Page 28 of Deadly Lineage
Of fucking course it was.“Why?” I asked, keeping my tone devoid of my seething frustration.
Boone grew quiet. I was on the verge of asking him if he was okay when he inhaled deeply and said, “Phineas’s father had two other children, only they weren’t warlocks.”
“Necromancers,” I said more than asked.
“Yeah. Like most warlocks, he abandoned them and they were left to their human mothers. Pops says it’s unusual for a warlock to have more than one necromancer child. It might be why Phineas’s dad waited so long before trying again. My gut says that after his first two tries, he probably gave up hope of having a warlock child.”
I didn’t like how easily I agreed with Boone’s logic. “But then he got old.”
“Yeah. Time was running out and he knew he wouldn’t be around a lot longer. Maybe just long enough to train a warlock son. So he decided it might be worth another shot.”
“And this time he got what he wanted.”
“Yeah.” There was a touch of pain twisting that singular word. “He finally got his warlock son.”
“And if he were still alive—”
“He would have lost him far too early,” Boone finished. “Probably best he’d already passed. If not, Pops says this news would have killed him.”
“I’ll take Warlock Holland’s word for that.”
“Probably best,” Boone easily agreed.
I considered what I’d learned and asked, “And what of his necromancer children?”
“That’s where it gets tricky. Warlocks don’t really keep track of those kids.” Boone’s tone was as neutral as Switzerland.
“Somehow I doubt your father would allow that to happen with you.”
Boone’s soft chuckle warmed its way across the line. “No, that’s true. Pops told me he proudly placed my name in his family history. Erasmus Boone is listed within the warlock archives.”
“As it should be.” I didn’t understand warlock mentality when it came to their necromancer children.
“I suppose that is debatable, but not something I want to get into right now. The point is, it’s unknown what happened with his two necromancer children. Pops says the oldest would have passed by now. The second might still be alive, but if so, very old. It’s unlikely Phineas even knew they existed.”
Instead of writing something definitive, I leaned back into my chair and tapped the tip of my pen against a scribble-laden piece of scrap paper.
“And what about other descendants? Do we know if any of these necromancer children had offspring?”
“No. And like I said, I doubt it would be important anyway. The chances of Phineas knowing he had necromancer siblings at all would have been slim, let alone nieces or nephews. If there are any relatives out there, I doubt they’d care that Phineas is dead.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was a lead that most likely led to a dead end. If no one stepped up, Phineas would be cremated and the State of Mississippi—or rather, its taxpayers—would foot the bill. That part didn’t bother me so much as the issue of only a handful of strangers knowing or caring about his fate.
As if he read my mind, Boone said, “If no one claims the body, Pops wants to take care of Phineas. He’s acting on behalf of the warlock community. They’ll make certain he gets a proper service.”
I wasn’t sure what all that entailed. Regardless, the ache in my chest eased a little. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“When Pops told me he couldn’t find anyone in Phineas’s family, I figured he’d step up.” Surety rang through Boone’s words. It was the kind of confidence secure children had in those that raised them. “Do you know when the body will be released?”
Boone’s innocent question immediately tossed my mind back to my latest interaction with Dr. McCallister. While I’d neverconsidered asking the man to go out for an after-work drink, I also didn’t harbor any harsh feelings towards him either. I wasn’t sure why McCallister had grown increasingly prickly the last few months.
“Dr. McCallister is still working on the autopsy. I’ll let you know when he’s finished.” Hopefully, Noland’s autopsy would be more informative than Rebecca Mosely’s. That little, irritating voice niggling the back of my brain told me not to get my hopes up. That voice was typically correct.
“Okay.” Boone paused before he asked, “Is there anything you can tell me about Rebecca’s cause of death?”
I didn’t typically share details of a case, especially an ongoing investigation, but Boone was different. He was also technically on the payroll. I’d had enough dealings with him in the past to understand he was also discrete.
“Heart failure,” I grudgingly answered. “And before you ask, Dr. McCallister doesn’t know the initiating cause. All he told me was that the heart muscle—all of it—had micro-clotting that led to tissue death and subsequent cardiac arrest.”
