Page 21

VIOLET

Elysian Fields Funeral Services.

Well-trimmed lawns sweep the land surrounding the white building, but hardly enough to classify as fields. A small gold plaque affixed to unobtrusive white metal gates indicates the entrance, where white and pink rose bushes line the driveway and guide us toward the premises.

I stand with the guys outside the single-story white building, taking in the pristine, lifeless surroundings. I can’t sense the dead, just the polished sterility of a place that’s made death a business.

Rowan’s jittery energy is as palpable as the emptiness in the red-eyed couple leaving the building.

Leif stands behind him, after fidgeting the entire trip to the funeral home, asking constant questions about what we might find.

Grayson lingers, subdued, muttering that the moment the staff see a hemia vampire, they’ll eject him.

Judging by the horrified look from the couple on the way by, he might be right.

The reason for Rowan’s unease isn’t the same as Leif’s—Rowan isn’t bothered by the reminders of mortality offered by the funeral home; he’s concerned about my presence here.

“Aren’t you all relieved I’m visiting in the daytime and not breaking in at night?” I ask the silent trio.

“I think I should keep away from this place until things blow over,” says Grayson.

“ Blow over ?” Leif gawks at him.

“Y’know, like when Eloise doesn’t want Violet to hand me over to Dorian anymore.”

“All eyes and ears are needed,” I say. “Besides, I’m not concerned about a bad reaction to your presence, Grayson.”

“Huh?”

“Distracted staff equals opportunities for Rowan to gain access to the funeral home’s computer.”

“We’re definitely not looking for Viktor?” asks Leif, a question he’s repeated numerous times this morning.

“This afternoon’s aim is collecting information, rather than Viktor’s body. Do you have one of your stick things for the computer?” I ask Rowan.

“Stick things? Oh. USB. Yes.”

I walk between the pale ivory marble pillars, through the open double doors, and into a reception area where the floor gleams with matching stone.

A large vase of peace lilies offers a natural contrast to the starkness, and two plush-cushioned blue sofas are positioned on either side of the supposedly welcoming space.

“Is that awful music necessary?” I ask, my ears assaulted by piped sounds.

“It’s soothing,” says Leif.

“Yet you do not appear soothed.”

“And here we go…” says Rowan as I take a step forward.

I halt. “What does that mean?”

“Violet Blackwood’s first ever visit to a funeral home?” He sighs. “Please watch what you say to people, and also avoid anybody dressed in black.”

“I am sure you’ll interrupt me should I not speak in an acceptable manner. You always do,” I say pointedly.

Grayson chuckles then points to a corner. “I’m staying away.”

He wanders to a square table close to one of the sofas where staff fanned out colorful brochures across the wood.

A small mahogany desk partially hidden behind the lilies resembles the one on the website, as does the woman sitting behind. She’s dressed in a blue suit, although the photograph used must be out of date or cleverly enhanced, because gray streaks her curled brown hair.

Cynthia’s brow creases and distrust immediately enters her eyes. “Are you here due to a recent loss, or would you like information about our pre-plan packages?”

“Pre-plan?” I echo and turn to Rowan. “Who plans their own funeral?”

Rowan sighs. “Lots of people, Violet. Dying is expensive.”

How odd. “We’ve no plans to die soon,” I inform her. “We merely wish to peruse your selection of caskets.”

Rowan clears his throat. “And speak to someone about a sensitive family matter.”

Cynthia holds my gaze and her fake smile remains. “I’m sorry for your bereavement. Have you lost somebody close to you?”

“Yes. I’ve lost a dead man. I wish to find him and believe he may be here.”

Cynthia’s mouth parts. “You’ve what?”

Rowanswears under his breath and nudges me to one side.“Sorry, Violet’s distressed after losing somebody she’s close to. Violet doesn’t always understand how inappropriate she is.”

I bite back a retort.

Cynthia doesn’t look convinced.“Lost a body?”

“What Violet means is, lost someone . There are… complications”

Cynthia’s brows pull together. “Complications?”

Rowan lowers his voice.“Family dispute over who’s arranging the funeral.”

“Are many dead people kept in the building currently?” I interrupt. “Are they all accounted for?”

Cynthia blinks at me. “ Your family? If any of this charade were true, you’d be aware that we don’t work with vampire clientele.”

“I am not a vampire.”

“Why would vampire’s ask to use your services?” Leif asks.

“They don’t. That’s the point. An immortal race doesn’t require our services.”

“That surprises me. On occasion, vampires kill each other permanently. Total blood loss would suffice, but the perpetrators need fire to complete the process.” Violet points to the wall behind Cynthia. “ You have furnaces, which offer excellent opportunities to hide their crime.”

“Well, perhaps the vampires visit at night to borrow them for their illegal purposes?” Cynthia says with derision.

“You have a good point. Vampires wouldn’t be good clientele.” I take a business card from the desk. “If you’re complicit in vampire murders, their relatives would retaliate, which would threaten the welfare of those who work here.”

Rowan nudges me again. Harder. “Do you work with witches? Some human funeral homes do.”

“You’re a witch, then?” Cynthia asks me.

“At times.”

The woman stares as Grayson sinks into one of the sofas and crosses an ankle over his knee, revealing his features for the first time. “Goodness me. The vampire can’t stay inside the building.”

“I promise he’ll behave.”

I swear Leif suppresses a laugh at my solemn oath.

“He’ll disturb our grieving clientele.” She examines a slender silver watch. “A family is due to arrive at any moment. Some humans are very… touchy about vampires.”

“I don’t turn humans into the undead,” remarks Grayson, and flicks through pages of the booklet. He looks up. “If you knew anything about my society, you’d know that’s illegal.”

“And is this family burning or burying their dead?” I put in.

I’ve promised not to use mind magic, but it’s becoming increasingly necessary due to the length of time this is taking.

“Whether people cremate or bury their loved ones isn’t your business.” Cynthia glances at Rowan. “And yes, minor witch families often use our services for burials.”

“And the important witch families and their traditions?” Violet asks. “Do you assist with embalming? My missing body would need embalming, once I find him. Are you sure there isn’t an extra one lying around?”

“What the hell?” Rowan mutters. “ Violet .”

“And as Clement Morris holds the dubious honor of the best embalmer in the area, we’d like to meet with him to discuss the process. Perhaps see examples of his work?” I continue, ignoring him.

The woman’s eyes bug. “Are you honestly requesting to invade people’s privacy and view their deceased?”

“Again, I apologize for Violet’s grief-stricken, inappropriate responses. Is Mr. Morris available today?” Rowan interrupts. Again.

“No.”

“Is he on the premises?” I ask.

“No.” She taps keys and examines a computer screen.

I point. “Do you log the names of all bodies that enter the premises? What information do you keep?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is anybody due to be burned today?” I ask and this time Leif grabs my arm. “Or are you aware of any unauthorized burnings overnight?”

Her jaw slackens. “ Excuse me?”

“Are you able to ascertain if somebody burned the body of a corpse who isn’t registered in your system?”

“We have strict procedures, young lady. Our business offers the utmost respect and care for our clients’ relatives. Nobody could ‘mysteriously’ burn a body.”

“But the relatives are dead. The deceased couldn’t communicate a complaint to your clients about how you treat them.”

Cynthia takes the business card from my fingers. “Is this all a joke? Your vampire friend appears amused.”

“No, we’re serious. You come highly recommended and Violet—” begins Rowan.

The woman’s eyes go wide. “Violet. I knew I recognized the name! You’re the Blackwood girl.”

“Well, that took some time,” I say. “Yes. I am she.”

Cynthia stiffens, her fingers curling around the card. “Are you a necromancer?” Her voice rises, the warmth from earlier now faded to nothing.

“Did you not know? I thought that was common knowledge.”

“I know enough to ask you to leave.”

“I’ve no intention to steal a body, if that is your concern. The ones here are too dead for my purposes.”

“ Too dead? Whatever does that mean?” She points with vehemence at the door. “Necromancers are evil. Leave.”

“I can think of many things in this world eviler than necromancy.”

Tapping footsteps in the foyer halt and a strangled noise comes from behind me. I pivot. A woman in black with tulle from a small hat covering her face stands with an angry-faced man who hugs the woman to him by the shoulders.

Cynthia raises her voice. “William! Could you come here, please?”

William. “Mr. Morris junior? Is he available? We could discuss caskets and embalming packages with him.”

Grayson wanders over to us, and the man who entered the funeral home pulls the woman halfway across the room to the sofa farthest from the vampire as he passes.

The younger, well-groomed man, dressed in the suit he modeled on the website, steps through a door to the left of the reception desk. “Is there a problem, Cynthia?”

“Yes.” I walk toward him. “We require assistance, and so far your customer service is severely lacking. Your colleague believes I’m performing a practical joke.

I have lost someone, and it’s extremely distressing.

” Rowan mumbles another warning. “However, as I am behaving inappropriately due to my grief, Rowan will speak with you.”

“About?” William’s local accent is affected by a more refined tone, although that tone is currently an unimpressed one.

“A family matter,” says Rowan hastily. “A bereavement.”

William pauses before he holds out a hand to shake Rowan’s. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I more commonly deal with adult family members.”

“Because they possess the money required?” The man shoots me a look. “We’re touring local funeral homes and wish to discuss embalming. Now, please, as I’m rather busy.”

As is a regular effect of mine, I render the man in the stiff suit speechless as I pass him with my friends.

“ Touring funeral homes?” Rowan whispers. “I think you should let me take over before we’re kicked out.”