“So eager to dive into the gore today,” he murmured as he headed off to the cooler.
“Are you referring to me or you?” I shot back.
“Either will do,” he replied.
I grinned. I was used to Carl—or as used to him as anyone could get. He was quiet and dour—or at least that’s how he came across to most people. I’d had the chance to get to know him a bit more personally in the past few weeks—due in no small part to the fact that he was dating my aunt.
Yeah, I was still getting used to that. My aunt had a boyfriend. The morgue tech. Not only that, there was something odd about Carl when it came to arcane powers. Protective wards didn’t work on him. It was as if he didn’t exist. Moreover, when he’d been attacked by a creature with the ability to eat souls, he’d been unaffected. Does that mean he has no soul? Or does he simply have some sort of super-resistance to what we call magic?
Either way, it was enough to make me treat him with newfound respect and caution. It helped that, as quiet and dour as Carl could be, he seemed to be a pretty nice guy, and my aunt was apparently quite happy to have him around.
And if he’s with her, then I don’t have to be around as much, the thought snaked through my head, and I felt a quick flash of guilt for thinking it. I loved my aunt. But sometimes lately it was a little creepy and unsettling to be around her.
I pulled my attention back to the present as Carl pushed a laden stretcher up next to the metal cutting table, then unzipped the body bag to reveal the body of Vic Kerry. “Another day out there and it would have been fairly disgusting,” he commented, as if making note of the color of Vic’s underwear.
I thought he was fairly disgusting anyway, with the bloated face and maggots crawling around his eyes and nose. Carl photographed the body while it was still dressed, then I gritted my teeth and helped Carl remove the man’s clothing. Carl held out a bag for me to put the clothing in but I paused.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Sorry. I was looking at the dirt.” Like handprints, as if someone with dirty hands had picked the man up. Or with hands made of dirt. The tiny bit of lingering doubt dissipated. Now if I could just figure out what exactly the golem-thing was.
Carl tilted his head. “I take it you feel this is unusual? He was lying in bushes for several days.”
“It goes along with what I felt up in his office,” I said, oddly relieved to know I could be more forthright with Carl. “There was a strange resonance there. I think Vic Kerry was murdered and I think it’s connected to the attack on Lida.”
“Interesting. Have you spoken to your aunt about it?”
I shook my head and went ahead and put the clothing into the bag. “Not yet. Haven’t really had the chance.” It hadn’t even occurred to me to go talk to her after last night’s incident. Had I lost that much faith in her? No, I was simply preoccupied, I tried to reassure myself. That’s all.
Silence fell for a few minutes while we finished undressing the body and prepping it for autopsy.
“She’s still your aunt,” he said abruptly.
I grimaced. “I know. But—”
“She was changed. Subtly,” he continued. “She was in the void for long enough that she absorbed aspects not of her original nature.” Then he shocked me by saying, “Just as you were changed by your time in the void.”
I stared at him, literally openmouthed. “I wasn’t changed!” I finally managed. “I mean, I—”
“You were in the void for two weeks before you were called back,” he said, eyes intent on me in a manner that was beginning to seriously creep me out. “The changes are subtle, but there for those who can sense them.”
I could feel gooseflesh spring up on my arms. “Can you sense them?”
I expected him to confess to great arcane knowledge, or admit that he had othersight or some such thing. I didn’t expect him to smile and shake his head. “No, but I see how the changes in you have affected those around you who can sense them. Whether they realize it or not.” He shrugged. “Most don’t realize it. But I listen and watch a lot.”
“Ryan?” I said before I could think.
His smile widened very slightly. “He is one.”
The banging of the outer door interrupted the odd conversation, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
“Morning, boys and girls,” Doc said with a cheerful grin as he strode into the cutting room. Dr. Jonathan Lanza was the forensic pathologist for the St. Long Parish Coroner’s Office—a slender man about my own height, with dark hair and eyes, and a nose that betrayed his Italian heritage. He’d come to St. Long Parish after working in both Las Vegas and Houston, which meant that he had a wealth of knowledge that we were deeply fortunate to have access to.
“So, this is the guy who decided to try to fly?” he asked, gaze skimming over the body on the table.
“Yep,” I said, “but I think he was helped along.”
He picked up his clipboard and peered more closely. “Hunh. Well it definitely looks like he was attacked.” He pointed to Vic’s neck. “Carl, clean that dirt off please?”