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had found the Porsche of a missing couple in a nearby park, about a mile away from where he was staying.  
    Geared up, Talon left the hotel.  
    It was around six when he set foot in the scenic playground. Red shadows bled over the playsets and trees. For the most part the park was sparsely populated. A couple of families kept watchful eyes on their children and shot Talon suspicious glances. He couldn’t blame them after what had happened here. The kids almost seemed to sense that a terrible tragedy had befallen the place. Their play seemed muted, lacking the laughter and shouts one commonly associated with children and parks. Perhaps the cold weather accounted for their lethargic behavior; a chill was settling over the area, after all. Having been spoilt by Mexico and Florida weather, Ohio’s brisk days felt unpleasantly cold. Though they paled in comparison with the snowy conditions he’d encountered back in Norway.  
    The police had done a decent job washing away the vandalism, but they hadn’t quite succeeded in erasing all signs of the vicious attack. It didn’t take long for Talon’s eyes to find the graffiti the cult had left behind. The barcode skull on the cement wall that ringed the parking lot was faded, the result of multiple attempts to scrub it off by the authorities, but a person who knew what they were searching for wouldn’t have any trouble spotting it.
    Wary glances continued to follow him. Ignoring the attention, Talon continued to search the area. His behavior would be deemed suspicious by some of the wary parents but hopefully wouldn’t warrant a call to the police. The plan was to scan the park without overstaying his welcome.  
    Talon held no illusions about what he would find. He didn’t think he would magically stumble upon some piece of evidence the cops had missed, but maybe there was some detail about the crime scene that would mean more to people like him and Casca than the law. The police were scoping for forensic clues; Talon was snooping for signs of the occult. He checked the surroundings…and finally spotted a pentagram and an inverted cross carved into the trunks of a few nearby trees. There was another sign too. The Greek letters Alpha and Omega. Beginning and End.  
    Talon frowned. What did it signify?
    He snapped pictures of the symbols and kept combing the park. Further inspection proved fruitless, and he decided to return to his hotel. As he left the park grounds, he felt one of the moms staring at him again. He winked at her, and she quickly averted her gaze.  
    A moment later he was gone.

    ***

     
    Talon resumed his investigation the next day.  
    He showered, dressed, and knocked back some boiling coffee, his tongue desensitized to the point where his cup of joe needed to be volcano hot to work its magic. The Reaper and his followers had been skaters before they had added murder and Satanism to their resume. Maybe the new cult had a similar background.  
    Talon decided to start his investigation in the East End, a wasteland dominated by empty tenements and industrial lots. According to his research, it was the place where the most radical and dangerous dudes shredded. The kids out there were mostly runaways, druggies and burnouts. Odds were good that the copycat cult might be drawing from the same talent pool.  
    Talon wore an old pair of sneakers, green khakis, and a hoodie. His Delta training had taught him the art of blending in with his surroundings. He hadn’t shaved since Mexico and needed a haircut, which helped sell the look. No one would mistake him for some teen punk, but neither did he look like a square. He picked up a used board at Switchfoot , a skate shop he came across on his way to the East End, and parked the BMW about a quarter of a mile from his destination.  
    He got out of the rental and skated the rest of the way. He’d been an avid skater when he was young and could still pull off a few moves. Being the son of a diplomat, Talon had lived