Page 31 of Dropping Like Flies

He laughed. “It includes many areas of study, including historical context, out-of-body experiences, hauntings, psychic abilities, dreams, and demonology.” He shifted slightly in his chair, his body language screaming how much he enjoyed talking about his occupation. “This is where some people inform me I’m teaching a fantasy, that people who claim to have paranormal abilities are nothing but charlatans.”

I held his gaze. “That would be difficult to do when I work for the Paranormal Problems Bureau. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?”

“I have. Of course I have.” Rafe suddenly became even more animated, his eyes glittering with excitement. “I think it would be impossible not to have given the field I work in. In fact, I’ve been trying to wrangle myself an invitation there for the last couple of years, but I keep running into roadblocks. Perhaps once I’ve helped you out, you might pull a few strings for me.”

“Perhaps.” It wouldn’t exactly be difficult. Cade would agree just to shut me up if I applied the right pressure. But I wanted to know more about Rafferty Hart and what he stood for before I agreed to it.

Ben opened his mouth, but Rafe spoke first. “What is it you do there?”

“What do you think I do?”

He leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing me thoroughly, as if eye color, lip shape, or whatever he was searching for could really showcase paranormal ability. Finally, he sat back with a look of triumph on his face. “You’re a psychic.”

“If I was a psychic, we wouldn’t need to continue this conversation. I would already know everything I needed to know.” I wouldn’t. That wasn’t quite how it worked, but I doubted Rafe knew that despite all the letters after his name that made him an expert.

Rafe’s lips pursed, and he let out a sigh of frustration. “In that case…”

“He’s a necromancer,” Ben interjected, his tone bristling with irritation. “Now… if we could discuss what we came all this way to talk about.”

Ben may as well not have spoken for all the attention Rafe paid him, his gaze never shifting from me. “Really? That’s…” He shook his head, a smile hovering on his lips.

“Creepy?” I suggested. “That’s how most people react when I tell them. They think I spend every moment of my waking day hanging out with dead people.”

The smile turned into a grin. “Don’t you?”

“Well…” I scanned his office. “I don’t see any here with us now. And the train from London was blissfully empty of anyone lacking a pulse as well.”

Rafe laughed, the sound throaty. “I guess you need to have a dark sense of humor to do what you do. It must be a tough job.”

“Could we—”

Rafe gave no sign of having heard Ben again. “I’d love to sit down with you at some point. I’ve never met a necromancer in person and I have a million questions I’m dying to ask.”

“That might take some time,” I deadpanned. “You might need to have another necromancer lined up to bring me back to answer them.”

Rafe laughed again, Ben so prickly at my side that he may as well have been a hedgehog. I took pity on him. “We should probably talk about the case.”

“What a great idea,” Ben drawled, derision dripping from his voice. “And here I was thinking we’d come all this way for you to boast about how rare your skills are.”

“They are rare,” I countered.

“Very rare,” Rafe offered helpfully. “There are less than fifty registered necromancers in the country.”

Forty-nine then, given what Cade had told me about my annoying colleague John’s current fortunes, but then that was what to be expected if you used a Victorian graveyard of skeletons as your weapon of choice. He’d never been what you might call subtle.

Rafe offered me a smile of commiseration at having to put up with Ben as Ben upended an envelope full of photographs onto the table between us. As soon as Rafe dropped his gaze to them, he became equally enthused by the photos as he had by my occupation. He produced a pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on as he pulled the photos closer. “These are fascinating,” he said as he arranged them on the table so he could study them all at the same time.

“Do you recognize the symbols?” Ben asked, seeming to relax now the professor was showing an interest in the case.

“I do. Please go over where you found them again. Was it the same room as the murder? A different one? Have they been at every crime scene?”

Rafe listened intently while Ben went into more details about the symbols, occasionally noting something down in a notebook. “We were told,” Ben stated, “that you might be able to shed some light on the killer’s intention, why he keeps drawing these. Assuming he has one, and he’s not just your regular nut job who gets off on murdering people, that is.”

Rafe gave a tight smile, his gaze still fixed on the photos. “Oh, he has a purpose, alright.”

“Yeah?” Ben sat up straighter. “And what would that be?”

“Communication,” Rafe stated. “You didn’t say, but I’m assuming they’re drawn in blood?” He waited for Ben’s nod. “The victims?” He winced. “Of course it is. He wouldn’t leave his own DNA behind at the crime scene. You’ll have to excuse me. Typically, my discussions in this vein are from a theoretical standpoint.”

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