4. Rook
The phone vibrates against the rough surface of the wooden table, an insistent buzz that’s impossible to ignore. I glance over to find that it’s a familiar—and welcome—face: my friend Marika down at the morgue.
Labeled, of course, “Marika: Morgue Buddy”.
I snatch it up, thumb swiping the screen with a practiced motion. “This is Rook.”
“Hey, it’s Marika. Got something fresh and rather curious on my slab. Thought you might wanna take a look,” her voice crackles through the line, a hint of that old excitement bubbling beneath her words.
I lean back in my chair, eyeing the tangle of scars etched across my knuckles. “Interesting how?”
“Let’s just say this one didn’t die from natural causes. And there’s a pattern I think you’d recognize.” She pauses, a silent nudge over the line.
“Alright, I’m in.” I cut the call short and push myself up.
Aisling’s grey eyes flicker to me from the couch, a silent question hanging between us. Oberon’s sprawled next to her, all casual ease and restless energy contained for the moment.
“Contact at the morgue’s got a body she wants me to see,” I say, my voice stripping away any pretense of normalcy. “Wanna come? We could grab a beer after, lighten the mood.”
“Morbid choice for a date,” Oberon chuckles, shaking his head. “There’s a lead on Gunnar I wanna chase. You two go play with the dead.”
“Sure, I’ll join,” Aisling’s lips curve into a half-smile, her gaze steady. “Besides, a cold corpse might be less complicated than dealing with Gunnar right now.”
“Then it’s settled.” I grab my jacket off the rack, feeling the weight of the day suddenly lift. Aisling rises, her movements fluid like she’s already anticipating the steps we’re about to take into the city’s dark underbelly.
“Let’s hit the road then,” I say, leading the way out the door, Aisling falling into step beside me. The promise of discovery, however grim, sparks a flicker of anticipation deep within my chest.
The city’s silhouette cuts into the dusk like a shard of broken glass—sharp, uneven, foreboding. I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other arm resting out the window, letting the cool air whip past my skin. Aisling’s beside me, her gaze fixed on Celestial Hills rising in the distance.
“Place looks more like a war zone than a city,” she murmurs, not taking her eyes off the skyline.
“Angels and Eclipse have always had a flair for the dramatic,” I reply, keeping an eye out for trouble. The streets are quieter than usual, but that doesn’t mean safe. It means everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for the next blow to fall.
“Think Vance has lost his edge?” She turns to look at me, her question casual but her eyes sharp with curiosity.
“Vance?” I snort. “Guy’s got more lives than a cat with a god complex. But he’s been playing solo too long; it’s messing with his head.”
“Or maybe he’s just preoccupied,” she says, a ghost of a smile touching her lips as though she knows something I don’t.
“Preoccupied or not, Caius Rossi won’t wait forever.” I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. “We landed a solid punch with New Eden, but Rossi’s not the type to stay down.”
“True,” she nods, “but Nero’s the one to watch. He’s got ambition and less to lose.”
“Less to lose, and everything to prove.” I glance over at her, catching a glimpse of the fire that lurks beneath her calm exterior. “And he’s been notably absent lately. I figured he was as good as dead.”
“Speaking of dead,” Aisling leans back in her seat, turning her attention back to the buildings rolling by. “What’s up with this corpse?”
“What do you think?” I shrug. “Another eros death, according to Marika. They just seem to be stacking up these days—horny corpses everywhere.”
“Cheery thought,” she says with a dark laugh.
“Life’s a cheery place, ain’t it?” I crack a half-smile in return, feeling the tension between us shift, adapt, become something charged yet familiar.
“Only when you’re around,” she shoots back, and there’s a challenge there, one I’m all too willing to accept.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I quip, as we finally pull into the parking lot of the morgue.
We’ve made it through the city’s shadows unscathed—for now.
I swing out of the car and round the hood, reaching Aisling’s door before she can handle it herself. With a deliberate ease, I pull it open, tipping an imaginary hat her way. “Miss Faye.”
She rolls her eyes but there’s a smirk playing on those pale lips, a spark of amusement in those grey eyes that don’t miss a damn thing. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, but it’s without heat, stepping onto the curb like the world’s not a mess around us.
“Ridiculously charming,” I correct, slamming the door shut behind her.
We stride into the morgue, the smell of disinfectant and death a slap to the senses. Marika’s at the front desk, the older, greying woman thumbing through paperwork that probably tells more stories of woe than anyone cares to know. She looks up, a customer service smile on her face that loosens when she spots me.
“Rook,” she says, standing so fast her chair wheels spin. “Didn’t expect you this soon.”
“Got curious,” I reply, slipping a wad of cash across the counter. “Figured it was worth a look-see tonight.”
“Always were one for the gruesome,” she teases, pocketing the cash with deft fingers. “Come on back.”
As we follow Marika, Aisling leans in, lowering her voice. “How do you two know each other?”
“Marika here had a rough patch a few years back,” I say, keeping my eyes forward as we pass sterile rooms that reek of cold finality. “Helped her find a place to clean up.”
“Really?” Surprise colors Aisling’s tone, and I catch her quick glance. “Didn’t peg you for a good Samaritan.”
“Drugs are a choice,” I shrug, watching Marika punch in a code to a secure door. “Some folks need a hand picking another option.”
“Guess everyone’s got layers,” Aisling muses, a hint of respect threading through the words.
“Like onions,” Marika throws over her shoulder, a laugh brightening her voice. “Or parfaits. Everyone loves parfaits.”
“Never took you for the dessert type, Marika,” I tease back.
The chill of the morgue seeps into my bones, but Aisling walks beside me like she’s strolling through a park on a spring day. Marika stops in front of a drawer with a label that reads “John Doe” and looks over her shoulder at us with solemn eyes.
“Ready?” she asks.
No dramatics, just the facts. That’s Marika.
“Open it,” I say.
With a hiss of metal on metal, the drawer slides out and reveals our corpse, looking like a wax figure gone wrong. Aisling doesn’t flinch; she’s seen this before, more times than anyone ever should. I lean in, eye the body—its veiny, bruised skin, and those eyes…bloodshot, staring at nothing.
“Can I get samples?” I ask, already fishing for the gloves in my jacket pocket.
“Sure thing,” Marika says, stepping aside as I snap the latex into place. “Got all the kit you need.”
“Thanks.” The gloves feel too tight, but I focus on the vials, the syringe, the task. Gotta know what this guy was on, what made him check out of the mortal coil.
I need current samples to keep up with whatever the hell they throw at us; if we want an antidote, I need to be agile.
“Where’d he come from?” I ask, needle poised above an arm that won’t feel the sting.
“Found him on our side of the Mojave,” Marika answers, crossing her arms. “But given the sand in his lungs, he had a desert detour.”
“Damn,” I exhale, sinking the needle into dead flesh. “That’s not good.”
Aisling cocks her head, grey eyes sharp. “Why’s that so bad? Aside from the obvious.”
Marika chuckles, and it sounds like gravel under tires. “You’ll find the Mojave’s got its own special brand of hell these days.”
“I know it’s a desert,” she shrugs. “We had books…”
“Look, Aisling, the Mojave isn’t just some vast stretch of sun-scorched earth,” I say as we step away from the corpse, leaving Marika to tuck it back into its cold berth. “It’s a minefield now, littered with alpha packs that have lost their damn minds. Going there? It’s like throwing yourself into a pit with starved dogs.”
She nods slowly, her gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before meeting mine. There’s a flicker of something in those grey eyes—resolve, maybe, or the steel edge of curiosity. “So if we’re heading into the Mad Max zone, we better gear up.”
“Exactly.” I pocket the vials of blood, making sure the caps are tight. “We’ll need more than just water and sunscreen.”
We shuffle out of the morgue’s chilly embrace, leaving behind the stench of formaldehyde and death. Marika waves us off with a smirk, her laughter trailing behind us like a bad omen.
Outside, the city claws at the sky with its broken skyline, but it’s what lies beyond that’s got my attention—the desert, with its secrets buried deep beneath the sand. We slide into my two-door car, the engine growling to life under my touch. The familiar feel of the leather steering wheel and the weight of Aisling beside me is comforting, but it can’t shake the unease crawling up my spine.
“Let’s hit the road, grab some grub on the way back,” I suggest, trying to keep the mood light despite the darkness we’re flirting with. “My treat.”
“Sure, food sounds good,” she says, though her voice doesn’t quite hide the tension winding through her.
We merge onto the thoroughfare, the city’s pulse throbbing around us as we head toward Celestial Hills. That’s when I catch a glimpse in the rearview mirror—a car, nondescript, maybe a sedan, hugging our tail a little too closely.
“Got company,” I mutter, taking a sudden turn down a side street. The car follows, confirming the itch at the back of my neck wasn’t just paranoia.
“Friends of yours?” Aisling asks, her tone lighter than the situation warrants.
“Wrong kind of friends,” I reply, watching the sedan mirror our every move. “Looks like we’ve piqued someone’s interest.”
“Or they don’t like where we’ve been poking our noses.” She glances over her shoulder, studying our shadow.
“Either way, we’re not shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.” I press down on the accelerator, the car responding with a surge of power.
“Guess it’s time to see if your driving’s as good as your morgue-side manner,” she quips, a half-hearted smile playing on her lips.
“Strap in, Stargazer,” I say, pushing the car faster, weaving through the traffic. “This ride’s just getting started.”