Triad Soul

by Nathan Burgoine

  Curtis groaned. “So, the Families and maybe a werewolf? Fantastic.”

  David shook his head. “I don’t think the Families did it.”

  “Really?” Curtis had no trouble imagining the Families killing a demon.

  “If the Families were involved, I’d never have been called. They’re not pleased I don’t dance to their music any more. If the Families had done this, there’d be no body at all, don’t you think? Or if they were involved, they didn’t have time to clean up, and they won’t be happy the, uh, next-of-kin got me involved, no?”

  “Crap,” Curtis said. So if magic was involved, it was probably someone like Curtis, who wasn’t affiliated with the Families. And add in a potential werewolf, too? Double crap.

  David finished his coffee with two more swallows. “You see the problem.”

  “If the Families did do this, and it’s their magic, then they’ll block you from finding out. If they didn’t do it, they’ll go ballistic over the rogue magic being used,” Curtis said.

  “And if there is a werewolf involved, the demon packs will go hunting. As will the Families.”

  “Are there any werewolf packs in Ottawa? I thought they stayed pretty much clear of the cities.”

  David shrugged. “There’s a few nearby. A pretty big pack in Gatineau. And there are lone wolves. And some of the packs still have members who do business in the city, even if they don’t live here.”

  “Crappy commute,” Curtis said. “Why cross the river just to kill a demon?”

  “That’s the big question.”

  Curtis frowned, still unsure about one thing. “So you’re telling me this because…”

  “I don’t have a choice about the Families getting involved. Either way, they’re going to know about it very soon. I have a friend holding the body, but she has to make her reports like anyone else.” David took a deep breath. “I’m telling you because the list of wizards I trust is exactly one name long. I happen to know you’re a good guy.”

  “Oh.” Despite himself, Curtis felt his face heat up again. Demon or not, a compliment from David Rimmer made his insides go a little bit gooey.

  “I’d like you to come take a look, in case the Families take the body.”

  The gooey feeling vanished. “You want me to look at an impossibly dead demon body that’s been chewed by a werewolf?”

  “Yes. Give it a magical eyeballing.” He checked his watch. “It’s already been longer than I’d like. I figure we’ve got a small window before the Families get involved.”

  Curtis stared at him. Not for the first time since he arrived, words were failing him.

  “Oh,” David said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small silver-wrapped candy, offering it to Curtis in his open palm. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “You’re early,” Curtis said, but he took the chocolate.

  “I like to plan ahead.”

  Curtis unwrapped the chocolate and popped it into his mouth. Demon body or not, at least David knew how to make a guy feel appreciated.

  *

  Curtis tapped a message into his phone, hit send, and slid it into his pocket just as he and David got into the elevator. David raised an eyebrow.

  “Luc isn’t up, obviously,” Curtis said. It was mid-morning. Even with their odd bond through the Triad, and Luc’s ever-strengthening habit of waking up before the sun set, it was far too early for the vampire to rise. “But I figured I’d try Anders. Just in case.”

  David shook his head. “I doubt he’s up.”

  Not for the first time, Curtis sensed something unspoken. He knew David and Anders had some sort of history. They were both demons and both gay, which normally would have made them outcasts and victims of the rest of the demons and wizards and whoever else wanted to kick them around. But Curtis had formed the triad with Anders and Luc, and David had formed his own pack. That they’d both survived meant something. That they could barely stand each other meant something else, but so far, neither had told Curtis what that might be.

  “No,” Curtis said. The doors closed, and David pressed a button. They went down.

  Something occurred to Curtis. “Hey, do you know what Anders does for a living?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Anders has a job. He gets paychecks. Quarterly.”

  David shook his head. “No idea. I figured he just relied on tricks for cash.”

  Curtis frowned. Darn. Well, one of these days, he’d figure it out.

  The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. They were in the basement, and Curtis felt a sick kind of dread from the moment the doors opened. This part of the hospital was quiet, and not in a good way.

  “Over here,” David said.

  He led Curtis down the hall to a numbered door marked “Morgue.” Curtis took a deep breath, and David looked at him.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ve done this before,” he said.

  David tilted his head. “What?”

  “My parents,” Curtis said, his voice tight. “I had to…” He waved a hand. “It’s okay. Really.”

  David hesitated, but opened the door. He held it for Curtis, who forced himself to walk through the door. The smell was as he remembered: an overpoweringly strong blast of cleanser that still somehow didn’t quite cut less pleasant smells from underneath. At least this time nothing smelled burned. He had to close his eyes to keep moving, taking a step before he opened them again. He could do this. No matter how ruined this body might be, it wouldn’t bear the face of someone he loved.

  Besides, he’d seen other bodies since. He wasn’t that kid any more. The Families had seen to it.

  The room was L-shaped, with a divide of frosted glass creating a partition just at the entry. A woman sat at one of the pair of back-to-back desks with identical computers on them. She wore a white jacket over scrubs. She looked up at David, then frowned when she saw Curtis.

  “Who’s this?” she said.

  “He’s with me,” David said. “Curtis, this is Dr. Cragg.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Curtis said. The doctor gave him an appraising glance. He was glad it was winter. His jacket was undone, but at least he had a hoodie on over his Ponyo T-shirt, which he was fairly sure wouldn’t have earned him anything more favorable than the already disapproving look she was aiming his way. She didn’t rise, which he tried not to take as an insult. He opened his mouth, not wanting to be so casually dismissed, doctor or not, when he realized with a start she was sitting in a wheelchair. He shut his mouth, but it was too late.

  She’d seen him react.

  After a moment, she said, “He’s not Family?”

  Curtis heard the emphasis. She wasn’t talking about siblings or parents of the deceased. Huh. Interesting. “No,” Curtis said. “I’m not.”

  She turned back to her computer. “Best guess? You’ve got maybe half an hour. I held off reporting as long as I could.”

  “Thanks, Naomi.” David’s voice was warm and kind. “He’s just going to take a look. We won’t touch.”

  “See you don’t.” She looked at David like she wanted to say more, but after a glance at Curtis, she turned back to her computer, typing again.

  “This way,” David said.

  Curtis followed David around the partition.

  *

  Curtis swallowed hard. The body of a man lay on one of a pair of examination tables. Stripped of clothing, the body itself could have been sleeping were it not for the deep tears through the neck and the strange strips of missing skin criss-crossed along the stomach, chest, and parts of the left leg, exposing the flesh beneath. The left forearm seemed shredded. And an angry-looking stab wound was at the center of the man’s stomach, near where a strip of skin had been removed.

  Curtis breathed through his mouth. The last time he’d been in this situation, the stench of death and burned flesh had been overwhelming. This body also smelled of death, but it was nowhere near as strong.

  And he’d had more experience since then.


  “Naomi thinks the first wound was the slice to the stomach,” David said. “Defensive wounds on the arms and hands. The neck wound was the end of it.”

  Curtis tried to look at each of the individual marks without seeing the whole. It was easier than remembering this used to be a moving, breathing person. A demon, sure, but alive. He reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of glasses. They weren’t prescription. He’d enchanted the plain glass lenses to show him various movements of energies and auras.

  He put on the glasses and concentrated, fueling the enchantment he’d worked into them with just a sliver of his own magic. His vision blurred, and he had to force it back into focus with effort. He looked at his own hand until he could see a pale silvery highlight to the auras surrounding him. The energies that moved through almost everything reacted to wizards that way, and the silver highlight was the first aura he’d learned.

  He looked at the body again. “Whoa,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  Curtis glanced at him, the purple-blue of a demon flickering around the tall blond, then he turned back to the body.

  “There’s…nothing,” Curtis said. It was like all the natural energies of the world were refusing to touch the corpse at all. No aura remained on the corpse, and the soft wisps of other ambient energies filling the room seemed to curl away rather than touch the ruined flesh. “I figured I’d maybe see some leftover demon power or something. Or maybe a hint of lycanthrope, though to be honest I’ve never looked at one before with my glasses, so I’m not sure what that looks like. But there’s nothing. It’s an…active absence.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Curtis shook his head. He stared a little longer, then shrugged and pulled off the glasses. If he used them too long, they’d give him a wicked headache. Besides, he wasn’t seeing anything. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen something so…empty. It’s like everything about him that was alive or demonic or in any way powerful is gone.”

  David exhaled. “What can do that?”

  Curtis thought about it. “Understand, I’m not an expert,” he said. “I’m pretty much self-taught.”

  “But you have an idea.”

  “What can you tell me about the…uh…missing skin?”

  David looked at the corpse again. “According to Dr. Cragg, it was done when he wasn’t conscious. The cuts were too even and careful. Definitely a skinning tool, like a hunter would use. Best guess? After the knife wound to the stomach, he would have been bleeding out, and the bites to the arms mean a short struggle, which would have sped things up considerably. After he lost consciousness, or at least the ability to fight back, the skin was taken, and then his throat was torn out.”

  “There’s a law of magic,” Curtis said. “The law of constancy. Everything that was a part of something remains a part of something even after it’s removed.”

  David nodded. “Like hair and fingernails.”

  “Exactly,” Curtis said. He shouldn’t have been surprised David knew some of the basics of magic. After all, he’d been the pawn of the Families for long enough. “In magic, having someone’s hair is a great way to put magic on them, especially if they’re protected or defending themselves. It’s an edge. So, if I had to guess what happened to this guy, I’d say it was something to do with the skin and the law of constancy. Using magic to take the demon part of him, maybe, and removing it from his body. That would explain why the body didn’t crumble into ash like a typical demon death.”

  David crossed his arms. “So you agree. It’s magic.”

  Curtis shrugged. “I can’t think of another way to hold the body together after the demon died. I have no idea how you’d do it at all, but if it’s not magic, I don’t know what else to suggest.”

  “And a shifter definitely took him down,” David said. “Probably a werewolf. Bites on the arm and the throat are pretty clearly from a wolf. Dr. Cragg says the bites are consistent across the wounds, too.”

  “Let me try something else,” Curtis said. He took a deep breath and held a hand over the man’s face. He hadn’t wanted to look there before, and he couldn’t help but notice the man’s eyes were open. The eyes had clouded over, milky and surreal. Curtis tried not to think about it, waiting for the feathery coolness of his magic to tickle all the way down his arm, swirling in his palm. “Postrema visio.” He cupped his fingers, feeling the magic reach out to the eyes of the dead man…

  He frowned. He repeated the words, speaking louder.

  Nothing. Again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Curtis let the magic go. A spark of static snapped as he pulled his hand away. “Someone already took it.”

  “Curtis?”

  “Sorry.” Curtis shook his head. “I was trying to take a look through his eyes.”

  David’s frown grew. “Trying?”

  “It’s not a difficult spell, though from what I’ve read it’s not at all pleasant. You take the last glimpse from a body, and you…borrow it, I guess. You get to see the last thing the dead person saw. And then you put it back. Or you’re supposed to. Otherwise…” He frowned. “You know, I don’t actually know what happens if you don’t, but from what I understand, you definitely want to put it back when you’re done with it. I’m not sure, but I think someone took it already.”

  “To make sure no one else can see it,” David said.

  “Maybe,” Curtis said. “They didn’t put it back.”

  “Gentlemen.” Dr. Cragg’s voice was a surprise. They both turned. She’d wheeled herself to the edge of the partition. “We’ll have company shortly.”

  “Thanks,” David said. He turned to Curtis. “You should go. Thank you.”

  “I don’t feel like I was much help,” Curtis said.

  “You were,” David said. “If nothing else, when whoever the Family sends tells me they can’t find anything, I’ll know they’re not lying.”

  Curtis looked back at the body, and despite his best efforts, he saw the person there. Louis Flint had been lean. He’d had a handsome face. He was fit, with a swimmer’s body.

  He’d been torn, ripped, and violated.

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” Curtis said.

  Then he left.

  *

  Outside, Curtis turned his face up to the sky, letting the pale winter sun offer what warmth it could. It was bitterly cold, and it barely helped. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a few moments to recover, then pulled himself back together and headed for the parking lot. He wanted to be long gone before anyone from the Families showed up.

  When he saw someone leaning against his car, he had a moment of worry. Magic gathered between his fingers, a coolness beneath his skin, ready to snap free. When he drew closer, he saw who it was and relaxed.

  Anders.

  “You got my message,” Curtis said. He sent the magic off in a harmless breeze.

  Anders turned. With a winter coat, the already broad-shouldered man looked positively massive. He had a face more masculine than strictly handsome—a deep brow, dark eyes, stubble a few days past five o’clock shadow, but when those eyes were aimed at him, Curtis never failed to feel a little thrill in his stomach. Anders was wearing a peculiarly knitted red, orange, and yellow cap with dangling ear flaps and a pom-pom. It made Curtis smile to see him wear it. It had been one of the presents Curtis had bought him for Christmas. The scowl, on the other hand, didn’t surprise Curtis at all. Anders hated the cold.

  “Does David think you’re at his fucking beck and call?” Anders said. “Because you’re not.”

  Curtis raised his hands. “Whoa. Someone woke up on the grumpy side of the bed.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “It’s February,” Curtis said, but he pulled out his fob and unlocked the car doors. Anders got in the passenger side, and Curtis climbed in. He pulled on his seat belt and pressed the start button. Anders had already flipped both the seat warmers to “high.”

  “What did he w
ant?” Anders said.

  Curtis put the car in gear. “He wanted me to take a look at a body. Magically.” He pulled out of his parking spot.

  Anders turned, and a wave of concern, warmth, and annoyance passed through their odd link. It was such a typical Anders mix.

  “I’m fine,” Curtis said, before the demon could ask.

  “Whose body?” Anders said after a moment.

  “A demon.”

  “What?” Anders’s voice was sharp.

  “Exactly,” Curtis said. “Ever heard of that before?”

  Anders just shook his head.

  Curtis paid his way out of the parking lot and pulled into traffic. “Well, something bad happened to that guy. He got chewed on—David thinks werewolf—and strips of his skin were cut off. When I tried to get something from the body, it was like a black hole. Nothing magical there at all, no trace of anything. It was like the guy had been emptied.”

  “Why did David call you?”

  Curtis glanced at Anders. His jaw was set. “He’s a little short on wizards he can trust.”

  Anders snorted.

  “Is this the part where I point out the hypocrisy of your jealousy, or do you want to say something stupid first?”

  “I’m not jealous,” Anders said. “I just think it’s a bad idea to get involved.”

  “I get you’ve got no warm and fuzzies for other packs,” Curtis said. “But doesn’t it bother you someone mauled a demon and managed to gut him?”

  “It bothers me whoever or whatever did it might find out you’re helping David Rimmer track them down and decide to take a bite out of you, too.”

  Curtis blinked. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.” Anders reached out and put his hand on Curtis’s thigh. He squeezed. “You matter way more than some dead demon.”

  “Thanks. You should write that on a Valentine’s Day card.”

  Anders slid his hand farther up Curtis’s thigh. “Would it work?”

  “Don’t distract the driver,” Curtis said, but he was smiling.