Bran glanced up at the ceiling as the sound of someone knocking loudly on the front door echoed down to them. He shared a look with Aisling before they hurried back upstairs. Bran lowered the basement door and reset the latch before straightening. Aisling popped up beside him, both of them staring at the front door. Through the front window, he could make out the black truck of a ranger parked out front next to his car.
“I think it’s Mac,” Bran said.
Neither of them moved.
It was daylight, but that didn’t mean the threats from the forest wouldn’t come out and make themselves known when the sun was in the sky. They just preferred the cover of night.
Bran curled his fingers, but before he could call up his magic,Jupitercaweda greeting from the porch. Bran let out a breath and went to open the door, squinting at where Mac stood on the porch, a backpack slung over his shoulder. His hat shielded his face from the sun, but it couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. “I brought Aisling some clothes.”
Jupitercawedagain, and Bran looked up at the roof. The raven hopped along the rain gutters, flapping her wings, but otherwise appearing unbothered. “Thanks.”
Bran stepped back, allowing Mac to enter. He came inside, glancing around the Shoppe. “The police said the Shoppe hadn’t been broken into.”
Bran held his tongue for the moment about the missing grimoire. “No. The door was locked when we got here last night, and nothing was out of place.”
Mac slid the backpack off his shoulder. It looked as if it might have belonged to one of his kids before they’d gone off to college. The fabric was a little worn and stretched near to bursting at the seams. Bran wondered how he’d managed to get the zipper closed. “I packed as much as I could. The house is still a crime scene. When it is finally released into your hands, you’ll need to do some deep cleaning.”
“Police still aren’t paid enough to do it for us?”
“No.”
Aisling took the backpack from Mac and clutched it to her chest with both hands. Mac looked at Bran, grimacing a bit. “The medical examiner is coming back today. The bodies are being held in cold storage at the morgue in the ranger’s station. You need to name them before the medical examiner arrives.”
Bran couldn’t help the way he flinched at that demand. “You kept the bodies?”
“You know why.”
Pelham didn’t have the resources for a medical examiner’s office, which meant the police department didn’t have anywhere to store the bodies the forest sometimes gave up. The rangers always handled the dead. Federal funding gave them the ability to have a morgue in their station located midway between Pelham and Belchertown on State Route 202.
Mac’s shoulders slumped a little. “I know it’s not what you want todo, but it should have been done last night when the bodies came to us for holding.”
“Why didn’t you call?” Bran asked.
“Would you have come out last night after everything?”
Bran looked away, staring at the rack of antlers on the nearest display table. The antlers still had their velvet lining, and the price tag neatly written out in his mother’s handwriting accounted for that. “Aisling needs to get dressed.”
“I can wait.”
Bran didn’t want to bring Aisling with him, but neither was he willing to leave her behind. “Fine.”
Aisling hefted the backpack onto her shoulder and scurried upstairs, presumably to get dressed. Her footsteps were loud on the stairs, and the ceiling squeaked overhead with her passage through the apartment. Bran crossed his arms over his chest and shifted on his feet, nausea roiling his stomach at the thought of what he had to do.
“How is she doing?” Mac asked.
Bran shrugged one shoulder. “How do you think?”
“Has she spoken yet?”
“No.”
Mac grimaced. “And you? Have you taken up the mantle yet?”
“My mother isn’t even in the ground yet. Don’t talk to me about the mantle.”
Pelham had a cemetery on the north side of town, a bit of land with graves that held dates on headstones going back to the town’s founding. A corner of the cemetery was reserved for Gallaghers, and Bran wasn’t sure how he’d be able to get through his mother’s funeral, much less the identification of her body.
“I’m sorry,” Mac said gruffly, eyes kind rather than accusing. “But if the lights are back, then the town needs you.”
