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1
JOSEPHINE
Ipushed my sunglasses back up my nose and blinked away more unwanted tears. It was a cloudy day, but no one needed to see my red eyes. As much as I liked to control myself, from time to time, I still surprised myself by crying in front of strangers at a sudden memory of Dad.
The Agatha Hemp funeral home was in a nice part of town, right on the outskirts of Carwyn City. It was almost on the way to Pointsville, really, and if I ignored the towering skyscrapers in the distance and focused only on the bird songs and trees surrounding the tiny, out-of-the-way building, I could have been in the countryside.
Here I was then, visiting Agatha Hemp’s establishment to make the final arrangements for Dad at Mom’s request. I’d never expected this to happen. Not at this age, anyway, or under these circumstances.
How did Agatha even stay in business? There were funeral homes closer to the center of town, and it was unlikely she saw many deaths like this one. Dad was a local businessman. Not exactly high-profile, but the community still knew about him, and I expected him to be at one at the sleeker, smarter funeral homes.
But maybe his death—and body—had to be handled differently. It bore the taint of Lycan Flu. Perhaps other funeral parlors had been closed to us.
I sighed and pushed open the door. A little bell above gave out a joyous jingle, completely at odds with the reason for anyone’s visit here. The entire space smelled of incense, and beaded curtains hung in various doorways.
It was like I’d come to a retreat instead of a funeral home.
My inner wolf stretched, movements uneasy with the unfamiliar smells. The incense couldn’t quite mask the low-level stench of death and decay that my superior shifter senses could easily pick up on. How did Agatha work here daily and ignore it?
“Josephine!” Agatha swept toward me, looking like she’d dressed to match the décor, the swathes of floaty fabric swirling around her giving the impression of constant motion. “I’m truly sorry, dear.” She pressed a crystal into my hand. “Moonstone,” she murmured. “Helpful for all stages of grief.”
“Thank you.” My words were probably more clipped than they were polite, but I opened my purse and dropped the milky stone inside.
Really, I was only here to support Mom, and to sign any checks that were coming our way.
“Your mother’s right through here.” She pushed aside some strings of beads that clicked quietly in response. Everything in this place made some kind of musical sound, and it grated on my every exposed nerve. Weren’t funeral homes supposed to be places of respect and contemplation, of memory and peace? Ofsilence?
My thoughts skidded to a halt as soon as I saw Mom. sitting on an overstuffed couch and surrounded by far too many pillows. She looked like she wouldn’t have been out of place in the harem of an Arabian prince.
I stepped forward as she got up. Then I stopped.
“Mom…what?”
In her hand, she clutched a glass dildo.
“I mean…what?” I said again, even though the word was entirely useless.
“It’s an urn, dear. Tea?” Agatha appeared beside me and held up a cup of something that smelled way too herbal to be labeled as “tea.”
I accepted it out of habit, already determined not to take a drink.
“Come and sit,” Agatha said. “We must talk about your father to truly know how to celebrate his passage into the next phase.”
Mom fondled the dildo in her hand and nodded. “Yes, and I think things will move much quicker now that Jo has arrived. She’s always been a decisive one.”
She sat back on the sofa and I perched on the edge, holding my cup in my hands when it became clear there was nowhere to put it down. If nothing else, it offered warmth, though the chill inside me seemed to be in my bones rather than my flesh.
“Right.” Even Agatha’s white hair seemed to move in a breeze no one else could feel, like a hazy cloud of cotton candy around her head. Her eyes crinkled at the corners with a joy she could hardly conceal. “This is my favorite part.”
I narrowed my eyes, extra grateful for the sunglasses hiding my expression. Her favorite part?
“How can we best honor your father?” she continued. “How do we ease his transition from the mortal world?” She stood and walked over to a burning incense stick before wafting the smoke further into the room. “His service will be your opportunity to say whatever you’d like about the man he was and what you loved about him. Of course, people say all sorts of things, but I really do find that sticking to positive memories is best.” She paused as though in thought before blinking and returning her attention to Mom. “Now dear, you’ve settled on that urn?”
“You know,” Mom paused, turning the pornographic excuse for an urn in her hands. “I really think I have. I wouldn’t have known it was the right thing before you showed me, though.”
I closed my eyes in a long, slow blink, still luxuriating in how no one could see my expression. As long as I kept my mouth neutral, my eyes could do whatever the hell they wanted. As long as they didn’t roll away completely.
But there were enough knick-knacks and other assorted clutter on the shelves in here that no one would notice the addition of my lost eyeballs in a corner of the room.
