Across the booth, Rye nodded and thumbed at the stubble running down his jaw.
“It’d be worth it to see if we can get our hands on Oakley’s autopsy. I’m not sure how quickly they’re performed or how long it will take for results to any lab tests they need to run to confirm the manner of death… but if Oakley’s family is here, it’s likely that after their questioning, they were given access to the body, which means they may have been given access to the preliminary findings on how she died—”
“And if her magic has been stolen by the killer.” Embry sighed as Rye nodded. “I’m pretty sure if I roll up to the morgue and ask for those records, they’re going to say no.”
“Then I’ll do it. In and out.”
She appreciated the sentiment, but it was possible Rye’s flair for drama had gone a tad too far. “You can’t steal them.”
Rye tapped at the cell phone on the table. “No, but I can photograph them.” When she didn’t protest, he went on. “It’s, what? Not even nine? If I go now, I might be able to get in there before anyone has even clocked in for the day.”
“The morgue is an around-the-clock institution,” Embry sassed.
“Then I’ll get there and wait for just the right time and if it takes hours, it takes hours,” Rye answered in a straightforward tone that brooked no argument. Then, with eye contact so strong it would’ve pinned her to the spot even in antigravity, he added, “I have nothing in my life more important than this.”
Embry’s heart leaped at this, plugging her windpipe. “Thank you.”
Her words came out in a rasp, but if Rye noticed that or the hot flush of embarrassment climbing her neck, he didn’t comment. Instead, he pushed on. “Meanwhile, you’ll check in on Lazarus, talk to Doc Goldman, and rest.”
All the emotion unclogged from her throat as Embry realized what he was suggesting.
“I can’trestwhile you’re crawling through air ducts or whatever to get the info we need. It’s not fair,” she said, still a little raspy. “You’re just as exhausted as me.”
“Then lock yourself in the conservatory to see if you can research what—spell or otherwise—could kill a vampire beyond the normal ways, if there are any active vampire hunters or evidence of a movement online, you know, those sorts of things,” Rye replied, conveniently ignoring the last part. “I’ll return with what I’ve learned at the morgue along with any information Ames and Fairfax send us from Raven’s Head. Then I’ll come your way, and we’ll go from there. Okay?”
No, it wasn’t okay.
Sure, she’d been a little reluctant in the early hours of the morning when they embarked on this whole thing, but Rye had been right then. The best thing they could do is prove her innocence. And she couldn’t do that at rest. She also couldn’t waste precious minutes and energy fighting with him about this, so she decided to take another tack altogether and didn’t answer. Which, of course, signaled to Rye that she’d agreed with him.
Rye swept the remainder of the bear claw into a paper bag and pushed it across the table. “Take this.”
She shook her head.
Rye nudged it closer. “Take it. Give it to Lazarus as a treat.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He’s not supposed to have pastries.”
“Yes, but he loves them. It may not nourish his body, but it’ll make his soul sing. Give that to him today. He can go back to the chia slop tomorrow.”
Embry groaned but accepted the pastry.
As they both slid out of the booth, Rye snatched Embry’s empty dishes, collecting them with his own to return to the tub on one end of the service counter. That boy’s manners were automatic, no matter what the occasion—the previous Ryszard Knighton hadtaught his son well before joining his wife, Clara, in Raven’s End Cemetery.
Embry loitered outside on the sidewalk, Rye’s task proving to take longer than anticipated because he ran into someone he knew. Someone they both knew, actually: Merle.
The carpenter witch wore his customary trucker cap, light brown hair curling out either side. Given his push to have her Coven Ascension delayed, Embry wasn’t exactly jonesing to talk with him herself, though she was grateful he seemed to be moving okay after the fight. Merle had finished the battle with a long, nasty gash down his side, courtesy of one of Oakley’s aunts. It wasn’t pretty, and like Daddy’s injury, had taken Dr. Goldman’s talents to heal.
They were talking near the counter, Merle about to get in line to order his usual.
“Embry, hon, is that you?” Embry whirled to see Jonesy, standing there on the sidewalk, only a couple of feet away. As the witch turned, the empath smiled and flung her arms wide. “Oh, dear, I’ve been thinking about you so much, may I hug you? Do you need a hug?”
She really did. Embry leaped into her arms. It was only as the drama teacher pulled away, that a drop of fear plunked in Embry’s latte-laden gut. Did she know they broke into Marlow that morning?
Nothing in Jonesy’s sympathetic smile gave it away. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” Embry answered, both because it was the truth and because she wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Oh, sweet girl.” Jonesy gripped Embry’s forearms, her big brown eyes welling behind her glasses. “Everyone on the faculty knows you’d never do anything to harm Oakley. Poor love. What a rotten way to go. And after such an exciting night. It’s just too terrible for words.”
