The four of us stepped out into the crisp air, our boots crunching against the snow as we made our way down the cobblestone path. Shops with frosted windows lined the street, their displays practically oozing the holiday spirit. Plush Santa hats, handcrafted ornaments, and jars of spicedcider filled the shelves, while the warm, inviting aroma of cinnamon and fresh-baked cookies wafted from the bakeries.
I focused ahead, ignoring the cheerful atmosphere as we headed toward the village’s far side. The hum faded as we approached a cluster of buildings tucked in the shadows, away from the main drag. The maintenance shed loomed at the edge of the lot, its drab exterior a stark contrast to the rest of the village. Several police cars were parked out front, their lights flashing muted red and blue against the snow.
Victor was waiting for us near the shed, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure even in the festive surroundings. His eyes met mine as we approached, and he gave a curt nod. The presence of theSNPD meant one thing—the mundane authorities had been handled, kept at bay while Victor and his team worked to determine whether something otherworldly was involved.
“Glad you could make it,” he said, his voice low and clipped, a perfect match for the tension in the air.
“Not like I could say no,” I replied, forcing a thin smile. “What are we looking at?”
“Follow me,” Victor said, his tone giving nothing away as he motioned for us to follow him toward the shed.
The others fell into step behind me, their expressions shifting into something more serious. Whatever waited for us inside, it wasn’t going to be pretty. And as much as I hated the idea of spending my night investigating a murder in the middle of what looked like a Hallmark movie set, I knew Carnell wouldn’t have sent me if it wasn’t important.
The twinkling lights of the village faded behind us as we stepped toward the darkened shed. For the first time that night, the holiday cheer felt like it belonged to a different world.
The inside of the shed was cold and dimly lit, with asingle bulb overhead casting a weak, yellow glow that barely pushed back the shadows. It was larger than I expected, with shelves lining the walls packed full of soil bags, gardening tools, and neatly stacked boxes labeled with holiday decorations. The subtle scent of pine and damp earth lingered in the air, though it didn’t do much to mask the tension hanging heavy in the room.
Victor’s gaze flicked over Aurora for a split second before he turned and led us toward the back of the shed. I caught the look but didn’t comment, filing it away for later as my boots crunched softly against the concrete floor. We followed him through the narrow aisles, the shelves closing in like walls.
“So,” I said, keeping my voice low, “why’d you call Carnell on this one?”
Victor didn’t break stride. “Because I’m pretty sure a demon is responsible.”
The words hit like a slap of cold water. “Demon?” I repeated, my brows shooting up.
He nodded, his tone grim. “Wait until you see the victim. But first, let me tell you what I walked into.”
We reached the far corner of the shed, and he paused, his eyes scanning the space as if to make sure we were alone. “The guy looked like he died of fear,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Eyes wide, mouth frozen in a scream. And the marks on his body…” He shook his head. “You’ll see.”
The oppression in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. “You think it was a gaki?” I asked, my mind flashing to the demon who’d terrorized Ravenholde not long ago.
“No,” Victor said firmly. “The eyes are white. And based on the estimated time of death, it happened about four hours ago.”
That ruled out the gaki. Whatever we were dealing with,it was something else entirely. He stepped aside, revealing the body lying in the center of the room.
The victim was a man in his early thirties, his face twisted in sheer terror. His eyes were wide and glassy, his mouth frozen mid-scream. Twine bound his wrists and ankles, cutting into his skin as if he’d struggled against it. Thin, stripped birch branches lay scattered across his torso, their ends splintered from repeated strikes. The angry red welts crisscrossing his exposed skin told the story of what had been done to him before death.
“Wow,” Nishi muttered, breaking the silence. “This is some sick shit.”
Aurora, already in full investigator mode, knelt by the body, her piercing eyes scanning every detail. “What do we know about him?” she asked.
Victor flipped open a small notepad. “His name is Brody Hansen. He worked here in the village as one of Santa’s helpers. A photographer, specifically.”
“Santa’s helpers?” I asked, glancing at the others. “What does that mean?”
Eve answered, her tone clipped. “That’s where kids get their photos taken with Santa. You know, the whole ‘sit on Santa’s lap and smile’ deal.”
I nodded, glancing back at the body. Brody Hansen didn’t look like he’d been anywhere near holiday cheer when he died. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn’t random. This was personal—or ritualistic.
Aurora stood, her expression as sharp as the blade she probably had hidden under her coat. “We’re not dealing with an amateur,” she said, echoing my thoughts. “Whoever or whatever did this wanted to send a message.”
Victor nodded grimly. “That’s why I called Carnell. We need this guy tracked down, immediately.”
I exchanged a glance with the others, my chest tightening with a mix of dread and determination.
Victor motioned to a couple of his officers who were stationed by the door. “Stay here and guard the body. I don’t want anyone in here until we return.” We followed him out of the shed. “Let’s head over to Santa’s Village.”
We threaded our way through the heavily decorated stores, listening to Christmas music as people milled around us with multi-colored packages.
