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“the Reaper” by the press, gathered the most fanatical members of the group and went on a shooting spree at the Regional National Mall in Ampton, Ohio. He and his followers murdered twenty-five people that day before the authorities took them out.”
    “Someone deserves a medal,” Talon said through gritted teeth. He was shaking with rage. The sadistic torture videos had worked him up, raising the memories of Michelle’s horrific death video once more. Not only had these bastards tortured innocents, but they’d been proud of it, too, had wanted to show it off for the world to see.
    Talon typed Schiller’s name into his laptop’s search engine and a haunting face appeared. Talon immediately understood why the press had nicknamed Schiller the Reaper. The mass murderer staring back at him was bald, his neck and chest covered in satanic tattoos with the barcode skull taking center stage on his throat. Skin stretched tightly over his gaunt, emaciated features, the bones sharply outlined—a skull wearing the mask of a man. Body shots revealed Schiller to be six foot-four, bone-thin without a gram of body-fat on his ropy frame.“So why are we looking at the work of a deceased cult leader?”
    “It appears that Schiller’s work has inspired a copycapt cult. There have been reports of four new kidnapping cases in Ampton, Ohio over the course of the last week that bear the MO of the Reaper gang. Same graffiti signature, similar high-income targets, crime scenes characterized by acts of vandalism.”  
    “Schiller’s freak show is back on,” said Talon.
    “I’m afraid so. The police haven’t found any bodies, but it’s probably just a matter of time.”
    Talon sighed. “I guess the vacation is over.”  
    “I’m sorry, Sergeant.”
    “No worries. I was getting bored out here anyway. Beach, babes, and sun just can’t compete with demons and killer cults.”
    “Nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Casca’s grew more serious as he added, ”Be careful out there. We don’t know yet what we’re dealing with.”  
    Casca’s words illustrated a problem Talon faced every time he tracked down an occult lead or investigated a paranormal case. Many of the cultists they hunted turned out to be dabblers, amateurs like Espinoza who believed they could conjure evil forces but were a long way from achieving their goals. But sometimes the horror was real. Talon wouldn’t know what he was up against until he was right smack in the middle of it.  
    He touched the pentacle pendant that had saved him back in San Francisco and in Arizona. His guns and knives were great against mortal enemies but pretty much useless against a true agent of darkness. Was this copycat cult just a group of psychos who lacked the imagination to come up with their own freak show? Or were they tapping into the darkness , the ancient, primal force of black magic that had fueled Zagan, Amon, and Rezok’s evil? Was he about to step into some black magic shitstorm?
    There was only one way to find out.
    Talon met Casca’s gaze and said, ”When do I leave?”  

C HAPTER F IVE

    TALON’S PLANE TOUCHED down twelve hours later in Ampton, Ohio. As always, he was traveling light, and within a half an hour of landing, he was navigating the foggy roads in his black BMW rental car. His first stop would be a local Best Western, where Casca had booked a room for him. He didn’t plan to waste any time. After the long, relaxing week in Florida, he was hungry for action.  
    He located his room and found a metal case waiting for him on the freshly made bed. From experience he knew that Casca’s little care package would be filled with kit. He tapped in the proper combination and the case snapped open, revealing a Glock, Ka-Bar knife, night-vison goggles, a Heckler & Koch machine pistol, and multiple magazines of ammo. He loaded the Glock, strapped on the knife and decided to seek out the copycat cult’s last crime scene. The authorities