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“Wasting my time.”
He did not just say that. “We’re here to view the bodies.”
Conway fixed me with his stare. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why.” Runa took a step toward him. “You have no right to block my access to the remains of my family.”
“I wasn’t blocking your access. I was otherwise occupied. I had to drop everything and come down here to accommodate you. The bodies are not in any state to be viewed, and it is the policy of this office to spare the family members the unnecessary trauma. I was trying to be considerate, but clearly my efforts and concern were wasted.”
Clearly. He was a veritable fountain of consideration and sympathy. He couldn’t even manage a “sorry for your loss.”
This felt wrong. First, I had called ahead, so he knew we would be arriving. Second, he wasn’t just irritated but borderline hostile, as if he were trying to antagonize Runa. This was a routine procedure and he was in breach of protocol. What possible reason could there be for that hostility? If he acted like this with everybody, let alone Primes, he would be fired. He had to know everything he said was being recorded on the security feed.
I should’ve come by myself, but I needed Runa to cut through the bureaucracy. Still, Runa was traumatized and fragile, and she swung from jokes to anger in half a second. I had to be very careful with her, and now this guy was pushing for a confrontation for no apparent reason. Controlling this situation was getting more and more complicated, and using my magic on a city employee was a felony. Starting this investigation by breaking the law wasn’t on my agenda.
Conway marched over to the two tables and stood between them. “You wanted to view the bodies, here they are.”
He jerked back the two sheets covering the remains.
I had read about burn victims in forensic textbooks. Several years ago, Nevada was forced into tracking down a pyrokinetic Prime. None of us could help her, so I sat at home, worried out of my mind, and read every book on fire and burn victims that I could get my hands on. At the time, Arabella had pointed out that I was just driving myself crazy, but somehow that was my way of coping with the stress. A kind of self-imposed exposure therapy.
Reading about someone burning to death and seeing an actual body were two different things.
The two charred figures on the tables couldn’t have weighed more than sixty pounds each. The heat of the blaze had desiccated them, and as the muscles and ligaments dehydrated, the bodies contracted, bending their knees and elbows and curling their fingers into fists. Textbooks called it the pugilistic pose because it was similar to the defense stance of a boxer. The facial features were gone. The skin and subcutaneous layer of fat were gone as well. It was impossible to guess at gender, race, or age of the bodies. I was looking at the two vaguely human-shaped objects sheathed in blackened, shriveled flesh.
A hint of a sickening odor spread through the room. Bitter, nauseating, sweet, and coppery, it was like nothing I had smelled before; a greasy, burned pork roast mixed with charred leather. Bile rose to my throat.
I turned away and saw Runa, standing statue-still behind me, her face so pale she looked dead herself. And in a sense, she was. Losing my mother and sister would’ve killed a part of me. It must have hurt so much. All we could do was hope that they’d died before the fire reached them. Nobody deserved to burn to death.
“Satisfied?” Conway asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to remember them the way they were?”
“No,” Runa said. “I want to remember them just like this. I’ll never forget this, and I’ll make whoever did this pay.”
“This was a tragic but accidental fire,” Conway said. “It’s natural to look for someone to blame, but we’ve found no signs of violence. My estimate is that the arson investigation will uncover the source of the fire and the final finding will demonstrate a terrible turn of events but not a criminal one. Go home, Miss Etterson. You’ll find no answers here.”
“Was there particulate found in the lungs?” I asked.
He glared at me and took a step forward. Trying to intimidate me with his age and size.
All my life I worked at being overlooked. Drawing any attention to myself meant putting others in danger. I didn’t just avoid conflict, I made sure I would never be anywhere near it. My natural inclination was to flee; out of the institute, to my car, and then to the safety of the warehouse and my family where everybody loved me, so I could recover from being glared at by this jerk.
However, there were two bodies on the tables and Runa needed answers. I took the job and I had to do it. Besides, I was right, and he was wrong.
I channeled my best impression of a displeased Arrosa Rogan, fixed Conway with a frigid stare, and held it. Eye contact and derision didn’t come naturally to me, but Rogan’s mother had been adamant that I learn how to do both. I practiced this expression in the mirror for weeks until I got it just right. It was like firing an emotional shotgun loaded with cold disgust.
Conway halted in mid-move.
“I assume they keep you around because you’re good at your job, since your manner and conduct are appalling. That you would meet a survivor with aggression and arrogance is beyond any guidelines of the ME’s office or common human decency.”
Conway’s face turned purple.
“So, I’ll ask again. Was there smoke in their lungs? If you can’t answer my question, find someone who can.”
Conway drew in a deep, rage-filled breath. I braced myself.
Victor appeared in the doorway.
“What?” Conway roared at him.
Victor stepped aside, letting a man in a severe black suit into the room.
“Hello, Mr. Fullerton,” I said.
The Scroll representative walked into the room. He was in his forties, trim, neat, with skin tanned by the sun, and dark hair combed back from his face. His eyes were an unexpected, very light shade of blue. They were also the only spot of color. Everything else—the Wolf & Shepherd oxfords, the tailored suit, the crisp shirt, the impeccable tie, and the glasses—was black.
“Ms. Baylor, it’s always a pleasure.” He offered his hand to Runa and she shook it. “Ms. Etterson, my deepest condolences.”
“Who is this?” Conway demanded.
Fullerton looked at him for a full second. “I’m here on behalf of Scroll, Inc., to perform genetic identification at House Etterson’s request.”
Conway’s eyes went glassy and wide. Panic shivered in his brown irises. He took a jerky step back and threw his arms out to his sides, touching each corpse. A wave of revulsion slammed into me, sudden and overwhelming, a terrible feeling that things had just gone horribly, horribly wrong.
The desiccated body on the table next to me lunged up. I saw it coming but my mind had half a second to react, and it refused to accept what it was seeing. The corpse leaped at me. Cold, hard fingers locked on my throat.
Panic slapped me. The air vanished. Pain clamped my throat in a steel vise and squeezed.
Conway sprinted to the door. Fullerton stepped aside, letting Conway pass, his face perfectly calm as if we were at a society lunch. Runa spun, aiming at Conway with her hand. If she poisoned him, whatever he knew would die with him.
I clamped my hands together and drove them up between the corpse’s arms. Its hands fell off my neck and I rammed my heel into its midsection. It stumbled back.
“No!” I croaked.
A burst of green shot from Runa like a striking viper and lashed Conway’s shoulders, just before the other corpse jumped over me and landed on her back. Conway dove through the doorway and vanished from sight.
Crap.
The first corpse righted itself. I sucked in a breath—my throat was on fire—and pulled my knife out. The reanimated bodies didn’t act like zombies; they were simply vessels for the reanimator’s magic, like puppets on invisible strings. Stabbing it in the heart or the head would get me nowhere. I had to disable it.
My magic sparked, pulling me, and I let it guide my strike. My siren talent came from my father, but this I inherited from my mother. It made her a deadly sniper, it allowed Leon to make impossible shots, and it never steered me wrong.
The desiccated husk of a human charged at me with its arms open wide. I caught its right wrist, stabbed my blade into its armpit, and twisted. The seven-inch CPM-3V high-carbon steel sliced through the shriveled gristle of the tendons and cartilage like it was old, dry leather. The arm fell from the shoulder, hanging by a thin strip of flesh.
I let go of its wrist, jerked the blade free, and slashed across the back of the corpse’s neck. Its head rolled off its shoulders. I stabbed my knife into its other shoulder, wrenched the bone out of the socket, cut across the body’s lower back, severing the vertebrae, and hammered a kick to the back of its knee. The corpse collapsed, falling apart. Pieces of the body writhed on the floor, no longer a threat.
The second corpse had sunk its fingers into Runa’s hair, hanging off her. Green mist wrapped around both, turning the body’s charred flesh green.
“Don’t touch!” Runa screamed. “I’ve got this. Go!”
I dashed past Fullerton and out of the room. The hallway on the right lay empty. On the left, Conway staggered forward, bent over and grabbing the wall for support. Yep, she poisoned him.
