“He doesn’a look eighteen,” Jamie murmured.
“He doesn’t look sixteen,” I said, my magic surging. I managed to tamp it down before we had another incident, but the effort made my headache worse. I had to get over this; I had to get well. We needed people in the fight who would do more than serve as target practice for the dark.
The lieutenant was left to deal with the angry man and we pressed on, but we’d only gone a few yards when Sebastian stopped by the doors to the medical facility. “Dr. Sedgewick will bring us the results as soon as he’s finished, Mr. Arnou,” Hargrove informed him, attempting to mask his impatience with a tight smile.
“I would prefer to see the body for myself.”
The smile vanished. “From what I understand, it was in…less than pristine condition when brought in.”
“Nonetheless.”
Hargrove waited, I guess expecting more of an explanation. He didn’t get one. “Very well. But I warn you—it isn’t pretty.”
“Bit of an understatement,” Jamie muttered a minute later, which was how long it took us to pass through the crowded waiting area, walk down a hall and enter a small room near the end.
I didn’t reply, because I was busy swallowing my breakfast back down where it belonged. Cafeteria food tasted the same coming up as it did going down, I decided, feeling pretty pathetic. But Jamie was also visibly green and even Hargrove had two spots of color high on his cheeks. It looked a little like rouge, next to his pallor. Only Sebastian appeared unruffled.
That surprised me since the body lying on the autopsy table was Were. At least, that’s what Sedgewick, the Center’s chief medical officer, alleged. I had my doubts. At first glance, it just looked like a heap of raw, red flesh, bled out like butcher’s meat ready for carving. But on closer examination it resolved into a tangled mass of limbs, some recognizably human, others not. But it was virtually impossible to tell what it might once have been.
Because every inch of skin had been carefully removed.
“Oh, it’s Were all right,” Sedgewick said when Hargrove voiced my doubts. The rotund little doctor was more animated than I’d ever seen him, his blue eyes sparking over his dull green scrubs. “And one born to it at that.”
“How can you tell?” Hargrove demanded, his lip curling in disgust.
“They have fundamentally different anatomies from humans, even those later infected with the Were strain,” Sedgewick said happily. “For example, the subclavius muscle stretching from the first rib to the collarbone.” The scalpel he was using as a pointer flashed under the lights as he traced it. “Most of us no longer have one as we don’t need it to walk on two legs instead of four. But all born Weres have at least one.”
“As do some humans, as you just inti—”
“But that’s only one indicator,” Sedgewick broke in. He looked hopefully at Sebastian. “I’ve only done an external exam so far, as I know your people have some sort of problem with autopsies. But if I could remove the brain, you’d have a much clearer view through the cranial—”
“It is our custom that the body be left as untouched as possible after death,” Sebastian said evenly.
“Yes. Yes, well, of course,” Sedgewick said, his expression making clear that he didn’t think much more damage could be done to this body if he tried. “Well, if you could see inside the nasal cavity, you’d notice a series of indentations lining the septum. They’re powerful chemoreceptors for detecting pheromones. They connect directly to the hypothalamus, the brain’s control center for basic drives and emotions—sex, hunger, fear, anger. They allow a Were to track a mate, hunt for food and detect potential dangers—as they once did for our ancestors before we evolved beyond that sort of thing.” He rocked back on his heels, looking pleased with himself.
“But why does it—he—look like that?” Hargrove demanded.
Sedgewick frowned. His masterful display of medical knowledge had obviously not elicited the admiration he’d expected. “He looks like that because someone skinned him alive partway through the change,” he said impatiently. “That’s what killed him. Well, that and the massive blood loss, of course.”
I vaguely heard Jamie make a choked noise and run out of the room. I would have gladly joined him, except I couldn’t seem to move. If I hadn’t been staring at the evidence, I’d have said that what Sedgewick claimed was impossible. Weres changed in the blink of an eye—even faster, for the old ones. How could anyone—
A cell phone interrupted my thoughts, its jangling tune more than a little embarrassing under the circumstances. “Sorry,” I muttered, reaching for my back pocket. Cyrus had changed my ringtone a few days ago, and his sense of humor was rivaled only by Jamie’s. I didn’t get calls working so far underground and had forgotten to change it back.
Only it wasn’t my phone that was ringing.
“We may never get another body like this,” Sedgewick was saying mournfully.
Sebastian looked at the doctor like he thought he might be a little mad. “I sincerely hope not!”
“But I’ve already learned so much, merely from a topical exam,” Sedgewick wheedled, attempting to summon up some rusty charm. “For example, I never knew that the change begins with the extremities. For some reason, I always assumed it started with the trunk of the body and radiated outward. With a chance to do a proper autopsy, I could learn so much—”
“The body will be returned to the family intact,” Sebastian told him flatly.
“But Mr. Arnou—”
“Colin, leave it!” Hargrove snapped. “You’re supposed to be looking for clues to the man’s identity, not satisfying morbid curiosity.” He glanced at me. “And answer that thing or shut it off!”
“It’s not mine,” I said, wondering who else around here had “Werewolves of London” for a ringtone.
“It was found under the body,” Sedgewick said grumpily, waving at another phone that lay on a specimen tray. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was chrome-bright, like the tray itself.
Like the phone Cyrus had given me on my birthday.
Like the one he always carried.
An electric charge ran up my spine and down into my hands, making them shake. I clutched my phone tightly to keep from dropping it. It was 11:30, I reminded myself sharply. Cyrus was probably on his way here for lunch, ready to bitch about the cafeteria’s idea of chicken salad…
“And if you want to know who he is—or rather was,” Sedgewick said, picking up the phone. “Call one of the numbers in here and ask. Or do I have to do everything?”
He hit a button and the phone in my hands leapt. I dropped it and it went skittering across the tiles, spinning to a stop by the plastic container Sedgewick had placed hopefully at the end of the table. I stared at it, feeling my thoughts scatter and break, fracturing as the floor sank dizzyingly beneath me.
My chest felt pinched as I sucked in a lungful of air, but it didn’t seem to help. A bone-dead chill settled through me and my knees gave out. “Lia!” someone said, but I barely heard.
The last thing I remember before darkness washed over me was two tinny, cheerful howls merging with the white-rush-roar in my ears.
Chapter 3
“It isn’t him. Lia, do you hear me? It isn’t Cyrus!” Someone was holding me, close enough that I could feel the body heat radiating from him. It was hotter than usual for a human, and some part of me found that oddly reassuring.