Page 18 of Any More Questions for the Corpse?

“Why must you always be so vile …” Mal’s dad said, then he stomped off.

Mal took a moment in the silence and sighed. He wondered how normal family meals were supposed to end. He lamented his normal. He looked up to Des, who was nearing the end of her pancake. Embarrassment and shame filled his stomach. He wasn’t all that hungry anyway.

“That was …” Des began.

“Yeah, it’s … a lot. Mum has this delusion that when everyone dies I’ll just keep them going and we can all play some undead happy family forever. I have four siblings. I can barely keep those two going … let alone what the Order would say.”

“Have you told them about all that?” Des said.

“I can’t, they’d just make things worse. They’d try and handle it; the Order wouldn’t let that happen. It would be a mess.”

“I have no words,” Des said. “Have you considered not-aliving them?”

“Trust me, I’ve thought about it. The rest of my family would kill me. And I do want them around, I just wish they weren’t like this. Do you have problems like this with your family?”

“No one has problems like this. Sorry to say my family is pretty great. Not sure how they’ll take my change, but they should be alright with it.”

“Sorry, dealing with my mess is the last thing you need. How are you feeling? You want any more?” Mal gestured to the plate.

“I’m okay, just glad I can still eat.” Des smiled and her eyes met with Mal’s. Everything seemed a little lighter for a moment.

Des and Mal spent the rest of the day in his room, hiding from his parents and going over the file on the USB. After sunset they headed off together into Dunwich, Mal to his dorms and Des to her apartment. He didn’t know how he’d explain the missing day to his professors or to Walters, but he was glad neither had chosen to hassle him. He hadn’t given much mind to the case before that day; he didn’t want to bring back Murray and he’d tolerated interviewing Taran. But now … now the only thing he wanted in this world was to catch whoever had almost killed Des and tried to kill him. When he got to his tiny dorm room, he gathered his thoughts and his hard drive (this is not a euphemism) and spent the night detailing and storing everything he could remember about the case from Murray and Taran. It was only after he’d stored everything that he realized he had absolutely no idea how to solve a murder. Let alone four and a half. He would need Des’s help, and with her new condition, she might be needing his.

8The Last Necromancer in Dunwich

The next day Mal awoke not to a scream, but to Walters knocking on his door. In Mal’s haste to not die and save Des’s life, he’d forgotten why he was stalking around a vampire nest in the first place. The Order. They were apparently none too pleased that Mal had missed his debriefing, and upon discovering the vampire nest had moved, assumed the worst for Mal’s well-being. Hence, Walters barging into his dorm at the hideously early time of eight o’clock in the morning. Mal, in underwear and shock, made up the cunning and genius lie that he was an idiot, who forgot, and was simply out studying when they’d tried to find him the day before. Luckily for Mal a different, more important malady had struck the Order that morning, so his lies and stupidity were quickly forgotten. Unfortunately for Mal it was a malady that required his services, so any hope of sleeping in was lost. Mal got dressed, stole a piece of bread from the dorm kitchen, and was ushered into Walters’s car with minimal complaints. Walters drove with speed through the streets of Dunwich, swerving and dodging regular magic folk on their way about the city. Walters was cagey about what had happened, because the Order had been cagey with him. He was just told to get to West Wharfside as fast as he could and check in on Mal on the way. The fact that his “being alive” was of such little priority to the Order didn’t go unnoticed by Mal. But he was more concerned with what was to come, as anything that required his presence meant only one thing: The dead would be waiting.

To no one’s surprise, Mal arrived at a street full of police tape and hi-vis jackets. Buildings loomed over them on either side, making the street feel squashed and crowded. It wasn’t sunny, but the heat of the city dried the air. On an ordinary day you wouldn’t have given this street a second glance: stone slab sidewalks, small shops, and office blocks. Mal had never been to a crime scene before and wasn’t abundantly keen on breaking that streak. Walters, however, insisted. Mal waited in the car while Walters was brought up to speed on what had happened. Mal could make out three square white tents stationed in front of a pub called the Newt and Toad. He watched as Walters entered them one by one, each time emerging with a look worse than before. After exiting the last tent his resolve had changed: His face had hardened completely. Mal watched as Walters walked away into a quiet alley and leaned, head in hand, against the wall before slamming his fist into it. Walters collected himself and made for the car. Mal quickly looked away, pretending as if he hadn’t witnessed a thing.

“Come on, he’s struck again,” Walters said, propping open Mal’s door. Mal followed Walters to the tape where he was handed two blue plasticky things and told to put them on. On what? thought Mal, until he looked to Walters’s feet. He’d been handed strange condoms for his shoes, affectionately called “booties.” He donned the booties and followed Walters into the tent. Immediately he recognized the smell; it was far worse than the morgue, mostly because it smelled like home. Others in the tent held their nose and were stifled by the smell, but for Mal it brought back memories of coming downstairs in the morning for breakfast. In the months after his parents’ death, their rotting had forced him to keep his bedroom window open for months as the smell permeated his family home. He felt as if the smell had never left him; smelling it now in the stuffy white tent, he knew it had all been in his mind.

Walters uttered something to the hazmat men and they left the pair alone with the body. Walters looked to Mal expectantly, and Mal obliged. The body was a black man in his forties, tall and averagely built. He was smartly dressed and had no hair at all atop his head. He had a small, precise hole in his chest where his heart should be, similar to the one Murray had, but less head-sized. Mal looked at the man for a moment, recognizing him, but he couldn’t place where from. Without further ado, Mal held his hand out in front of him. He felt chills grip his spine and tension forced his shoulders together. His breath quickened, his pulse raced. He closed his eyes and waited. When he opened them again, they were not his. He watched his shadows dance around his hand and within mere moments, one of them plunged into the dead man’s face. Flashes of Mal’s parents seared his mind. Their faces tensing and contorting. He watched as the man’s face did the same thing. This time the panic attack set in immediately, and before Mal could even hear what the man had to say, he forced his way out of the tent into the fresh air.

Heavy, labored breaths heaved in Mal’s chest, sending his head back and forth. He went to sit on the ground when from behind a protective mask, a familiar face appeared. Looking paler than usual, Des grabbed him by the arm and placed him on the bench out front of the Newt and Toad. Along the way, she waved off several concerned officers who thought Mal might be having some kind of episode. Mal leaned back and tried to catch his breath. His world was small and spinning, but through his pinhole vision, he stared up at a concerned-looking Des.

“He’s got you at it again? What is happening with your eyes?” Des said.

“No rest … for the … you get it …” Mal said, his shirt over his mouth.

“You’re all okay, take slow breaths.” Des rubbed his back as she spoke. After a few moments Mal felt his world settle. His breath returned, as did his vision. Des was still stood over him, a mask hiding her pity. Mal hadn’t noticed before, but she seemed quite ill. Her eyes were back to their piercing greenness, her complexion was paler to be sure, but now he saw her fully, she seemed to be struggling. As if she had walked a great distance carrying a great weight.

“Are you okay?” Mal said, pushing himself up the wall, taking care not to release focus on the magic within him.

“Everyone keeps asking me that. Do I really look that bad?”

“Not bad, just pained. Is it the … y’know?”

“Shhh,” Des said. “Yes, of course it’s that. It feels like I’m standing in a fucking sauna. No wonder they never go outside, it’s a nightmare. And look at these …” Des pulled down her mask and bared her teeth to reveal a large set of fangs where her canines once were. “Oh god, it’s like I’m in a swamp desert.”

“What?” Mal couldn’t help but chuckle at the nonsense.

“It’s like I’m walking through a swamp but I’m in the heat of a desert.” Des fidgeted uncomfortably and made motions with her arms as if she were trying to fling the affliction from her body. Mal found himself chuckling more, which prompted some looks from others. Oh yeah, crime scene, Mal thought. “Don’t laugh, you arse,” Des said, her eyes showing her smile.

“I’m sorry. It beats the alternative, though. Right?”

“Yes. Most definitely. I’ve got too much to do to be dead right now. Walters has really piled on the work. Luckily I can’t sleep anymore, so I’m getting through most of it.”

“One of the perks, I guess?”