Page 48

Seth Mays

Humbolt just called.

They’re releasing Momma’s body.

Elliot Crane

Do you need me to come back?

No.

I’m going with Noah and Lulu.

So I might not be here when you get back.

Are you sure?

It’s fine.

Really.

I’ll see you later.

I love you.

Be careful.

I love you, too.

I wondered if he’d ever stop telling me to be careful , now.

Not that it wasn’t warranted if I had to go to a fire or potentially hazardous crime scene, but, most of the time, my job happened after the threat of violence had passed.

Being a crime scene tech was generally a safe job—the Arcana Killer aside, of course.

And with Elliot’s history of having been the victim of multiple attempted murders, I guess we’d both assumed that I was the one who wouldn’t have any real issues facing imminent death.

I actually wanted him to come with us—to come with me.

But he was with Hart and Raj, giving further evidence against Mosby that, alongside my father’s death, was going to launch a massive investigation into corruption in the Augusta County Sheriff’s Department and the County Jail.

He’d already given his evidence to Raj and Hart, but he also had to run through it with Internal Affairs and the FBI agents from Charlottesville.

According to Hart, the corruption case was going to be massive and very, very ugly.

Call me a coward, but I wanted to avoid that mess as much as humanly—or shifterly—possible.

I liked the clarity of science, the answers that could be confirmed or denied through particulates or DNA or tire tracks.

The same things that would confirm that my father had killed my mother.

The same things that had confirmed that my father had killed my mother.

I liked the fact that I could do my job and end up with facts that weren’t debatable—they just were . But human emotions, human greed, human beliefs, humans —and Arcanids, obviously—were messy and complicated and didn’t make sense.

And, yes, I know that psychology is a thing and that there are plenty of people who study human behavior who can offer explanations for why people do the stupid shit that they do, but until we have a model that can predict our actions with anything resembling accuracy, I’m not going to hold my breath about ever really understanding people, whether human people or Arcanid people.

I was pretty sure that I understood Elliot, though—he wanted to make sure that everyone involved in this disaster, whether they were members of the Community or corrupt cops or guards or even a bribe-able front desk person, were arrested, put in jail, fined or whatever the worst thing was that the federal government could legally do to them.

Badgers aren’t exactly the most nurturing of animals. Elliot certainly wasn’t the most forgiving.

I just wanted it all to go away.

Or, more accurately, I wanted to go away from it .

But it wasn’t done with me yet.

Noah and I both had to sign the paperwork from the morgue—since Noah was no longer in prison under suspicion for murder, both of us had to be there to sign out our mother’s body. Humbolt and Walsh were also there, reading the paperwork over before sliding each sheet to Noah and I to sign.

It was tedious, but at least Dr. Fisher had been apologetic about the fact that I was having to do this twice.

And I was very doubtful that the Community was going to attempt to claim her this time, given that multiple Elders were missing—although I was pretty sure we knew where they were—and the Community itself was under federal investigation.

At the end of the process, we all trouped out again—all that paperwork, and the only thing that had happened was that we’d agreed to release Momma’s body to our chosen funeral home.

The only one that had been willing to work with us and bury her in the small family plot next to Rachael.

What she’d wanted. And, for the record, it had been the one Humbolt had originally recommended, although I’d forgotten about that until after we’d already confirmed the contract.

This morning, Noah and Lulu had spent a lot of time on the phone with various funeral homes, asking if they’d be willing to bring Momma’s body up to the mountains to bury her there. Most had said no, and Noah was clearly getting frustrated.

“So what if they don’t?” I’d asked, irritably. “It’s not like she knows the difference.”

“How can you say that?” he asked me, genuinely horrified.

A quick glance in Lulu’s direction showed me that they looked worried—cautious, the way one gets when trying to decide if a can of soda is about to explode or not.

“Because if we can’t find someone to do it, I’m not about to try stealing a body,” I retorted, figuring that would be safer than doubling down on the notion that our mother was beyond caring what happened to her corpse.

“Jesus, Seth,” Noah had grumbled, which told me that he was still annoyed, but I’d at least diffused the situation. “We keep going until we find someone, even if they have to come from Charlottesville or Richmond.”

I’d wanted to ask about cost, whether it would be worth it to pay the expense for a funeral home to come all the way from Richmond, take her back to Richmond, and then drive all the way back out here.

Lulu could afford it, I was sure, but they shouldn’t have to.

And because I couldn’t afford it, but I didn’t want to say so in case that would make Noah agree to something he didn’t want out of guilt.

But I didn’t say anything, because it was clear to me that this mattered to Noah, although I didn’t really understand why.

But it didn’t matter. We were going to do it anyway. It would be fine.

Fortunately, Lulu found a place in Churchville—not too far away—that was willing to follow the terms of Momma’s will, specifically because it was in the will.

They made it very clear that they’d need to see the document, so Humbolt and Walsh were headed over there from the morgue to present both a copy of the will and the paperwork from the morgue.

Noah seemed much more keen to make sure her wishes were followed than I was. Not that I wanted to deliberately thwart them or anything, I just… didn’t care. Which was proving to be rare a point of contention.

Apparently the only things Noah and I fought about were our romantic partners and our parents.

Noah, Lulu, and I were going to get lunch and then follow so that we could make all the other decisions about the funeral: what kind of casket, service, and so on.

Recent experiences meant that I could, in fact, think of several things that I would like doing less, but this definitely made the list, and between that, the pain, and the fact that I kept having nightmares, short as they were, I was extremely short-tempered.

I was trying to keep that to myself, although I wasn’t entirely certain how successful I was.

Because I didn’t care what wood made up the coffin, didn’t care if the silk or satin lining it was pink or white… Although I strongly suspected that my mother would have hated all of it.

“Momma wouldn’t like any of this,” I finally pointed out as Noah ran his fingers over the lining of yet another coffin, this one some medium-honey-colored wood that I hadn’t been paying enough attention to remember what it was.

“What?” Noah turned to look at me. Lulu’s expression asked me why I’d disrupted the process.

“Momma would hate all of it,” I said. “Silk. Satin. Polished wood. She’d hate all of it.”

Noah looked back down at the gleam of the curved coffin lid, the quilted interior a shell pink. “You’re right,” he said softly. “She would hate it.”

We got a simple pine box. I’d expected the funeral home people to argue about it, but they hadn’t, so props to them.

I thought about pointing out that Elliot could have made one for less that would probably look better, but didn’t want to volunteer him.

Besides, he’d need a workshop to do it in, and I didn’t think the funeral home was going to let him work on a coffin we weren’t buying from them in the back, even if they hadn’t tried to up-sell us on a more expensive model.

Noah also way over-ordered flowers for the grave site, but Lulu had the money, Noah wanted to make sure it would be nice, and I didn’t care what we did or what it cost as long as it would be over and done with as soon as possible.

“I over-did the flowers, didn’t I?” Noah whispered to me.

I shrugged, trying to be diplomatic.

There were lilies, roses, and carnations in sprays and a couple wreaths.

It was completely ridiculous. The funeral home people had agreed to put flowers on Rachael’s simple grave, too, which at least spread it out and made it a little less weird.

A little. And while the wreaths would stay—all three of them—the other flowers could come with us back to our hotel rooms so that we could all experience the feeling of being in a funeral parlor for the next three to five days.

But I knew better than to say that to Noah.

So we stood there, my functional leg and armpits aching from spending too much time standing on crutches, while some vaguely clerical-like person said something about loss and love and parents making us into who we are.

The usual sort of thing that I’m sure was moving if you actually did love the person who had died, but to me felt almost hysterically empty. Platitudes that were so wrong they went beyond meaningless to insulting.

I twitched when Elliot’s hand closed around my forearm.

“Try to frown a little less, baby,” he whispered, his voice pitched so low that I barely heard him. Because, of course, Noah also had wolf shifter hearing.

I struggled to smooth out my features. “Sorry.”

“Not me who would be bothered,” he replied, just as softly.

I knew what he meant. Noah didn’t need my judgment along with everything else.