The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1) (13 page)

Settling beside him, I held my hands over his stewed midsection, but without touching. I felt the mental elevation already, so close it took no effort at all to rise a little higher, to float up there into the spheres.

My mental touch drifted over his body, probing and evaluating. Cold rage flooded through me as I saw the full scope of the damage done to him. Whoever had butchered him like chopped liver would pay, I decided, and I would get revenge for Aubrey, too. I wished now that I had asked what had happened to her, had let the old man tell me. I didn't wanted to be involved, and now I had another dead guy, in my living room no less.

Like Aubrey, there was a deep slash across his belly, from hipbone to hipbone. His organs looked like cold dog food. The layers of yellow fat under the split skin reminded me of the chickens I helped my mom butcher every fall. The cold had removed all the smell, thankfully, but the visual was gag-inducing enough. He was absolutely soaked in blood, his pants stiff with it. He must have bled to death, I reasoned. It wouldn't take long, with a gaping hole for a stomach. I wondered - did he fight? Cry out? How long did he suffer, in terror and pain?

At least it was fixable, if Aubrey was any standard to go by. I set to work, bringing the twitching and vibrating light together and then spread it over his body. He had been dead a little longer than I usually preferred, but I could see it working. Under my hands, I felt warmth and life returning, felt his cells expanding, felt the blood flowing backwards into his abdominal cavity, like a movie set in rewind.

I was very high up, and from that vantage point I saw the soul approaching, or rather, felt that it - he - was nearing. That had never happened to me before, and it took me down a bit, out of an instinctual wariness. It wasn't uncommon for the soul to be hovering nearby, but never had a soul approached, as though looking for a way back in.

There was little that I could do but allow it, withdrawing a bit as the soul settled down, and for a split second I worried that perhaps it was possible for the wrong soul to return to a body - maybe that wasn't just something I made up to be theatrical. Was it possible that a random soul was just floating by? Something about this whole thing smelled off to me, but I hardly had to time to think it through because at that moment I was struck with an overwhelming wave of nausea.

In the same instance, Marcus gave a tremendous gasp and sat up, his eyes wide and terrified. They darted around the room, taking in the TV and the couch and the mostly bare walls, and then Johnny, who gave a few warning barks. Finally his eyes landed on me, and I gritted my teeth and gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile

“Hi,” I said. “Welcome back.”

His mouth closed and opened, working like a fish. His lips began to regain their color. He drew in a ragged breath, and his face crumbled.

“It's okay.” I said quickly, moving a little closer and putting a hand on his arm. He recoiled from the touch, drawing back into himself.

“Marcus,” I said, and at his name he froze, cocking his head a little.

“Marcus,” I said again, more slowly. “Do you know who you are?”

For a moment there was no reaction from him, and a sinking feeling began to open in my rolling stomach. What if I had gotten it wrong? What if this was an entirely different soul in his body?

But then he nodded his head, just a tiny up and down. I exhaled with relief and fought past the nausea. My head began to throb. “Okay. Okay, Marcus. I'm Ebron. Do you remember me?”

Again, a pause and then a tiny nod. Then he said, in a small and broken voice “The herb shop.”

“Yes!” I said. “Yeah, you came in yesterday.”

“Right,” he said faintly, looking utterly lost and bewildered. “I thought you were cute.”

I smiled, but he didn't notice, blinking as he peered around the room.

“What happened?” he whispered. “Where am I?”

“At my house. I found you. In the woods.”

“What?” he said softly, the word more of a startled gasp.

“I found you in the woods,” I said. “You were . . . hurt.”

He looked down at himself, pressing one hand to his stomach. “I feel weird,” he said. “Where's Shaina? And Jim? Are they all right?”

“I don't know. Um, I think you should take a shower. And I'll get you some clean clothes, and then we can talk.”

He paused again, his eyes searching mine and then he gave another hesitant nod. “Okay. But Ebron?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“I don't know if I can walk.”

“Oh, sure, here,” I hauled myself up on unsteady feet, breathing deep to ward off the dizziness, and then reached for him. I slide my arm carefully around his back. Leaning heavily on me, he got to his knees, and then his feet. It was a slow process and by the time he was standing he was sweating and pale.

“Thanks,” he whispered, shaky as a newborn colt as I helped him across the living room and into the spare bathroom. Leo was the only who used it, since it sat next to the bedroom where he holed up. I self-consciously glanced at the dingy tile, made grubbier by the dim lighting and the mildew smell. What could I do? I was poor; I lived in a shitty singlewide trailer.

Marcus hardly seemed to notice, dropping down onto the toilet lid as though his legs simply wouldn't hold him anymore. The bathroom felt too small with both of us in it. My shoulder banged against the towel rack when I turned to flip on the vanity mirror light. That helped a little, making the room a little brighter.

“I'll get some clean clothes for you,” I said, turning to go. He didn't move, sitting there with his hands between his knees and an expression so like a lost child on his face that it twisted my heart.

“Do you . . . can I help?” I asked, not at all sure what to do.

The look on his face didn't change, but he gave another tiny nod, and with some reservation, I crouched down next to him, pulling off his filthy shoes and setting them aside. He stretched his leg out a bit to help me, and braced one hand on my shoulder. The touch was purely utilitarian, but I was acutely aware of it as I tugged off his socks, revealing slim feet crusted with dried blood. He made a noise at the gore, and I looked up at him.

“I remember . . . running?” his eyebrows came together in concentration. His eyes met mine, the same gorgeous green I had been thinking about. “Do you know what happened?”

“Let's get you cleaned up, okay?” I replied quietly. “Then we'll talk.”

The frown deepened on his face, his eyes searching mine. “I trust you, Ebron,” he said finally, in such a neutral manner that I couldn't tell if it was a question.

“I don't know,” I replied anyway. “I just want to help.”

That seemed to surprise him, and his expression eased a bit. He nodded.

Biting the inside of my lip, I reached for the collar of his coat, and he didn't resist as I peeled it off. It was unsalvageable, and I wished I had had the forethought to bring a garbage bag in with me.

“I want to go through the pockets before you throw that out,” he said, nodded to the coat.

“Okay. Can you get the rest?”

He nodded, and grasped my arm to pull himself up. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, and I saw just a peek of smooth, tight belly. His skin was intact. Unmarred.

I turned to the shower, giving him as much privacy as I could. The water came out freezing cold at first, and I fiddled with the knobs, adjusting the temperature as he stripped behind me. I heard the clank of his belt buckle hitting the ground. The steam from the shower wafted across my face and I closed my eyes, breathing deep of the moist air, a confusing whirl of pain and arousal coursing through me

Christ, what was wrong with me? The poor man was covered in blood and had, until very recently, been lying dead in a ditch, and here I was sporting a semi just from being in the room with him? Fucking pervert, that's what I was.

I stared at the plastic tub surround, willing my disobedient body to desist, willing my eyes to focus and breath back into my lungs.

“I'll go grab some soap and towels,” I said without turning. “Be right back.”

“Okay.”

The pile of clothes at his feet had grown; I almost tripped over them when I turned. “Sorry,” he mumbled, using one foot to drag them closer.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, noting both that he was wearing plain tighty whities, and that they were no longer white at all but a deep crimson. He had noticed, too, his hands frozen at his hips and his eyes fixed on the blood.

“I'll get underwear, too,” I said lamely, and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind me.
Fucking hell.

I fled across the trailer, down the opposite end and went straight through my bedroom to the attached bath. I dropped to my knees and without even a pause started puking into the toilet. The bile burned coming up and I was left sputtering, my throat raw. Stomach acid seeped down my nose and I snorted violently, a mess of puke and snot. The coolness of the porcelain eased my pounding head and I pressed my cheek against the toilet seat. Finally, when my head stopped spinning, I got shakily to my feet and turned on the tap, drinking water from my cupped palms. I leaned against the sink and stared at myself in the mirror, seeing my own wild-eyed face but barely recognizing myself.

“Get it together,” I told my reflection.

I splashed some cold water on my face, removing the grittiness and calming me somewhat. I grabbed an unopened box of soap and some shampoo and tucked them under my arm. Returning to my bedroom, I gathered clean clothes from the hamper without really looking at them. Marcus looked to be almost exactly my size, and I grabbed shirt, jeans and socks before contemplating my underwear drawer.

Loaning someone underwear was not an issue I had ever faced. I sifted through the drawer, pulling out an old pair of boxers that were plain black. Would that do? It felt extremely weird to be overthinking it so much. Finally I just bunched up the black boxers into the jeans and headed back to the guest bathroom.

I heard the hiss of the shower, and gave myself a stern reprimand before rapping on the door.

“Marcus? I'm coming in.”

Steam flooded out the door as soon as I cracked it, and I ducked in quickly to keep the heat inside. Marcus’s silhouette stood behind the plain beige shower curtain, still and unmoving.

“You all right?” I asked in concern.

“Fine.” The spray of the shower muffled his voice, but I heard the warning in it nevertheless.

“I'm just leaving the clothes here. Soap's on the toilet seat,” I said. “I'll be in the living room when you're done.”

“Thank you.”

I bent to gather the pile of bloody clothes, wadding them up into a gory ball. The fine wool coat I tucked under my arm, but I left the shoes, thinking that they could still be salvaged. I ducked back out, feeling foolish and worried and excited all in one messy bundle.

Then I heard the front door open and close, and my heart lurched into my mouth.

Leo stood stock still before the front door, nose up and nostrils flaring. He didn't acknowledge me when I skidded into the room, glancing nervously at the bloody tarp on the floor. I paused, then dumped the ruined clothes onto the tarp. Leo’s eyes flickered up to mine.

“Ebron,” Leo said in a deceptively calm voice. “Explain.”

“Leo-”

“Imagine my surprise, Ebron. I spent all last night and part of tonight trying to hunt down the witches that tried to make me kill you. Guess what? No witches. And then I come home ... and it smells an awful lot like witches in here. Very strange, don't you think?”

“I found one of them,” I said, moving closer.

“Okay.” He waited.

I lowered my voice, though there was no way Marcus could be within earshot without Leo noticing.

“He was dead, Leo. His guts were ripped out.”

Leo looked at me full on, his eyes wide and surprised.

“That's interesting,” he repeated slowly. “And he's here now? Presumably no longer dead?”

“He's in the shower.”

“Ebron!
Fuck
.”

“What?” I snapped. “You want me to have left him dead?”

“I don't know, but did you have to bring him home? Did it escape your mind that they fucking put a spell on you yesterday?”

“Says you,” I said, and immediately regretted it. His eyes went dark and he bunched up, the way a cat would when it was preparing to pounce.

“Really?” he said in a low voice, his accent thick and guttural. “You think I just decided to attack you last night? Out of the blue? After being lovers for, what, ten years?”

“Okay, I didn't mean that. But listen, Leo, I don't think that he remembers anything. I told him that when I found him he was hurt, and he's confused and -”

“And I'm going to fucking make him remember. Get him out here.”

“No, stop it.” I put my hand on his chest when he tried to walk past me and he gave me an are-you-joking look.

“I can smell him on you,” Leo growled at me. “I don't like having that smell here.”

“I feel like you are ignoring the most obvious question.”

“Which is?”

“Who killed him? You didn't. So who?”

“I don't know, the same person who sliced open that girl from the other night, probably. Perhaps we should ask him.”

“Exactly.” I hissed back. “So don't you think we have bigger problems than one witch . . .” I trailed off.

Leo saw the stunned look on my face and gave me a smirk. “Ah. The dots are connecting.”

“Well, he didn't disembowel himself,” I said stubbornly.

“You said he came with a coven, though.”

“You think they turned on him?”

“I don't know,” he said with exaggerated patience. “We should ask him.”

“I told him that he'd been hurt.”

“Hurt. Not dead.”

“Right. I don't think that we should tell him the rest.”

Leo considered that, chewing on his lower lip. “You're right. Good thinking. We've got enough to deal with without him knowing about you. Hmm.” His head swiveled in the direction of the bathroom. I followed his gaze, and realized that I could no longer hear the hiss of the shower. Leo took a step in that direction and I grabbed his arm again.