In the kitchen, someone had made a pot of coffee in Stella’s fancy Braun. It was probably against regs to make and drink coffee in a victim’s house, but it smelled fresh and there were stacks of paper cups to the side, so I took that as an invitation. I slid a paper cup out of the plastic sleeve and poured coffee. The effect of the mint was gone and I needed to get the taste of rot out of my mouth and breathing passages. T. Laine and Occam, who had been talking to the uniform guarding the door, poured cups too. The uniform, a different deputy from the sheriff’scousin, was a substantial black man in his fifties. He took a cup and went outside to talk to someone approaching the house.
I sipped, breathing the rich scent, and leaned my back against the edge of the fancy stone countertop. Only the sound of murmuring voices disturbed the quiet of the house. Every time I blinked, I saw the soapy greenish flesh and the bones in the hand holding the black tour T-shirts screen-printed with white and scarlet in words and images.
In spite of the death, the afternoon sun was warm through the windows and there was an illusion of peace in the kitchen. Two people sat on the sofa in the gathering room, their heads together, speaking softly. I rose up on my toes and made out two young, tattooed white women with spiky rainbow-colored hair, wearing trashed jeans and sweatshirts. They had been crying, their makeup smeared and faces chapped.
In a mutter, T. Laine said, “Okay. Five-minute break’s over. I originally requested this site be treated as if it was a level three biohazard/spelled site, but I didn’t get to follow through. Since the site didn’t read like typical witchdeathenergies, and because I couldn’tproveit was a crime scene and not an accident, and since the family had driven up and were demanding access to the premises, the sheriff elected to downgrade it to level two.”
“Family? Where?” I asked, looking at the two women.
“Outside for now,” Occam said. “In Stella’s RV, which I cleared and released to them, per FireWind.”
“He’s taking a strange interest in this case,” I said.
“He’s a fan,” T. Laine said, shaking her head. “I’d never have guessed. Anyway, whatever is causing this accelerated decomp isn’t decelerating like I expected, probably because I was treating it like witch magic and it isn’t. I may have to pull rank on the sheriff and upgrade the threat level. Thoughts?”
“I’m leaning toward an upgrade,” Occam said. “At this rate, with the accelerated decay, I doubt we’ll even get PMs. I—”
The two women on the couch slumped and toppled over. I dropped the cup on the counter. At a dead run, I leaped for the women. T. Laine snagged my shoulder and yanked me back. “No!”
“But—”
“No! They’re with the band. Backup singers.” Meaning theymight be contaminated with something we couldn’t see. “They were downstairs when the LEOs arrived,” T. Laine said, “without null pens to mitigate the... hell. Thedeath whatever-this-is.”
“Right,” I said, my heart feeling like it might bust outta my chest. “Death whatever. We have to call it something.”
T. Laine gave us each a null pen and we approached the women slowly, keeping a good ten feet away. The women were unconscious, barely breathing. A door to our right rammed open and a man stumbled into the kitchen from a set of stairs leading to the second story. He reeled against the wall, bounded off, and fell.
Lainie grabbed Occam’s shoulder and my wrist, shoving, backing us out of the gathering room. She shouted, “Clear the house! Clear the house! Level five containment protocol. Clear the house! Clear the house! Level five containment protocol. We got a problem, people!” To us she said, “The locals locked down only the crime scene, not the upper floors, so people on Stella’s approved list have been up and down for hours. Stupid starstruck sheriff.”
Law enforcement officers boiled out of the hallway leading to the basement and rushed outside. Standing to the side of the door as people raced past, T. Laine said, “I want everyone quarantined. I have a feeling this is getting worse instead of better.”
Three more civilians rushed down the stairs from the second story and T. Laine called out, “Special Agent Kent, PsyLED. Outside, all of you. Occam, keep them together and don’t let anyone leave, law enforcement included. Nell,” she shouted, though I was right beside her, “get the quarantine tents out of my vehicle.” She placed her keys into my hand and said softly, “I’m calling FireWind for an ETA, and to bring a warrant for the entire house. The locals only got one for the basement, which was stupid beyond stupid,” she practically spat. “I want full access and a full crew.”
“You won’t get LaFleur and Racer,” Occam said. “They’re still in Chattanooga.”
T. Laine cursed. “You!” She yelled and pointed at a woman in a sheriff’s deputy uniform. “Get a team together and clear the house. Wear gloves. Touchnoone,nothing, not one person, with your bare skin, not a doorknob or chair, no matter what,and get out fast. I want to make absolutely certain this place is empty.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said and started issuing orders.
“We need a null room on-site,” T. Laine said. “I have some calls in to find—”
Outside, a man hit the ground. Then another. T. Laine raced to the door and whispered, “Those two. They weren’t here when the bodies were discovered, but they did go down to get a look before the local law got here.” She turned and stared into the room, her eyes focused on something terrible that only she could see. “It’s not decelerating,” she repeated, her tired face growing even paler. “It’s growing.”
The victim list was now nine dead or down, and I wondered if the entire crew who had traveled with Stella on the tour had been affected by thedeath whatever. I had no idea how T. Laine would contain the energies and help the victims, but her being in charge of that meant the investigation was on Occam and me. I still had no idea why the überboss wanted me here, but for now, I needed to work.
TWO
More bodies fell, all of them people associated with the band or who had been in the basement. Some were struggling to breathe; some were unconscious. “Leave ’em where they lay,” T. Laine shouted, racing outside, her hands and body position suggesting that she was using aseeingworking to explore the magical energies around the house and the victims. “A portable null room is on the way.”
“But they need our help,” an EMT said, his eyes tracking the victims lying on the lawn.
“Not until we know what we’re dealing with,” T. Laine said, “and not without responders wearing blue unis.” She pointed at Sheriff Jackett. “This thing seems to be expanding and growing, not decreasing. Maybe even jumping from victim to victim. I’ll cover them all with null blue aprons, but keep your people away or you can deal with this on your own. I swear to God, you make my job any harder and I’ll leave.” Which was a lie, but the sheriff didn’t know that.
“Why not just give EMTs unis and one a them null pens and let them help?” the sheriff asked.
“The null pens all need to be recharged except for two, and I’m low on unis,” she said. “Without a null room, we have a bigger disaster in the making.”
He gave a slant-eyed grunt. “Roger that. Back off, people,” he said, louder.
