I turned to the two vestiges, who were still gaping at me. “You two work for the Shiguan?”
“We did until you rebound us,” said Buzz Cut. I pulled his collar back. “No Shiguan tattoo.”
“A few of us remain unmarked,” he said. “For discreet tasks.” “Why did you save us?” asked Braids.
I chuckled. “Not your day to die, I guess.”
The vestiges looked up at Cassius, eyes wide. The centurion laughed. “He is . . . unconventional, but genuine.”
Buzz Cut stood. “I’m Sherzer.” Braids followed. “Delain.” “Good to meet you both,” I said.
“Now that we bear your mark,” Sherzer asked, “may we know what it represents?”
“My mark?”
Cassius took hold of Sherzer’s wrist and pointed to a sigil on his binding—music notation for the fermata. I’d seen it appear on Cassius’s threads the night I’d renewed his bindings, and the field guide said every thanatist has a unique sigil. Made sense this would be mine.
“It’s a fermata,” I told them. “From the Italian verb ‘to stay.’” I looked at the fermata tattoo on the back of my wrist. “Think of it like holding on, sticking it out when things get tough.”
“To stand firm,” Cassius added.
I nodded, then looked over at the corpse-paint killer, who was nothing now but a pile of ashes. “Cassius and I had only been here a few minutes, and you justhappenedto show up and take this body?”
Sherzer stowed his rods in a waist harness. “Bazalgette operates a sleeper team to feed his pools. We monitor morgue transmissions. Perform recovery operations.”
“What wouldyouhave us do?” asked Delain.
Their bindings were now mine, same as the centurion’s. I felt a tug of responsibility toward them, too—and wondered if my dad felt the same way about boys who fought for him.
“Maybe head over to the Iron Horse on Manette Street,” I told them. “You’ll be safe there. Ask for Lady. She’ll take care of your wounds.” I started to go, then stopped. “Would you be able to testify against Brach about the assassination attempt?”
They stared blankly at me. “We don’t know anything about an assassination attempt,” Sherzer finally said. “We just do body recovery. But if you were trying to take the body of a Shiguan assassin”—he pointed at Ghost Face’s ashes—“you’ve just made yourselves enemies of every Shiguan in the Strata. Word will get back fast. Bazalgette was right, you better not linger.”
Good advice. “Well, then, I guess you know what you’re getting into. And with me, it’s pretty simple: if you have my back, I’ll have yours. Cool?”
Sherzer smiled. “Cool.” Delain bowed.
“We can talk again later if you want,” I said. “But right now, it sounds like we better go.”
We hiked up the metal staircase into the silky darkness. I pulled my Zippo again. The little gift of flame was proving to be a treasure. I lit it, and with Cassius’s help pressed upward, Sherzer and Delain in tow.
Topside, I paused long enough to take several lungfuls of air. Then our new friends found a rear exit and headed to the Horse, as Cassius and I hurried down the hall toward the autopsy bay door.
Before we even got there, Cage opened it and whispered, “Quickly, out of the hall.”
We stepped inside.
“We can’t stay long,” I said. “Henry’s personal effects?”
Cage combed his ’stache. “Oh, my. Well, just these last few minutes a challenge to your legitimacy to claim the effects has been posted. Technically, I’m to hold the items until probate . . .”
I’d already run afoul the law with Detective Bryant. Why break precedent with the courts. “Just tell me where they areand I’ll grab them myself. You can tell the authorities I stole them.”
Cage pointed to the corner of his desk. I rushed over, grabbed a large manila envelope, then crossed back to the door.
“Again, so sorry for your loss,” Cage said.
A few feet away, Henry’s body lay on the cold metal table. This was an unhappy place. I silently said goodbye, then Cassius and I hurried from the morgue.
