Page 71 of A Subtle Scar
Deacon nodded and got his bag of talismans and tokens. He put on a fresh set of rubber gloves and began his work. I hoped this victim had something more to say, anything at all that would help us find who’d done this.
Chapter Eighteen
Inunspokenagreement,Hermesand I stood on either side of Chandler while we watched the disapproving necromancer do his work. For a human, he was being thorough, but like a lot of the human magic users, he was also weak, and watching him slowly and painstakingly gathering his magic did try even my patience.
But, necromancy came naturally only to humans and not our kind, and however much they could annoy us with their pettiness, no god would ever be born a necromancer.
Chandler started writing down what the last victim was saying, the one they had found in the field outside the city.
“Ethel,” she responded to the question of what her name was. “Brewer.”
“How did you die?” the necromancer asked.
Ethel squirmed. “They made me.”
Everyone perked up, even Florence, who had professed a deep love for the autoclave and the alphabet while stating, repeatedly, that she had no ambitions beyond that, at least not professionally.
“How many made you?” the necromancer asked, which was smart, considering we didn’t know how many people had worked on doing this.
Her squirming got more intense, her essence trying to escape the necromancer’s hold, and he was pulling more magic through his talismans in order to not lose her.
“Theydid!Theydid!”
“Where were you killed?” Marc Deacon asked, leading to another question so as not to lose Ethel in the terror the previous one had caused her. He kept trying, his magic straining, but it became clear he had lost her. The spasms we saw as the essence fully escaped him soon ebbed away, and the dead woman became still once more, a cold body lying on a cold metal table.
“That was more than we had, but it still isn’t all that much,” Chandler said, his frustration clear in his voice. I put a hand on the small of his back for comfort, and Hermes put his hand half on mine, half above mine, so that Chandler felt both of us, literally having his back, as the saying went.
Our boyfriend stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath. He also stoically avoided looking at either of us. He didn’t move away though. I took that as a good sign.
“The names are so weird,” Florence said. “People tell me I have an old-fashioned name sometimes, but Ethel? And Margo? What was the other one’s name, the one that was found by the Interstate?”
“Gladys,” Chandler said from memory. “Gladys Miller. Miller, Cooper, Brewer. That’s odd.”
“They are all professions,” the necromancer said. He looked a bit worse for wear as he slowly but meticulously collected his talismans. I looked at his pressed white shirt and the light brown cotton pants with a crease down the front and considered whether he was the kind of human other humans referred to as “anal.”
Chandler leafed through the notepad he’d been filling since starting on the files yesterday. “Doctor Kurtz, what can you tell me about their medical history? Anything that would have been treated in a hospital? Anything odd?” he asked.
Kurtz sighed and put a hand on her hip. “I wouldn’t go so far as calling it odd, but your first victim, Margo, had a cavity that she should have seen a dentist for, but some people are afraid of dentists. The victim from the Interstate, Gladys, has an old scar on her thigh which looks like it wasn’t properly treated when it happened, going by the scarring. The only thing potentially unusual about the subway victim is that she had very tough soles on her feet, like someone who went barefoot more often than putting on shoes. If you’re done here, I can actually get to Ethel’s autopsy, and then maybe I can tell you more.”
Chandler nodded. “Sounds good. I owe Rice an update anyway.”
Hermes perked up. “I’ll teleport us back to the station, baby. Oh, but I need to take the doughnuts,” he said.
Seriously, when would he learn not to follow all his baser desires? It made him passionate, but also at times unbearable. For Chandler’s benefit, I didn’t voice any of this, especially not after there had already been contrariness between me and Hermes. I had the feeling Chandler needed the stability Hermes and I could provide for him, the steadiness of a perfect train schedule, the comfort of a first-class seat.
“We’re driving,” Chandler said. “I have my car here. Deacon?”
“Done,” the necromancer said and closed the last zipper on his bag.
Chandler looked at Hermes. “Grab your pastry and leave through the office’s other exit. Just circle back around from there and meet us at the car. Florence, Doctor Kurtz, thank you, and speak soon.”
And without another word, our boyfriend walked away. He was quite good at that, come to think of it. And this time, I was even awake enough to look at his backside, although sadly, most of it was hidden by his suit jacket.
Marc Deacon and I followed while Hermes stared a second longer than I had, then went to fetch his pastry.
Chandler was quiet all the way outside to the parking lot. It really was a shame that he was spending the day working because it was a nice one, spring getting in full swing, the air saturated with bird song, a dash of fluffy white clouds in the sky. I’d never gone to the beach here in Brunswick like I had planned, and today would have been such a good day for it. I allowed myself a small sigh as I watched Chandler, walking across the parking lot with such purpose in each stride.
I never got the chance to even suggest the beach. Hermes, of course, had teleported into the passenger seat of Chandler’s car and was giving me that look through the windshield, that superior one. As much as I couldn’t wait to have Chandler melt in my arms, I looked forward to wiping Hermes’s face clean of any superiority the next time I got to fuck him.
