Part 24 (1/2)

”Okay then,” I murmured, staring at the old elevator dial as we descended into the bowels of the building.

The car took us to the sterile, fluorescent hallways of the morgue, where an attendant sat at the battered metal reception desk playing a handheld game that buzzed and chirped. A stark sign behind his head proclaimed NOCTURNE CITY MORGUE-NO ADMITTANCE BEYOND THIS POINT. ”We're here to identify the John Doe,” I said.

”Room five,” he replied, never breaking concentration from the screen.

”Come on,” I said to Lucas, taking his elbow and leading him into the viewing room. The drab salmon-pink curtains were pulled across the small window, and I hit the intercom b.u.t.ton on the wall. ”Are you ready for us?”

”Ready,” said the morgue attendant. I turned to Lucas. ”I want to prepare you-falls don't leave the body in the best condition.”

”Just open the curtains,” Lucas snarled.

”Fine, fine,” I said, and pulled back the curtains. Jason Kennuka had the blue paper sheet pulled up to his chin, covering the worst of the damage from his fall. One side of his face was misshapen and bruised, as if a sculptor had brushed up against his medium and thrown all the lines out of joint. Jason's hair was matted with blood where his scalp had caved in, but thankfully the attendant had arranged what remained over the fractures.

Lucas stared at the body, his eyes silvering and his nostrils opening, fluttering like wings as he drew in a long breath. He put one hand on the gla.s.s, his sprouted claws screeching down the divider between us and the body.

I took a step back, unconsciously, the were putting me at optimum striking distance. ”Lucas?”

”That's him,” said Lucas. His voice was flat, like a long hot highway when you run out of gas alongside. ”That's my brother Jason.”

”Thank you,” I said quietly into the intercom, and the attendant hurried in and covered up Jason's face with the sheet.

”We're done,” I said to Lucas. ”You holding up all right?”

”I need some air,” he whispered. His teeth were all silver fang as he spun and ran from the room.

”s.h.i.+t,” I said to the empty s.p.a.ce and the flapping door. ”Lucas!” I shouted at his retreating back. ”Lucas, wait!”

He made it to the wide entryway where ambulances and hea.r.s.es backed up to deposit or receive their particular brand of cargo, and was bent over, hands on knees, shaking and coughing. ”I could smell his blood . . . ,” he ground out.

”No,” I said. ”You smelled a lot of blood. It's hard for people . . . like us . . . in there. You did well.” I held out a hand to rub his back, and then hesitated. Dmitri would go ballistic if I suggested with actions or words that he wasn't tough enough to cope without any sort of support.

But this was Lucas. I gasped as a little bit of black blood hit the loading dock from his coughing fit. ”You're not all right. I'd better take you somewhere.” I touched him gingerly between the shoulder blades and he let out a cry, just a single dry sound that was all he allowed himself. Then his eyes were his own again, and his cough subsided.

”Do you know once, when I was a dumb kid, I was in a bar over the state line, and I got into it with this gang of neo-n.a.z.i a.s.sholes. I figured no big deal, I'll s.h.i.+ft if they get to be too much of a problem. But Jason came in and he stood next to me and he said, 'If you show yourself now, think of what will happen to the clan. Think what will come down if the secret gets out.' ”

Lucas swiped at his eyes. ”And then he turned to the biker sons of b.i.t.c.hes and said, 'If you want to take him on, you take me on, too, and a pair of Kennuka brothers is something no pig's a.s.shole wants ruining his day.' ” He sighed. ”Until he went off, there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't see him. He was my brother.”

I crouched down next to Lucas and put my arms around him. ”I know,” I murmured. ”And he was a good brother.” Then, because I'm neither a coward or a completely heartless b.i.t.c.h, I said, ”Lucas, there are some things that have come up about Jason. I need to talk to you.”

”All right,” he said.

I let go of his solid form and reached into my jean pocket for a tissue. ”Here.”

Lucas wiped the blood off his chin. ”I'll be fine in a little while. Must have a bug.”

”If you say so,” I said. ”Do you like Mexican food?”

”I'm hungry,” he murmured, and his eyes flared silver again. ”I mean, yes. I eat Mexican. What's wrong that you need to take me somewhere I won't cause a scene to hear it?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. ”Just . . . some things I think you need to hear from me. From someone who understands your situation. You take my meaning?”

Lucas nodded silently. ”Yeah, okay. I have to deal with the funeral arrangements . . . can we meet this evening?”

”I'll wait,” I said. ”Not letting you out of my sight, remember?” That got me a small smile.

The coroner gave Lucas a metric ton of forms for funeral a.s.sistance, and it was dusk by the time he finished. ”Let's get out of here.”

I offered him a hand, which turned into me keeping my arm around his shoulder. Lucas didn't say he was grateful or not, but from the way he leaned against me I think he was just glad to have someone prop him up. I know that if our situations were reversed, if it had been Sunny or Mac under the blue sheet, that my body would have been a useless bag, unable to contain my grief.

Lucas was handling it a lot better than I would have. I just tried not to think about how I was going to explain the scent of him on me to Dmitri. If he came back.

CHAPTER 17.

I took Lucas to El Gato y Raton, a Mexican burrito joint tucked away down an alley off Magnolia. The neighborhood mostly caters to winos buying Ripple from the liquor store that took up the front half of the building, neon beer signs pus.h.i.+ng against the smudgy fog that had drifted in over the course of the day, and methheads using the sidewalk for a mattress.

”Spare change?” one of them bleated at me, flas.h.i.+ng dirty fingers and a mouth with more gaps than teeth.

I showed my badge. ”Get lost.”

”b.i.t.c.h,” he spat.

Lucas turned on him. ”Another word and I'll pick your bones clean.”

The speed freak backed off, and I nudged Lucas. ”The chivalry really isn't a big thing with me. I've been called a lot worse by guys that weren't weren't out of their minds on meth.” out of their minds on meth.”

”No excuse for human filth,” said Lucas. ”I was doing the world in general a favor.”

”Fair enough,” I said, pus.h.i.+ng open the door of El Gato. The sensor over the jamb played an electronica version of the Mexican Hat Dance. The decor ran to light-up cacti, beer signs with coyotes and XX symbols on them, and chili-shaped Christmas lights dangling from the ceiling, but it smelled like pico de gallo and warm tortillas and caramel, the burritos served were as big as my forearm, and the beer was kept frosty cold.

Lucas slid into a sticky blue vinyl booth and I followed him, picking the side that let me see the door and the kitchen with relative ease.

”What did you want to tell me about Jason?” said Lucas, after he had waved off a beer and settled on plain iced water.

”Well,” I hedged. G.o.ds, how much did I not not want to have this conversation with Lucas? About as much as I wanted a walk-in vault full of designer shoes and vintage purses. As much as I wanted to go back home and find Dmitri and an un-Hexed life waiting for me. want to have this conversation with Lucas? About as much as I wanted a walk-in vault full of designer shoes and vintage purses. As much as I wanted to go back home and find Dmitri and an un-Hexed life waiting for me.

”Well . . . ?” Lucas prompted. ”Luna, I'm not going to get violent. Jason dying is what it is. If you think I should know something, spit it out.”

Luna. My name sounded so soft-edged, so dark when it rolled off his tongue. My name sounded so soft-edged, so dark when it rolled off his tongue.

Okay, Wilder. Focus.

”There's some indication that your brother had become involved with the wild Wendigo shaman,” I said, letting it all out in a rush. Lucas carefully set his water gla.s.s down in the center of a coaster advertising a telenovela telenovela and met my eyes. and met my eyes.

”So?”

Perspiration stippled my skin and matched the water droplets on my beer bottle. El Gato wasn't air-conditioned and the humidity outside was still making the temperature climb. Nearly dark, and still the city cooked at a slow boil.