CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Inside the folder, on the top, is a photo of a striking woman.
“She looks like Lara Croft,” Felix whispers. “Or looked. Past tense.”
“That’s Tatum,” Kain says somberly. “The first victim.”
He flips the page, and I see Tatum’s body lying on the roof of one of the castle’s towers, an arrow in her heart.
“Why don’t I show you what we think happened?” Hekima offers.
More illusions. Why not?
I agree, and an arc of illusionist energy hits my head.
I find myself at the scene of the crime, standing in front of a living Tatum. She smells amazing, which gives me an inkling of her Cognizant type. She takes a joint from her pocket and is beginning to light up when—with a sharp whoosh—an arrow pierces her chest.
“Let me slow that last part down,” Hekima says after she collapse
