“Interesting,” he murmured, then turned back to the body and began a meticulous search for scars, tattoos, or injuries. “If the graa wasn’t there in connection with the two victims, why would it be there? Do you think your aunt can give you advice or counsel about that?” He didn’t look up at me, but I still felt pinned down by his attention. I resisted the urge to squirm.
“I don’t want to worry her,” I finally said. “She’s been through a lot of shit lately…most of it my fault.”
“It is the role of parents—and guardians—to worry about their loved ones,” he pointed out.
My throat felt tight. Was I keeping things from my aunt to protect her or to protect me from her ire? My relationship with her had been a tempestuous one for most of our time together. She was acerbic, and odd, and generally didn’t care what people thought of her. And while I could appreciate that mentality more now that I was older, back when I was young it was yet another hurdle to overcome. It was bad enough that both my parents had died, but now I had to live with my crazy aunt who did weird shit and didn’t seem to care that the other kids at school laughed at her—and me. Tessa hadn’t cared about fads—in fact she tended to hold anything that was fashionable in complete disdain, and had subtly, and not-so-subtly, pushed me to be “unique” and to “forge my own path.”
But as a thirteen-year-old, I wasn’t ready to be unique. What I’d needed was to fit in, to be a little invisible until I could find my comfort zone. That was impossible with Tessa. Was it any wonder that I’d rebelled and found a different way to hide and feel comfortable? Or at least, what felt like comfort.
Carl remained silent, but it didn’t feel judgmental. It simply seemed as if he was waiting for me to digest his comment on my own, and he’d be there to pick up the conversation when I did. I felt an odd surge of gratitude toward him. I had a few friends who knew that I summoned demons, but somehow talking it out with Carl was different, and it felt oddly freeing to be able to discuss bizarre shit like this.
“She’s different,” I said at last.
“That she is,” Carl agreed.
I shook my head. “No, I mean…since she woke up.” My aunt’s essence had been stripped from her body by a serial killer, and it had taken me several weeks to find a way to call her back to herself.
His eyes met mine. “I know.”
“I don’t think she wants to summon anymore.”
“I think you’re right.”
I tilted my head. “Do you know why? I mean…has she said anything?”
“Not to me.”
Our conversation was cut off by the entrance of Dr. Lanza. A slender man about my height with distinct Italian coloring and features, he had an easygoing manner that had done much to put me at ease when I was still learning the ropes of investigating homicides. And now I’m an old hand at this whole find-the-murderer thing, I thought with mild amusement.
Dr. Lanza shot me a warm smile as he pulled protective clothing over his jeans and New Orleans Hornets T-shirt. “You must have some dark suspicions, Kara,” he said, his smile teasing.
“C’mon, Doc, I always have dark suspicions,” I replied with an easy grin, automatically slipping away from the confiding and open mood of the conversation with Carl and into the tone that I maintained with everyone else—the ones who had no clue that there was more to our world than what was apparent to the usual five senses. I was used to it. Humor, and lots of caution about what I said and asked. But I was damn grateful that there were people with whom I could discuss the more bizarre details.
“Luckily, that’s part of your job description,” Doc said as he lifted a scalpel and started in on the Y incision. “So, yes, your two victims both had nosebleeds, but those can be caused by a lot of things,” Doc said as he filleted the skin and flesh away from the ribs. I retreated even farther as Carl stepped up to cut through the ribs with the pruning shears. “I’d be willing to bet that the second victim’s was caused by the air bag.”
I simply gave a nod and a slight shrug. I had no intention of sharing the other, more personal connection. At least not until I knew more.
I waited patiently while Doc went through the procedures, and I did my usual escape from the room when Carl used the bone saw to cut through the skull. He wore a breathing mask for this part, since the saw kicked up all sorts of bone dust—which, of course, had blood and other yuck in it. Not only did I have no desire to breathe it in, I didn’t want it in my hair or anywhere else. Nasty.
As soon as the brain was revealed, though, I ducked back in, not hiding my eagerness very well as I waited for Doc to do his examination.