by Eli Constant
Of course, there’s Kyle too, who also wants to look towards ‘our’ future… if the promise ring he’s had in his coat pocket the past month means anything. We haven’t known each other long enough, not really, but the bond between us grows stronger with every passing week. It’s undeniable, hard to fight. A supernatural pressure forcing our bodies together. I’m his to protect. The animal in him is mine to call. I shouldn’t need anything else.
Which makes it even harder to deal with the way my body responds to Liam also. If I’m magically in love with Kyle… And if I’m emotionally in love with Kyle… Then why do my pants want to hit the floor when Liam enters the room? I don’t like it. This isn’t the girl I was raised to be, or the girl I want to be. I say girl, because a woman should know her mind and her heart. Shouldn’t she?
God, when did my life get like this? Once upon a time, I was just a necromancer minding her own business, helping the occasional spirit or two wrap up the loose ends of life. Now I’m a confused, muddled mess and the only solution to all of my problems is to stop being who I am. And that’s damn well not going to happen.
“Tori!” Dean’s hoarse voice carries up from the basement. He’s been cleaning up the store room and the crematory termination, where the ash from the bodies collects after burning, and he’s been coughing nonstop. Things weren’t that dusty down there, but he likes to be dramatic, pointing out what a shit housekeeper I am. Hell, that’s what I have an assistant for. “Tori!” Dean hollers again, “did you mean to leave all this stuff out in the embalming room?”
“Yes!” I yell back. I’m not naturally loud, so it always feels like I’m straining my vocal cords when I have to go louder than my usual volume. “Several bodies are coming in about an hour.”
“Several?” Dean’s confusion reminds me that I haven’t told him about Terrance’s call yesterday. Business has been so slow the last few weeks that I was just glad for some work, even if we were getting a fraction of what we normally make for the same job. That’s a city paycheck for you. I hadn’t even thought about cluing my assistant in. I say ‘assistant’, singular, because Max had up and quit not too long ago. He’d become a bit flaky, coming in late and skipping out early, so I wasn’t exactly surprised. I found out through the grape vine that he’d moved to Texas with his girlfriend. Never thought he’d be one to fall head-over-heels, especially since he’d dated a different girl every week not too long ago. I was happy for him, though, and the loss of that help hadn’t been too painful. Again, work’s been light.
Instead of shouting back to Dean this time, I get up from my desk and walk the thirty feet or so to the open door that leads down into the basement area of the Victorian. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the frame. “Do you know that new Thai place on West Oak that opened only a few months ago?” I wait for Dean to nod. I can see him there, swiping at ‘supposed’ cobwebs in his hair. “It burned down. Middle of the night. The family renting the apartment above the restaurant didn’t make it out.”
Dean’s face crumples and he stops acting like there’s something in his hair. “Jesus, that’s terrible. It just happened?” He makes the last a question.
It’s my turn to nod. “Over the weekend while you were camping with Mei. The county’s short a coroner for the next month, so Chief Goodman’s asked me to step in. Doug’s on some sort of second honeymoon with his wife. The fire department’s ruled it an accident, so no autopsies, but I still have to do a general once-over of each person.”
“Any kids?” Dean asks the question tentatively, like he doesn’t want the answer. Shit, I don’t blame him. No one in my line of work likes to handle children.
“Yeah. Two of them.”
“Dammit.” Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, “I can’t stand when it’s kids.”
“You and me both,” I say, uncrossing my arms and standing upright. I feel tired suddenly, like the weight of the world is getting a bit too heavy on my shoulders. It was good to have the work, perked me right up in a way, but I couldn’t think too long about the small bodies about to grace my embalming table or all the new-found perkiness was going to zap right out of me again.
Dean’s about to say something else, but a thunderous knock makes us both jump. I glance at the time on my watch. “Probably the Chief,” I say and wave a hand at Dean as a goodbye. I walk away from the basement stairs into the foyer, steeling myself for what’s coming. When I swing open the large, dark-wood door that’s creaking just slightly on its brass hinges, Terrance’s face, looking grim and aged, greets me. If you can call a muffled ‘hey, Tori’ and a frown a greeting. His knock had spoken louder than his words. He needed to hit something; he didn’t want to talk.
Sometimes, getting physical is the only way to stay sane.
“Hey, Terrance. Come on in.”
He brushes past me, his massive frame hunkered over so that he looks six inches shorter than he should. “You ready for them?”
“Yes. I still can’t believe they didn’t have any other family though, Terrance. Surely there’s someone we can track down. I’d like to bury them properly. I’d like to…” I hesitate, biting my lip and then sighing, “I’d like to know what the kids liked, so I could do something special for the service.”
“No will, Tori. No relatives that we can track down. They paid the restaurant owners in cash every month. We couldn’t even find any identification in the wreckage and they didn’t do a proper rental agreement for the place.” Terrance fast tracks it to the mourning room and settles into the wingback chair there.
“Were the kids old enough to be in school yet? The school would know something I’d think,” I follow him, settling myself against the soft cushions of the burgundy couch. The material is the kind that you can run your fingers over again and again, going different directions, and leave patterns behind until you deliberately smooth them away.
“An infant and a toddler, Tori. You know,” he sighs and leans his head back against one of the wings of the chair, “I don’t think they were here legally. I think that’s why they didn’t have a car or IDs and they paid for everything in cash. The wife was working for a local cleaning company that cashed her check for her and he wasn’t working as far as we can tell.”
“Oh.” My mouth stays in a little ‘o’ shape a little too long after I speak the word. “I’ll do what I can then, Terrance. I’ll try to make it nice, even if it’s just us here to put them in the ground,” I say, reaching forward and putting my hand on his knee, “it was good of you to start that fund to help with the funeral expenses for folks without family.”
“I’d rather not need it. I’d rather everyone have someone that loved them be around to say goodbye,” his voice is a whisper and he closes his eyes and then opens them again, sadness touching the lovely navy blue of his eyes. I haven’t noticed before now, how the lines around his eyes have deepened in the last year. I can’t imagine the stress he’s under on a daily basis, and I sit around thinking I’m carrying the weight of the world. “Tori, there’s not a lot in that fund yet. I mean, I only started it after Ms. Leeds died and you had to donate everything to give her a proper funeral. I doubt it’ll be enough to even cover cremation for all four.”
“It’ll be enough and we don’t have to burn them. I…” Swallowing, I push the words out, “really hate burning kids, Terrance. I’ve got a plot at Burnside we can put the kids in and we can spread the parents’ ashes on top maybe. Would that be okay? I can’t remember if there’s a code against two bodies in the same plot. There used to be, but things changed last year.”
“I’ll look into it,” Terrance speaks as he rises from the chair in a fluid motion that shows none of the sadness in his voice and eyes. He seems to be hardening his resolve, one cell at a time. “We will have to chain the coffins, do the concrete thing, if we don’t burn them. That’ll cost. Might be better to mix the ashes into the concrete. No grass, you know, and we won’t be able to afford the fake stuff to make it look nicer.” A tear finally
escapes his right eye. I’ve never seen Terrance this beat up over something. “Some rich people have been able to lobby for burial without the precautions, as long as it was on their own lands. I don’t think it’s fair. People can’t even be equal in fucking death. Anyways,” he swallows hard, “the transport wasn’t far behind me, I’m going to go wait out on the porch and get some fresh air.”
“Okay,” I say, standing. I don’t know what to do with my hands. They want to touch him, to comfort him. Yet I also get the feeling that he doesn’t want to be touched more, that he’s dealing with the death of this family and the kids like it’s a personal hit. I’m not sure why. People die. Tragedies happen. At least this time, it had been an accident. A terrible accident, but still an accident. I always think murder is far, far worse. Finally, I settle on simply moving closer to Terrance, taking his hand, and giving it a firm, quick squeeze. I can’t help myself.
He looks at me, an odd expression on his face. “Tori, if any of the family members… if one of them wakes up, you let me know.”
Puzzled, I nod slowly. “Um, okay. This is an accident, though. Right? I mean, if they wake up it’s going to probably be just the normal unfinished business scenario. A ‘hey, can you send a note to my mother’ sort of thing.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it’ll be,” Terrance moves away, flexing the hand I’ve touched.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I’m only a few feet behind him. He’s got the front door open already. He’s hovering though, unspoken worries tickling his mouth. I can feel the tension of those unsaid things like a weighted blanket against my skin.
“No. The family died in the fire, they couldn’t get out. It started in the restaurant,” he says the words mechanically.
“But you think there’s more to it.” It’s not a question. I see the cop intuition twitch in his eyes.
“Maybe,” he sighs out, “I’m probably wrong, but I’ve learned to listen to my gut over the years.”
“I’ll let you know then, if any of them wake up and tell me something that might be important,” my voice drops to a whisper mid-sentence as footsteps begin padding softly up the basement stairs. I have to be more cognizant of my surroundings. Talking with Terrance, I’ve totally forgotten that Dean was down in the basement. It still feels odd to be open about what I am, but it is getting easier. With Terrance at least. I’m not quite ready to jump out on the porch and scream my truth to the mauling masses. I’m not ready to see if they’ll wait long enough to find out whether I’m good or bad. Because if they don’t wait? Well, I know what happens then.
“Thanks,” Terrance mumbles as he walks out of the open doorway. His entire body seems to relax a fraction once he’s outside in the fresh air.
The three months since Braeden’s note has seen the worst of winter fade into the first touches of spring. It’s still very chilly in the morning, the air akin to leaning into your open freezer and letting a rush of cold dance across your skin, but in the afternoons when the sun is high and warm, albeit usually hidden, it’s lovely even with the perpetual cloud cover. I miss full winter a bit. I miss the way it washed the world in a nearly virgin paleness. But I’m also keenly looking forward to tank tops and the ice cream truck singing its song as it travels our streets.
“I always forget you’ve got cherry trees planted here.” Terrance is standing at the top of the stairs, looking out over the lawn that is starting to take on the emerald hue of summer and the trees that are beginning to burst into riotous soft pink-white blooms. They’re early this year, which worries me. If we have a late freeze, they’ll be ruined.
“That would be my grandmother’s doing. She loved the flowers, said they were fleeting and lovely like life,” I walk out next to him. I can hear Dean rummaging about in the service room, moving chairs and getting ready to vacuum.
“Very poetic,” Terrance says it with a hint of sarcasm. That wasn’t like him. I didn’t say anything though. We all deserve to be out of sorts now and then.
We stand in silence until a set of ambulances, their lights quiet and their sirens off, pull into the drive. They navigate the circular path slowly, as if they may jar the bodies they carry otherwise. I could have told them that the vessels can’t feel pain, that pain and terror is long gone for the spirits once housed inside. But that’s the way of the living—the way of holding onto life and thinking that flesh and bone are still important in the end.
Terrance signs for the bodies and he has me cosign beneath his name. I let Dean show them where to put the black bags—one six feet long, one five feet, some-odd inches, the other two so small that I can’t bring myself to guess the heights. I know they’re a baby and a toddler. I knew that. I’ve been preparing for it, but seeing the reality of those deaths is a different animal than simply imagining them.
The ambulance drivers don’t stick around once they’ve made their deliveries. You can see on their faces that they are just as bothered by having to carry the tiny inert bodies as I am by seeing them, let alone having to cut into them and… I let my mind carry me elsewhere, to avoid what I must do in the near future. Terrance leaves soon after, his face grim, a reminder on his lips to call him if anything seems amiss.
I fully expect his gut to be wrong, though. The fire department says it was an accident; the family was unfortunate enough to live above a restaurant with a faulty stove. These things do happen.
Yet I will give Terrance the benefit of believing him, that there might be more to the story. Besides, we live in Bonneau—anything is possible here, especially strange, supernatural things.
I don’t want to work on the bodies immediately, but I make myself go down to the storage room. Dean has unzipped the bags, pulling them away from the bodies so that each figure, in various degrees of burned, are framed by the black material and slightly shiny zippers. The children are the least burned, as if the parents had placed themselves protectively around their children. That chokes me up, more so than seeing the size of the black bags when they were still zipped closed.
But smoke inhalation will still kill a person, even if they are not close enough to be charred by flame. I can immediately see that none of the visible fire injuries are enough to have killed any of them on their own. No, the family had suffocated while holding onto one another. They’d been found in the same room… God, that’s a terrible way to die. My biggest fear, truth be told.
To burn and choke on smoke. To have it fill your lungs like so much blackening poison.
I make damn sure not to touch the bodies yet, because if I do before I’ve taken the proper precautions, then I will plunge into that fire myself right now. I will feel the heat searing my skin. I’ll hear the crackle of wood being ruined by flame.
I’ll truly feel what it’s like to be burned alive.
Hey though, if I do accidently get a taste of that death, then at least if the wrong people find out what I am, I’ll be ready for the brutal end that awaits all necromancers at the hands of normal humanity.
There’s always a damn silver lining.
Chapter Two
“Kids are always the worst,” I murmur. Dean nods his head beside me. I’ve mentally and emotionally safeguarded myself from experiencing the burning death and I’ve warded the underside of the embalming table with my blood to keep the souls from reentering their vessels. Any souls, really, not just those that once resided within. I can’t imagine a spirit would want to enter the severely-damaged bodies… I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for them.
I’ve also sprayed saltwater on the floor. I’ve found this is nearly as effective as a salt circle, but it’s less visible so I can do it when Dean’s around. I sometimes even reapply with him right next to me, saying it’s disinfectant. So far he’s not questioned it.
Honestly, I don’t even know if any of these measures are truly necessary. At least not for the family. The spirit world that is a constant, translucent blanket around me, has stayed quiet since the ambulances brought the bo
dies to me.
I jump with a small gasp when Dean’s phone ‘bringggggggggggs’ loudly to life. I hate when I startle like that. It’s like painting a sign on my forehead ‘I’m a girl, I get scared’.
Before I can say anything he’s fumbling for it, muttering apologies. I have a strict ‘put it on vibrate’ rule while we’re working downstairs together. I guess that’s silly, considering that when I work alone, I stick in earbuds and blast the loudest possible music to drown out the world. But Dean is still learning the ins and outs. He needs to focus.
We work slowly, diligently, processing the children first because they’re the least damaged.
“I need some air,” Dean says, a catch in his voice. He’s just helped me place the children in the cool storage room. There are permanent warding runes carved in the walls behind the paneling in there now, brushed with my long-dried blood. “Only time this job doesn’t feel right for me. You know? Dealing with kids.”
“I’ve got this. Just help me move the male onto the table and then why don’t you take the rest of the day?” Though it’s a question, I don’t intend it as such. Dean needs to leave, for his own sanity. And I need him to leave, so I can see if any of the souls that once lived within the charred bodies are still floating about outside the ether. I don’t think they are. I’ve not felt even the slightest whisper of afterlife against my power.
But, still. I take Terrance seriously. I take his instinct seriously. So, I’ll call out with my voice, with my gift, with the darkness inside of me that seeks the dead, and I’ll find out for sure—if this family truly died by accident, or if something more nefarious had a hand.