by Sarina Dorie
“You haven’t examined many dead bodies before?” Brogan teased.
Vega only smiled. I had a feeling she had played doctor with corpses plenty of times.
Brogan’s autopsy started with a physical examination, palpating the neck and chest. I felt like I was in the way the entire time, but I had to keep holding on to Brogan. He placed my hand on the back of his neck. “I need both hands free, lass.”
Brogan nodded to Vega. “I need you to help me with Pearson’s Inside-Out Charm.”
Vega leaned forward with interest as she performed the next spell on the body. I turned away so I didn’t have to look. I was afraid the blood and guts might make me sick. An inside-out charm was the last thing I wanted to see.
“Clarissa, stop being such a baby.” Vega nudged me with her foot. “I’m vegan, and even I can look at this.”
I peeked. Floating above Rudy like a hologram was a three-dimensional representation of his internal organs. His heart looked ruptured just as I’d sensed when I’d projected my awareness inside him. Now Khaba couldn’t refute Thatch’s innocence.
Brogan talked shop with Khaba. He had some helpful suggestions, though ultimately, Brogan’s biggest tip was not to let Nurse Hilda near the body with any potions. Khaba needed to get it to a coroner right away and hand over the evidence so that Thatch and Gertrude would be released.
“See! I told you he was innocent,” I said.
Khaba’s expression grew grim. “Not so fast. Just because he didn’t kill Rudy or Brogan doesn’t mean he hasn’t killed someone else. It doesn’t mean he isn’t collaborating with the Raven Court.”
“That’s your pride talking. You don’t want to admit you’re wrong,” Brogan said.
Khaba crossed his arms. “No, that isn’t why.”
Vega wandered away, examining the empty shelves that had once held her “friends,” as she’d called them.
“Why, then?” I asked. “Is it because you blame him for Alouette Loraline’s death? You think he outed where she was hiding to have her murdered by the Raven Queen and her minions.”
Khaba’s eyes met mine. “I know Thatch didn’t intentionally out her. It wasn’t the Raven Queen who wanted her dead.” He was talking about the Princess of Lies and Truth. His gaze flickered to Vega.
It was hard for even me to know what was safe to say in her presence these days.
“Then why are you being such a curmudgeon?” Brogan asked. “You just don’t like him? So that makes him a killer?”
“He lacks a complete soul. That makes him evil.” Khaba’s face was set in a stubborn grimace.
Brogan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Partial souls can grow back. Slowly. They can mend if enough is left. An incomplete soul is painful, but it’s not the worst condition I’ve come across. It’s a missing heart that does more damage. Professor Thatch might be a nasty man—and it might be because he’s hurting—but that doesn’t make him evil.”
Khaba lifted his chin. “Thatch was evil once. You can’t return from that. It’s always part of you, tempting you. Sooner or later you’ll fall off the wagon and join the darkness again.”
He was wrong. Thatch had never been evil. It was the latter part of his words that Brogan heard.
“Honey, are you afraid you’re evil?” Compassion threaded through Brogan’s words.
Khaba’s face crumpled in anguish. Even with Brogan’s body between us, Khaba’s pain was so strong, I sensed it without trying. His guilt and shame painted his world with a palette made of blame. Anger and self-hatred boiled inside him.
“This isn’t about him. It’s about you.” Brogan threw his arms around Khaba, stepping out of my reach.
I momentarily let go of Brogan. Khaba staggered under the unexpected weight. I quickly placed my hand on his neck again.
Brogan righted himself. “Just like old times. You’re throwing yourself at me.”
I was pretty sure it had just been the other way around, but I didn’t correct him.
Brogan kissed Khaba’s bald head. “We all make mistakes. We all relapse and fall back on bad habits. That doesn’t make you an evil djinn.”
“I’m a demon.”
“A demon in bed.”
Khaba laughed. I tried to hold in my snicker so I wouldn’t interrupt or make them feel self-conscious.
“I know you,” Brogan said. “You care about students and your friends. You want the world to be a better place. You’re kind and funny and ever so . . . punny. Do you think I could love someone evil?”
“No. You’re one of the smartest men I’ve ever met.” Khaba leaned his cheek against Brogan’s. “I love you. I wish I’d told you that the last time we were together. That last time, when we were fighting, I’m so sorry about what I said.”
“I don’t even remember us fighting.”
Khaba laughed, tears filling his eyes.
“You have made your peace.” Vega placed a hand on Khaba’s shoulder. “Perhaps this might be a good time to let the dead rest.”
Khaba’s breath hitched in his chest. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“Maybe Brogan can rest here in the crypt so you can see him if you need to,” I said. “If Brogan doesn’t object, I can bring him back again if you need to talk.”
The crypt stored bodies in a refrigerated, humidity-controlled room that had preserved many bodies well. It was safer than a graveyard crawling with creatures who might consume a corpse. On the other hand, teasing Khaba with Brogan like this might be worse than cutting him off cold turkey. Or cold cadaver in this case.
Vega strode over to an alcove in the wall. She used her wand to vacate cinders from the shelf. Over two dozen teeth clinked to the floor. “This is one of my favorite tombs in here. It’s the perfect level for someone to bend down to kiss a corpse.”
Vega was trying to be nice and gracious.
Brogan’s brow crinkled in confusion. “How many corpses have you kissed?”
Khaba shook his head at her. “I do not want to know how you know that, Miss Bloodmire.”
They didn’t know Vega like I did. This was a big deal, her sharing voluntarily without asking for anything in return, like being the head of the Celestor department.
“That’s very nice of you to offer,” I told Vega.
“Aye, very thoughtful of you,” Brogan said. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“No,” Khaba said.
“This is the natural way of things. I’m dead. I can’t have Clarissa holding on to my ankles for the rest of her life—or mine. If you need me, I’ll be close by. If you need a conjugal visit—well, probably Clarissa wouldn’t mind too much. Right lass?” He teased.
I hoped he was joking.
“I don’t want you to go back there,” Khaba said.
Brogan offered him a reassuring smile. “It wasn’t so bad being dead.”
“What’s it like being dead?” Khaba asked.
“It’s a wee bit like all those stories you hear. We live in the clouds, watching our families from above. There are little angels playing harps.”
Khaba eyed him skeptically. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“Aye. I don’t really remember what it’s like. Peaceful, I guess. When I opened my eyes, I felt as though I had just woken from a dream of something nice. Something calm.” Brogan squeezed his shoulder. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. I know this is the right thing to do.”
It might have been right, but it didn’t feel right.
Khaba allowed him to climb into the shelf. Vega helped Brogan in while I kept hold of him. Khaba crossed his arms, the sorrow in him about to explode. I wanted to let go of Brogan and hug Khaba, but I couldn’t just yet.
“I need one last kiss from my Prince Charming before you tuck me in,” Brogan said.
A brief smile flashed across Khaba’s face. “I need a kiss from Prince Charming too.”
“No, no. I’m not Prince Charming. We’ve discussed this be
fore. You’re Prince Charming.”
“No. I’m—”
Brogan lifted his head and kissed Khaba, cutting off his next words. I so badly wished I could make this permanent for them. Vega faced the corner, hugging herself. I wished I could fix Dox for her. Or whomever else she wanted to be resurrected.
Brogan laid his head down on the stone slab. His eyes were closed and tears glistened at the corners, running little streams into his red hair.
“I’m letting go now,” I said.
I released him.
Khaba dabbed at Brogan’s tears. He kissed his forehead, though Brogan was no longer in there. This was only a husk.
I stood and dusted corpse ashes off my pants. They stuck to my puke stains
“Clarissa, I love you.” Khaba grabbed me in a bear hug.
I was so glad I had done this for him, that I could be here for him now.
“You’re a good friend,” I said. “I love you too.” I wouldn’t have done anything differently. I had helped prove Felix Thatch and Gertrude Periwinkle’s innocence, and I had helped Khaba in his healing process.
For once I hadn’t messed up.
Khaba kissed the top of my head. “That’s why I’m sorry I have to be the one to point this out to you. . . . You’ve broken I don’t know how many school rules tonight. And the law. Necromancy is forbidden. It’s my duty that I have to fire you and report you to the Witchkin Council.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clarissa Doesn’t Explain It All
“So much for you not being evil.” Vega lifted her nose up at Khaba.
I had known there would be consequences for being out after curfew, breaking out and into the school, illegally exhuming a grave, and the gravest deed of all—performing the forbidden art of necromancy. Even knowing what was coming, part of me had hoped there might be another way. The devastation Khaba’s words brought me crushed all optimism that I might keep my job and stay safe from Fae courts. Elric’s court was not a safe place right now. He’d told me so himself.
“I am sorry,” Khaba said.
“I understand.” Not really. He was my friend. I wanted him to do something for me after all I’d done for him.
“There are rules,” he said, as if trying to convince himself.
“I know. You’re Fae. That means you are bound to follow the rules.”
“You two are both fucktards,” Vega said. “Isn’t the solution obvious?”
“Miss Bloodmire, I will not have you using that language in my school,” Khaba said.
She snorted. “This after you nearly made it to third base with Mr. Necrophilia over here.” Her heels clicked closer to the exit.
I called after her. “What is the answer to this problem?”
“If you weren’t so selfless and compassionate, you would know. If you could think like a real Witchkin, you would have demanded the stipulation before you bargained with him.” She pointed a finger at him. “And if you weren’t such a self-serving, manipulative demon who cared nothing at all about his friends, you would have offered to grant her a favor first. You would have ensured the friend you supposedly loved wouldn’t get in trouble for this.”
“I don’t understand,” Khaba said. “I still have to follow the rules. How could I have given Clarissa a gift that broke the rules?”
Vega stomped away, shaking her head. I didn’t know what I should have asked for in exchange for resurrecting the dead. Khaba appeared to be as baffled as I was.
“What do you think about us sleeping on this?” Khaba asked. “Perhaps tomorrow we can discuss potential solutions.”
I nodded.
“I can delay reporting your conduct. I don’t have much in the way of evidence other than my memories—and memories can be tampered with. I might need a day to decide if you did what I think you did.” He smiled. “It isn’t as if we have any reliable witnesses that are living.”
Vega was hardly a reliable witness under the best of circumstances. “True. Vega has been magically coerced by a Fae, possibly the Princess of Lies and Truth. We don’t know for certain she wouldn’t make this up or manipulate you into thinking you had to fire me, right?”
“Sure.” Khaba patted me on the back. “But you understand, if we can’t find another explanation, I will have to do my job and report you.”
Maybe if Vega was feeling charitable, she would share her brilliant idea that neither of us had thought up on our own.
Not that Vega was ever charitable. Yet, somehow I needed to get Khaba not to turn me in.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cons and Consequences
I tried speaking with Vega in the morning, but she was crabbier than usual, probably because of her lack of sleep.
“You owe me a favor,” I said as she dressed behind the changing screen. “I want you to tell me what you meant last night about asking for the right favor. What should I ask Khaba to do for me?”
“I don’t owe you any more favors. I’m working on the fire-retardant spell for Thatch’s penis juice. That should be enough for you.”
My voice rose in frustration. “That spell isn’t going to do me any good if I’m fired from this school and killed by Fae.”
She snorted. “Why don’t you just ask Elric to take you in? I’m sure he would be more than pleased to oblige.”
Did she not know? “There’s a spy in Elric’s household. Someone reading his messages from me. It isn’t safe in the Silver Court.” Maybe I shouldn’t have let that slip. That spy could be Vega for all I knew.
“It isn’t safe anywhere,” she said, her tone ominous.
“Then help me.”
“Help yourself,” she said.
I wanted to. I just didn’t know how.
I fell asleep at my desk during the first period of the day. Considering how loud my students were as they “worked,” that should have been impossible.
It wasn’t until lunch that I found Khaba. He patrolled the cafeteria. His bright pink shirt was buttoned all the way up today, no surprise after the principal’s decree on the dress code.
Part of me was intimidated by the idea of talking to Khaba, afraid he might at any moment tell me it was time he reported my conduct to the principal. The other part of me burned to know about Thatch. He was the only one who could tell me how he faired.
I overcame my anxiety and approached him.
“What’s the word on the autopsy?” I whispered.
“Nurse Hilda performed a preliminary examination. She confirmed what we found and sent off a report. A coroner from the Witchkin Council will be here today to examine the bodies.”
Hope soared in my heart. “And they’ll wait for the report before deciding what to do with Felix Thatch and Gertrude Periwinkle?”
He opened his mouth, but before he could reply, a student ran over to us and told Khaba he’d gotten an A on his Latin test. Khaba gave him a high five. I hoped Thatch was all right. The Witchkin Council had been so quick to decide to execute Josie.
Khaba hooked an arm around my shoulder as we walked, leaning close to my ear. “Probably. Only, it’s going to take more than evidence. We have a second dead body. Chuck Dean and I have been talking about what they’re likely to conclude. It’s too coincidental that Thatch was dragging one body, even if evidence points to the fact that he didn’t do it, and another death occurred not long after in the same vicinity. It looked like he was covering up for someone else, if not for himself.”
I cupped my hand around my mouth so no one would hear. “We could resurrect Camelia. She might be able to identify—”
“No. You are in enough hot water as it is.” The sternness in his tone carried over a commotion of girls giggling and squealing at a table nearby.
“Think about it,” I said. “She might tell us who killed her.”
“And then what? We just go to the Witchkin Council and tell them to release our staff because an animated corpse told us the name of her killer? Even i
f we do know who killed her, we won’t know how to prove it.” Khaba eyed me dubiously.
“If we had a suspect, we might be able to follow a lead to her.” As in the Princess of Lies and Truth.
Khaba shook his head at me. “If you keep breaking the law, someone will notice. I’m not going to be able to find a solution for that. As it is, I don’t know how I’m going to solve this mess.”
“Crikey, look at you two. Thick as thieves.” An Australian accent alerted me that the principal stood behind us.
I whirled.
Principal Dean crossed his arms, his smile smug. “What are you two up to?”
Khaba grinned, not missing a beat. “Patrolling for troublemakers.”
“As long as my staff aren’t the troublemakers, eh?” Principal Dean’s gaze swept over me, his loathing undisguised as his smile turned to a sneer.
Khaba bowed his head. “I intend to keep it that way. Only good teachers and students.”
“Speaking of which . . . I just sent a student to your office. Balthasar Llewelyn started another fistfight this morning. I also caught him with a bag of marijuana in his pocket and two cell phones. I’d swear that one wants to be expelled. Thought you’d better deal with him. I’m not so sure that one is right for our school.”
Poor kid. If only we had a counselor whom the kids could go to when they needed to talk. We sort of had a counselor, but Puck dealt more with scheduling and internships than talking with kids about feelings.
I was thirty minutes into sixth period after lunch when Hailey Achilles and Ben O’Sullivan ran into my classroom, huffing from booking it up the stairs. Neither were in that class.
I pointed to the door. “You need to go to your class.”
“Miss Lawrence, we need your help,” Hailey said.
