Page 19 of Any More Questions for the Corpse?

“ ‘Perk’ is putting it strongly. It’s not necessarily better. Just different.” Mal saw an anxious look cross her face.

“How are you handling it?”

“Mildly terrified. I can pass it off as an illness for now, but what do I do in two weeks when I’m still like this? People will start to suspect, and then I’ll have to worry about your lot and my lot. I don’t want to end up in some hole with the rest of the vampires. I’ve seen those prisons, I have no intention of going to one.”

“Could you transfer to the night shift?” Mal said, mostly serious.

“I’ve put in a transfer order but it could take months. The fact I’ve even applied is suspicious. No one wants the night shift. Urrrggh. I just don’t know what to do, everything’s upside down.” Mal had never seen her like this. He admittedly hadn’t known her all that long, but she was not doing okay. Mal even noticed some creases in her shirt.

“I don’t know what I can do,” Mal said, “but if I can help, I’m here. I have some experience with keeping big secrets.” Mal had no clue how to help someone who’s suddenly found themselves a vampire, but maybe the library at the Order could help. He needed to do vampire research anyway if they were going to send him on more assignments. Des smiled, as if to say, I’ll take you up on that. Immediately the smile was killed as Walters emerged from the tent.

“I’m finished in there now, Mal,” Walters said, the implication being “stop animating that corpse now before someone walks in and sees the murder victim moving.” Mal released the part of him focusing on the dead man and he felt the victim’s soul fade away. “You’re not grilling my consultant again, are you, Sergeant?”

“No, no, just checking in,” Des said, adjusting her posture to a more professional one.

“You look rough. You feeling okay?” Walters said. Mal tried not to chuckle.

“Yeah, just a bit of a cold,” Des said. “I’ve been meaning to ask, I looked into those names Taran mentioned. Noe is still at large, and Leptoptilos is in prison, but Mazino Knare, his files are redacted or just not there. There’s basically no record at all. Do you have any idea why?”

“Mazino?” Walters said, intrigued. “He’s probably dead. Leave that one be.”

“His file says he’s alive.”

“Sometimes the files are wrong. Let Mazino lie,” Walters said. “Come on, Mal, I need you in here.” Walters gestured to the next tent.

“Can I come? I want to see your consultant in action.”

Walters merely glared at Des, who got the message. Mal thought it odd; she knew his secret now, what was she doing? Why antagonize Walters further? But as always, Des was several steps ahead of him, and after a few moments Mal realized. Had she acted as if she didn’t care, Walters might catch on that she knew. But if she continued to berate Walters about Mal, then it was just another Tuesday. Except for the fact it was Thursday.

Mal entered the second tent after Walters. This one was empty, so Mal began immediately. He closed his eyes, felt his shadows, and braced himself as the shadow plunged. Glimpses of his putrid memories slashed against his mind, but to his shock, the panic had calmed. He’d never done two in a row before; why wasn’t this affecting him? He half thought the panic attack went hand in hand with the magic. Maybe it had just been him all along. He watched as the corpse’s face tensed and contorted and the real-life puppet show began anew. This body was a white woman in her mid-thirties. She had blond hair and pearl earrings, and was utterly distraught at being brought back. She, too, had a hole where her heart should be, albeit smaller than the other victim’s. Once again Mal found himself recognizing her but couldn’t figure out where from.

“Stephanie, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Walters said. “Take a minute.” Mal looked to Walters, then to Stephanie, then back to Walters, and like a closing door, it hit him in the face. They were members of the Order; he’d met both of them the other night. The man was called Ray, and she was Stephanie. He’d shaken their hands and spoken to them for maybe a minute or so. No wonder Walters had reacted so poorly; these were his friends. After Stephanie stopped sputtering and cursing, Walters managed to calm her down.

“Take us through what happened …” Walters said, in a tone softer and calmer than any Mal had heard him use.

“Okay, well, we’d all been at the Newt for some drinks. We got there at about eight, had some food, and stayed until closing. We weren’t too drunk, but we figured we’d call a taxi. There were some people about, but not many. We waited some, then next thing we knew there was an old guy in front of us. Like out of a cloud. Long white beard and hair, small, I didn’t get a good look at him, but he was angry, blindingly angry. Next thing we knew, everything flashed blue and that was that.”

“I’m so sorry, Steph. Do you remember a woman at all?” Walters said.

“No woman, just him.” She went quiet, as if it had finally sunk in what had happened. “Can I … can I see my kids just one last time?” Walters eye’s shifted to Mal and a subtle nod moved his head. Mal knew what had to be done. He released, and back to her silence she went. Walters’s face turned through grimace and anger and guilt.

“This fucking job,” he said through clenched teeth. “Come.”

Mal followed him out and into the final tent. Since he’d exited the car, Mal’s death sense had been like a pulsing headache, low and throbbing, but upon entering the last tent it jumped up through migraine and into bludgeoning head trauma. A wave hit Mal so hard, it nearly knocked the contents of his stomach out both ends. Mal immediately recognized this body. Kosh, the only other necromancer in Dunwich—well, not anymore. He was a pale white man, completely bald; he’d died clutching a pendant that hung around his neck. A burn mark lay just above his heart, scooping a chunk out of his chest; it was as if he’d been hit with the tip of a lightning bolt. Mal went to close his eyes but Walters interrupted.

“I’ve not brought you here for that,” Walters said. “You’d have to be leagues stronger. You won’t be able to. Not to him.” Walters paused; he’d held it together so far but Mal could see him cracking. “Look, I need you to understand something. Kosh was the go-to for this branch. They’re going to need you a lot more now. I’m going to need you on this. Fully. This … this … Just no more half-arsing it, okay. Can you handle this?”

“I want to help,” Mal said, remembering the pain he felt after Des was hurt. Pounding on that door, begging for help. “I can do this.” He wanted to tell Walters that they’d also been attacked by the wannabe Merlin, but exposing Des’s condition and the total failure of his assignment now felt like bad timing. He had an in now; he could help them catch this bastard.

“That’s good, because this gives us a new lead,” Walters said. “Four Order members dying in so many days isn’t a coincidence. Someone is attacking the Order.” Mal remembered the other night when someone had tried to kill him too. Mal was now immediately second-guessing his decision to get involved. “Only a member of our Order could know enough about us to do this, so be careful. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

They stood in silence, staring at Kosh for a moment.

“You know, he helped me on the first three, before Murray. I can’t believe it. Who would murder a dying man?” Walters grimaced, then left Mal alone in the tent. Mal stood, staring, wondering who could’ve taken so many lives. He thought about what Walters said: “Not to him.” But what if Mal could? What if Kosh saw something that broke the case? Mal had to try. He put out his hand and his eyes fell black. Three white concentric circles filled the void his irises left, and the shadows of his limbs folded and lapped at his edges. He waited—it always took a moment. He searched and searched, but nothing happened. No soul, no wisp or fragment. Walters was right; Mal wasn’t strong enough. Not to him. Mal felt a pit of despair in his stomach. He’d only met Kosh twice and they’d barely gotten to know each other. But even in that little time, Kosh had helped. Helped Mal feel even slightly better about his awful powers. He’d seemed a good man, with a good heart. Mal let his eyes fall back to his own and left the tent. He had always felt completely alone with his powers. He assumed he would live and die without meeting another like him. But as he left the scene it finally sank in just how alone he was. The last necromancer in Dunwich.

9Please Keep It Down

“Hurry the fuck up,” Des said, sweat streaming down her face. It was a hideously sunny day, and while Mal and Hala had hoped to take their time enjoying the warmth, Des had other plans. They’d set out in search of assistance. It had been two days since Kosh’s death and the leads had been few and far between. Walters had sent people through every inch of the new victims’ lives but there was no discernible link between them—other than them all being members of the Order. There was also no apparent link to any of the previous victims, either. Had a detective not in the Order stumbled upon them, they would be forced to assume the murders were completely random.