He should want to hear this, but suddenly he didn’t know if he did or not. It turned out he didn’t get a choice.
“My stepdad,” Hill said. “Fraser Jones.”
Yeah. That made sense. Davy supposed it wasn’t really a surprise. He’d notknownwho killed him. Most didn’t. It took an hour, give or take, to write a memory from the brain to the spirit. That meant the dead only ever had their best guess about the moment of death, but Davy’s guess was pretty fucking informed.
He just wasn’t sure how he felt about being right. Emotions had never really been his thing. Hehadthem, but other than the big two—fight or fuck—they’d always been behind a paywall.
Luckily, being a smartass came with the free tier.
“So what you’re telling me,” Davy said as he reached for the burger, “is that my little brother got married, and I didn’t even rate an invite?”
He took a bite and chewed as he watched realization dawn on Hill’s expressive face as he put the names together and realized it wasn’t just chance and the fifth most common surname in the US.
It was OK.
He wasn’t the first to miss the connection. He might well be the last, though. Gravestones were good for making that sort of thing clear.
“So, what,” Hill said in a shocked voice. “You’re my uncle?”
Huh.
Davy blinked as he thought about that and then put the burger down.
Gross.
Step-uncle.
It was, Davy decided, an important distinction. Besides, it wasn’t like Davy had been on speaking terms with Fraser before the murder. Even if he’d been alive, he’d probably not have crossed paths with Hill. And as it was, he’d been dead longer than Hill had been alive.
Davy mentally weighed the justifications up and…yeah, it was fine.
That sorted, he tuned back in to what Hill was saying.
“…they said my dad killed himself,” Hill said. “For a long time I believed them, but then I found the files Dad had hidden on his old e-reader. Files about you. About the things he’d done for Fraser.”
Davy slouched back against the cool copper-clad wall of the elevator and stared at his own reflection in the doors. Both of them, as Hill paced back and forth over the carpet anxiously. He kept having to step over Davy’s tentacles where they spooled out slack and lazy over the floor. The urge to trip him with just a twitch of one appendage swelled in Davy’s chest and was quashed again.
“And you think Fraser killed him?” Davy asked.
“No,” Hill said. “But it made me wonder, and either way it’s Fraser’s fault, isn’t it? Either he killed my dad, or he’s the reason my dad killed himself. And he definitely killed you.”
“Fair enough.”
Davy idly hooked a finger into the collar of his T-shirt to pull it away from his neck. The long line of his own neck, all tendon and pale skin, made his mouth go dry.
I swear, the memory of his mom’s voice hissed the unwelcome interruption in the back of his head,you were hung in another life.
She’d been dead longer than him. Habit still made him knock it off.
Besides, they were nearly there.
Davy glanced at Hill, who’d stopped to stare at the slow flick of the last two floors. He didn’t slouch. With a sigh, Davy pushed himself up off the wall and straightened his hoodie. It wasn’t quite parade rest, but he managed a rough approximation of good posture as the elevator stopped.
The doors swung open, and the smell of fresh cookies wafted over Davy.
Next to him, Hill fell back a step. His mouth went slack as he glanced around whatever was on the Beyond side of the Veil in confusion.
“Where is…” he stammered. “What’s happened to my apartment?”
