Chapter 8 #2
“Mazino?” Walters said, intrigued. “He’s probably dead. Leave that one be.”
“His file says he’s alive.”
“Sometimes the files are wrong. Let Mazino lie,” Walters said. “Come on, Mal, I need you in here.” Walters gestured to the next tent.
“Can I come? I want to see your consultant in action.”
Walters merely glared at Des, who got the message.
Mal thought it odd; she knew his secret now, what was she doing?
Why antagonize Walters further? But as always, Des was several steps ahead of him, and after a few moments Mal realized.
Had she acted as if she didn’t care, Walters might catch on that she knew.
But if she continued to berate Walters about Mal, then it was just another Tuesday. Except for the fact it was Thursday.
Mal entered the second tent after Walters.
This one was empty, so Mal began immediately.
He closed his eyes, felt his shadows, and braced himself as the shadow plunged.
Glimpses of his putrid memories slashed against his mind, but to his shock, the panic had calmed.
He’d never done two in a row before; why wasn’t this affecting him?
He half thought the panic attack went hand in hand with the magic.
Maybe it had just been him all along. He watched as the corpse’s face tensed and contorted and the real-life puppet show began anew.
This body was a white woman in her mid-thirties.
She had blond hair and pearl earrings, and was utterly distraught at being brought back.
She, too, had a hole where her heart should be, albeit smaller than the other victim’s.
Once again Mal found himself recognizing her but couldn’t figure out where from.
“Stephanie, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Walters said.
“Take a minute.” Mal looked to Walters, then to Stephanie, then back to Walters, and like a closing door, it hit him in the face.
They were members of the Order; he’d met both of them the other night.
The man was called Ray, and she was Stephanie.
He’d shaken their hands and spoken to them for maybe a minute or so.
No wonder Walters had reacted so poorly; these were his friends.
After Stephanie stopped sputtering and cursing, Walters managed to calm her down.
“Take us through what happened …” Walters said, in a tone softer and calmer than any Mal had heard him use.
“Okay, well, we’d all been at the Newt for some drinks.
We got there at about eight, had some food, and stayed until closing.
We weren’t too drunk, but we figured we’d call a taxi.
There were some people about, but not many.
We waited some, then next thing we knew there was an old guy in front of us.
Like out of a cloud. Long white beard and hair, small, I didn’t get a good look at him, but he was angry, blindingly angry.
Next thing we knew, everything flashed blue and that was that. ”
“I’m so sorry, Steph. Do you remember a woman at all?” Walters said.
“No woman, just him.” She went quiet, as if it had finally sunk in what had happened.
“Can I … can I see my kids just one last time?” Walters eye’s shifted to Mal and a subtle nod moved his head.
Mal knew what had to be done. He released, and back to her silence she went.
Walters’s face turned through grimace and anger and guilt.
“This fucking job,” he said through clenched teeth. “Come.”
Mal followed him out and into the final tent.
Since he’d exited the car, Mal’s death sense had been like a pulsing headache, low and throbbing, but upon entering the last tent it jumped up through migraine and into bludgeoning head trauma.
A wave hit Mal so hard, it nearly knocked the contents of his stomach out both ends.
Mal immediately recognized this body. Kosh, the only other necromancer in Dunwich—well, not anymore.
He was a pale white man, completely bald; he’d died clutching a pendant that hung around his neck.
A burn mark lay just above his heart, scooping a chunk out of his chest; it was as if he’d been hit with the tip of a lightning bolt.
Mal went to close his eyes but Walters interrupted.
“I’ve not brought you here for that,” Walters said.
“You’d have to be leagues stronger. You won’t be able to.
Not to him.” Walters paused; he’d held it together so far but Mal could see him cracking.
“Look, I need you to understand something. Kosh was the go-to for this branch. They’re going to need you a lot more now.
I’m going to need you on this. Fully. This …
this … Just no more half-arsing it, okay. Can you handle this?”
“I want to help,” Mal said, remembering the pain he felt after Des was hurt.
Pounding on that door, begging for help.
“I can do this.” He wanted to tell Walters that they’d also been attacked by the wannabe Merlin, but exposing Des’s condition and the total failure of his assignment now felt like bad timing.
He had an in now; he could help them catch this bastard.
“That’s good, because this gives us a new lead,” Walters said.
“Four Order members dying in so many days isn’t a coincidence.
Someone is attacking the Order.” Mal remembered the other night when someone had tried to kill him too.
Mal was now immediately second-guessing his decision to get involved.
“Only a member of our Order could know enough about us to do this, so be careful. We’ve got a lot of work to do. ”
They stood in silence, staring at Kosh for a moment.
“You know, he helped me on the first three, before Murray. I can’t believe it.
Who would murder a dying man?” Walters grimaced, then left Mal alone in the tent.
Mal stood, staring, wondering who could’ve taken so many lives.
He thought about what Walters said: “Not to him.” But what if Mal could?
What if Kosh saw something that broke the case?
Mal had to try. He put out his hand and his eyes fell black.
Three white concentric circles filled the void his irises left, and the shadows of his limbs folded and lapped at his edges.
He waited—it always took a moment. He searched and searched, but nothing happened.
No soul, no wisp or fragment. Walters was right; Mal wasn’t strong enough.
Not to him. Mal felt a pit of despair in his stomach.
He’d only met Kosh twice and they’d barely gotten to know each other.
But even in that little time, Kosh had helped.
Helped Mal feel even slightly better about his awful powers.
He’d seemed a good man, with a good heart.
Mal let his eyes fall back to his own and left the tent.
He had always felt completely alone with his powers.
He assumed he would live and die without meeting another like him.
But as he left the scene it finally sank in just how alone he was. The last necromancer in Dunwich.