Page 96 of Heart and Soul
“At Elmwood Cemetery. There was a Latin inscription. Something-something-Marco-Deus.”
She stands suddenly, setting the beer down too hard on the desk. “His mausoleum.”
“Right. We went inside. That’s how we got the deets for the secret meeting.”
“Inside. There was a coffin.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And…it was empty. Are you telling me it shouldn’t have been?”
“I told you, I killed Marco Deus. I laid him to rest in that coffin with my own hands.”
The whole story clicks into place. “Oh. Marco Deus was…he was your…”
“My husband,” she finishes, then sits down. “I’m sure you heard something about it.”
“Maybe, yeah, but…” I close my mouth.
“But?”
“I wasn’t told why. What did he do?”
Her chin raises an inch, as if steeling herself against whatever truth she’s about to reveal. “He was a necromancer. Or, I suppose we have to admit now, heisa necromancer. Somehow, somebody has found a way to bring him back.”
Instantly, a face materializes from my memory. “Middle-aged, good-looking? Salt-and-pepper in his beard? He was…I don’t know, like, a gentleman.”
Director West’s eyes shine with emotion. “So he was there. You saw him.”
“I can tell you something else. He couldn’t have been brought back. I mean through necromancy. He’s not a revenant.”
“How do you know?”
“His eyes were normal. No cataracts. He has to be something else—an illusion, or a dopplegänger, some sort of powerful glamour, I don’t know.”
That gives her a lot to think about, apparently, because the debriefing is suddenly over. Turning her chair away from me, she says softly, “You’re probably tired, Shayne. We can finish this later.”
I don’t want to go. I sit there for a while, just listening to the silence. When she clears her throat, I trudge out of the office. With that obligation over, I’m given no other alternative but to face the inevitable. I take a bus, then a taxi. During both, I am able to hold myself together with the help of my blanket wrapped tightly under my chin. But when the taxi drives off, leaving me alone in front of the house, I feel a huge swell building in my chest. Hurrying inside, I close the front door, sink down to the wood floor, and pull the blanket over my head to keep from seeing the familiar walls, the stairs, the holes in the ceiling. It’s no good, because I can still smell. I can’t describe the smell, except to say that it’s the smell of Jay’s house. Every house has a unique scent, and this one’s his. It was becoming mine, too, but it will always have been his first.
I cry for a long time, even though I’ve long since run out of tears. My body’s dehydrated, shouting at me to shift. My fox will be able to calm down and see to my needs. But I deny the request. As painful as it is, this pain belongs to Jay. It’s all I have of his right now.
Well, that’s not exactly true, as I am reminded with the sound of high-pitched whining and a soft, rhythmic thumping on the floor. Lifting the blanket an inch, I peek out to see that black beastie—the Labradoodle—lying down, his head resting on the floor between his paws, eyes big and sad. The thumping is his tail, flopping to one side, then the other.
I pull the blanket shut again. “He’s not here. Go away!”
There’s a soft sound, like something dragging or sliding, but in short bursts. It’s Muppet, crawling on his belly inch-by-inch toward me. I listen to him stop and listen, then advance another few inches, then stop and listen—no doubt waiting for me to lash out at him, or rear up like a monster. I hold my breath, bracing for something; I don’t know what. Finally, after a few whole minutes listening to this tortured army crawl, I feel the weight of his head set down gently on my foot. He relaxes, blowing out a breath of relief.
I match him, releasing a long-held breath, surprised to feel not entirely ungrateful for his company.
And that’s how we stay until sleep takes me.
I start awake when Muppetsuddenly jumps to his feet and backs away, tilting his head to watch the front door closely. Loud knocking shakes the door against my back.
Russo’s booming voice calls out. “Shayne? Please tell me you’re in there.”
I really don’t want to see anybody right now, but if I have to, then I’m glad it’s Russo. “Why are you not at the hospital?”
