by Jes Battis
“Are we trying to give it a headache?”
“No. The pulse works as a kind of neural dampener. It should disrupt the demon’s psychic defenses long enough for you to launch an attack.”
“That’s where Siegel comes in,” Selena said.
Derrick stared at her. “Excuse me? You want me to get inside the mind of an unknown demon? Why don’t I just get inside a giant food processor? It could be a brain-eater, or worse.”
“The howler should distract it long enough for you to make a quick pass through its thoughts,” Selena clarified. “We’re hoping you can pick up something useful. The name of the decedent, or where it came from. Anything, really.”
“Great. I’ll try to write it all down while I’m being eviscerated from the inside. Do you have any idea how strong the thoughts of a demon like that are? It could make me gouge my own eyes out.”
“We’ll try not to let that happen, hon.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “In the meantime, how are we getting into the morgue? Unless you’ve perfected a portable veil system, I don’t see how we’re supposed to move around undetected.”
“Actually, it won’t be as difficult as it sounds.” Selena stood. “All we need are some uniforms and name tags. The rest will depend on your acting skills.”
“Oh, God.” I put my head on the table. “Please let me go back to bed.”
“That’s perfect,” Selena said. “Now just channel that dramatic energy into your performance, and you’ll be fine.”
Vancouver had several morgues, all attached to urban hospitals, which were equipped with refrigeration units. When people died of natural causes within the hospital, they were transferred temporarily to the morgue before being moved either to a mortuary or a crematorium. There was also, however, a larger and more sophisticated autopsy facility attached to the Office of the Chief Coroner, which was in Burnaby, the city’s most sprawling suburb. That was where we were heading. The coroner’s office dealt with active criminal investigations and was frequented by the VPD, which meant that we had to get in quickly and quietly.
The office was on the bottom floor of a tall glass and steel building, and the entrance was flanked by security. Selena had furnished Miles and me with badges that identified us as autopsy technicians, while Derrick and Lucian were dressed as police officers. What amazed me was how easily Cindée had managed to replicate uniforms for us, all the way down to the shield and regulation Glock sidearm. They even had paperwork, which included detailed rotation schedules and personal history, compiled from both the RCMP and VPD databases.
We approached the entrance. One of the security guards walked over to us, and I couldn’t help but notice that he was built like an ox.
Lucian showed the guard his badge. “I’m Officer Pérez, and this is Officer Sheldon. We’re supposed to meet with the CC.”
The guard looked us over. “I’ve never seen the two of you before.”
“They were just transferred from the CCO in Toronto. They’ve got their recommendation letters from the chief coroner, if you want to see them.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. You know where you’re going?”
“Straight down this hallway to the service elevator on the right,” Lucian said. “The autopsy suite is below the basement level, and we’ve got keys for the elevator.”
The guard nodded. “Okay. Just remember to sign in at reception.”
We made our way through the sliding glass doors. The reception desk was empty, which wasn’t a surprise at this hour. Lucian leaned over as if to sign the book on the counter, knowing that the guard was watching him through the doors, but he didn’t actually write anything.
“Let’s hope they don’t check for the next twenty minutes or so,” he said.
“Wait.” Miles tapped his hearing aid, which had been equipped with a telecoil that could access the building’s closed-loop transmissions. It also allowed Selena to transmit messages to him on the same frequency. “She says that the guards are about to switch rotation. The replacements shouldn’t have any reason to check the sign-in book. So we’re clear.”
We continued down the hallway and turned right, which led us to a small vestibule with the service elevator that Lucian had mentioned. He’d studied the plans for the building beforehand, and I was impressed by how much he could retain. I guess his brain was more analytical than mine. I tended to rely on aesthetic landmarks, as in, Turn at the coffee stand and walk down the hallway with the funny-smelling carpet.
“This uniform itches like crazy,” Derrick said, pulling at his collar. “I wish I could be one of the autopsy technicians.”
“I don’t know. I think it looks kind of hot.” Miles laid a hand on his chest. “Maybe Selena wouldn’t mind if we borrowed it for a while.”
“Boys. Focus.”
I pressed the call button, and the elevator doors opened. “There’ll be time for role-playing after we get out of here.”
Lucian swiped his stolen key card, and the panel on the wall lit up. He pressed the button marked LB, and the elevator began to descend, swiftly and silently.
“This belt is way heavier than it looks,” Derrick said. “And I’m used to carrying my gun in a shoulder-holster. It’s super uncomfortable.”
“You could always create a distraction by undressing in the morgue. Other than that, you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“Easy for you to say. You look like Lauren Ambrose in a lab coat.”
“I’m going to take that as a veiled compliment.”
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Everything smelled and sounded familiar: industrial-grade cleaning supplies, the chill of stainless steel, and the low hum of constant air-conditioning. Red and blue lines had been painted on the linoleum floor, directing the passage of carts and gurneys.
“Remember to say as little as possible.” Lucian adjusted his belt, making the gun even more apparent. “They’re used to seeing cops here, so Derrick and I lend you an aura of legitimacy. Do you remember the backstory?”
“We’re replacing Timmons and O’Hara,” I said. “They’re on sick leave. Miles and I are both finishing a death-investigation internship at Carleton. I doubt they’re going to ask us about our alma mater, though. They’re more interested in whether we brought them coffee and doughnuts.”
We continued down the passageway, which terminated at a heavy door with another card reader. Lucian swiped the key card again, and I was hit with a blast of subzero air. I could smell what lay beneath the layers of disinfectant, and it wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was the opposite of all good things. If evil had a smell, decomposition was probably the only thing that came close.
Another door at the far end of the chamber opened, and an autopsy tech emerged. He was still wearing latex gloves and a face mask, and he stared at us in surprise.
“We’re taking over for Timmons and O’Hara,” I said.
He frowned for a second, then shrugged. “Fine. I’m taking my fifteen. Dr. Rashid just started working on the kid.”
The kid?
Was that the body we were after? Selena hadn’t said anything about it being a child’s body. But demonic physiology could also be deceptive. It might look like a child and actually be several hundred years old.
The tech passed us and exited through the first door. I led the way, opening the door at the far end of the hall, which led to the autopsy suite. It was heavy and had a glass window, through which I could see the familiar tiled floor and steel tables with drains underneath them.
There were three autopsy tables in total, and the left side of the suite was taken up by a long steel counter. Sterile pads covered the counter, with freshly washed instruments laid atop them. Only one of the tables was occupied. A figure dressed in scrubs and a plastic apron, whom I assumed to be Dr. Rashid, had his back to us. He was leaning over the table, his body obscuring whoever or whatever lay on top of it.
The room was silent, save for the gentle shuffling of the doctor’s feet as he positi
oned himself over the body. I noticed that he was wearing running shoes. For some reason, the small detail made me want to smile. But I didn’t.
“Dr. Rashid?”
He turned, still holding a pair of shears in his right hand. “Who are you?”
“We’re here to replace Timmons and O’Hara. They are on—”
“—sick leave. Yes, I know.” All I could see behind the mask was his dark eyes, which fixed on me. “I didn’t ask who you were replacing. I asked who you were.”
Selena had given us the names of two grad students at Carleton University, who were enrolled in a death-investigation program but currently away doing fieldwork. It would be far too much trouble to track them down.
“My name’s Christina Ross, and this is Bob Silver. I think our supervisor e-mailed you last week. Professor Ian Talbot.”
Rashid frowned. “I don’t know anyone by that name, and I received no e-mail. But as long as you’re here, you can help me take notes.” He glanced at Lucian and Derrick. “The two of you can leave. Thank you.”
“We’ll be right outside,” Lucian murmured to me. Then he and Derrick left the autopsy suite. Now it was up to Miles and me to get rid of the doctor, and we didn’t exactly have a lot of time.
I approached the autopsy table. Miles hung back a bit. He wasn’t quite as accustomed yet to seeing dead bodies.
The body in question was surprisingly small. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. His blond hair was matted in blood, and there was detritus on his face. He must have been lying facedown in the sand when the police found him. But if that were the case, there should have been blanching due to lividity on his face as well. It was untouched, aside from the streaks of dirt.
Dr. Rashid hadn’t begun the autopsy yet, but he was about to. I had no idea what would happen if the kid woke up in the middle of being dissected.
“He’s so little,” Miles breathed.
I don’t think he meant to say it. I looked at him and saw an expression of chagrin spread across his face.
Rashid looked up. “Yes. We can’t know for sure, but I’d say that the subject is anywhere from eight to ten years old. If he’s ten, then he’d be small for his age. There are no ligature marks, abrasions, or contusions of any kind on his body. No trauma that I can see. It might be a different story inside, though.”
Miles frowned suddenly. I waited for Rashid to turn toward the counter, and then signed quickly to him:
What’s up?
Not sure, he signed back. Something’s wrong.
Great.
Fire alarm, I signed. Tell Lucian.
Dr. Rashid had just picked up a scalpel from the counter. “Start taking notes,” he told me.
I walked over to the counter to grab his notebook. When I was a few inches away from him, I made a quick movement, nudging his leg. He stepped back, startled, and the scalpel dropped to the floor.
“I’m so sorry.” I leaned over to pick it up. “This will need to be disinfected. I’ll grab you another.”
He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, as if I were the stupidest person alive. I doubted that Dr. Rashid was much of a pleasure to work for.
I washed my hands with pumice soap, then slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “I’m really sorry,” I said again. “I’m never this clumsy. I swear.”
I was just about to grab the second scalpel when the fire alarm sounded. Obviously, Selena had relayed my message to Lucian. Maybe we’d still manage to get out of here in one piece after all.
“We’d better go,” I said. “They’ll let us back in as soon as the fire department leaves. How annoying.”
Dr. Rashid shrugged. “You can leave. I’m not going anywhere.”
I stared at him. “You can’t stay here.”
“I’m not leaving. If there’s any trace evidence on this body, it could dissolve in the next twenty minutes. The morgue is in no danger of burning down. I’m staying.”
Really? Tonight of all nights we had to deal with the obstinate doctor who refused to abandon his post?
“I really think, for safety’s sake—”
“Miss Ross.” His voice had an edge to it. “My job is to conduct an autopsy on this child, and that’s what I’m going to do. Now, you can either join everyone outside, or you can assist me.”
I stared at Miles. He shrugged. He was out of ideas.
“Fine.” I walked over to the counter and picked up the nearest scalpel. “Are you going to use the Rokitansky method, or—”
“Please stop stalling and give me the scalpel.” He held out his gloved hand. “Every minute that we wait only makes it more difficult to determine a cause of death, and that’s the least that we can do for this boy. Don’t you think?”
I handed him the scalpel.
“Thank you.” He positioned the blade against the child’s sternum. “Now. Watch how I make this Y-incision. You might learn something.”
He started to cut. I sucked in my breath.
Blood welled up in the wound.
“What the—” Rashid’s eyes widened. “Quick, grab me gauze and sutures from the counter—”
Two things happened before I could move.
Miles started to sign something. I couldn’t make out the exact words, but I could see that his hands were shaking. I realized that a patch of air directly behind us had suddenly taken on a dark cast. I could feel something in my gut. Something very bad. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
Something was about to join us in the autopsy suite. It was going to appear in a few seconds, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.
But no sooner had I realized that than something even more immediate caught my attention, along with Dr. Rashid’s.
The boy’s eyes were open.
He stared at us all in naked horror. For just a moment, his form seemed to shimmer, and I could see what lay underneath.
The demon was small, just like the false body that he’d formed for himself out of light, shadow, and will. He had skin the color of polished gray stone, and hard green eyes with slit pupils. He was hairless, with thin ears pressed close to his scalp. He also had a pair of small horns, made from some striated mineral substance, black and green.
His mouth hung open for a second. He saw the doctor. He saw me. Then he saw the scalpel, still in his flesh.
He screamed.
It was more than a scream, in fact. The force of it flung all three of us backward, and I felt its power hit me like a brick wall. I stumbled and tried to maintain my balance. Dr. Rashid fell to the ground, and Miles dropped to one knee.
The door to the autopsy suite opened, and Lucian burst in, followed by Derrick. He had his gun ready. But he stopped when he saw the figure of the small demon-boy, still lying on the autopsy table, his alien eyes darting in every direction.
The boy leapt off the table. His form shimmered again, and the blond-haired human returned. Had Rashid seen the demon’s true form? I couldn’t tell. He just kept staring at the boy. He still couldn’t believe that he’d been about to cut into something that was very much alive.
The boy didn’t seem to care that he was naked or bleeding. He was more terrified of us. He held out one hand, as if to keep us at a distance. I felt his power building again, and I took a step back instinctively.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” I said. “I promise. We’re here to help you.”
The boy stared at me. I felt his mind pushing against mine. I let him in, let him sift through my thoughts and memories, despite how cold his touch was. I needed him to trust me. It was the only way he’d agree to leave with us.
“You’re mage-born,” he said, matter-of-factly.
His voice was slightly high-pitched and had a strange metallic quality to it. He also had an accent. I could only imagine what his native tongue was.
“Yes,” I said. There was no use explaining any of this to Rashid. Selena would just have to deal with that particular mess later. “I don’t kno
w how you got here, but someone’s coming after you. We have to leave now.”
“He’s not coming,” the boy said, looking behind me. “He’s already here.”
I turned.
A four-legged creature was standing before us. Its bottom half was equine, with hooves sheathed in black metal that steamed as they touched the floor. Its top half was naked, bone white and covered in ink that writhed before my eyes. They were ritual tattoos, each one designating a mystical event in the demon’s life. Judging from the amount of them, the creature had to be more than a thousand years old.
I couldn’t decide what to reach for, my athame or the howler, which was in my pocket. Derrick had the time bomb, but there was no time to signal him. I had no idea where this demon came from, what its weaknesses were, or even if it had any. But I already knew that my gun was useless.
My hand closed around the hilt of the athame. I kept my eyes on the centaur demon, trying not to shake beneath its gaze.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re after,” I told it, “but maybe we can work something out here.”
The demon made a sound deep in its throat. Possibly laughter.
Then it leapt at me.
3
A few things occurred to me.
Which bones would break first? My ribs, probably.
I imagined them pulverized, the way to my heart open and free of debris. The monster would reach in and plunder everything, my guts, my soul, my memories. All of it would be gone, all the connections, all the hardware, everything. Only a vegetal shell would be left behind.
But the impact never came.
I saw something flash forward out of the corner of my eye. A blurred gray form slammed into the demon, knocking it sideways. I stumbled and fell, hitting the ground hard, but the shock barely registered. I couldn’t believe that I was still alive.
I looked up and saw both demons now facing each other. The massive equine demon towered over the small horned creature, which resembled something out of a Brian Froud picture book. But the demon-boy’s eyes were bright, like green flames, and he stood his ground. The roughly five-foot height differential between them didn’t seem to faze him at all.
