“And, our John Doe may have been murdered after all.”
***
Oliver had hoped to speak to Mr. Turpin after lunch, but when Gwen went back upstairs, she confirmed he was still busy in the special collections. At least Oliver had been able to convince her to leave the book behind until Mr. Turpin could take a look at it. Oliver had already sent a note to the library asking him to stop by the next morning. As soon as they were finished inspecting it, he was going to take it straight to the archives where it would be safe from accidental handling. Oliver sighed. The book had done a number on their John Doe’s body, but at least the autopsy had been uneventful so far.
His external examination had revealed little they hadn’t already figured out while at the Livingston’s, but Oliver was able to clean him up enough for Felipe to take photographs where someone might recognize him. Oliver stepped back as Felipe took a photograph that captured the man’s profile. While the purge was gone, the black veining in his face remained, but hopefully, it wouldn’t show up too much on camera. If it did, they could always get someone in the film lab to artificially lighten it. They only needed one person to recognize him, and if they could confirm he was a shifter, then they had a good place to start. Reynard knew enough of the local shifter community that he might be able to point them in the right direction. Once they had a name, they could alert his family and figure out why he seemingly tried to stealThe Corpus Arcanum. If they asked about his death, he wasn’t sure what he would say.
The death certificate and official files would read “death by magic” whether it was murder or not. If they asked for more specifics, he wasn’t sure what he would tell them. His examination might show he had died of a heart attack or a brain bleed brought on by the stress of the magical attack, and while they weren’t too descriptive, they sounded better than death by book. Based on the way his skin had been dyed, Oliver was fairly certain his organs ended up tinted as well, and he wasn’t looking forward to how they might hide signs of damage or injury. He would have to be meticulous in his examinations. More importantly, he needed to take more samples and test them for the synthetic dyes Gwen mentioned. A centuries old trap would lead to a far different investigation than one set recently. When Felipe traded his Kodak for the book of autopsy notes, Oliver inserted a syringe into the dead man’s inner thigh, drew out a large vial of thick, black blood, and carefully set it on the bench for analysis later. He needed one more confirmation that the man was a shifter. Grabbing a pair of iris scissors, Olivercarefully removed the nail from the man’s thumb to reveal a partially formed claw tucked just beneath his skin. Felipe winced in sympathy as Oliver pried it out and held it up to the light.
“Well, that confirms he was a shifter. It looks like he died less than an hour after he shifted since claws usually take three hours or so to be fully absorbed,” Oliver said as he dropped it into a metal dish. “Notebook five has information on claw sizes and fur colors if you want to confirm he was a lynx.”
As Oliver set about preparing the man for autopsy, Felipe busied himself with cleaning the claw and checking his old notes. Oliver had made a table of contents and marked off the different sections for quick reference, but he didn’t say anything when Felipe took his time. He didn’t like to watch Oliver make the y-shaped incision or remove the front of the ribcage, and Oliver couldn’t blame him. It was ugly work. Any muscle he had built over the years had come from lugging bodies and sawing through ribs like tree branches. By the time, he was done, his forehead was slick with sweat and his hands were gritty with bone dust, but Felipe had confirmed the man was indeed a lynx or bobcat shifter.
“What did you think of what Gwen said?” Felipe asked as Oliver rinsed his hands at the sink.
“I think Gwen is far more brilliant than anyone gives her credit for. Her knowledge of everything book and vampire-related is impressive.”
Oliver turned in time to see a bemused smile cross Felipe’s lips. “It is, but I meant aboutThe Corpus Arcanumand the potential curse.”
“Oh. Truthfully, I’m not sure what to think. There are several centuries of history behind this book that we know nothing about. For all we know, it could have been originally meant to kill some duke or earl. And if it was enchanted more recently, then we’ll have to figure out where in its provenance it wasenchanted, and if it has passed through many hands, we might never figure that out.”
“As much as I hate to wash my hands of cases because there is no answer, we may have to do that. Did you notice that the book agent saidThe Corpus Arcanumgave him a headache when he tried to read it?” Felipe said as he flipped through their notes before returning to a blank page.
“I forgot about that,” Oliver replied as he returned to the autopsy table. “I wonder if the person who put the curse on the book made it so nonmagical people couldn’t read it, like how they can’t find the society. Either way, I agree that this book will probably have us on a wild goose chase that ends with few concrete answers. Brace yourself; I’m going to remove his ribs.”
Shimmying a scalpel behind his ribs, Oliver sliced through the connecting tissue and carefully lifted his ribs and sternum out of the way. He was about to cut the tissue overlaying his organs when he froze. The only warning Oliver got was the astringent tang of burning rubber and alcohol drowning out the smell of organs and blood a second before the ink in his veins stirred. Felipe took a step forward, but Oliver shot an arm out to keep him back as ink writhed like maggots in the dead man’s flesh. Whatever question Felipe was poised to ask died on his lips at the words blooming across his tissue one by one.
He is the first, but he won’t be the last. Magic must die.
Die.
Die.
The final word echoed and flickered before the inky blackness dissolved back into mottled grey flesh. The laboratory fell silent as a tomb as Oliver and Felipe stood rooted at the dead man’s side. Oliver’s chest tightened with panic. The words that had been there only a moment ago were gone without a trace.
Forcing himself to breathe, Oliver asked, barely above a whisper, “Felipe, did you see that? Or am I hallucinating? Please tell me I hallucinated.”
“No, I saw it too. I think… I think we should tell the head inspector, just in case.”
Chapter Seven
Questionable Evidence
Standing outside the head inspector’s apartment, Felipe gave Oliver a moment to compose himself. They had left the lab so quickly that Oliver still had bone dust in his hair and smelled vaguely of offal, though Felipe wouldn’t tell him that. His partner’s face was still drawn and ashen, but after going to the head inspector’s office only to find it empty and having to traverse the halls to his apartment, a little color had returned to Oliver’s cheeks. He still looked shaken, and Felipe couldn’t blame him. In both of their long careers, they had seen many dead people, plenty riddled with magic, but neither of them had seen one used as a billboard for a would-be serial killer. Stepping closer to the door, Felipe listened. On the other side, he could make out Gale’s lilting voice followed by the head inspector’s low rumble and a chuckle.
“They’re here. Are you ready?” Felipe said before taking Oliver’s hand and giving it a firm squeeze. His partner drew in a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded. The moment Felipe knocked, the voices on the other side fell silent. When no one came to the door, he rolled his eyes and banged on it with his fist. Gale cursed, followed by a flurry of fabric and motion. Felipe quickly backed up in case Gale or the head inspector came out armed. As Gale stuck their head out, theygave Felipe a murderous glare and pried a hair stick from a snarl on the side of their head that had once been a brown braid.
“The building had better be on fire, Galvan. We are off the clock until Monday morning,” they snapped. Gale’s righteous anger jolted into confusion as they spotted Oliver standing wide-eyed and pale behind him. “What’s his problem?”
Felipe forced his voice neutral. “That’s what we would like to speak to the head inspector about. You know we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t an emergency.”
“It always is with you two. Hold on.”
Shutting the door on them, Gale slipped inside and murmured something terse to the head inspector that Felipe couldn’t quite make out. After an awkward minute of shuffling and whispers, Gale opened the door and ushered them into the parlor. Despite having been inside Head Inspector Williams’s apartment before, it was still jarring to see their severe, tattooed boss sitting on a fussy red couch, nestled amongst a flock of tasseled pillows. He had his slippered foot resting on the edge of the heavy, rosewood coffee table, and beside it was a tray of half-eaten desserts and a bottle of scotch. Felipe’s gaze snagged on the head inspector’s half-opened shirt where a dragon’s head peeked out ready to snatch the inky swallows near his collarbones. A fizzle of discomfort buzzed through the tether, and Felipe followed Oliver’s gaze to where Gale discretely kicked wadded up clothing under the loveseat. When Felipe turned back to the head inspector, he found the man watching with a brow quirked as if challenging him to say anything. Even without looking at Oliver, Felipe knew his cheeks had gone red.
“My apologies for disturbing your… time together,” Felipe began.
“I’m sure there’s abutin there somewhere,” the head inspector said, taking a long swig of his drink. “Spit it out,Galvan. We take off one weekend a year, and you’re interrupting it.”
