Page 79 of Mortis

Kael nodded and stepped out onto the pavement. After a few paces, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon?” he asked quietly.

The longing in his voice made me want to abandon work entirely and throw myself back into his arms. But I had responsibilities, and I couldn’t fulfil them with Kael in the room.

“I promise.”

I watched until he disappeared at the end of the street. Only then did I hurry back to the embalming room. My eyes flew to the symbol on Mr Simpson’s chest, and for the first time since I was a very young child, I felt uneasy in the presence of a corpse.

It wasn’t Mr Simpson’s fault. I wouldn’t prepare him any differently than I would anyone else in my care. But I did need to clean the dried blood from his chest. And I needed to make damn sure he stayed covered in case my nosy family wandered into the embalming room.

I tipped my head back with a groan.

This was going to make the job a whole lot more difficult.

Approaching the table, I leaned in for a closer look at the symbol. The carving formed a near-perfect circle across Mr Simpson’s sternum. Thin intersecting lines divided the centre into sharp geometric shapes. Curved hooks sprouted from either side. A downward-pointing triangle sat at its heart, surrounded by looping marks that resembled some ancient script.

I’d never seen anything like it.

Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I snapped a photo and immediately opened Google. Unfortunately, a reverse image search turned up nothing useful. Neither did my attempts at describing what it looked like. In the end, I was no closer to understanding what it meant.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it as I pumped Mr Simpson’s body full of embalming fluid. Couldn’t stop wondering who had carved it, or why.

It had to be a message. But for who?

Me?

Grandad?

Kael?

I shoved the thought aside before it could take root. Because if the message was for Kael, then that meant someone knew who he really was. Or at least suspected. And what if they tried to take him away from me?

Sure, I’d been sceptical about having an oversized cryptid lurking around the funeral home when he’d first appeared, chewing on Dorothy Robinson’s limbs.

But now I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

I couldn’t imagine not seeing his eyes light up when he discovered a new snack he liked. Or hearing him laugh because he’d finally understood one of Arlo’s ridiculous jokes. Or watching him groan in delight as he greedily devoured whatever bizarre recipe I’d concocted to satisfy both him and the Beast.

Satisfied I’d done everything I could for one day, I sealed Mr Simpson’s body in the refrigeration unit. After cleaning the room, I tossed the instruments into the autoclave and started towards the door.

Then I remembered the bruises blooming around my neck.

Stopping in the staff kitchen, I grabbed my hoodie and tugged it over my scrubs, not bothering to change. I pulled the hood up, hoping the extra fabric would disguise the marks until I got home.

This time, when I ventured out front, Grandad and Arlo were sitting behind the reception desk. Both nursed steaming mugs of tea while discussing Mr Simpson’s upcoming service. They looked up as I approached.

“There he is,” Grandad said, beckoning me over. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in days.”

I shrugged, forcing a smile. “I’ve just been busy. Lots of bodies to prepare.”

Arlo nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe someone heard my wish and the elderly are finally back to popping their clogs at a respectable age.”

I opened my mouth to scold him, but Grandad beat me to it, flicking the back of his head with a chuckle.

“That’ll do, you little scoundrel.”

Arlo yelped and rubbed at the wounded spot. Grumbling to himself, he reached under the desk and retrieved his emergency stash of custard creams. Then he promptly shoved a whole one into his mouth.

“You alright, love?” I turned back to Grandad. He was studying me with that familiar look that somehow managed to see straight through every lie I’d ever told. “You look a bit pale.”