32 Dáinn
DáINN
For the second time in as many days, I let myself fade into Baz’s mortuary autopsy room.
I hate to leave my witch when there is so much to do, so much to plan, but I’ll be worthless to him without a render.
It’s a fact I’ve never bothered to share with Ludmilla.
In her mind, haunting is a wholly passive activity.
I watch for her. I listen, gleaning secrets, learning patterns of behavior.
She doesn’t know that wraiths sometimes enjoy a more active kind of haunt. She doesn’t know because she’s never asked. With a render, I am freer to move about the mortal world. I can speak to humans and be seen without touching them, without devouring them.
Another boon I’ve never mentioned to any other soul? Trapping my creature in a rendered form helps control my cravings. It’s only been one day and my need to taste Jasper again is fit to unravel me. I need a render. And there’s only one mage I trust to do the work.
Baz is bent over the body of a large woman, elbows deep inside her open chest cavity. His silver hair is pulled up in a messy bun. Stray pieces frame his face. His makeup today is a shimmery blue, his brows dusted with crystals half-hidden behind his safety glasses.
“Hello, old friend.”
He doesn’t jump quite so high this time. Lifting out the woman’s heart, he balances it in his gloved hands. Behind his safety glasses, his lilac irises glow. “Does this look enlarged to you?”
I drift closer, inspecting the heart. “The left ventricle looks engorged.”
He turns it, peering with narrowed eyes. “Hmm . . . cardiomegaly, secondary to aortic stenosis.” He plops the heart down on a silver scale. “Four hundred grams. Write that down.”
I spread my hands wide. “Alas, I have no pen.”
“Not you.”
From behind me, I hear the telltale scritch of a scratching quill.
I glance over my shoulder to see a human poised on her knees in the corner of the room.
She’s dressed as a nurse and holding a clipboard, feverishly taking notes with an ostrich feather quill.
Her aura is a bright, cherry red. “Who is this?”
“That’s Kitty,” Baz replies, not looking up. “She’s my new autopsy scribe. Other possible causes of cardiomegaly?”
The bright little human perks up. “Leaky valves, abnormal protein growth, inflammation, heart defects, and heart muscle disease.”
“Very good. Have a biscuit.”
Scrambling to her feet, Kitty trots over to the other corner of the room where Baz has just magicked an English tea service set for three, complete with almond biscuits and cucumber sandwiches.
“You’ll stay for tea?” he calls at me.
“One cup.” It never works to rush him. His helpfulness yesterday was an anomaly, brought on by two hundred years of absence. If I want something from the mage today, I’ll have to play by his rules. “You disposed of Clarence then?”
As I say the words, the door to the autopsy room slams open and the blonde vampire appears, fangs bared.
Baz strips off his gloves with a rubbery snap, tossing them aside. “Late again, pet?”
“I’m sorry, master,” the vampire whines. “I watched the monitor this time, just like you said. But—”
The mage arches an imperious brow. “But what, pet?”
Clarence glances between us. “The wraith—”
“Master Dáinn,” Baz corrects. “We must always show my honored guests all due respect.”
Clarence is quick to nod. “Master Dáinn. He doesn’t—”
“Doesn’t what?”
The poor vampire groans, lowering his gaze to the floor. “He doesn’t show up on the cameras, sir. I couldn’t see him. And he didn’t trip the wards.”
“So, you failed. Again.”
Clarence nods, swallowing a whimper.
Baz heaves a tired sigh. “No biscuit for you.”
Clarence is crestfallen, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes, master.”
“Service our sweet Kitty instead. She’s radiating stress today.”
In a flash, Clarence disappears under the tea table, rattling all the dishes and making Kitty squeal with delight. Baz follows at a more leisurely stroll, still wearing his bloody apron and safety glasses. He glances over his shoulder at me. “Milk and sugar?”
I stay floating in the middle of the room. Whatever the vampire is doing to Kitty under the table, her cheeks are blooming pink and she’s gripping the table’s edge, squirming in her chair. “Lemon.”
“Earl Grey then?”
I nod.
Baz takes his seat and prepares two cups of Earl Grey.
All the while, Kitty falls loudly apart, slumping off her chair to the autopsy room floor.
The chair topples over too, and she’s quickly gathered in the arms of the vampire who starts fucking her in earnest. Ignoring them, Baz holds up a two-tiered cookie tray. “Biscuit, Dáinn?”
Drifting closer, I pull out the empty chair and sit, trying my best to have my shadows avoid touching the fornicating couple.
I take one of the almond cookies from the tray, adding it to the side of my saucer.
A single slice of lemon floats in the steaming tea water.
Swirls of that bergamot scent drift up beneath the hood of my cowl.
All at once, I become the creature gripping the edge of the table.
Birdie.
That sweet bergamot scent, lightly salted from the sea. A fresh spritz of lemon in her citrusy face wash. Mint from her toothpaste. A groan escapes me as I’m flooded with thoughts of her hair, her voice, her pretty, painted skin.
I did my best to haunt them both last night, fading from room to room, taking in every feature of their beautiful faces, every quiet movement of their sleeping bodies.
Jasper furrows his brows, angry even in sleep.
Birdie tosses and turns, endlessly reaching for something.
I was there when she woke this morning too, stretching in the sunlight, her freckles like little specks of gold, glittering in the morning glow.
I think I could learn to tolerate the sun if it means I get to see her shine.
Baz places a hand on my bony wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you well?”
Remembering myself, I fight my creature back into his box, shoving down my hunger. I cannot eat them. Not now. Birdie because she’d stop me. Jasper because I need him alive.
No, I want him alive. My sweet, lonely witch.
And I want Birdie. I want her to know me. I want to step out of the shadows and let her see me. To this end, a render will be doubly useful. It will help me help Jasper and it will help me get closer to Birdie. Baz must say yes. I can’t leave here without it.
“Did you learn anything?” I ask, dutifully pretending to sip my tea.
“About your curious human?”
Beneath the table, the couple’s vigorous lovemaking is becoming more languid. Kitty’s cries are now low, sated moans. They’re bumping the table less too, which means fewer dishes are rattling.
“Enough,” Baz shouts, pressing two fingers to his temple. “One cannot think with all this noise!”
His pets instantly still. He snaps his fingers, and they scramble out from under the table, rushing to stand at attention before him, wholly unashamed by their shared state of undress.
“Clarence, dear, take Kitty to the library and quiz her on the four types of paraesophageal hernia and how to repair them. We must make sure she’s ready to pass her exams.”
Sweeping the squealing human into his arms, Clarence darts away, slamming the door shut in his wake.
My gaze follows them. “Is she a real doctor?”
Baz chuckles. “Of course. She takes her qualifying exam next week. We’ve been helping her study for months.”
I just shake my cowled head. Basil Barnes and his silly pets.
He sips his tea with his back primly straight, pinkie outstretched. “How was the funeral?”
“They buried an empty casket,” I reply, looking down at the ring of lemon floating in my tea. “The service was well attended by his coven. Thank you for sending flowers.”
“Daffodils felt dutifully mournful . . . seeing as I’ve never met the witch and he’s not actually dead.”
It would be poor form to admit to this mage that Jasper didn’t actually care for the daffodils. Not when I still need a favor. “And my human? Did you learn anything of use?”
“Not yet. I made a few discreet inquires. No one I contacted knows anything about humans who can stop wraiths. I’ll keep looking . . . but it’s difficult work having not met her for myself. You won’t even tell me her name.”
His bright tone doesn’t escape my notice. Nor does that glint in his eye. “She interests you.”
He hums, sipping his tea. “Of course, she does. I love an oddity. You know that better than anyone,” he adds with a wink.
“She is mine,” I remind him, a rasping edge to my voice as I slowly set my tea aside. “Her soul belongs to me.”
“Does she know that?”
“She will. She’ll know everything about me, as I will know her.”
He eyes me over the tea table, cup raised partway to his lips. “You’re falling fast for this one. If I urged caution, would it make a bit of difference?”
“She’s not like the others.”
He snorts into his tea. “Please. She may be different, but you most certainly are not. You always get overly attached to your mortals and it always ends in disaster when you inevitably eat them.”
His admonishment stings. It’s true, I’ve struggled with self-control in the past. The more delightful the mortal, the more delicious their aura, and the more I want to devour them. It doesn’t even need to involve a romantic connection. A soul worth savoring can take many forms.
And I can’t help that souls are my only food source. A wraith can only abstain for so long before suffering . . . accidents.
But Birdie is different. I want to believe I can be different with her. If she can stop me from devouring her, I can let myself get close in a way I no longer allow myself to do with mortals. She can know me, without fear, without reservation. I can let her know me.