Page 113 of Conjure

“Return here?” I look at him questioningly. “But that would mean I’ve been here before?”

He holds my gaze. “Exactly.”

I open my mouth, but snap it shut again. To say that I’m confused would be an understatement.

“Maybe you traveled here at some point?” Lily suggests with a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Aron sits forward and snatches the vodka bottle. “We live in a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ shithole. When was the last time you saw a tourist pass through here?” Unscrewing the lid, his forehead glistens with sweat as he swigs straight from the bottle while holding Lily’s gaze.

Gwen sighs, rubbing her temples. “What else have we got?”

“The murders at Wilfred’s farm,” I say. “Are they related to our demon?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Gwen swipes for the half-empty bottle when Aron puts it back on the table. She takes a swig, wincing. “They could be. What are the chances that we have a demon lair in the backyard of a creepy serial killer’s den?”

“Maybe it picked this place because of the convenient food source?” Aron suggests. “Maybe Wilfred’s string of murders attracted him here?”

“According to a local legend, it was called on by Mr. Kriger, the owner of this house, remember?” Gwen asks.

Aron rolls his head to look at her. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t already here in our town. Kriger probably made it curious.”

“Or maybe Wilfred was under the demon’s influence somehow? It made Benny shoot himself and Brittany mince her hand. Perhaps it forced Wilfred to murder those women?”

“If that’s the case,” Dominic says, stroking his fingers over my knuckles in a featherless touch, “how do we explain what happened that day with Wilfred when we broke into his house? Why would it try to kill us, only to kill Wilfred instead?” He shakes his head. “It looked to me like it protected Camryn.”

I swallow hard. “It came in through the window. Wilfred wasn’t being controlled until the moment it entered his body. I saw it happen.”

“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t make Wilfred kill those people. It possesses humans for short periods to feed,” Aron says.

“It’s probably more likely Wilfred was a sick bastard, which attracted the demon. Evil attracts evil.”

Gwen throws up her hands, releasing a heavy sigh. “All we have are theories. We’re nowhere closer to figuring this shit out.” She picks up the folder behind her on the table. “What about the information in here? There has to be something.”

“I can’t believe you went to the mental asylum without me,” Aron mutters.

My eyes close when I feel Dominic stiffen. Couldn’t Aron have kept his mouth shut? I was going to tell Dominic about our trip to the asylum; I just hadn’t found the right time yet.

“You didn’t think to tell me that you went to the fucking mental asylum?” Dominic whispers angrily in my ear. “Is that why you turned off your phone?”

“Now isn’t the time for this conversation. We’ll discuss it later.”

“You bet your sore cunt, we will.”

A tremor runs straight to my core at his whispered threat. My thighs squeeze together, and I squirm. Gwen flips through the file, licking her finger and selecting a few sheets to line up on the floor. She points to one. “Magdalene Kriger, the sole survivor, was found roaming the woods in August 2002 after her family disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Her father was found dead in a suspected suicide, but his wife and Magdalene’s younger siblings were never found.”

“Where was the father found?” Dominic asks.

Gwen opens the file, selects a photograph, and holds it up for us to see. “The big oak tree in the front yard. He was found hanging by the neck.”

A shudder runs through me.

“Magdalene was in bad shape when they found her. Physically, she was fine except for mild dehydration, but mentally…” She lets the words hang in the air. “Over the following months, she got progressively worse as her psychosis deepened. At least that’s what it says in the file, but we know the demon was tormenting her. I’ve read the interviews, but she made little coherent sense. From what we can gather, she suffered visions and nightmares and claimed the woods were whispering and that she had worms crawling beneath her skin. She was heavily medicated at this point because no one believed her, which probably didn’t help.” Gwen chews on her lip, deep in thought. “She woke up screaming at night, but no one believed her when she claimed the demon was in her room. Instead, they restrained her to the bed.”

“That’s fucked up,” Aron mutters, staring at an empty spot.

“That’s one way to put it. But get this…I did some research last night. Three patients committed suicide during that year.”

Aron waves her off. “It’s a mental asylum. Their deaths are probably not related to Magdalene.”