by E. A. Copen
“Don’t suppose your friend mentioned what kind of job?” I took another sip of coffee, this time pausing to savor it. “Because if it’s another friend who wants to talk to their dead cat, I swear—”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Good, because I’m not ever doing that again.” I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. If you think cats are dicks in life, wait until you meet a reanimated one.
“She didn’t give me specifics, but I got the feeling it was one of those life-or-death situations. Since you specialize in the latter of the two, I went ahead and made you an appointment later this afternoon. You should have plenty of time to get out to the morgue and check on that body your detective friend keeps leaving messages about.”
Shit, that’s what I got for telling Paula to filter all my calls. She took it literally. I hadn’t meant to dodge Detective Emma Knight’s calls, especially if she needed my help on a case. I also knew I wasn’t in any shape to do any decent police consulting. Physically, I was fine. The stitches from my surgeries had dissolved, and I’d gotten all the staples removed, which was just the excuse I’d needed one day to go grab more booze. Even the worst of the bruising from my fight with the goddess Vesta had faded to a light yellow. But I didn’t want to face Emma again, not after accidentally avoiding her for two weeks.
I shoved a whole strip of bacon into my mouth. It was nice, crispy like proper bacon, but the very act of chewing felt exhausting.
Paula’s frown deepened. “Please tell me you’re not like this because of some woman?”
My back stiffened. Some woman? Odette wasn’t just some woman. She was… I let the thought trail off, unsure how to finish. How much of that was me and how much was the spell?
Odette’s leaving had broken something inside me, something I hadn’t quite figured out how to put back together. But I told myself I hadn’t holed myself up in the apartment and drank myself silly for two weeks because of Odette. I was recovering.
I stabbed my eggs and watched them bleed yellow yolk everywhere. “I’ll have you know a drunken stupor is a perfectly normal reaction to finding out gods are real and that you’re one of four people in the world who can kill them. It has nothing to do with her.”
“Really?” Paula crossed her arms. “Then why didn’t you say her name just now?”
“Because pronouns are a thing.” I pushed my plate away, unfinished, and stood on wobbly legs. “Tell your friend I’ll take her case and let Detective Knight know I’ll be down to the station before noon.”
“You’d better hurry, then,” Paula called after me as I shuffled toward the shower. “It’s already eleven.”
After a quick icy shower to try and shock the hangover out of my system, I grabbed a mostly clean t-shirt from the laundry hamper and tugged on a ripped-up old pair of jeans hanging from a hook on the wall. Paula was gone when I came back out, which was a relief. Her voice had been grating on my nerves since I got up. Normally, the throaty tone didn’t bother me, so I chalked it up to the headache I hadn’t been able to shake just yet.
I went to the window in the kitchen and peered through the blinds. The sunlight filtering through the window still stung too, but at least it wasn’t raining. Heat danced on the pavement below, meaning it was already well on its way to being an oven outside. I popped a couple of painkillers, donned a pair of oversized sunglasses, and shrugged on my coat just the same. It might’ve been hot and sticky out there, but my body temp had been hovering around ninety-five degrees; I was always cold anymore. Fun side effect of becoming the Pale Horseman, I supposed.
My psyche now hovered closer to death than any other human’s on Earth. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what that meant yet, aside from my newfound ability to see and remove souls from living people. Baron Samedi, who’d talked me into taking the job, had been suspiciously absent whenever I went looking for answers.
My junker car was the only vehicle in the parking lot of Paula’s bar when I came down the stairs. She sat as rusty and dented as I remembered her, except there were some brand new scratches on the bumper from where the cops had tried to tow it over some unpaid parking tickets. I gave the hood a loving tap on my way to the driver’s side and climbed on in.
Only once I was safely in the car did I pull out the cell phone and stare at the screen, trying to work up the courage to talk to Emma. One deep breath. Two. On the third, I dialed the number.
She picked up on the second ring. “You’d better have a damn good reason for dodging my calls, Lazarus.”
Ouch. Not even a hello before she ripped into me. But that wasn’t unexpected, at least not from Emma Knight. “Good morning to you, too,” I grumbled.
“It’s almost one,” she snapped back. A sigh followed, and I imagined her rubbing her forehead. “Well, I suppose I should be glad you’re not dead. Did you get my messages?”
“All thirty of them. Guess you don’t have any other leads?”
“None,” she replied. “And more bodies are stacking up. Weird bodies. Are you free? I’m headed to the coroner’s office right now to review the latest.”
“Sure. I can be there in fifteen.” I hesitated, knowing I should apologize. “And Emma?”
“Detective Knight today,” she corrected.
I winced. I must’ve really pissed her off if she was taking away first-name privileges. “Yeah, sorry about not calling back.”
She hung up on me without answering.
I stared at the blinking call timer on the phone screen. Emma was normally short-tempered, but there had been more than just anger at me in her voice. She sounded…tired. This case must’ve really been a doozy if they were counting on me to provide a lead.
My car groaned to life, and I drove the three miles across town to the coroner’s office.
The Orleans Parish Coroner’s office was an imposing, sandy, brick building of three stories over on Earhart Boulevard. With squat windows in two narrow rows, it looked more like an industrial building than a medical office. Like a lot of important offices, this one had relocated after Katrina barreled into the city. I hadn’t seen the original offices, but it was hard to imagine them being any cheerier. I recognized Knight’s Escalade in the parking lot and pulled in next to it.
She was waiting in the lobby when I came through the glass doors. She stood with her back to me, arms crossed. Her dark, wiry hair hung in tightly curled and layered ringlets around her head, reminding me more of a lion’s mane than hair. When the little bell over the door chimed, she turned but didn’t uncross her arms. I felt her eyes travel over me, assessing, calculating. Her gaze stopped on the sunglasses, and she frowned.
“Hey, Detective Knight.” I gave her a messy, half-hearted salute.
Her nose twitched. “Are you drunk?”
“Not for about six hours now.”
Emma marched across the lobby, hooked a finger over the nosepiece of my sunglasses, and jerked them off my face. “Jesus. Seriously? I can’t believe you. You disappear for two weeks, duck my calls, and then show up hung over? What’s wrong with you?”
I fumbled to snatch the glasses back, a difficult feat even with the extra foot of height I had on her. I wasn’t willing to risk getting too close to those pointy knees and elbows, especially with as pissed as she sounded.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I finally managed, giving up. “I didn’t even know you were calling. My landlady is screening my calls because of—” My lips started to make her name, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “…harassment. I wasn’t planning on being here when I sat down to drink last night.”
Her shoulders relaxed. She tilted her head and offered the sunglasses back to me. “Nobody ever expects to hit rock bottom. Just promise me you’re done dodging me, okay? I really need your help with this one.”
I studied her posture carefully. Everything I knew about Emma said it might be a trick. She didn’t cool off that fast, not without kicking some ass first, though her body languag
e and expression said she was sincere. Still, I was careful plucking the sunglasses from her hands. Instead of putting them back on, however, I hung them from my collar. The light still hurt, but I’d look conspicuous with them on.
“Hey,” I said, my tone gentle, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She turned her head. “Let’s just get this over with. Moses is already downstairs, waiting on us.”
I nodded and followed her to an elevator. Emma didn’t seem to be in the mood for small talk, so I didn’t attempt any, instead letting the elevator music fill the space between us. The air felt stale as we rose to the next floor. When the doors opened, the astringent scent of bleach and other chemicals burned my nose.
Detective Moses Moses lounged near a door about halfway down the hall. He stepped away from the wall and came to meet us. He looked no worse for wear, considering he’d been the hostage of a goddess for an afternoon, but my eyes didn’t miss the slightly more pronounced hitch in his step. He extended a hand to me. “Good to see you, Lazarus. Surprised we haven’t seen you before this. You been on vacation?”
“On a bender,” Knight muttered under her breath.
I ignored her like the professional I am and answered, “Something like that. Your leg all healed up?”
“Oh, about as good as you can expect at my age.” He patted his knee for emphasis. “Ever find your girlfriend?”
My throat felt tight. “Ex-girlfriend now, but yeah. She’s fine, as far as I know.”
His eyes widened like someone had stepped on his toes at the news.
Emma interrupted by clearing her throat. “Shall we? Dr. James is waiting.”
Moses swaggered over and pulled open a wood-paneled door that was lined with stainless steel on the other side and held it. Emma shivered as she stepped into the room, so it must’ve been cold. Places where they keep dead bodies normally are.
As soon as I entered the room, I felt the dead pulling at me, ghosts and shades both clawing at my mental shields, each one looking for either a vessel to ride out or a mouthpiece for their personal sob story. I paused long enough to envision building up some thin cement walls in my mind’s eye to secure my mind. By the time I’d finished that, Emma and Moses were already shaking hands with a tall, good-looking man with dark hair and a dimple in his chin. The guy’s smile wouldn’t have been out of place in a toothpaste ad. Here, it just felt creepy. And weird. I instantly disliked him.
“…and this is Lazarus Kerrigan,” Emma said, gesturing to me. “He’s here as a consultant.”
The guy stepped toward me and offered a hand. “Lazarus Kerrigan, eh? Any relation to the Lazarus Kerrigan that runs the occult shop over on Magazine street?”
“That’s me, Doctor—” I stole a glance at the gleaming nametag pinned to his white coat. “—James.”
He squeezed my hand until it hurt, all the while staring at me with that creepy grin on his face. I briefly thought about returning the favor, but I didn’t want to seem juvenile, so I just reached around with my other hand and gave his back three nice, hard smacks. His eyes widened as the gesture sent him tumbling forward slightly, but he still recovered with an annoying amount of grace and adjusted his white coat.
When Dr. James spoke again, it was business as usual, as if I hadn’t just made him trip. “Well, it’s a good thing the detectives have brought you in, Mr. Kerrigan. The more help we can get, the better.”
“You think they’re ritual murders?” I asked, rocking back on my heels.
His perfect eyebrows shot up. “Murders? Oh no, I’m sorry. You must’ve been misinformed. On that front, the office has been unusually quiet.”
I studied his face, trying to determine if he was pulling my leg and then looked at Emma. “If you didn’t call me here to consult on a murder case, why am I here?”
As if in answer, the doctor walked through a set of swinging double doors, returning a moment later pushing a stainless-steel table. A body lay on top of it—I could tell by the way the sheet sat. Moses and Emma took up positions on either side of the body, so I followed their lead, choosing to stand by Emma.
“Before I show you, you should know that the bodies have all come in this way,” said Dr. James. Without further warning, he pulled the sheet away from the dead man’s face.
I put a hand over my mouth and nose and restrained a gag. Not because of the shape of the body. The old man looked mostly intact, his face looking more like he was sleeping peacefully than actually dead. But the torso was a mess. It had been pinned open using an apparatus that looked more like a sort of reverse vice than anything else. His insides were shaped masses of deep red and pale pink, but everything I could see looked normal. Of course, I was only willing to give him a quick once-over before I turned away thanks to my stomach’s protests.
“Notice anything?” Dr. James asked.
“Yeah, you forgot to sew him back up.” I squeezed my eyes shut. I will not puke over a dead body this time.
“Lazarus,” Emma said, “half his internal organs are missing, and there are five more bodies just like this one in the next room.”
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my beta readers, editors, proofreader, cover artist and loyal fans. Without all of you, this book wouldn’t be a reality. There were simply too many people involved in all stages of this project to name, but you know who you are! I’d also specifically like to thank Mr. R.R. Virdi for his words of encouragement, and support, and the other authors of the 20Booksto50K Facebook group.
I also owe a great debt to my husband, Jon, who introduced me to urban fantasy, snarky wizards, and planted the idea that necromancers can be good guys, too. Last but not least, a huge thank you to my sister, Anne, for being my moral support. As always, any mistakes that remain are my own.
About the Author
E.A. Copen is the author of the Judah Black novels and the forthcoming space opera, Broken Empire. She’s an avid reader of science fiction, fantasy and other genre fiction. When she’s not chained to her keyboard, she may be found time traveling on the weekends with her SCA friends. She lives in beautiful southeast Ohio with her husband and two kids, at least until she saves up enough to leave the shire and become a Jedi.
Connect with E.A. online:
www.eacopen.com
www.facebook.com/EACopen/
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No one is Above the law.
At least, that’s what federal agent Judah Black believes. Her job is to police supernaturals—werewolves, vampires, and fae—who have come out of hiding to live alongside humans.
The rest of the cops in her precinct are all too eager to dismiss her latest case, an apparent werewolf suicide. But the suicide note lays the blame on a cold case swept under the rug by the very department Judah works for.
When Judah decides to dig deeper, she uncovers evidence that could bring down one of the most powerful up and coming politicians in the country. Her superiors tell her to leave it alone, that everyone who’s ever crossed this senator was fired or worse—dead. Pursuing this case will place Judah in the center of a growing struggle between humans and the supernatural, and change her life forever.
Join my e-mail list and read Judah Black’s story from the beginning with this exclusive short for subscribers only.
An ancient evil lurks in the waters of the Concho River.
After a massive storm, flood waters threaten Paint Rock, Texas, home to over three hundred supernaturals. In the water lurks a new predator, a giant, venomous snake shifter with origins in Native American myth. When one of her own is bitten, Judah Black must find a way to hunt down the monster and a cure before the venom kills her friend and more people get hurt.
But nothing's ever simple.
To find and catch her prey, she'll have to work with a bounty hunter named Logan Creed whose decades long hunt for the mythical snake borders on obsession. He'll sacrifice everything to comp
lete his hunt, including her family and friends.
Read it for free as a subscriber or buy it for $2.99 on Amazon.
Books by E.A. Copen
The Judah Black Novels
Fortunate Son
Guilty by Association
Perfect Storm
Blood Debt
Chasing Ghosts
Playing with Fire
Other stories in the Judah Black Universe:
Kiss of Vengeance
Broken Empire:
Aftermath
Renegades (Coming fall 2018)
The Lazarus Codex:
Death Rites
Organ Grind
Shallow Grave (Coming June 2018)
Other Works:
Beasts of Babylon
