Victoria Cage Necromancer BoxSet

by Eli Constant

  “None of this is your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. But I will tell them. I promise.”

  Timothy smiles and it’s sweet and wide and not disjointed from wiring. And then he fades away into the ether.

  My legs are shaky as I stand, wanting to give out under me. Terrance is close enough to support me. “I have his father’s information in my office.”

  “Okay, let’s go get it and let everyone finish up here so they can go home.” He continues to hold me and help me back across the ice towards shore.

  “And Terrance?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think we need to talk to his mother too. I don’t know why, but I think it’s important that we do.” Seeing Timothy degraded, forced to become the gender that he didn’t recognize as his own, made me think of Allen’s words- that he’d divorced his wife because she refused to accept Timothy. That she’d force him to wear dresses and she’d call him Amanda.

  Mordecai Jones might be the killer, but the ex-Mrs. Barrington was just as evil and I had a powerful urge to look that bitch in the eyes.

  When we got on shore, Leslie came running to me. Before I could even speak, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “Oh, how awful, Victoria. How absolutely awful. My cat got out and the damn thing went racing out onto the lake and next thing I knew I was standing over a body. A body, Victoria. I’ll never look at the lake the same way again.”

  My shoulder’s getting wet from her crying on me and I pat her back awkwardly. “I’m so sorry you had to find it, Leslie. I have to go get something for Chief Goodman, but why don’t you go in the house and put on a kettle for tea. I’ll try to come sit with you if I can.”

  She nods. “Thank you so much, Tori. I could use the company.” She finally releases me and swipes apologetically at the damp space on my shirt. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  Terrance is waiting for me at the front of the house, having given his orders to everyone else. As we walk across the street, I tell him about Leslie’s son and the very strange chain of events that could have brought a frozen fish to my freezer with a belly that contained evidence. He makes quick work of it—citing the water channel that runs between Lake Marion and Lake Moultrie.

  But still… what are the odds? That a father would be drawn to me for his son’s funeral, that the son’s body would be found in the lake that I can see from my house’s upper window, that the son’s earring would end up in the belly of my dinner?

  It has nothing to do with odds. I mean, I know that. I’m a necromancer. Death, in its many forms, will always find me.

  “This was the same killer, Terrance. Your hunch was right.”

  He nods, slowly. “The first real Bonneau serial killer.”

  “Times are changing.” We’re almost to my front door.

  “No, Tori. Times have already changed. We’re just playing catchup. The world’s never going to be like it was.”

  I don’t respond. He’s right. I can feel the way death hangs in the air, a constant and unseen curtain.

  “Come on up, I’ll get you that earring for evidence.”

  Terrance nods. “I’ve a feeling this case is going to be bad, Tori. Worse than we’ve had yet.”

  I silently agree, but I don’t say anything.

  Necromancer and cop instinct. If that isn’t something to be believed, I don’t know what is.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I want to be at the morgue when Mr. Barrington arrives to identify the body, so I leave Leslie after about an hour of sitting and drinking tea and listening to her talk about how Corey would never have let Gilly escape the house.

  About the time I get back to my apartment to grab my car keys, I realize that I don’t have a car. My Bronco is still dead in a ditch near Kyle’s house. I really need to call someone to tow it to Gunther’s shop. He’s this temperamental German who’s English is subpar, but he knows his way around an engine and he only charges parts and $20 an hour labor. I was willing to deal with a little orneriness for a low repair bill. Of course, the city might have already towed it and dumped it in the muddy lot behind the gas station that sells ‘guaranteed to give you food poisoning’ sushi.

  “Shit.” Sifting through my purse, I look for cash and of course I have none. With the option of a cab out—we aren’t fancy enough in Bonneau to have card readers in our taxis—I call Terrance. When he doesn’t answer, I call Kyle at the bar. When Kyle doesn’t answer, I close my eyes whilst simultaneously opening my mind, take a deep breath, and I call Liam.

  Are you there? I know I don’t have to close my eyes to reach out to him, but it feels weird to keep them open—looking out into my empty apartment.

  Always. Liam’s voice, like honey drizzling thickly into hot tea, fills my head.

  I jump a little, not expecting such a quick response. Where are you?

  On your roof. By the sound of his voice, I know he’s smiling. He’s happy I’ve turned to him; he’s convincing himself that it means more than it does. I just need a ride, dammit.

  I hear a little thump and the squeak of my bedroom window opening. He really was on the roof.

  “Seriously, you were on the roof?”

  “Yes, I wanted to see what was going on and since you banished me from your head, this was the only way.” He seems annoyed when he says ‘banished’- like I don’t have a right to privacy in my own mind.

  “You could have just walked across the street.”

  He’s in his human form; everyone would have thought he was just a looky-loo morbidly interested in what was going on. “A total stranger in a small town just randomly showing up at a murder scene? That wouldn’t have looked suspicious at all.”

  “Whatever.” I try to sound haughty. I don’t want to lead Liam on. I really don’t. “Do you have a car?”

  “I do not.” He quirks an eyebrow, looking puzzled.

  “Shit, I really need to get somewhere and my Bronco is frozen over on the side of the road.” I cross my arms, doing the mental math on how long it would take me to walk to the morgue. Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Liam is still looking at me; his expression now looks like he thinks I might be pulling his leg. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Could you not use the black vehicle in the garage?” He cocks a thumb behind him, indicating the window and the freestanding garage that can be half seen through it from where we stand.

  I resist slapping my forehead. “Dammit, I’m an idiot.” The keys to the black sedan are downstairs in my office. The tank should even be half full from the last graveside service. I turn away from Liam and go to leave.

  “Is that all you needed?” His voice sounds hurt, which of course makes me feel guilty for calling him for help when I actually didn’t need help. My guilt leads me to turn around and I force a smile that I hope is appreciative.

  “Yes, sorry. I feel so stupid for not thinking about the work vehicle. I rarely use it for personal errands so it didn’t occur to me.”

  “That’s fine. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  I shrug and shuffle my feet, sort of kicking the toe of the left against the ground gently. “Not really.”

  “Company then?”

  Not wanting to miss Mr. Barrington’s arrival at the morgue, I nod. “Sure, that’d be great. You’ll need to stay in the car when we get there though”

  Liam nods ‘okay’ and the smile he gives me could make even the sun feel hot. Shit. I don’t want to lead him on, but he’s not making this very easy. My forced smile transitions to a sincere one. Shit, this is not good. But I don’t have time to keep thinking about Liam’s attraction to me… or my attraction to him.

  We don’t make it in time. Dammit, we don’t make it in time. I know it as soon as I close the driver’s side door, leaving it running for Liam. I know it as soon as I push through the front door of the morgue.

  I can feel the sadness, like a little death, brushing against my skin. It is waves of black wat
er in my chest, drowning my heart.

  Mr. Barrington is already at the morgue; he’s already standing over his son’s thawed body. He’s sobbing, his body shaking like his world has become an uninterrupted string of earthquakes. A beautiful young man with rich, dark skin and an average, muscular frame is embracing the grieving father. He too, is crying. Where the tears are sliding down his face, his skin turns black as night. He must be Darnell, the boyfriend that Timothy loved. The boyfriend that Timothy would have rejected entrance into Columbia to be with.

  There’s nothing I can say right now to quell the grief. The tears will quiet at some point; the heartbreak will stay forever.

  Terrance is standing with his arms across his broad chest. He’s as far away from the two embracing men as possible. He is next to Doug the coroner—who seems to be fighting a yawn. I find that outrageous, to be tired in the presence of such absolute emotional devastation.

  I want to walk over to them and tell them Timothy’s words, but it is not the right time.

  “You have to take this stuff off of him.” Mr. Barrington is mumbling through his tears. The same sentence over and over again. The coroner hasn’t done the autopsy yet. Timothy is still wearing the woman’s clothing. I realize that’s because the body is still frozen solid. The surrounding ice has been chipped away or slowly melted with a careful hand, but the body is still frozen.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t right now. It’s still…” Doug struggles for words, “the clothes are still frozen to his body.”

  “Then thaw him and take them off. For fuck’s sake, he’s a man. We can’t leave him like this.” Darnell is still holding onto Mr. Barrington, but he’s half-turned to look at Terrance and Doug. “This isn’t right. This isn’t who he is and it’s not right.”

  “I’m sorry.” Doug mutters the words, shuffling his feet. He’s awake now, though, no longer suppressing yawns.

  Terrance takes a step towards the duo, his hand out placating. “Look, if you want us to find out who did this, we have to go about thawing the body in the right way. We’ve already explained this. It’s going to take at least a week before we can even attempt an autopsy. And, I’m not trying to be unsympathetic here, but we’ve got to get the body back into the fridge. We took it out for identification and to give you some closure.”

  All the fight dies out of Darnell. “This just isn’t right.” He turns back to look at Timothy.

  I’m close enough that I can see now the lines of stitching running up his arms to disappear under the blue cloth of the dresses’ sleeves. His legs bear the same suturing. Just like the others. Another murder victim-turned-doll. Another doll that looks like Mei. I feel cold at the thought, colder than Timothy’s body that’s beginning to sweat against the temperature of the room that’s warmer than his corpse.

  “We have to let them put him back now.” Mr. Barrington whispers. It’s such a defeated sound. “They need to find out who did this. We need to let them do their job.”

  Darnell hugs Mr. Barrington tighter around the shoulders. Mr. Barrington raises his right hand to pat Darnell’s arm softly. There is an intimacy hanging in the air. A father embracing the man who’d loved his son in equal measure.

  It’s then that I walk forward. Then that I feel I can give them peace. “Can I walk you out?”

  Mr. Barrington turns his head to look at me and he blinks rapidly. His face brightens a faction when he recognizes me.

  “Oh, Miss Cage, so nice of you to come.” He offers his hand to me and I take it. We don’t shake, I just hold his warm, calloused hand and I smile softly until he’s ready to move. Darnell says nothing, but when Mr. Barrington moves, he moves also. We make our way out of the morgue slowly. I can feel the ghosts above my head undulating against the ceiling. Darnell shivers, as if he can sense them too. Maybe he can; maybe he’s a sensitive. A lot of people have some small degree of the gift.

  When we get outside, the brisk air hits us all in the face and seems to breathe life back into our lungs. “You need your coat.” Darnell is rubbing his own bare arms, but he’s looking at Mr. Barrington with concern. “I’ll go get it.”

  The older man barely nods. He’s staring up at the sky, at the heavy clouds that are just beginning to let loose snowflakes. “My Timothy loved the snow, Miss Cage. I think I was still holding a little grain of hope, tucked in my heart where I could ignore it. I think I thought he’d come back one day, looking as handsome as ever with a bright smile ready to tell me about his adventures and why he’d been away so long. It feels now like my insides are broken.”

  “He loved you, Allen. And,” I swallow, this is always the tricky part, but I can’t not tell him what Timothy said, “he was sorry for whatever happened between you recently. He wanted you to know that you’re not like your ex-wife. You never made him feel less-than for being who he was.”

  Tears are strolling down Mr. Barrington’s cheeks. Little sentinels of grief carrying rifles that will shoot into his heart as they fall from his chin to soak into his shirt. “We had a fight. Fathers and sons fight. He doesn’t have to be sorry for that.”

  “But he was.” I put my hand on his shoulder and I squeeze. He looks at me, his eyes glistening and understanding swimming in the salty water.

  “You talked to him, didn’t you?”

  I swallow again, the lump not wanting to move from the middle of my throat, and I nod. “Yes.”

  “Thank God for you, Miss Cage. Thank God for you.” He moves to me and kisses me on the forehead. “Darnell is a sensitive. He couldn’t feel Timothy around the body so we knew he’d moved on.”

  I risk a glance past Mr. Barrington to where Darnell is; he’s walking away from their white van with a worn-out looking pea coat thrown over one arm. We lock eyes and his face registers shock. He can feel the death on me. Most sensitives can, although those who do not understand that they have a touch of the gift will only shiver and walk away. Sometimes they’ll give me a dirty look. Like I have personally assaulted them.

  “Don’t say anything to the boy.” Mr. Barrington sees me looking at Darnell. “He’s embarrassed of his gift and he doesn’t want people to know.”

  “I don’t blame him.” I yank my gaze away from the man who is studying me with a keener eye than I like. “Even a sensitive can be tried for necromancy nowadays.”

  Mr. Barrington looks startled. “Goodness. He’s not afflicted like that. Sensitives are not necromancers. You are not a necromancer. You are a gift.”

  I smile, realizing that Mr. Barrington only believes me to be a sensitive like Darnell. A lesser evil, so to speak. “I appreciate that, but a lot of people don’t make that distinction.”

  He nods. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  It’s probably for the best that Mr. Barrington doesn’t know what I am. I already have Terrance, Kyle, and Liam to juggle. How did my life go from hidden and only somewhat complicated to a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle with no picture for a guide?

  When Darnell is back, he helps the older man into his jacket. I love how tender and gentle he is with his boyfriend’s father. He doesn’t have to be. Their connection to one another is gone—lying dead in the Morgue only a few feet away. Yet, their humanity is keeping them tethered. These are the moments when I love humans.

  “I suppose this means we’ll have to delay the funeral?” Darnell is looking back at the doors that lead to the hall that leads to Timothy.

  “Yes. We should wait until the body can be properly processed. We can’t hurry that, not if we want the police to get whatever information the coroner can garner from the body. And I have to be honest with you—I’ve never worked with a body that’s been frozen. I’m not sure how embalming will go. I’ll call around to colleagues though and keep you informed about what to expect. We might have to do a closed casket. I don’t want you to be upset by that.”

  The two men nod. “I still want Rosemary involved. I want her to be with him.” Mr. Barrington’s voice shakes as he speaks. “And the right clothes.
He needs to look like himself, even if it is a closed casket.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Allen.” Darnell hugs an arm around his would-be father-in-law.

  “No, that won’t be a problem at all.” I confirm, tears threatening.

  The morgue door opens and Terrance walks out. He waves a hand, beckoning me over.

  “Let’s go, Allen. There’s nothing else we can do today.” Darnell slowly steers the older man away from me.

  I call after them. “I’ll call you as soon as I know when we can set a new date for the service.”

  Neither of the men respond. I watch them get into the van, looking broken, and drive off into the snow that is now falling in great powdery chunks.

  I enjoy the feel of it hitting my face as I move to Terrance. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here before they arrived.”

  “Honestly, Tori, I don’t see how anything would have helped them. As soon as they saw that girl’s body, they both broke down.”

  “Boy’s body, Terrance.”

  He shakes his head. “Shit, I know, Tori. His file says ‘female’ though and we don’t have any other documentation that labels him otherwise.”

  “He’s not a label or a document, Terrance. He was a man who was murdered and dehumanized. This fucker stole his identity in the worst damn way possible.”

  “I know.”

  We stand in silence for a few minutes, watching the snow begin to block out the black road again. They’ll be salting and plowing again soon. I didn’t know the forecast called for more snow. But it doesn’t matter. That’s Bonneau. When it’s not freaking raining, it’s freaking snowing.

  Dammit.

  “Do you have anything new for me, Tori?” Terrance breaks the silence and looks hopeful.

  “No. God, I wish I did.” I hug myself tightly. I hate feelings.

  “Any chance you want to tag along tomorrow to check out Mordecai? Maybe you can pick up some ghostly voodoo vibes or something.”

  “Terrance, if I can’t speak cop then you can’t speak necromancer.”

  He smiles. I smile.

  “Deal.” Terrance says and he zips his coat from midway up to just under the chin. “Want to meet at the station around ten?”