‘Can’t say as I have. Who was ’e?’
‘An air elemental and a Symposium member.’
Biggins snorted. ‘Ain’t exactly on first-name terms with the nobility, me. For some reason, me invites for tea at the manor seem to go astray.’
‘Right. We found some dead flesh on the body. Old dead flesh, not fresh flesh.’
‘Say that five times quick!’ He laughed.
I levelled him with a look.
He cleared his throat. ‘Ah, you’re thinkin’ one o’ my lot did a bit o’ nibblin’, are ya?’
‘There were no signs of the flesh being consumed,’ I admitted.
He gave a loose jerk of his shoulder that continued for a little too long. ‘Well then darlin’, not sure wot I can do for ya.’
‘Ask some questions. Someone wanted him dead, wanted to make a scene of it. Send a message, I think. I need you to tap into the criminal underbelly, see if anyone’s bragging.’
‘I’ll put me ear to the ground – but that kind o’ listenin’ don’t come cheap,’ he warned.
I made a show of sighing. ‘Yeah, yeah.’ I dug into my pocket and pulled out a few notes.
He took them, and they disappeared instantly into a pocket I couldn’t see, a hidden one sewn in a seam somewhere.
‘I’ll give you a call, matey, when I ’ear what’s what.’
‘Appreciate that. Same again if you get me something I can use.’
Biggins gave me a broad grin, showing teeth that hadn’t been brushed in a decade or more. ‘What’s his deal?’ he asked, jerking a head at Channing. ‘Ee the strong silent type, is ee?’
‘You’re his first ghoul.’
‘Ah, popped yer cherry did I? Good thing I was gentle.’ He winked at Channing. ‘Us ghouls are a potent bunch, I give ya that. Useful, though – no one pays us dossers no mind. We ’eara lot. Some of it’s even worth listenin’ to.’ He turned back to me. ‘Be in touch,’ he promised as he melted into the trees once more.
Once the ghoul was out of sight, Channing let out a sharp breath. ‘Bloody hell, theystink.’
‘Yeah, but don’t comment on it within earshot. They’re touchy about their aroma.’
‘He admitted they were potent.’
‘Yeah, but it’s like how a ginger can call another ginger a ginger, but the rest of us should use the wordredhead.’
‘Right. No commenting on their particular … scent. Got it.’
I checked the time. ‘You head off home,’ I suggested. ‘Clock off. I’m going to visit my dad’s grave while I’m here.’
Channing’s eyes softened. ‘Sure thing, boss. You sure you don’t want me to wait, give you a lift home?’
‘No thanks, Channing. I’m good with the walk home. It helps me think.’
‘Sure. Okay. Well, see you tomorrow, Wise.’
I watched him amble out of the cemetery, making sure he got to his car safely – ghouls weren’t the only things lurking around here – and then I went to visit Dad.
A slate headstone, free of lichen, marked his grave.Marcus Wise, devoted husband and father.No mention was made of the occupation that had ultimately killed him. Mum wouldn’t have it.
I gathered my intention and raised it so that if anyone crept up on me, I could blast them off their feet before they could say ‘shitstorm.’ Even here – especially here – I couldn’t relax, not totally. Graveyards had a way of poking at the bruised places inside me, and today each one of them felt tender.
