The Immortals

By J.T. Ellison

It is Samhain the Blood Harvest. Nonbelievers call it Hallowe'en. The night when eight Nashville teenagers are found dead, with occult symbols carved into their naked bodies. It's a ritual the killers believe was blessed by Death himself.

When children are victimized, emotions always run high, and this case has the public both outraged and terrified: a dangerous combination. Recently reinstated homicide lieutenant Taylor Jackson knows she has to act quickly, but tread carefully.

Exploring the baffling culture of mysticism and witchcraft, Taylor is immersed in a darkness that threatens to unbalance the order of her world, and learns how unchecked wrath can push a killer to his limits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460828892

J.T. Ellison

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J.T. Ellison writes standalone domestic noir and psychological thriller series, the latter starring Nashville Homicide Lt. Taylor Jackson and medical examiner Dr. Samantha Owens, and pens the international thriller series "A Brit in the FBI" with #1 New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter. Cohost of the Emmy Award-winning show, A Word on Words, Ellison lives in Nashville with her husband.

Book preview

Third Quarter Moon

Samhain (Halloween)

One

Nashville, Tennessee

October 31

3:30 p.m.

Taylor Jackson stood at attention, arms behind her back, her dress blues itching her wrists. She was feeling more than a bit embarrassed. She’d asked for this to be done without ceremony, just a simple here you go, you’re back in our good graces, but the chief was having nothing of it. He’d insisted she not only receive her lieutenant’s badge again, but be decorated as well, in a very public ceremony. Her union rep was thrilled, and at her direction, had dropped the lawsuit she’d been forced to file against the department when they demoted her without cause. Taylor was pleased, as well. She’d been fighting to get reinstated, and she had to admit it was nice to put all of this behind her. But the pomp and circumstance was a bit much.

It had been a long afternoon. Taylor felt like a show pony, was flushed with the overly exuberant praise of her career, her involvement in catching the Conductor, a serial killer who’d killed two women back-to-back, kidnapped a third and fled Nashville with Taylor hot on his heels. She’d arrested him in Italy, and the story had immediately caught international headlines, because at the same time, she’d been party to the capture of one of Italy’s most notorious serial killers, Il Macellaio. In the world of sound bites and news at your fingertips, taking two serial killers into custody had garnered so much attention that the chief had been forced into action.

Not only was she being reinstated; Taylor had command of the murder squad again, and her team was being reassembled. Detectives Lincoln Ross and Marcus Wade were shipped back up from the South Sector, and after a long discussion with the chief, she’d even talked him into allowing Renn McKenzie to become part of the permanent team. She had her boys back.

Most of them.

Pete Fitzgerald had fallen off the face of the earth. Taylor had last talked to him when he was in Barbados, anchored and waiting for a new part for his boat’s engine. He’d called to let her know he thought he’d seen their old nemesis, and she hadn’t heard from him since. She was sick with worry, convinced that Fitz had been taken by the Pretender, a killer so obscene, so cruel that he invaded her dreams and consumed her waking moments. A killer Taylor hadn’t caught; the one who’d quite literally gotten away.

Her concerns had been compounded just last week, when the Coast Guard had picked up a distress signal off the coast of North Carolina. The GPS beacon matched the registered number for Fitz’s boat. Despite countless days of searching, nothing had been found. The Coast Guard had been forced to call off the search, and the police in North Carolina couldn’t get involved because there was no crime to be investigated. She had a call in to the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigations, in the hope they would see things differently, but she hadn’t heard anything yet.

Taylor tried to shake off the thought of Fitz, of his body broken and battered, of what the Pretender was doing to him, or had done. The guilt spilled through her blood, making it chilly. She’d issued a challenge to the Pretender, told him to come and get her. Instead, she was positive he’d taken her friend, the man closest to her, aside from Baldwin. Her father figure. She had probably gotten Fitz killed, and she found that knowledge desperately hard to stomach.

She looked into the crowd, the sea of blue seated in compact rows before her. John Baldwin, her fiancé, sat in the front, grinning. His hair was too long again, the black waves falling over his forehead and ears in a tumble. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes; that was sure to get on the evening news, and she didn’t want any more attention than she already had. She touched her engagement ring instead, twisting the channel-set diamonds around her finger.

Her team sat beside him: Lincoln Ross, hair grown out just enough to slip in some tiny dreadlocks; Marcus Wade, brown-eyed and sweetly happy. He was getting serious with his girlfriend, and Taylor had never seen him so content. The new member of the team, Renn McKenzie, was at Marcus’s left. Taylor saw McKenzie’s partner, Hugh Bangor, a few rows back. They’d been very discreet—only Taylor and Baldwin knew they were an item.

Even her old boss Mitchell Price was there, smiling benevolently at her. He’d been a casualty of the events that led to Taylor losing her badge in the first place, but had moved on. He was running a personal protection service catering to country music stars, and had made it clear that anytime Taylor wanted to bail on Nashville Metro, she was welcome to join him.

Fitz was the only one missing. She forced the lump in her throat away.

The chief was pinning something to her uniform now. He stood back with a wide smile and started clapping. The audience followed suit, and Taylor wished she could disappear. This was not what she wanted, this open, public enthusiasm on her behalf.

The chief gestured to the microphone. Taylor took a deep breath and stepped to the podium.

Thank you all for being here today. I appreciate it more than you know. But we really should be honoring the entire team who participated. I couldn’t have done any of this without the help of Detective Renn McKenzie, Supervisory Special Agent John Baldwin, Detective James Highsmythe of the London Metropolitan Police, and all the officers of the Metro Police who participated, in small ways and in large, on the case. The city of Nashville owes these men and women a debt of gratitude. Now, enough of the hoopla. Let’s go back to work.

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and they clapped again. Lincoln whistled, two fingers stuck in his mouth, and this time she did roll her eyes. Baldwin winked at her, his clear green gaze full of pride. With her back ramrod straight and her ears burning, she thanked the chief and the other dignitaries, nodded at her new boss, Commander Joan Huston, and made her way off the dais. People began milling about; the language of the force rang in her ears like a mother’s lullaby. She was back, and it felt damn good.

Baldwin met her, took her hand. So how’s the Investigator of the Year?

She took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. Don’t start, she said. This is mortifying enough as it is.

He laughed and kissed her palm. A promise for later.

Lincoln and Marcus both hugged her, and McKenzie shook her hand.

Congratulations, LT! Lincoln’s gap-toothed smile felt like coming home, and she clapped him on the back. Price joined their group, shaking her hand gravely, his red handlebar mustache neatly trimmed and waxed for the occasion.

What’s your first act as a newly restored lieutenant, Loot? Marcus asked.

Buying y’all a beer. It is Halloween, after all. Let’s get out of here. How about we head down to Mulligan’s and grab a Guinness?

You’re on, Marcus said.

She gestured to her stiffly starched uniform. I just need to change.

Us, too. Race you to the locker rooms.

Ten minutes later, once again in civilian clothes—jeans, cowboy boots, a black cashmere turtleneck and gray corduroy blazer, left open—Taylor felt much more comfortable. She snapped her holster onto her belt, then risked a glance at her shield. Her phantom limb. Losing it had just about cost her everything. She lovingly caressed the gold for the briefest of moments, then attached it to her belt in front of her holster. Complete. Again. She slammed her locker shut and met the boys in the hall. She saw Baldwin’s eyes stray to her waist and pretended she didn’t see his satisfied smile.

As they left the Criminal Justice Center, Taylor’s spirits lifted. The joshing, joking group of men behind her, Baldwin in step at her side, all served to remind her how lucky she was. Now, if she could only find Fitz and do away with the Pretender, life would be grand indeed.

They’d just passed Hooters when Taylor’s cell rang. She looked at the screen, saw it was dispatch. She held up a hand and stopped on the sidewalk to answer.

Jackson, she said.

Lieutenant, we need your response at a 10-64J, possible homicide, 3800 Estes Road. Repeat, 10-64J.

The J designator made a shiver go up her spine. J meant the victim was a juvenile. She hated working crimes with kids involved.

Roger that, Dispatch. I’m on my way. She slapped the phone shut. Hey, guys, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go to this scene. She pulled her wallet out of her jacket’s interior pocket and handed Lincoln two twenties. He shook his head.

Hell, no, LT. You’re back on the job, so are we.

But you’re not on today. Go on ahead.

No way, Marcus said. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, a wall of testosterone and insistence. She knew better than to fight. They were all just as happy as she was to be back together.

I’ll drive, McKenzie offered.

She smiled at them, then turned to Baldwin. Well, aren’t you coming, too?

What, the Nashville police want the help of a profiler? he teased, his green eyes flashing.

Of course we do. Come on then, let’s go. We’ll have to take two cars.

They drove up West End, McKenzie in the lead, Taylor and Baldwin following. Getting to Green Hills at this time of day was difficult at best, the traffic stop-and-start, so McKenzie was leading them through the back roads. Up West End, then left on Bowling, through the gloriously wooded neighborhoods, wide green lawns, large homes set far back from the main streets.

Many of the houses were decorated for Halloween, some professionally, with complete horror tableaus on their front yards: Black-and-orange twinkling lights and tombstones and full-size mummies—some crafted with the obvious hand of a child—fake spider webs and friendly ghosts. On the corner of Bowling and Woodmont there was a large inflatable headless horseman. It was starting to get dark, and there had been rain earlier in the day. Fog rose in wispy streams from the lawns. A few jack-o’-lanterns had been lit, their insides glowing with sinister comfort.

Once they turned left onto Estes, it only took a moment to reach the address. The first responders—firefighters and EMTs—had already left. Patrol cars littered the street, crime-scene tape was strung across the road. Blue-and-white lights flashed in the evening sky, reflecting off the brick houses. Farther down the street, moving away from the commotion, small groups had started floating from door to door; the youngest trick-or-treaters escorted by their parents before full dark set in. Even if it hadn’t been Halloween, it would have been an eerie scene.

Paula Simari was there, standing by her patrol car. Her canine partner, Max, was in the backseat, grinning a doggie smile at the activity. His services had not been needed tonight, it seemed.

The five of them approached and Paula held up her hands. Whoa. No need to bring out all the big guns. Just one body up there. She gestured over her shoulder at the second story of an expansive Georgian red brick house. How’s it being back in charge, Lieutenant?

Very nice, Officer. Taylor liked Simari. She was good people, always ready with a quip, but knew when to be serious. Why don’t you brief us, then we’ll take a cruise through the scene. She signed in to the crime-scene call sheet, then handed the pen to Baldwin. By the book, that was her new middle name.

Sure. Body is that of a seventeen-year-old male Caucasian, name Jerrold King. His sister, Letha, came home from shopping with friends—they both go to Hillsboro but they had a half day today. It’s a teachers’ in-service afternoon. Said she went into his room to borrow a CD and found him naked on the bed. She called 911 and they responded, but he was deceased when they arrived.

Suicide? Taylor asked.

Not exactly, Simari replied grimly. Not unless he was into pain.

Pain? Baldwin said, eyebrow raised.

Simari bit her lip. I think you should see this for yourself. That’s why I had dispatch call you directly.

Taylor looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. Okay. Let’s go. Baldwin, you’re with me. Marcus, Lincoln, could you start chatting with the crowd? She pointed to the driveway of the house next door, which was accumulating people, some dressed in costumes, some obviously just home from a day at the office. The suits outnumbered the costumes three to one. See if anyone saw anything. McKenzie? Make sure the medical examiner is on the way. We need a death investigator and crime-scene techs.

Will do.

She followed Simari up the elaborate steps of the house, through white Doric columns onto a wide brick porch. A trio of witches nestled in between two spider-webbed rocking chairs; dual arrays of orange chrysanthemums in black wrought-iron planters were parked on either side of the door, their blossoms bright and new.

Taylor took a second to wind her hair into a bun and secure it, slipped her hands into purple nitrile gloves. Baldwin followed suit—their hands suddenly all professional, no more the recipients of holy palmers’ kiss. They couldn’t afford to confuse the crime-scene techs with their own DNA, nor allow their personal relationship to affect the case. It had been difficult for Taylor at first, pretending she and Baldwin weren’t emotionally entwined. It was easier now. She was learning his detachment skills.

Simari was already gloved up, and let them in.

A teenager with rough skin and a jet-black bob sat at the foot of the stairs, white and shaking. She had black circles under her eyes and the faintest trace of dark lipstick in one corner of her mouth. Her lips were jammed together in a thin line; it seemed she knew if she opened her mouth the world would collapse.

Lieutenant Jackson, this is Letha King. She found the body.

Taylor bent at the waist to get to the girl’s level. Letha. I’m so sorry for your loss. Are your parents on their way home?

The girl didn’t meet her eye, just shook her head. Simari stepped in. They’re out of town. We’re tracking them down now.

Letha wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to hold herself together. Her nails were painted black, the polish wearing away. Taylor was tempted to reach out and touch her, to give a bit of warmth, of comfort, but refrained. She needed to see the body first, then she could worry about the living.

She stepped back onto the porch and whistled at McKenzie. He was on his cell phone, raised his eyebrows in question. She gestured for him to come to her. He nodded, said something briefly into the cell, then slapped it shut and bounded up the stairs. Taylor spoke quietly.

I’ve got the victim’s sister in the house. Kid’s completely shattered. She needs to have someone with her. Would you mind?

Not at all. Everyone’s on their way.

Great, thanks. Come with me.

They reentered the house, and Taylor led McKenzie to Letha.

Letha, this is Detective McKenzie. He’s going to talk to you for a few minutes while we check on your brother. We’re going to go upstairs now. If you need anything, anything at all, you just ask Detective McKenzie, okay?

The girl nodded, silent as the grave. She gave Taylor an odd feeling, a premonition that worse things were to come, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

How about we go into the kitchen, Letha? McKenzie held out a hand. The girl took it and rose, unsteady on her feet, eyes blank. She allowed herself to be towed away. Shock. Poor, creepy little thing.

The staircase was mahogany, sweeping, twin rises that met together in a catwalk loft on the second floor. They took the left set of steps, Taylor unconsciously counting as they went up. Thirty-three stairs. The view down to the grand foyer was only slightly obscured by a brilliant chandelier strung with fake cobwebs, creating a gauzy veil on the downstairs. The hallway floor was wide-planked oak topped with elegant throw rugs and capriciously placed tables covered in ethnic crystal and wood tchotchkes. Tribal masks lined the corridor. The parents were either travelers or collectors.

Four doors bled off the center hall. One was open.

Taylor glanced back over her shoulder at Baldwin. His face was calm, placid, ready for anything. His eyes met hers briefly, questioning. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped in her tracks until Simari cleared her throat.

Everything okay?

Was it? Taylor had the strangest sense, almost like a strong hand was pushing at her chest, pushing her away from the bedroom door. She couldn’t detect any of the usual smells that accompanied a violent crime scene—blood, fear, human waste. It smelled…like flowers. Once she realized that the scent was coming from the open bedroom, she placed it. Jasmine. The murder scene smelled like jasmine. Once her nose got used to that idea, she did catch just the tiniest hint of copper, tangy underneath the cloying sweetness.

The odd sensation left her. She smiled at Simari.

Sorry. I’m fine. Just…smelling.

I know, Simari said. It’s weird. I don’t usually expect boys to wear perfume, but what do I know? In this world, anything is possible. He’s in there. She pointed toward the open door, let Taylor take the lead.

Probably the sister’s. Though I didn’t catch it downstairs, Baldwin said.

Sometimes at a crime scene Taylor had the overwhelming feeling that she was on camera, that some unseen videographer tracked her every move. She was fodder for the silver screen, walking down a darkened hallway while the audience knew something horrible lay just beyond her grasp. Look out behind you, don’t go into that dark space alone, better run out of the safety of the house into the forest when the killer is coming after you with a knife. Goose bumps paraded up and down her arms. God, she hated horror movies.

She shook it off. Halloween always got to her. A crime scene on Halloween was just designed to play into her over-active imagination.

Steeled, she stepped into Jerrold King’s bedroom.

She struggled to take in the whole scene and not make judgments. Her job as lead investigator was to make sure her detectives didn’t jump to conclusions, didn’t make snap decisions about the case. She emphasized considered opinions, reasoning, a belief in the evidence.

But Jerrold King’s body made her want to discard all she’d been taught.

She edged closer. He was naked, lying on his back, arms spread to the sides. His mouth was open, slack, with small edges of spittle gathered in the corners. His lips were blue; eyes unfocused and slitted. There were no ligature marks, no strangulation bruises. Granted, that could show up later—contusions took time to develop. But for now, his naked skin was free of visible hematomas. In their place were bloody channels, carved into his flesh. The red-on-white effect was startling, gapes in the tender skin. A sharp knife, no doubt. But these weren’t stab wounds. There was a distinct pattern to the slashes.

She was a foot away from the bed now, and carefully bent to get a closer look. Baldwin was on the other side of the bed. She looked up from the wounds into his worried eyes.

No, she said. It can’t be.

It most certainly can, he said.

Urban legend, Simari said.

Taylor stepped back a few feet to see if she could make sense of the wounds. Yes, from a distance, she could see it plainly.

Five slashes, connected at the points, outlined in a ragged circle.

A pentacle, carved into the dead boy’s chest.

Two

The scream startled Taylor, and she jerked back from the body.

Simari’s shoulder radio crackled and Taylor’s cell rang almost simultaneously. She looked at the caller ID. It was Lincoln.

Yes? she answered.

You need to get down here now. We’ve got a serious problem.

What?

There’s another one.

Another victim?

Simari was already hightailing it out of Jerrold King’s bedroom. Taylor slapped her phone shut. She and Baldwin followed Simari down the staircase and onto the porch. The screaming was coming from the other side of the street, three houses down.

Help! Please help me!

A woman stood in the driveway, waving her arms. Lincoln was standing by her, unsuccessfully trying to calm her down.

The street was nearly as bright as day—all the houses’ front lights were on, headlights from the influx of patrol cars cut through the murk, multitudes of Maglites were trained on the faces of people standing frozen in their driveways. As they ran up the street, Taylor felt all eyes turn to them. Her boots clanged against the asphalt, ringing out louder than Baldwin’s steps. She had an odd thought; terror wasn’t a familiar feeling in this neighborhood.

They reached Lincoln, and Taylor skidded to a stop, some loose gravel nearly causing her to turn an ankle. She caught her breath.

Ma’am, I’m Taylor Jackson, Metro Homicide. What’s the problem?

My daughter. My daughter is— Her voice caught, the sobs breaking free from her chest. She’s dead in her room.

Show us, Taylor said.

I can’t. I can’t go back in there.

Imploring Lincoln with her eyes, Taylor nodded at Baldwin and Simari. They hurried into the house, strangely similar to the King home, and up a sweeping staircase. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air. Taylor’s chest felt tight.

The scene was easy to find. There were towels scattered on the floor, the mother must have been bringing up some laundry. A plaque on the girl’s door had the name Ashley in pink bubble letters. Below it was a stop sign that screamed, Ashley’s Environs. KEEP OUT!

The door was ajar. Taylor stepped over the wad of towels into the girl’s room.

She was faceup on the bed, arms stretched out over her head. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and a green mask had dried on her skin. There was an open bottle of nail polish on the bedside table, the scent acrid. Giving herself a home spa treatment, a facial, a manicure. Typical afternoon in a teenage girl’s life, her innocent ablutions cruelly interrupted by death.

She’d been stripped like the previous victim. The skin of her breasts and her groin was nearly translucent compared to the tan skin around it. She’d either been lying out in the sun or using a tanning bed recently; the brown skin only slightly dulled the knife slashes in her stomach. Familiar cuts, five points connected by a circle of rent flesh.

Some sort of overdose, I’d expect, Baldwin said, gesturing to the girl’s blue lips.

Same as Jerrold King. What in the hell happened here this afternoon?

A frantic movement caught Taylor’s eye, her peripheral vision picking up hurried motions outside, lights swinging crazily in the semidarkness. Maglites, their blue-white beams bobbing and weaving up the street, away from her location. She abandoned the body, went to the window. People were running back and forth, screaming, crying, cursing. The sharp wail of a siren split the nubilous air. Patrol cars were edging their way through the crowds, driving farther up Estes, toward Abbott Martin Drive. One kept going, disappeared over the edge of the hill.

When her cell phone rang, she almost didn’t answer. Running away was sounding like an excellent option. Though if she were honest with herself, the adrenaline was building in her gut. Intrigue. A new case. She opened her phone.

What in the hell is going on? Taylor snapped.

I need you now! Lincoln yelled into the phone.

I’m on my way. She turned to Baldwin. We need to go.

What in the world is happening? he asked.

I don’t know. But I think we better find out.

They rushed down the stairs and into the night. The street had turned into utter chaos in the five minutes Taylor and Baldwin had been in Ashley’s room. It looked like a bomb had gone off—no bloody limbs or smoking ruins of cars, but people rushing aimlessly up and down the street. Many years earlier, Taylor had seen a man walk out of a burning building—eyes vacant, clothes on fire—and try to walk up the street, away from help. Shell shock. She could identify with that.

The riot of people surged up and down the street, neighbors mixed with patrol officers and emergency workers. Taylor didn’t see Lincoln right away, but caught the eye of Marcus Wade, gestured him over.

What happened? We were upstairs at the second victim’s house and all hell broke loose.

There are more, Taylor. I’ve already got reports of another three, and dispatch has been receiving 911 calls for the last ten minutes.

More, Taylor said, quite uncomprehending. Three more bodies?

Marcus swiped his hair out of his eyes, and Taylor saw the beads of sweat building on his forehead in the reflection of the nearest patrol car’s headlights. Yes. All teenagers. All in this neighborhood.

She saw Lincoln then, running past them. He turned into a house two doors up. The wailing of sirens was overwhelming, so noisy and loud Taylor thought her eardrums might burst.

Her cell phone trilled again. Headquarters. She took a deep breath, calmed herself, then answered. It was her new commander, Joan Huston.

What’s happening out there, Jackson? I just got word from the 911 call center that they’ve been overloaded with emergencies.

Yes, ma’am. Multiple victims, multiple crime scenes. I have no sure count on the dead at this point, minimum of five casualties. We need a full tactical response on Estes Road in Green Hills. Send every available officer. I’ll need Dan Franklin and everyone the medical examiner can spare. I need to go manage the scene. I’ll call you back when I know more.

Biological threat? Do we need Hazmat? I can put the Emergency Operations Plan into action.

I don’t think that’s necessary. It looks like several homicides, but it’s going to take a while to sort through. We don’t even know how many scenes we have. She stopped, looked at the street. The swelling mass of people seemed to grow with every minute. The parents are coming home from work to find their children dead. I can’t tell you much more than that. No sense sharing the information about the pentacles until she had a clear view of what was happening. That wasn’t the leak she needed for the local news—Satanists Rampaging Through Green Hills.

She turned away from the chaos, spoke quietly into the phone. Whoever did this wanted our attention, and now they have it. We’ve already blocked off part of Estes Road. I’m going to push those roadblocks to Hobbs and Woodmont, move the perimeters back on all of these houses, start trying to sort this out. You’ll need to get out ahead of it. The media is going to have a field day.

She heard finger snapping in the background—Huston getting some unwary soul’s attention. Thank you, Lieutenant. Go to it.

She closed the phone. Baldwin put a hand on her shoulder. Her team was already responding, people being gathered into manageable knots, patrol cars stationed at the corners of Estes and Woodmont, blocking access to the street. She could hear more sirens coming closer, the response almost immediate. She looked at Baldwin. His eyes were dark in the gloom.

Satanists murdering people is something for urban legends, not Nashville, she said.

I agree. I find it hard to believe, but it is Halloween.

Meaning?

What better time to try and spook people with occult images?

Taylor shook her head. Someone wanted to send a message. This was a coordinated plan of attack. It takes a level of sophistication to pull off multiple murders. Let’s just see what we can find out.

Three

Controlling the bedlam only took half an hour, which was incredible, considering. Taylor had set up a temporary headquarters on the street in front of the King house. She’d assigned each of her team a role managing a group of patrols on their specific tasks. She had officers interviewing every person who tried to enter the area, getting addresses and finding out if they had children. Those who did were passed into a secondary control—do you know where your children are? If the child couldn’t be reached by phone, the address was marked and a team sent out. A fourth group of patrol officers were responding to the 911 calls and reporting in their findings.

The body count was up to seven, in five separate houses. She could only pray that they’d discovered all the victims.

Four females and three males, all between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, were dead. It quickly became apparent that all of the victims attended Hillsboro High School—so far no students from any of the multiple private schools or the robust homeschool network in the area had been reported missing or deceased.

Two crime scenes held multiple victims—a couple involved in a sexual interlude, a condom still on the tip of the boy’s penis, and two girls hanging out for the afternoon, their physics books on the floor, the scene scattered with US Magazine, People and Cosmopolitan. Half studying, half gossiping.

The neighborhood wasn’t pleased with her identification system, but she couldn’t figure out a more efficient way to determine the breadth and depth of the situation. She had to show a calm face, a force, a presence. She needed to be composed and reasonable. She’d been trained to handle major emergencies, and she was exercising her training to the fullest. They had the situation under control.

A little voice in the back of her head kept screaming—you might be missing him, you might be letting the killer get away with more—but second-guessing herself wasn’t going to make things better. Once they’d determined that the primary event was over, they could start putting the pieces together.

The first victim found, Jerrold King, had been dead for at least a couple of hours. Taylor was working on the premise that the murders had taken place sometime between 12:30 p.m. and 3:00 p.m. School had let out at noon, the first body was found at 3:00 p.m. Assuming the victims had attended the half day of school this morning, she had an initial framework to follow.

She shuddered, thinking about the methodical staging, and wished she could fast-forward a day so she had an idea of what killed them. Drugs of some kind—the cyanosis and pinpoint pupils pointed to an overdose—something they had all ingested or injected. She was having dark thoughts about mass suicides. But that couldn’t explain the pentacles, could it? Could seven teenagers all coordinate a mass suicide and carve pentacles into their flesh as they were dying?

No. These crimes were committed by an outside hand. One who’d struck quickly, mercilessly and efficiently.

Taylor saw McKenzie putting Letha King into a patrol car. It pulled away, the child’s blank stare fixed forward. McKenzie stood next to Taylor, watching her go.

What’s up? Taylor asked. She give you anything?

"She hasn’t said much of anything. I thought it best to hold on to her until her aunt comes to get

Reviews for The Immortals

[carolynsuarez · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

a little too incestuous for my tastes. Murder mystery parts were good though.

[elvisettey · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's Halloween-- or Samhain-- in Nashville, and there's a lot more going on than trick-or-treating. Lt. Taylor Jackson has just been reinstated into her position, and before she can even head off for a celebratory drink, she gets a call that there's been a terrifically horrific crime: a dead teenager, a pentacle carved in his chest, has been found in one of Nashville's plushier neighborhoods. Things take a quick turn for the worse, as corpse upon corpse begins to turn up in rapid succession. Suddenly Taylor and her team have a mass murder on their hands. And right when they could use his psychological insights, Jackson's FBI fiance, Baldwin, has been recalled to Quantico, having to answer to charges about an old case of his that took some very bad turns in 2004. Wicca, vampirism, goth, out-of-control teenagers, drugs: the teeming underbelly of Nashville society is all here, present and accounted for, in this edge-of-your-seat, no-letup-on-action thriller. You'll be turning pages into the wee hours of the morning with this one.Jackson is immensely real, immensely likeable. She's a very human character: she feels deeply attached to her team, bears psychological wounds from past cases, and isn't above taking an instant dislike to some people. She's brave without being reckless, passionate without being a sob sister. And the members of her team are all quite likeable, as well; they each have distinct personal traits that make them stand out one from another, so you're not constantly flipping back, saying, "which one was that again?" Baldwin, telling his story partially in flashbacks, shows himself to be deeply flawed and capable of bad judgment, and his case from the past is equally as captivating as Jackson's story from the present.The only major problem I encountered reading this novel was that it was my first entry in the series, and it does make a lot of references to previous novels. They're generally pretty well contextualized, but, for any other reader considering jumping into this series, I'd recommend beginning at the beginning. I felt like I was missing out on a lot and may have come across a few spoilers in reading this book out of order. But, that being said, reading this book made me want to go back and read all the novels that preceded it; Jackson's world really drew me in. The people, the setting, the warped psychology, the little twist thrown in at the end-- it all added up to a great, suspenseful ride.

[ijustgetbored · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's Halloween-- or Samhain-- in Nashville, and there's a lot more going on than trick-or-treating. Lt. Taylor Jackson has just been reinstated into her position, and before she can even head off for a celebratory drink, she gets a call that there's been a terrifically horrific crime: a dead teenager, a pentacle carved in his chest, has been found in one of Nashville's plushier neighborhoods. Things take a quick turn for the worse, as corpse upon corpse begins to turn up in rapid succession. Suddenly Taylor and her team have a mass murder on their hands. And right when they could use his psychological insights, Jackson's FBI fiance, Baldwin, has been recalled to Quantico, having to answer to charges about an old case of his that took some very bad turns in 2004. Wicca, vampirism, goth, out-of-control teenagers, drugs: the teeming underbelly of Nashville society is all here, present and accounted for, in this edge-of-your-seat, no-letup-on-action thriller. You'll be turning pages into the wee hours of the morning with this one.Jackson is immensely real, immensely likeable. She's a very human character: she feels deeply attached to her team, bears psychological wounds from past cases, and isn't above taking an instant dislike to some people. She's brave without being reckless, passionate without being a sob sister. And the members of her team are all quite likeable, as well; they each have distinct personal traits that make them stand out one from another, so you're not constantly flipping back, saying, "which one was that again?" Baldwin, telling his story partially in flashbacks, shows himself to be deeply flawed and capable of bad judgment, and his case from the past is equally as captivating as Jackson's story from the present.The only major problem I encountered reading this novel was that it was my first entry in the series, and it does make a lot of references to previous novels. They're generally pretty well contextualized, but, for any other reader considering jumping into this series, I'd recommend beginning at the beginning. I felt like I was missing out on a lot and may have come across a few spoilers in reading this book out of order. But, that being said, reading this book made me want to go back and read all the novels that preceded it; Jackson's world really drew me in. The people, the setting, the warped psychology, the little twist thrown in at the end-- it all added up to a great, suspenseful ride.

[unkletom_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I picked up 'The Immortals' because I was intrigued by the blurb (Hallowe'en. The night when eight Nashville teenagers are found dead, with occult symbols carved into their naked bodies.) I hadn't read (or heard of) Taylor Jackson and didn’t realize that this was the fifth installment of a series. Had I known I probably still would have chosen is as the extent to which a series' back-story intrudes on the main plot is worth mentioning in a review.'The Immortals' begins dramatically with the discovery of the bodies of seven murdered and teenagers and one more clinging to life. These eight teens were found at six different crime scenes and each was found with pentagrams carved into their bodies. Ellison does an excellent job of portraying the chaotic atmosphere and sense of panic that such discoveries, one right after another, would have to create, especially in a bucolic suburban neighborhood as Green Hills. With such a beginning it would have been very tempting for an author to continue apace and end up with a B-grade psycho-killer hack-n-slash farce. Surprisingly, J. T. Ellison didn’t do that. She presented the reader with a well-considered police procedural approach to solving the murders that I thought was very realistic and plausible. Even when she introduced a Wiccan priestess into the witness pool it was obvious that she had researched the subject thoroughly and wasn’t just feeding the flames of witchcraft hysteria. The only problem I have with the book is the way in which Ellison includes elements of previous books into the story. I have no problem with back stories but I really don’t want to be told things about a book I haven’t read that may spoil my enjoyment of it should I choose to read it. In this case I learned that certain bad guys from previous books are still on the loose and targeting members of Jackson's team. J. T. Ellison is definitely an author whose books should be read in order starting from the beginning. If, like me, you wish to start with this book, you may wish to skip the first two pages to the paragraph beginning with 'The chief was pinning something to her uniform…' Review copy provided by Amazon Vine program.

[cats57_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The Immortals (Taylor Jackson) by J. T. Ellison (Mass Market Paperback - Oct 1, 2010) In this sometimes confusing and sometimes unsuspensful, suspense novel we catch up to Taylor Jackson just as she has been reinstated to the Nashville PD and as the ceremony finishes, congratulations are passed around and they are off to celebrate Taylor gets called to the scene of a crime. A horrific ritualistic murder involving a teen ager. Then she is called to another murder, then another and another and so on. At the same time, her fiancé Baldwin has been called back to Quantico to deal with something that had happened a number of years ago.This is the 5th book in the Taylor Jackson series and some readers may find it a bit difficult to understand fully what is going on and who is who and how they relate to Taylor since the book is sprinkled liberally with references from earlier books.What could have been an exciting fast paced novel of suspense and thrills just based on the types of murders they are, quickly can become frustrating to the reader when the reader realizes that this is not going to be able to be read as a stand aloneOne of my problems with a few novels is some authors ability to pull a reader so far out of the main story by telling a second story that has absolutely no bearing on the main theme. And that is what I felt happened with “The Immortals”. Every time the suspense started to build and it finally was becoming a page-turner, Ellison would break from the main story to tell a secondary story that mostly took place many years ago. While I understood that the protagonist was a teenager and that sometimes teens have ego issues, I found “Raven” to be especially pompous, a blow-hard, overly erudite and annoying beyond the normal feelings that one has for a possible murder.Unfortunately, though I really wanted to enjoy this novel just based on the ideas laid out in the description, I just could not get into it and find anything to recommend to anyone.

[dhaupt_8 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The ImmortalsJ T EllisonMira400 pagesThe Immortals is the 5th in the Taylor Jackson series. A must read for the autumn and one you will not soon forget. A chilling tale of murder and mayhem and things that go bump in the night.The Halloween decorations have been finished and the house is ready for the influx of ghosts, goblins and ghouls due on the 31st, now your only decision is your next read, something in tune with the season. Let me help you with that, pick a comfortable spot on the sofa, put your feet up and get ready to be scared out of your mind by The Immortals.Taylor Jackson has been reinstated just in time for the bloodiest Halloween Nashville has ever seen and to make it all worse, the blood spilled is high school students, boys and girls who will never be able to reach their potential, never marry and never have children of their own. There is definite signs of the occult in the murders and it’s up to Taylor and her crew to ferret out the truth and find the killer. While Taylor is up to her armpits in blood and gore John Baldwin is reliving his worst nightmare, the result of that nightmare is what brought him back to Nashville and to Taylor, his salvation. Now he’s alone at Quantico under orders to bring back to life a time that almost ended his career and his life.J T Ellison is one of the most masterful storytellers I have ever had the privilege of reading and that fact is brought to life by this, her latest episode in her Taylor Jackson series. The story line is straight out of the worst nightmare ever imagined, added to that the practice of black arts that leads to the crimes. She brings about this with direct, descriptive, matter of fact dialogue that her readers have come to recognize as she takes us through the streets and neighborhoods of Taylor’s crime beat. Add to that the pleasure her readers will encounter as her scenes jump off the pages and embed themselves right in your minds eye so that you can experience along with the characters just what’s happening and relive with them every terrifying act. Her characters remain the heartbeat of her tales and as her audience has gotten to know Taylor and her team better they continue to become more and more real to us. Her main protagonist Taylor matures with every novel and every crime spree that she puts her heart and soul into solving until she becomes a friend to the readers who can’t help but empathize with her every emotion. And emotion is what sets apart this novel, the fact that readers will run through every emotion known to them as they turn page after pulse pounding, nail biting page. You can’t discount her co-starring characters either as they will wow us with the roles they play from the staunchest cop to the vilest of evil doers.Do not walk but run to your nearest bookseller for this most extraordinary thriller that will appeal to all lovers of the genre and appeal to male readers as well as female. This is the 5th in a series and it does stand very well on it’s own, but my suggestion is that if this is your first foray into J T Ellison, go back and learn all about the life and times of Taylor Jackson, her friends and her enemies by reading the whole series. This novel will not take long to top the best sellers chart.