Page 47
Reapers rarely showed themselves to the living. Nat was more cautious than most. But that meant the team had missed something. Something Jude needed us to see. Hope burned in my gut that he was okay. Or at least not sucked into the ether as his soul had completely burned out.
The warehouse district blurred past the window. Victor drove with both hands on the wheel, his jaw tight, his usual composure cracked around the edges.
Victor pulled up behind Wade’s SUV and killed the engine.
The warehouse loomed ahead. Same broken windows. Same cold concrete. But the darkness that had hidden its edges was gone. Now everything was exposed. The graffiti on the walls. The trash in the corners. The bodies on the pavement, covered with sheets, baking under the midday sun. Too many for the legion of ambulances to cart off at once, each one tagged with a number. Officers stood in clusters, speaking in low voices. Somber, almost haunted.
What they’d brushed off as a homeless accident, a fire, a fight, some other haphazard tragedy, had turned into a massacre. The bodies alone were proof enough.
Wade met us at the tape line. Regular uniforms parted for only a few seconds, their attention split between keeping the locals and news crews back. He leaned in to whisper, “I need you to take a look at one particular body.”
“All right,” I agreed, following him down a path through body bags.
The place looked like a war zone. Unease stirred in my gut. I got no sense of Jude nearby. Was he still around?
Wade knelt beside a body, waited for us to crouch beside him, then unzipped the top of the bag and carefully peeled it back. For half a second, I feared seeing Jude’s face staring back at me with dead eyes.
But it wasn’t him.
Though it was someone I knew. If only vaguely.
“Michael Thayerson?” The name surfaced from somewhere deep, matching itself to the face. Very dead. Probably a week or more, judging by the gray cast of his skin. “Isn’t he supposed to be in custody?”
“Out on bond awaiting trial.” Wade’s voice was low. “Him and the wife, though it sounds like they’re separated.”
I glanced at the growing pile of remains. “Is she here too?”
“If she is, we haven’t found her yet.” He glanced back toward the warehouse, where forensics in suits moved through the shadows. “Or her remains aren’t identifiable.”
This many dead had to have been accumulating for a while. It wasn’t some overnight bloodbath. Not with the age of decay and the smell shifting from body to body. Some dead long enough to barely have a scent. Others reeking of newly spilled bowels. And underlying everything, wafting through the heat, that sickly sweet smell of bacon. Burnt bodies. Charred bone.
I let my Bastion sight rise.
The world shifted as I opened my eyes. Colors bled away, reality fading into the weave and beyond. I scanned the area for disruptions, expecting remnants or scars where the tear had been, but the weave flowed flawlessly. Not a single strand appeared out of place.
I’d never be able to see what Jude could see. But I should have seen something.
“What the hell?”
“What?” Wade asked.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I’ve got nothing.”
Wade gave me a questioning look. Victor nudged my mind with an unasked question.
“This whole scene—” I waved my good hand at the chaos around us. “—should be rife with tears. Ghosts. Flickers of energy. Something.” I shrugged, frustration bleeding into my voice. “Maybe I’m not used to the Bastion sight yet. But I’m seeing nothing.”
There should have been some indication. A tear. Nightmare energy left over from the cult’s madness. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Just bodies. Just silence. Just the weight of a massacre that left no trace on the weave.
How was that possible?
A flicker of movement caught my eye.
Jude?
