ll send someone out after us if we don’t manage to check in. All we need to do is sit tight and await rescue.” She left out the more difficult question of exactly when they could expect that to occur. “First of all, is anybody hurt?”

  “We’re both fine, Guv,” Freeman said. She sounded slightly rueful. “We weren’t expecting trouble. Went round to ask if we could take a look at the site and got herded in here by men with Tasers and a shapeshifter—lioness. They’re definitely doing something big at the stone circle here.”

  Pierce had forgotten how much the situation had developed in the brief time since she’d parted from her officer. “We’re pretty sure this is the central site for our demon-summoning,” she said. “I’ve got Doctor Moss here, from the university—she believes she should be able to counteract the summoning ritual if given the opportunity.” Pierce turned to look her way, though she could make out little more than a patch of deeper shadow in the darkness. “Are you going to need the bag that they confiscated back, or can you do it without the equipment?” she asked.

  “I still have a few things,” Moss said, a faint crinkling noise audible as she checked through her pockets. “Fortunately that young yahoo who patted me down was apparently only concerned with weapons and electronics. Between that and the ritual materials that this group have lying around, I could probably do something to disrupt or delay their plans if I get access to the warlock’s circle.”

  Pierce grimaced. Even if they could somehow escape this prison, that was going to be tricky.

  Greywolf spoke up from the rear of the shipping container. “I saw enough to know these people are intent on corrupting the sacred ground,” he said. “They’re obviously planning to perform sacrifices at the circle: I assume we’ll be among them.”

  “They’ll need to shed blood, and vast quantities of it,” Doctor Moss said, a touch of the habitual lecturer in her voice despite the grimness of the situation. “No doubt all of that livestock out there is lined up ready for the chop, but they’ll need to offer human lives too—the more the better, from their point of view.” She paused. “I’m afraid, Archdruid, that they more than likely
plan to sacrifice as many of your group as they can lay their hands on. As worshippers with a prior connection to the site, their lives can only increase the potency of the ritual.”

  Not to mention that it would be all too easy for the perpetrators to spin the resulting carnage as the actions of a suicide cult. Pierce set her jaw, thinking of how easily they could have lured the druids in tonight with promise of a compromise and access to the land for the solstice. With any luck the police involvement had disrupted that plan, but anyone descending on the site unprepared could still be nabbed.

  Her stomach twisted at the thought of the group of druids she’d asked to act as a distraction outside. She could only hope Cynthia and co. had been alert and sensible enough to do a runner as soon as she and Doctor Moss were picked up by the guards.

  “Your people brought us here,” she told the Archdruid. “Cynthia was helping us by setting up a diversionary protest outside the barriers. I asked them to leave if they encountered any danger, so hopefully they will have all made their escape by now.”

  “Unlikely,” he said. “Cynthia won’t leave the sacred ground unless compelled to do so. I’ve warned my people that this company who took our land is intend on corrupting the purity of the circle with evil magics. We’re prepared to do battle for the sanctity of the site.”

  Pierce couldn’t help the unhappy noise that slipped out through her lips. “I’d rather nobody was doing battle, if we can avoid it,” she said. “This ought to be a matter for the police.”

  Assuming that they were able to hit the site with enough force to overcome its defenders. After seeing the setup outside, Pierce had to admit she had her doubts. There must have been at least two dozen guards, most of them armed with Tasers, and at least two shapeshifters—the bear she’d spotted and the lioness that Freeman had seen. Plus if she was right that this Red Key crew were connected to the group who had funded the skinbinder, they might have even greater resources still to call on. She could only hope that Dawson would pull out all the stops, and not charge in with limited backup and cause a bloodbath.

  “Our people will handle this,” she insisted. They would. They had to. It was their job.

  “I hope they do,” the Archdruid said. “But, forgive me for this, Chief Inspector—right now you don’t seem to be any more in control of the situation than we are.”

  She didn’t like the fact that he was right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  PIERCE PACED THE full length of the shipping container, confirming without much surprise that it had no weak points they’d be able to exploit without tools that they didn’t have. With a sigh, she returned to the others and sat back against the metal wall.

  “Well, there’s not a lot that any of us can do from in here, so we might as well conserve our energy,” she said. “Freeman. They leave you anything of use, or did they confiscate everything you had with you?”

  “Er... still got a biro, Guv,” Freeman said after a moment; if she was leading with that, Pierce didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of the list. “They took my silver cuffs and incapacitant spray—not surprising, with the shapeshifters—and the phone and radio. Still got my belt and shoelaces, hair-tie and so on—and my keys. I had them in my pocket.”

  Keys were a potential weapon in a self-defence situation, but Pierce wouldn’t want to bring them to a fight where the opponents had Tasers. Let alone where they had teeth and claws. “What about you, Mr Greywolf?” she asked.

  “They took my staff, but they did leave me my amulet of office,” he said. “Both were carved from fallen wood from the same oak, and my followers all carry acorn charms from that same tree. If it’s true they’re still close by, I should be able to draw on their support to work some form of magic, but I fear these metal walls are blocking my energies. I tried to call on my staff earlier and couldn’t raise its power.”

  That sounded like a suspiciously convenient excuse to Pierce, but she heard a rustle beside her as Doctor Moss searched for something in her pockets. “I might be able to provide you with the elements of a basic circle to amplify your power,” she said. “I have a few things here that those idiots didn’t bother confiscating... Chief Inspector, do you still have that penlight you had earlier?”

  “I do.” She’d been planning to conserve its power unless it became essential, but she drew the set of keys from her pocket now and clicked the keyfob torch on. “What do you need?”

  “Just a little light ought to do for now.” Moss pulled various items out from the many pockets of her sleeveless jacket and squinted at them, putting some back, keeping a few others. “I have chalk... no candles, alas, and no flame—probably not wise to light one in this enclosed space in any case... Ah, birch twigs, they may be of some use, and I have a few powders; it’ll be a bit of a bodge, but since we’re not trying to contain anything, only boost existing magics, it’s probably worth a punt.”

  That wasn’t the sort of terminology Pierce was hugely comfortable hearing bandied about when it came to magical rituals—she was usually the one in charge of clearing up after such famous last words—but right now, they didn’t have much choice. Between the options of sitting and waiting for uncertain rescue or trying a long shot, she’d take the shot.

  “All right,” she said. “See what you can do.”

  IT MIGHT BE Pierce’s job to deal with the aftermath of ritual magic, but aside from looking over the shoulders of the team from Magical Analysis as they performed basic divinations, she was rarely there for the preparations beforehand. Generally by choice.

  The truth was, contrary to the general public’s and certainly the media’s impressions of magic, ninety-nine percent of it was really bloody boring. Half the reason that it was still an obscure and poorly understood art even in the internet age was that achieving any measurable result took a huge amount of setup and finicky preparation. Everybody wanted to do magic; few people wanted it enough to spend six months practising drawing the basic circles before they got started on the simplest of rituals.

  One break or wobble in a ritual circle, one shoddy stroke drawing a rune, one candle flame that flickered out at the just the wrong moment, and everything would fail. Usually, that just meant nothing would happen at all. Sometimes, it meant just enough would happen to go spectacularly wrong.

  Pierce’s job probably gave her an overinflated sense of just how often things ended with the messy disaster option, but all the same, watching Moss and Greywolf set up their ritual was both incredibly dull and painfully tense. The darkness and the still air inside the shipping container made it all the more oppressive as she stood by to hold the torch on them while they worked.

  Greywolf had taken up a cross-legged sitting position on the floor, his druidic robes hiked up rather inelegantly to reveal an ordinary pair of faded jeans and brown leather walking boots. Rather than adopt some meditative pose he simply watched and waited patiently as Doctor Moss drew her chalk design on the floor around him.

  The pattern was an unusual one to Pierce’s eyes. Ritual geometry had a million and one possible variations, but the basic intent was usually the same: keep what was outside out and what was inside in. The most basic kind of protective design was a simple circle, convenient for defence because there were no corners or sides of different lengths to provide an obvious angle of attack. Magic circles could be jazzed up in any number of ways, but generally they were built out of layers of concentric rings, the more the better.

  This design was different, the intent not to contain, but to amplify. Not a solid closed shape, then, but looping lines that spiralled outwards, crossing over each other and fragmenting the design into chambers that steadily increased in size towards the outer edge. It built up into something like an intricate spiderweb, with runes chalked or assembled from carefully placed birch twigs at the points where segments intersected.

  Pierce could see Freeman was watching avidly, clearly itching to ask questions, but she had the sense not to interrupt and ruin Moss’s concentration
. Pierce herself was far less curious; Freeman would learn with time that the details of specific rituals were rarely all that useful to know. You couldn’t learn them all, so it was better to ignore the specifics and look for the wider patterns. Outward spirals and expanding shapes for amplification; that was enough information to be going on with.

  Assuming, of course, that this makeshift ritual even worked.

  At last, Moss set her chalk down and walked around the design several times, studying it intently before she straightened up and rubbed her neck. “All right,” she said. “If this is going to achieve anything, this is as close as I can get to achieving it. Archdruid, if you would?”

  Greywolf nodded solemnly and sat up straighter in the centre, heavy eyebrows descending in concentration as he clasped the wooden medallion between his hands. He closed his eyes, murmuring low words into his beard, and Pierce fought the urge to cough and shuffle in the thick silence. She couldn’t tell if what felt like a building pressure in the atmosphere was just her own growing tension or some form of magic gathering.

  Just as she was considering whether to switch the penlight off to conserve its batteries, she heard a subtle cracking noise behind her. She spun about to shine the penlight in the direction of the doors, alert for any sign that their guards were about to enter—or worse, pump some kind of gas in through the cracks to knock them out before they had a chance.

  Instead, she saw that the line of light under the doors was gradually disappearing, as if something was encroaching along the ground, covering the gap. The shadow of something large approaching the doors?

  No—she realised that she could hear a continued crackling, a stressed metal groaning, as if someone was trying to prise the container’s doors open. Pierce stepped forward to shine the penlight’s weak beam more closely into the shadowed corners, and jerked back with a hiss as she saw pale, worm-like tendrils squirming in through the gaps, crawling across the floor and up the walls like...