Jamee stepped closer to the body, crouching beside it with a clinical detachment that would have only surprised Cass if she hadn't known him as a mage priest with tattoed forearms. He examined it without flinching, his gloved fingers tracing the jagged, blackened veins that twisted up the corpse's arm. The man had died horribly, his face frozen in a silent scream, his eyes wide open but empty. His skin, where it wasn't blackened, was an unnatural pale.
"His runes are poor," Jamee murmured, tapping a finger against a crude, inked sigil on the corpse's wrist. "Whoever did this was tapping into energy way beyond their ability."
Uriel observed the scene with cool detachment, his gaze calculating. "Blood magic," he said, his tone almost bored. "Amateur work. He had no idea what he was doing."
Jamee gave a slight nod, almost agreeing. "Do you think there's more of them?"
Uriel traced his jaw thoughtfully, his fingers brushing over the faint stubble. "Possibly."
