Chapter 3: The Disgraced Detective

The teleportation felt like being dragged through a blender made of broken glass and lightning. When reality reasserted itself, Evelyn, Alistair, and Kaelen crashed onto a concrete floor in a tangle of limbs and curses.

"Jesus Christ!" Kaelen rolled away, clutching his stomach. "Next time you want to kill us, just ask the Gloom Stalker to do it. Less painful."

Evelyn groaned, tasting copper. Her nose was bleeding, and every nerve in her body felt like it had been dipped in acid. The forbidden teleportation spell had torn through her magical reserves like a chainsaw, leaving her drained and shaking.

"Where are we?" Alistair asked, helping her sit up. His doctor's training was evident as he checked her pulse, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who'd been a monster minutes earlier.

"My office," Kaelen said with bitter pride. "Welcome to O'Connell Investigations, the most unsuccessful PI firm in Boston."

Evelyn looked around and immediately understood why. The space was a converted warehouse with exposed pipes and brick walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed like angry wasps. But it wasn't the industrial aesthetic that made her stare—it was the madness covering every available surface.

The walls were papered with newspaper clippings, police reports, and photographs connected by red string in patterns that looked like a spider's web designed by a paranoid mathematician. Headlines screamed about unexplained deaths, missing persons, and freak accidents. Sticky notes in different colored ink covered gaps between articles, each one filled with Kaelen's cramped handwriting.

"Holy shit," Evelyn breathed, struggling to her feet. "How long have you been working on this?"

"Three years, four months, sixteen days." Kaelen moved to a mini-fridge that looked like it had been salvaged from a college dorm. "Since the day the Coven destroyed my life." He pulled out three beers and tossed them across the room with surprising accuracy. "You drink?"

"After tonight? Absolutely." Evelyn caught hers and cracked it open, the bitter taste helping wash away the metallic aftertaste of blood and magic.

Alistair accepted his beer but didn't open it, instead studying the wall of evidence with clinical fascination. "This is... comprehensive."

"That's a nice way of saying obsessive," Kaelen said, settling into a battered office chair. "But when you're the only one connecting dots that everyone else pretends don't exist, obsessive is what it takes."

Evelyn moved closer to the wall, following the red string connections. She could see patterns emerging—clusters of deaths in specific neighborhoods, recurring symbols in crime scene photos, witness statements that mentioned impossible things before being officially discredited.

"This symbol," she said, pointing to a polaroid photo pinned near the center of the web. It showed a chalk marking on concrete—three interconnected spirals surrounded by what looked like musical notes. "I saw something like this at the clinic."

Kaelen was on his feet instantly. "Where exactly?"

"Carved into the pipe where the girl was hanging. I thought it was just scratches, but..." She traced the spiral pattern with her finger. "It's the same, isn't it?"

"Bingo." Kaelen pulled down a thick folder from a shelf and spread its contents across a folding table. "Meet the Whispering Choir, the most dangerous group you've never heard of."

The photos inside made Evelyn's stomach turn. Crime scenes that looked like ritualistic killings, but with no evidence of violence. Bodies found in impossible positions, all wearing the same expression of absolute terror she'd seen on the girl at the clinic. And everywhere, that same spiral symbol.

"They've been active for decades," Kaelen continued, "maybe centuries. Always operating in the shadows, always cleaned up by Coven 'specialists' before real investigations can begin. But I've been tracking them, connecting cases across state lines, building a profile."

Alistair had gone very still, his beer forgotten in his hand. "The musical notes around the spiral. What do they represent?"

"That's where it gets interesting." Kaelen pulled out a magnifying glass and held it over one of the photos. "I had a musicologist look at these. They're not random marks—they're fragments of an actual composition. Something old, probably pre-colonial."

"A song," Alistair whispered, and there was something in his voice that made Evelyn turn to stare at him.

"Doctor?" she asked. "You know something about this."

For a long moment, Alistair said nothing. Then he set down his beer and began rolling up his sleeves. Dark veins were still visible on his forearms, pulsing faintly like a slow heartbeat.

"My family has served the Whispering Choir for three hundred years," he said quietly. "Not by choice."

The warehouse fell silent except for the buzz of fluorescent lights. Kaelen's hand had moved instinctively toward his gun, while Evelyn felt her magic begin to stir, purple sparks dancing around her fingertips.

"It started during the Salem trials," Alistair continued, seeming not to notice their defensive reactions. "My ancestor, Thomas Finch, was a physician who treated some of the accused witches. He witnessed things—real magic, real power—and he wanted it for himself."

"Let me guess," Kaelen said grimly. "He made a deal."

"He thought he was being clever. The Choir promised him knowledge, the ability to heal any ailment, to push back death itself. In exchange, his bloodline would serve as their... hunting hounds when needed." Alistair's hands clenched into fists. "What they didn't tell him was that each generation would become more monstrous than the last."

Evelyn studied his face, seeing past the scholarly exterior to the pain beneath. "The thing I saw you become—that's not lycanthropy."

"No. It's something older, hungrier. The Choir calls us Aberrants—humans twisted by their influence into something that can hunt in both the physical world and the spaces between dimensions." He looked up at her, and she saw genuine fear in his eyes. "I've spent my entire adult life trying to break the curse, using my medical knowledge to find a cure. But every full moon, the compulsion grows stronger."

"That's why you run the free clinic," she realized. "You're trying to save people to balance out what the Choir makes you do."

"A futile gesture, but yes." Alistair's smile was bitter. "Though I suspect my efforts have drawn their attention. The recent Gloom Stalker attacks aren't random—they're testing me, seeing if I'm still useful to them."

Kaelen had been quiet during this exchange, but now he leaned forward with predatory interest. "The Coven knows about your family connection, don't they? That's why they keep sending investigators to your clinic."

A cold certainty was building in Evelyn's chest, the same feeling she'd had right before IEDs went off in Afghanistan—the moment when all the wrong details suddenly clicked into a terrifying pattern.

"They're not sending investigators," she said slowly. "They're sending offerings."

Both men stared at her.

"Think about it," she continued, her voice gaining strength as the horrible logic became clear. "Junior members, people with minimal training or questionable loyalty. They send us to 'investigate' supernatural disturbances in places where they know dangerous things are active."

"Bait," Kaelen breathed.

"Sacrifices." Evelyn turned back to the wall of evidence, seeing it with new eyes. "How many Coven members have died in the line of duty over the past few years? How many were investigating cases just like mine?"

Kaelen was already moving, pulling down files and spreading them across every available surface. "Sarah Winters, died investigating 'unauthorized necromancy' in Salem. Marcus Chen, killed during a 'routine spirit cleansing' in Chinatown. Rebecca Torres, found dead after looking into 'minor psychic disturbances' in Southie."

"All junior members," Evelyn said, her magic beginning to crackle with anger. "All sent alone on assignments that should have required teams."

"All sent by Elder Thorne," Alistair added quietly.

The name hung in the air like a curse. Evelyn thought of Thorne's cold eyes, his calculating smile, the way he'd described her assignment as an 'opportunity to redeem herself.'

"He's feeding them to the Choir," she said. "But why?"

"Power," Kaelen said grimly. "It's always about power. The Choir gives him something—information, magical knowledge, political leverage—and in exchange, he provides them with fresh victims. Probably tells himself he's protecting the Coven by sacrificing its weakest members."

A sound from outside made all three of them freeze—the low throb of helicopter rotors in the distance, growing closer.

"Coven air support," Evelyn said, recognizing the sound from training exercises. "They found us."

Kaelen was already moving, shoving files into a duffel bag while Alistair helped Evelyn to her feet. Her magical reserves were still depleted from the teleportation, but she could feel power trickling back into her system like water filling a cracked reservoir.

"There's a service tunnel that connects to the subway system," Kaelen said, shouldering his bag and grabbing what looked like a modified shotgun from a gun rack. "We can lose them in the underground."

"Wait." Evelyn caught his arm. "Your research, your evidence—"

"Already backed up in six different locations," he said with grim satisfaction. "I didn't survive three years of Coven harassment by keeping all my eggs in one basket."

The helicopter sound was much closer now, accompanied by the distant wail of sirens. Through the warehouse's grimy windows, Evelyn could see searchlights beginning to sweep the surrounding buildings.

"Move," Alistair said, his voice taking on that inhuman edge that meant his monster was close to the surface.

They ran for the back of the warehouse as the front windows exploded inward, releasing canisters that immediately began filling the space with thick, purple smoke. Evelyn recognized the smell—a Coven sleep agent that could drop a normal person in seconds.

Kaelen yanked open a service hatch in the floor, revealing a narrow ladder that led down into darkness. "Ladies first," he said with gallows humor.

Evelyn was about to respond when the smoke reached them, and she felt her consciousness begin to fray at the edges. But instead of passing out, her chaos magic reacted violently to the foreign substance, purple electricity arcing across her skin in protective patterns.

"Interesting," she heard someone say from the direction of the shattered windows. The voice was cultured, familiar. "The subject appears to have developed resistance to standard pacification methods."

Elder Thorne stepped through the smoke like it was nothing more than morning mist, flanked by two Coven Enforcers in full tactical gear. His silver hair was perfectly arranged despite the helicopter wash, and his dark eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement.

"Sergeant Reed," he said pleasantly. "I do hope you have a good explanation for your disappearance from the clinic."

Evelyn's magic flared brighter, casting stark shadows on the warehouse walls. Around her, she could feel Alistair's controlled tension and Kaelen's barely restrained violence.

"I have a better question," she said, her voice steady despite the fury building in her chest. "How many of us have you fed to them?"

Thorne's smile never wavered. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"The Whispering Choir. The sacrifices. The junior members you send to die so you can maintain your alliance with them." Purple lightning began to dance between her fingers. "How long has it been going on?"

For just a moment, Thorne's pleasant mask slipped, revealing something cold and calculating beneath. "Ah. You've been listening to the ravings of a disgraced police officer and a cursed abomination. How... disappointing."

"The only disappointing thing," Evelyn said, raising her hands as chaotic energy built to dangerous levels, "is that it took me this long to figure out what you really are."

The warehouse erupted into chaos as her magic exploded outward in a wave of destructive force, shattering windows and sending the Enforcers diving for cover. In the confusion, Kaelen grabbed her and Alistair, hauling them toward the service hatch as Thorne's shouts of rage echoed behind them.

They dropped into the tunnel system as the warehouse above them began to collapse, Evelyn's uncontrolled magic bringing down supports and causing electrical systems to overload. But as they ran through the darkness, guided only by Kaelen's flashlight, she knew they'd crossed a line there was no coming back from.

The Coven had branded her a traitor. The Whispering Choir wanted her dead. And somewhere in the shadows, Elder Thorne was probably already planning his next move.

But for the first time since Afghanistan, Evelyn Reed felt like she was fighting on the right side.