by Mary Lindsey
“Why?” Rain ran his hand through his own hair, stomach flipping at the thought of a nine-year-old cutting out a corpse’s tongue. No wonder she was different.
She laid a hand on Doctor Perkins’s chest. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do.” He needed to know everything about the process in order to figure out who killed Freddie’s father and might be out to hurt her as well. Any random thing might be the key.
“It keeps revenants from talking. They’re very persuasive. It also makes it to where they can’t swallow. Hard to eat a Weaver if you don’t have a tongue.”
For a moment, he thought she might be kidding, but her expression was completely sincere. “Then what do you do next?”
“Then, wolfsbane is placed in the mouth. In Weavers, it slows the magic’s release, but it’s necessary with Watchers to keep them from turning to wolf form during the full moon in death and giving us away if the grave is exhumed for some reason. Opening a casket of a man to find a wolf carcass makes for really bad press.”
He remembered the photos Gerald had led him to and shuddered. “Then you sew the mouth shut.”
She gestured to the body in front of her. “In case my spell isn’t strong enough and they try to rise or spit out the wolfsbane.” She rolled her eyes. “Like that would ever happen with a body I’ve sealed. It’s mandated, though. One more safety layer. Then, the fourth day, I weave the spell and on the fifth, the body is buried.”
“Why is the room metal?”
“It dampens the magic trail. Weavers can’t pirate any of it because it’s contained so completely.”
“Magic can be pirated?”
She rolled the table with the tray close to the outer wall. “Oh yeah. All the time.”
It got weirder and weirder. “Why do you work under red light?”
“I like it. It’s soothing.”
Whatever. “So, you said something was wrong with Hans Burkhart’s body?”
“Other than it was dead?” She pulled the sheet over the doctor’s face. “That was a joke, by the way.”
“Hilarious.”
She scrubbed her hands at a sink and dried them. “Pull out your photos, and I’ll show you.”
Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t want to see them again. He handed the envelope to her, and she opened it, laying the glossy shots on top of the doctor’s body. “I knew the envelope contained photos because I saw them in your past.” She put the one shot from the back on top of the stack. “Okay. First off, stringing someone up is a ballsy move, but this was more than display.” She pointed at the zip ties. “Look how the skin is torn. He struggled. They did this not only to leave a statement but to contain the guy.”
She placed the picture of the front of him on top. Again, Rain felt the urge to vomit as he stared at the open eyes. It was nothing like the doctor’s eyes that stared at the ceiling as if in wonder. These eyes were open in terror.
“Look at the stitches. I sew from bottom to top. These were sewn top to bottom—you can tell by the indentations—and the knot is different. I’m left-handed, so they look different than knots tied right-handed.”
Rain couldn’t tell the difference based on the photo and had no desire to look more closely at it or at the doctor’s body. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Everything from the outside and oral examination seemed perfect. The tongue had been removed and wolfsbane was introduced into the oral cavity as required, but there was a big difference. After everyone left, I did a full examination because I noticed something way off.” She pointed at the photo balanced on the doctor’s chest. “Look at the stretching of the skin around the stitches on Hans Burkhart’s mouth.”
He didn’t look.
“I found blood and wolfsbane in his stomach, which means it had been swallowed.” She stacked and straightened the photos, then slid them in the envelope and handed them to Rain. “Whoever did this sealing procedure didn’t do it to secure Hans Burkhart’s magic after his death. They did it as a form of torture. The entire process was done while he was still alive.”
Twenty-Eight
When Petra led Rain to the lobby of Reinhardt Funeral Home, the place was empty. “Where did everyone go?” he asked.
“To the cemetery,” she said, picking up a memorial service program from the floor and pitching it into a trash can. “My family, too. They went to finish the service and inter the body. I’m not allowed to go.”
In regular light, she didn’t look quite as unusual, just pale like she never went outside and, of course, there were those weird, oversized eyes and flowing black clothes.
“Why aren’t you allowed to go?” he asked. Freddie had given her take on it, but he wanted to know why Petra thought she was kept away from “normal” people.
“Because I’m a freak.”
Having skirted the edges of society himself for so long, he got where she was coming from. “Aren’t we all?”
She tipped her chin down and stared at him like she had that first time she saw him. “I suppose we are.”
He ran his finger over the edge of a rose in a huge arrangement on a table. It was soft and pliable like Freddie’s skin. His chest ached for her and her father. “Who do you think killed Hans Burkhart? Is Freddie in danger?”
“I’m not certain.”
He picked up a pen with the funeral home information on it from a display next to the flowers. He forced the last question around the lump forming in his throat. “Who would want them dead?”
She stood unnaturally still, like a statue. “Everyone.” A grandfather clock behind her chimed, and she flinched. “You should go before my family gets back.”
Freddie had told him it would be bad if Petra’s family saw them there, but he really needed answers, and he suspected this girl had some. “Want to go get coffee?”
She looked around, like she wasn’t sure what to do or say. Like she was lost. “I…”
“Come on. Freddie’s probably got caffeine jitters by now. I need to catch up if I’m going to keep up with her, right?”
Statue-still, she studied him with her chin down and her eyebrow quirked up in surprise.
“You’re looking into my memories and future memories. You know you’re going to come with me, so what’s the holdup?”
“I’ve never…” A single tear rolled down her unnaturally pale face. “Nobody has ever invited me to do anything before.”
Rage burrowed into his bones as he followed the tear’s progression down her cheek. This girl had been locked in this place full of death with no friends except corpses. Maybe that’s why fate had dumped him in the middle of all this. Maybe if he became one of them, he could make life better for this girl who had been hacking off dead people’s tongues since she was in second grade.
His fists curled at his sides. What the hell was wrong with these people? Well, other than they were witches and werewolves. Surely, even with that kind of freaky crap going on, there should still be a code of basic human—or nonhuman—decency.
“Come with me, Petra.” He gestured to the door.
“You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me?”
At that moment, he wanted to kick some Weavers’ asses. “No. Not at all.”
For a long time, she stared at her black lace-up boots, then lifted her chin. “I can’t go in the shop, but I’ll walk there with you. I know a back way where we won’t be seen from the street.”
Once out the back door of the funeral home, she turned right, then opened a gate into a lot filled with junk. Abandoned, rusting car parts and ancient kitchen appliances along with unidentifiable hunks of metal were strewn about in the knee-high grass. “Watch your step. And look for snakes, too.”
Rain knew he needed to make the most of this short walk. “You said everyone wanted Hans Burkhart dead. Why?”
She lifted her skirt to navigate the tall grass, making her look like something out of an old-timey movie. “He wanted a revolution of sorts. The original system is obsolete. H
ans Burkhart knew this and wanted to change the way things are done. It angered a lot of people, including my parents and most other Weavers.”
“Who was the most pissed off?” That would most likely be the person who wanted to hurt Freddie.
“Like I said, everybody.” She leaned down to check out something in the grass before striking out again. “Some had more to gain by his death than others, though. Obviously, Ulrich Burkhart and his sons, Kurt and Merrick, would benefit because after Ulrich, Kurt would become Alpha if Freddie was skipped over…or unavailable. Kurt is favored in some circles because Freddie is…difficult.”
He’d never made that connection that the boys were Ulrich’s sons. “What about Freddie’s cousin Thomas?”
“Him, too. His father, Klaus Weigl, had planned for Thomas to be paired with Friederike, which would put him in a pack leader position, behind her, of course, but if something happened to her before they had kids, he would be Alpha. Friederike’s father wouldn’t consider it because he didn’t trust Klaus. Everyone was surprised when Ulrich followed Hans’s wishes that a new Watcher be found. So far, Ulrich Burkhart has kept to his brother’s plan to put his daughter in as Alpha, but he’s also expanded the Winery, which Hans was completely against.”
Every bit of information only raised more questions for Rain. He waited, though, letting her spin the story her way.
Her skin almost looked normal in the pink hue of sunset. She picked up a metal bar from the grass and twirled it in her strong, pale fingers, like a band drum major—only this girl had never even gotten to go to high school, much less watch halftime at a football game. Rain’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he watched her. Her life must have been horrible. No school. No life outside the funeral home.
She stopped and stared back at him, then dropped the rod into the grass. “If she takes her uncle’s place when she’s old enough, Friederike will be the second female Alpha in the history of this pack. It’s been more than one hundred years since the last one.” She tilted her head and watched a plane cross the sky before striking out through the long grass again.
“Who else had a lot a stake?”
“Some Weavers’ existences are wrapped up in managing the pack. The entire Ericksen family will be out of a job if the pack becomes autonomous as Hans Burkhart wished.”
“The hardware store will shut down?”
She stepped over a rusted car bumper. “No. Their role within the coven will become obsolete. They fear that irrelevance will lessen their status and power in the coven.”
“They’re in charge of the breeding program.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Interesting way to put it. They call it lupine primogeniture.”
“Well isn’t that fancy. Sounds like a PBS TV documentary.”
“Kind of softens the blow, doesn’t it? Give something a pretty name, and it can’t be ugly.”
They walked along in silence for a few minutes, interrupted occasionally by a startled cricket chirping as it sprung from the tall grass as they passed.
He paused by an old rusted-out Chevy truck hull. “It sounds like you might be in favor of Hans Burkhart’s revolution.”
“Most of the younger generation in both the pack and coven favor change.”
“You say most. Who isn’t in favor?”
She leaned against the hood of the truck. “Like I said, there are members of the Watcher pack who would benefit from sticking to the old ways.” She crossed her arms over her ribs and stared at the sky, like it was a novel thing—which it might have been. He didn’t know the extent of her isolation.
After a few more minutes, they reached a gate with a lock on it. The fence was too tall for Petra to climb in her skirt, so Rain reached into his pocket for his lock pick.
She placed her hand on the lock, and it popped open.
“Nice.” He slid the tool back in his pocket.
“I can seal and unseal more than magic in dead bodies.”
“Very cool.”
She beamed up at him as if he’d just given her the best compliment ever. On the other side of the gate was an alley behind a row of businesses.
“I walk this way at night to go to the park near the library,” she explained. “I like to look in the windows at all the books. One of these days, I’m going to get up the nerve to go inside.” She said it in the same tone Moth used when he talked about winning the lotto someday.
Rain shoved his hands farther in his pockets and vowed to make sure that happened for her.
They were only a few stores away from where the back of the coffee shop should be. “Tell me about Grant Ericksen.” The guy made him uneasy.
She stepped over an old Crisco can that had fallen out of a dumpster to their left. “Grant hates me. He’s hated me since we were seven years old and I knocked him on his butt with magic. His father gave him a hard time for being bested by a girl. I wouldn’t put it past him to frame me while getting rid of Hans Burkhart and gaining unfettered use of Friederike in the bargain: win, win, win.”
He stopped short. “What do you mean, unfettered use of Friederike?”
She covered her mouth, and her eyes grew even larger. “I’ve said too much.”
Oh shit. He couldn’t afford for her to clam up now. Maybe if he appealed to her dislike for Grant. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this in front of Freddie. Please tell me what the deal is with her and Grant. I don’t like the guy.”
“That’s odd. Everyone likes Grant. He makes sure they do.”
“And you don’t have that power to make people like you, do you?”
She struck out down the alley. “No. People see me as I really am, not as I want them to see me.”
“And how do you want to be seen?”
“As…” She skimmed her fingers over the bricks in the building as she continued down the alley ahead of him. “As something other than a freak.”
Poor Petra. She was smart and sensitive under all that Goth clothing and pale skin. “You might be surprised how people really see you if you give them a chance.”
She made a defeated noise in the back of her throat.
In only three strides, he caught up with her. “Grant’s power of influence doesn’t work on me.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Grant’s dad is old school and believes that Watchers serve Weavers. He controls Grant completely. If Friederike is anything but docile, Charles Ericksen will see to it that she’s put down or kenneled. If it’s the latter, she’ll be administered an obedience spell, and Grant Ericksen will own her…like a pet.” She shrugged. “Unfettered use.”
Anger roiled in his gut. Oh, hell no. “What you’re describing is slavery.”
“Weavers call it ordained service. Again, if it has a pretty name, it can’t be ugly, right?”
Rain felt like his insides were boiling. How could something like this be going on in the twenty-first century? “You know that I was given the Full Moon wine, right?”
“Yes, I saw that in your memories.”
“Grant was the one who did it.”
“I know.”
“What else do you know?”
“That you start work at Ericksen Hardware and Feed tomorrow.”
“When you first met me, you saw something else.”
Her boots became very interesting all of a sudden. “Friederike is waiting for you. She’s anxious and wants to go home.”
He bent down to put his face in her line of vision, and she looked away. “When you first met me, you saw something that scared you and then made you feel sorry for me. What was it?”
She shook her head. “My abilities are limited. I’m not always accurate. You need to go see Mrs. Goff. Her visions are very clear.”
He barked a laugh. “Mrs. Goff sees imaginary creatures in her yard and calls in the police. She’s not reliable.”
“Mrs. Goff doesn’t call the police. She calls Ruby Ryland.” She looked at the sky as if she’d lost her train of thought.
“Why Ruby?”
/>
“To get to you. You asked what I saw.” She shuddered. “I’m not the person to share that. If you want to know, you need to go see Helga Goff.”
He stared at her a long time, pulled between frustration and fear. For him, for her, for Freddie. If this girl, who saw the unimaginable every day at work, was freaked out by something enough to shudder at the thought, it had to be bad.
“I really need to get back home now,” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “But you must go see Helga Goff. Promise me you’ll go see her soon.”
“I promise. I’ll go by her place tomorrow after work.”
She gave a quick nod and pivoted to head back to the funeral home.
Rain caught her hand and stopped her. “Now, I want you to make me a promise.” He pulled the pen he’d snagged at the funeral home out of his pocket and wrote his number on the back of her hand. “Call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to talk to a friend.”
“Friend?” Her eyes widened as she stared up at him.
“I’m your friend, Petra. Call me anytime.”
She stared at the numbers on her hand.
“Well, see ya.” He headed toward the corner of the building.
“Be careful at work tomorrow, Rain Ryland,” she warned from the shadows of the alley.
“Is that what you saw? Something that happens to me at Ericksen Hardware?”
“No. But the Ericksens are very powerful.” She stared at the concrete as she pushed a rock around with the toe of her boot. “I’ve never had a friend before. I’d like that friend to stay alive.”
Twenty-Nine
Rain pulled into the Ericksen Hardware and Feed store parking lot at seven forty-five the next morning. Even with the brilliant morning sun bathing everything in a cheerful golden glow, his stomach churned with dread.
Petra’s voice chanted through his head in an ominous loop. Be careful at work tomorrow, Rain Ryland.
Grant’s little sister was seated behind the counter studying a large book when Rain stepped inside. She didn’t look up as the bells above the door made way too much racket for his frayed nerves. He’d hung out with Freddie in her cabin after the coffee shop. Around midnight, he made it home and went straight into bed but couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe it was because Freddie tied his insides up in knots, or maybe he’d slept so long after drinking the wine the boys had given him, but his mind couldn’t stop trying to put puzzle pieces in place. The problem was that there were too many missing pieces to get a feel for the full picture. Hopefully, Grant and his creepy family would fill in some of the blanks for him.