by Liz Schulte
Quintus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Life is rarely comprised of easy paths. But I have no doubt you will find your way.”
I rolled my eyes. That was fucking helpful. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do? Chin up.”
He smiled. “It’s not your fault, nor is it over. Appeal to Corbin’s goodwill.”
If that was all I had going for them then we were all sunk. “Come take a look at this ghoul with me. Tell me if you see anything at all. I’m missing something.”
I took him back to the remains. I didn’t bother getting a flashlight; the light Quintus naturally emitted was bright enough. The pieces were where Amos had left them, and we squatted around them: two fingers (the other one was still in my hotel room), an ear, and half a leg.
“This is all that’s left?” Quintus asked.
I nodded. “It is leaving behind pieces with anything man-made.”
He picked up the rotting leg and looked over it. “This isn’t much to go on.” His hand hovered over the skin as he inspected it with a frown. He put the limb back down and stood, meandering around the gravestones.
“Decided to take a walk?” I asked, catching up with him. “Did you see something?”
He shook his head. “Graveyards are rarely as empty as they look. There’s always at least a ghost or two, if not some other undead being. Have you spoken with them?”
I hadn’t sensed any other presence, but I hadn’t thought about it. He was right—something else should have been here, but instead it was empty. Completely empty.
“What doesn’t like man-made items and has the power to scare off the undead?”
He put an arm over my shoulders. “Figure that out and you’ve found your killer.”
