A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 7 Mercy Whitaker

7 MERCY WHITAKER

It didn’t take long for the carriage to arrive.

Nance gave his hired man instructions, and within minutes they were bounding north. Holt made no attempts at small talk. He didn’t glance back either—which made Mercy feel even more uncomfortable somehow. All that staring the night before, and now he wouldn’t even look her way? For the first time, Devlin’s presence was an undeniable comfort. If something happened, she could trust him to handle it. Her ex had plenty of shortcomings. Landing a blow was not one of them.

Mercy felt like they went up and down every single one of the town’s famous hills. They heard the river long before they saw the actual treatment plant. A distant and pleasant sort of thunder. Nance had mentioned a tributary branching off from the Straywhite River—and now she spotted that stretch in the distance. It was a slash of white-foamed water that ran headlong into the treatment plant.

As they drew closer, Mercy saw the plant consisted of several buildings. Three total structures. First, a pair of identical, one-story buildings. They ran from east to west. Those two buildings were windowless and blended with the hillsides. The third building was more notable. There were flashes along the roof that indicated sun striking metal. There was also an active smokestack. Great puffs of white churned skyward, merging with the clouds above.

“The main building is locked,” Holt announced, the first words he’d spoken the entire ride. “But there are pump basins around back. You should be able to take samples there.” They crested a hill. Holt reined the horses in with ease before gesturing to their right. “The tanks are that way.”

Devlin helped Mercy dismount. She felt a sudden thrill. The idea that the answer could be waiting for them here was exhilarating. A footpath led around the buildings to the back. Holt was making an inspection of the harnesses, and offered no sign he planned to go with them. Devlin summoned his hound. Mercy smiled at the creature. She hadn’t mentioned the midnight visit she’d received. She still didn’t know if Devlin had sent the creature knowingly or not.

That doesn’t matter. Focus. You have a job to do here.

They rounded the corner of the building. She’d never seen a water treatment facility, and yet she felt she knew the purpose of everything she saw in front of her. The “tanks” looked more like large pools. Each one was rectangular, separated by walkways with protective railings. In the distance, there was a dam or a canal. It was responsible for redirecting the tributary’s flow toward this building. Where they stood was the second step in the process: cleaning the water. She could see that each tank possessed mechanisms for release. Once the water had been purified—separated from waste and other contaminants—it could be released through the main building, then on to the farms for consumption.

She was considering what to do when Devlin’s hound darted away from them. Like a golden arrow shot at the central of the three buildings. It reached the outer wall and vanished in a brief shiver of light. The two of them exchanged a glance.

“Must have caught a scent.”

Mercy frowned. “What kind of scent?”

Another pulse of light announced the creature’s return. It padded back to Devlin’s side. He frowned at the creature, then frowned at her. “There’s a body. Inside the building.”

“A body,” Mercy repeated, dumbfounded.

“Inside the building.”

“What do you mean there’s a body? There can’t be a body.”

“He says there’s a body.”

“Your magical dog told you there’s a body?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a dog, Devlin. He doesn’t talk.”

Devlin scowled. “Mercy, I promise you: there’s a body in that building.”

She didn’t bother correcting the use of her first name. It wasn’t quite annoying enough to break through her confusion. What he was saying did not make sense.

“Nance said this is a passive magic facility. No one even works on-site. The last inspection would have been almost a year ago. You think a body has been in there this whole time?”

In response, Devlin reached for the glinting half hammer hanging from his belt. There appeared to be only one access point along the backs of the buildings. He stalked toward it, his hound falling in step with him. Mercy quickly made her own modifications. She adjusted the strap on her medical bag so that it was hanging behind her, out of the way. Mentally, she cycled through a few defensive spells—not that her arsenal was at all designed for combat.

When she was ready, she followed Devlin.

He heard. “What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Can’t you just stay out here?”

“Who’s going to inspect the body, Devlin?”

He made a disbelieving noise, but it was hard to argue with a doctor when it came to corpses. They reached the entrance. He gave the handle a testing tug, clearly expecting it to be locked, and the door groaned open. Devlin shot her a look before pulling it the rest of the way. Inside was dark. Nothing but shadows. Until his hound slid past him. The creature acted like a lantern cantrip, casting its glow over the interior of the building. They stepped into what appeared to be a cleansing room. The next door led into the primary chamber. The sound of rushing water dominated the space, drowning out other noises. Mercy assumed that all the clean water from the outer tanks would eventually release through here. Sure enough, a single channel cut through the heart of the room. When it reached the southern wall, it divided into four separate pipes, all of which vanished underground. This was the lifeblood that pumped to each of the town’s farms.

Mercy was the first one to see the body.

“What… is… that?”

Devlin stumbled to a halt. The corpse was in the water. Floating perfectly on the surface. She saw a pair of stiff legs set tight together, arms neatly folded over the victim’s chest. It would not have been strange to find a body like this in a motionless pool, but the channel was more like a river. The currents looked incredibly strong. All that water should have been battering the body against the walls. Even someone who was alive, actively swimming against the current, would have been dragged in the direction of the pipes. Instead, the corpse sat immobile. Untouched.

“A stasis charm,” Devlin said. “It has to be.”

He was right. It made no sense, but he was right. There shouldn’t have been a body here at all. Much less a body that had been enchanted to remain perfectly in place. The two of them had stopped to observe the scene, but Devlin’s hound had reached the platform below. As she watched, the glow from its skin finally illuminated the edge of the channel. All that light trembled against a darkness that was unnaturally thick.

“Look at that. Above the body.”

As the hound paced, Mercy could make out the borders of some kind of fouled magic. It wasn’t anything she’d encountered in her time at Safe Harbor. Corpses decayed, of course. Bodies eventually rotted and fell apart. This was something else. It reminded her of…

“Dragon corpses look like that,” she blurted out. “We studied one in graduate school. We visited Ayana. The Winter Dragon. Her corpse is buried to the south of Kathor. It used to be a drug farm, but they ran off the harvesters and turned the whole chamber into a museum. I’ve never seen a human body decay the same way. There are fumes leaking from every wound.”

“Is it safe?” Devlin asked. “To go closer?”

She shook her head. “No. We’re fully warded, but no. I can’t guarantee that we won’t get sick from whatever the hell that is.”

Devlin’s face was half-shadowed. He’d been so confident this entire time. Now she saw the first trace of doubt. It was a very reasonable fear. Not cowardice. This was clearly unknown territory for both of them. He eventually cleared his throat.

“Do we turn back then? Wait for someone else?”

“Who else would know what to do?”

Her question echoed off the walls until it became an answer. This was the risk that every doctor was called to when they swore their vows. To serve and protect, even if it meant endangering themselves. Both of them started down the stairs, which curled around, leading back to the platform that banked the channel. If the body’s arrangement had looked unnatural, the wounds were even more so. Matching slits ran down both biceps. Twin wounds cut across each exposed thigh. The woman’s chest—and she felt certain now that it was a woman—had caved in before being split open. Another slit ran vertical from collarbone to chin. It was difficult to see, but when she squinted, she was certain that a strange substance was leaking from each wound. A smoke that pooled in the air above them.

“How do we actually get the body out?” Mercy asked.

The corpse had been magicked into place at the very center of the channel. Just far enough that they could not reach out for it without falling in. She didn’t think it wise for either of them to leap in themselves, and was preparing to talk Devlin out of that thought when his hound jumped into the rapids instead.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mercy sputtered. “We can’t risk damaging the corpse.”

“Don’t worry,” Devlin replied. “He knows.”

As she watched, the creature sank its teeth into the soggy hood of the deceased’s cloak, then turned to swim back to them. The body held in place for a moment, but the stasis spell had been conjured with the river in mind. A resistance cast in a very specific direction—which was not the way the hound was pulling. It managed to tow the dark cargo back to them. Devlin reached down to drag the body onto the platform. She could see how uncomfortable this made him. Touching a body in this state, warded or not, was enough to send a shiver down her spine. Mercy was grateful for their efforts, however. She could perform a much better inspection at this range.

“Hold this.”

She handed off her surgical bag and performed her favorite revelation charm. It was a spell that Dr. Horn had taught her. A very basic casting, but well loved for the fact that it could help a doctor without altering the magic that existed in the actual patient. Her eyes would be drawn to the most important details. Mercy finished the casting and bent to inspect the body again.

“Interesting,” she said, letting the sensory magic guide her. “These wounds are clearly surgical. They’re so clean. You don’t typically see wounds like that if there’s a struggle. Moving bodies don’t allow for such clean cuts. Which means these were likely made on a corpse. Or someone who’d been unconscious. More likely she was dead already. Each one is intentional, too. There’s a lot of precision here.” She frowned. “I still don’t understand what would cause this kind of decay. I mean, these wounds are literally leaking right now.”

Devlin was pacing the platform, her bag clutched in one hand and his hammer in the other. Mercy gently turned the body over. More wounds. A slit down the spine. Two others running the length of the victim’s calves. There was something almost ceremonial about this. Or if not ritualistic, then medical in some way? Not that she could think of any reason a doctor would need to do this. Unless this fell into some kind of experimentation. A person with minimal experience attempting to learn more? That wasn’t unheard of—but it would have been far more common a century ago. Schools of medicine had been established for exactly this reason.

Her mind returned to the thought of breath farmers. They approached their dragon corpses the same way. Like surgeons. Making precise cuts that would allow a very specific amount of the hallucinogen into the air. Was this similar to that somehow? What would the purpose be?

“I feel like you’re focused on the wrong thing,” Devlin said, surprising her.

Mercy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mercy, someone put a body here .” He said those words with urgency. “This was planned. Think about it. They killed this person. Or she was dead. Either way, they brought her body down here. Cut her up like that. And then they put her in the water supply. On purpose . The same water supply that they knew the rest of the town would be drinking. I know you want to figure out why she’s decaying and what magic this is and all of that, but the reality is that someone intentionally poisoned the people of Running Hills. This is how the disease spread. And it seems it was spread on purpose. This isn’t a medical case anymore. It’s criminal.”

Devlin was right. She wanted to dive into the parts she knew best. How the incisions had been made. What magic was causing this specific decay. How the disease could travel through water and whether or not the people who’d positioned this body knew what kind of illness would manifest when they first placed this woman in that exact location. There were a thousand medical questions to ask—but Devlin had already arrived at the most important conclusion.

This needed to be reported to Kathor as soon as possible.

“Hello?”

Mercy almost jumped out of her skin. Devlin’s entire body tensed. They both watched as Holt made his way across the catwalk above them. The man squinted down, taking in the scene.

“I saw the door was…” He blinked. “What the hell is that?”

Devlin answered, “We found a body, Holt. We need to report back to Nance. Immediately.”

The bigger man kept walking down the catwalk. “Who is it? A man or a woman?”

“A woman. Looks to be around thirty or so?”

“The Chathams,” he said. “Their girl disappeared a while back. Everyone thought she’d run off to Kathor. Gods be good. Let me come down and see if it’s her.”

Mercy wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to warn him that if he came closer, he might risk getting the disease. But for the first time, it dawned on her that Holt had already been exposed quite a bit. The bigger man had been to every single one of the farms, making deliveries and providing water. It was surprising he hadn’t caught the disease already. She watched him adjust to get down the curved part of the staircase, turning his bulkier frame sideways, before reaching the platform.

“Last time anyone saw her was a few months back,” Holt said, crossing the room.

In the hound’s glow, Mercy saw Holt fully for the first time. He’d always been a sideways glance for her. Someone whose gaze she was trying to avoid. His skin was pale for a farmer. The kind of skin that burned before it tanned. She saw discolorations on the backs of his right hand. Near the veins. Even more of them below his collarbone. Exposed by the deep V of his tunic. Squinting, she realized what they were—long-faded bruises. Nearly invisible.

“Holt, did you…”

He moved faster than she thought was possible for such a big man. Like the crack of a whip. He brought up his right leg and the flat of his boot found Devlin’s unprotected chest. The blow sent her protector flailing backward—into the water with a splash. Mercy had never studied combat training. Her instincts were all about preservation. Keeping people alive. Her fingers flexed as wide as they could inside her leather gloves. She cast the first shield spell she could think of. Holt’s next blow slammed into it. The shield was barely strong enough to turn him aside, but that spare second gave Devlin’s hound a chance to enter the fray. The creature’s jaws closed around one of Holt’s ankles. She heard him cry out in pain before shaking the creature loose. It skidded to a stop at the edge of the platform and all of time froze with it.

Mercy saw everything at once.

Devlin struggling against the river’s current. The hound with teeth bared. Holt settled into a wrestler’s stance. Even the small gap between her attacker and the stairs. Every detail stretched out in front of her like a painting. Devlin’s hound broke the spell first. It lunged. Holt made no effort to sidestep the creature. Instead, he caught the hound in the air, arms closing in a tight hug. The creature snapped at the air, teeth clacking, and then Holt heaved it across the room. It struck the far wall with a yelp before splashing down into the water. Mercy saw the light flicker below the surface, then gutter out completely. She couldn’t tell if the creature was dead or if it had been sucked through the nearest pipes. Mercy was afforded a single, distracted moment. She darted for the stairs, but in that blossoming darkness, she missed her mark. Her shoulder struck the railing, causing her to gasp with pain. It was just loud enough for Holt to hear. Before she could move again, she felt a hand close around her arm. The man’s voice rasped in her ear.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Mercy screamed as she was dragged back onto the platform. Her cry was answered. A golden light split the room in two. Devlin stood on the platform, drenched from head to toe. Unnatural light was gathered in his right hand. Golden threads ran through the crevices of his hammer before extending past the grip and wrapping around his forearm in a crisscrossed pattern. Holt was forced to drop Mercy as Devlin cut the empty air with his hammer. Magic pulsed out in a wave. Their attacker shielded himself with a forearm, just barely keeping his feet against the blast. Devlin repeated the motion, again and again, sending those crescent-shaped pulses of light in his direction. Holt kept inching forward, though, like a man walking straight into the jaws of a hurricane. How was he resisting that much magic? Mercy saw a knife in his right hand.

“Devlin!”

Her shout drew his eyes to the weapon just in time. Devlin sidestepped the first blow, spun around a second, and then the two were circling. The hammer’s light kept pulsing. Like the beating of a heart. It left the room in a rotation of perfect darkness and blinding light. Mercy could only see half of their attacks. Devlin landing a blow to their attacker’s hip. Holt slitting his forearm in response. Back and forth like that. It took Mercy about fifteen seconds to remember she still possessed magic. Her gloves. She was thinking through what spell might be helpful when it happened.

Devlin brought the hammer across in a terrible arc. The flattened metal found the side of Holt’s skull. The bones there didn’t break—they shattered. She saw the man’s eyes bulge outward. Ripples raced beneath the skin of his forehead, away from the impact point, like a boulder dropped into the center of a lake. Then his head snapped sideways with a sickening crunch. She knew Holt was dead long before his body slumped to the ground. But their attacker had landed a final blow too. Holt’s knife was buried in Devlin’s stomach. He fell back, his hammer tumbling helplessly away. The light kept pulsing as Mercy collapsed at his side and said, “Shit, shit, shit. Devlin. Hold on!”

He was losing blood. A lot of blood. Mercy set one hand on the knife’s grip and the other against the flat of his chest. Using a quick count in her head, she ripped the blade free. Devlin screamed before slamming his eyes shut against the pain. His mind was clearly trying to close down. The pain must have been unbearable. Mercy quickly cast spells to numb the air and to staunch the bleeding. Next, she needed to inspect the wound. Assess any interior damage before stitching up the skin. It was hard to see with her lone light source pulsing on and off, but as she squinted, she saw something that made her curse again. “The blade is poisoned. Damn it.”

Devlin didn’t respond. Either he’d passed out from the pain, or he didn’t have the energy to speak. Mercy reached for the knife that she’d cast aside. There was definitely something coating the blade. She didn’t know the exact poison, but it looked cheap. Something that would take time to course through his body—and she could work with that. She’d been trained for this. Turning, she scrambled on all fours. Searching the platform. Where had her surgeon’s kit fallen? She made one quick loop before the answer hit her square in the gut.

I handed Devlin the bag.

Right before Holt’s arrival. She had shoved the bag into his arms. Devlin had been holding the kit in his off-hand. He’d fallen back holding both the bag and his hammer. Instinct would have forced him to clutch tightest to the item that seemed the most vital to their survival. He would have held tight to the hammer, and he would have let go of the kit. Mercy dropped down to her knees at the channel’s edge. Her eyes searched the churning rapids. There was something dark bobbing near the pipes. Her bag was there. The strap had caught between the second and third pipe. It was holding for now. Mercy eyed the churning waters, knowing if she did not retrieve that bag, Devlin would almost certainly die.

Taking a deep breath, she leapt.