Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(62)

“His name was Gavin Murphy,” I said, after clicking the first article I found. “He died about five days ago. Is he still at the morgue?”

The tech grumbled under his breath, but I heard keys tapping in the background as he looked up the status of the body.

“Huh, well, looks like Mr. Murphy is still here,” he said, and more keys clacked. “Sad case. Looks like he has an estranged sister who declined to claim his body or make arrangements. No other family can be found. If he’s not claimed in another week, he’s doomed for potter’s field.”

A week. If I couldn’t find a legitimate case to grant me access to his body, I’d have to wait a week before he was released and buried. “Where is potter’s field?” I asked, because I thought I knew all the cemeteries in Nekros. It was sort of a professional eventuality.

“It’s just an old expression. He’ll most likely be cremated at the expense of the state.”

Well, crap. Cremation destroyed pretty much everything down to the DNA, which included all the memories stored in the cells of the body. If my suspicions were correct, raising a shade from anyone who’d used Glitter would be difficult with a fresh body, let alone a cremated one. Hell, normal, strong shades were almost impossible to raise from cremation ash.

“Do you have to be family to claim a body?” I asked, casting about for ways I could get access to the body.

The tech was quiet for a long moment. “You could likely donate a burial plot,” he finally said.

And that sounded expensive. The business was barely paying out enough to cover expenses and a very small salary to Rianna and me. Most of mine went to bills. I’d started putting aside a savings, but it was a piddly amount and blowing all of it on burying a stranger whose shade I might not even be able to raise and who, if I could raise, might or might not help probably wasn’t the best option. I wasn’t going to take the possibility completely off the table, but I’d definitely hold off for now.

“You’ve been helpful,” I told the tech as way of thanks before disconnecting.

I needed to talk to John. Or find Falin. Any case connecting to Glitter the FIB could likely claim, so he could probably get me access to the bodies. But he was still in Faerie and I had no idea when he’d return. No other FIB agent would assist me. If I hadn’t already figured that out after previous encounters with them, the agent who’d shown up after Tamara’s wedding had made that fact perfectly clear.

No, I needed Falin. Not just for access to the bodies, but to find out any information the FIB and winter court had on Tommy Rawhead and Jenny Greenteeth. If Tommy Rawhead was the hobgoblin the satyr saw distributing Glitter at the Bloom, finding out as much as I could about the two bogeymen was my best lead on the alchemist. That was a big if, but the coincidence of the bartender mentioning a hobgoblin and then getting attacked by one was just too great otherwise.

Now I just had to figure out how to contact the queen’s bloody hands.

? ? ?

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the Eternal Bloom. I headed into the tourist side of the Bloom first. The satyr I’d spoken to at my first visit wasn’t working. I asked both the current bartender and the cocktail waitress about the two bogeymen, but neither had seen them. I left my card and headed to the VIP room.

I scratched out a note to Falin the same way I’d sent notes to Rianna, Kyran, and Dugan. I didn’t exactly know where Falin was, aside from somewhere in the winter court, but that didn’t matter to the magic. It would find him. I wrote simply that I needed to see him ASAP about the case, and then I headed for a table in the corner. I hadn’t even pulled the chair out yet when a pixie, no larger than my forearm, fluttered over, trailing colorful sparkles and carrying a large dried leaf.

That was a fast reply.

I accepted it and nodded my appreciation, but once I flipped it over to read it, my stomach clenched as if a pound of ice had dropped into it.

The leaf had only one sentence written across it: Attend me now, planeweaver.

Instead of a signature, the queen’s official seal looked as if it had been scorched into the leaf. I stared at it, willing it to say something else—just about anything else.

Then I glanced at the giant tree sprouting through the floorboards in the center of the Bloom. Damn, I’d been summoned to an audience with the queen.

? ? ?

I’d never entered Faerie alone before. Hell, I could count on one hand how many times I’d passed through the door to the winter court. Not one trip had been entirely voluntary, so I guess it wasn’t a huge surprise that I’d always had an escort. This time, I had to go it alone.

I stood to one side of the massive tree, staring at the innocuous-looking bit of space that appeared to be just another part of the bar wrapping around the tree, but I knew better. As soon as I stepped around it, this pocket of Faerie would melt away and I’d be at one of the entrances to the winter court. I didn’t want to do it.

But I had to.

I took a deep breath, nodded my head, and had almost psyched myself up to stepping forward when someone cleared their throat behind me.

“My dear, it works better if you walk into it,” a dry, raspy voice said, and I spun around.

An old woman, bent with age, stood there. She smiled, making the wrinkles in her face rearrange as she flashed her toothless gums.

“Of course,” she said, “if you have the will and magic, you can make it move around you.” She clicked her tongue and patted my arm with twig-thin fingers that felt rough and brittle. “But walking is much easier.”