Bran looked away, staring out the trifecta stained-glass window at the trees beyond. “I know.”
Being a witch meant doing one’s duty, and right now, that duty was to tend to the dead. The grief clawing at his ribs, at his heart, would have to wait.
Aisling clattered back downstairs a few minutes later and barreledinto the Shoppe, dressed in her own clothes. She reached for his hand and put his car keys and wallet in his palm, saving him a trip back upstairs. “Thanks.”
“You can follow me to the station,” Mac said, turning and heading for the front door.
They left the Shoppe, Bran pausing only long enough to lock up behind them. He touched a finger to the witchmark etched into the door above the knob, the magic there warming the wood for a split second. Then, he headed for the car with Aisling, getting in and starting the engine. “Do you have your iron?”
Aisling nodded. Knowing he couldn’t stall any longer, Bran put the car in reverse and pulled away from the Shoppe, turning the car around to get on the road.
Mac escorted them south, thankfully without running his lights and sirens. Bran let Aisling destroy his music app’s algorithm by playing whatever her heart desired for the half hour it took to get to the ranger’s station. It kept her distracted, and that was all that mattered. When they finally pulled off the road and into the parking lot adjacent to the one-story building, Bran had a whole new playlist consisting of pop songs he wasn’t familiar with on his phone.
Two other black ranger trucks were parked in the lot, and Mac pulled in next to one. Bran parked a few spots away, setting the brake and turning the engine off. Aisling undid her seat belt but didn’t immediately open the door. Bran reached across the console to tweak her ponytail. “You can stay in the work area inside while I go with Mac.”
Aisling nodded and got out of the car. Bran followed suit, watching as Jupiter flew past to settle on the edge of the station’s roof. The radio tower built on top of the station offered a higher perch, but Jupiter didn’t seem enticed by it. Aisling immediately darted to his side, wrapping one skinny arm around his waist and tucking herself close. Bran draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked to where Mac waited.
Mac gestured for them to follow him inside. “It won’t take long.”
Bran wouldn’t know. He’d never had to identify a body the forest gave up before.
He’d never dreamed he’d have to do it for his mother.
The ranger’s station encompassed the whole squat building, more modern-looking inside than Pelham’s police station. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside it—maybe when he was a kid—but only a handful of people were working, one of whom was at the dispatch desk in the corner, judging by the number of screens. Mac greeted the receptionist, an older woman who smiled kindly at Aisling but didn’t ask how she was doing. “She can stay with me while you handle your meeting, Mac.”
“Thanks, Doris,” Mac said as he pushed open the wooden swing gate that separated the work area from the public area. “Bran? The morgue is this way.”
Bran steeled himself and followed Mac through the work area to a rear hallway. It led farther into the building, past some interior offices, and finally to an elevator that was large enough to handle a gurney. Mac hit the button for the basement, and the elevator slowly descended. The doors pinged open on a hallway that led to a single door at the end. When they reached it, Mac opened it, but Bran couldn’t quite get his feet to move.
“Bran?” Mac asked, looking back.
He swallowed, blinking through the burn of tears. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know this is a difficult time and an even more difficult request.”
Bran nodded jerkily. Everyone always had his family name the dead in Pelham. Bran was the only one left to name his because he’d never lay that at Aisling’s feet.
Mac led him into the small, cold room meant to hold the dead until arrangements to be taken to a funeral home could be made. Bran knew he should call the one Tina had given him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not yet.
“Ready?” Mac asked quietly.
“No,” Bran said with a watery, strangled little laugh. “Let’s get it over with.”
“All right. We’ll do Ray first.”
Mac opened up one of the three cold storage doors set into the wall and rolled out the gurney. The body was in a black bag that he unzipped, revealing the ravaged mess of Ray’s face, throat, and chest.Bran could only look for a few seconds before he wrenched his gaze away from the horror. He hadn’t ever cared for his stepfather, and the feeling had always been mutual. But he’d never wanted the man to suffer how he obviously had.
Mac zipped the bag closed and stepped away from the gurney. Bran mentally shook himself before letting his right hand hover over the body, fingers spread wide. “I name you Ray Carroll. May your soul rest in our world and never haunt the wyrding. May your body and bones return to the earth.”
He drew a witchmark in the air above Ray’s broken body with his magic, the shape of itnamed. He drew a second, this one forrest. He cast both into the dead, glowing lines passing through the black body bag to settle in flesh that lived no more. Mac nodded and pushed the gurney back into cold storage. When he opened the second door and drew out that gurney, Bran nearly lost it.
“I need a minute alone,” Bran rasped.
Mac hesitated before bowing his head. “You should know it’s only her. We couldn’t find Talon. I’ll be right outside.”
Bran only hoped his mother’s familiar—a house cat who never aged—hadn’t suffered when he died.
It probably went against some protocol to leave Bran alone with the bodies, but guardians had never stood in the way of witches. Mac didn’t start now and took himself out of the morgue. The door clicked shut behind him, sounding overly loud to Bran’s ears. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Bran stared at the body bag that held his mother’s remains and told himself it had to be done. She wouldn’t be the first of their coven targeted by what crawled out of the forest.
