Approximately one year ago.

~Lionel

No two hours after musing about the Devil, sex, and apples, we were on our way to a potential crime scene. I was glad for the distraction if not for someone dying.

“How is it going with Dr. Lily?” Christine asked on our way to the crime scene.

She’d offered to carpool, and we were headed to a residential area to confirm an older lady had died as the result of taking a bad fall. I didn’t need the rubber boots in the trunk of my car, so I’d readily taken her up on it.

“She’s nice.”

Unfortunately, Dr. Lily had made me think about sex, and then I’d seen the Devil, and both didn’t go great together. No, that wasn’t it. The Devil and wanting sex went all too well together, and that was the entire fucking problem right there.

Christine, her hands at ten and two, glanced at me. “Okay. Are you doing okay? After the shooting?”

Only then did it occur to me what she was asking.

“Shit, Christine. You don’t have to feel guilty. You did the right thing. He was coming at us with a hatchet.”

“I know it was a good shooting. Doesn’t change the fact that seeing something like that happen right in front of you can leave you raw for a while.”

“I passed out, so I didn’t really see all of it.”

“Still.”

I shrugged. “I’m good.”

I was getting side-eye. Not too much. Detective Rice knew to keep her eyes on the road without anyone having to tell her.

“Sometimes I can’t get a good read on you, Hawkes. Like when you reanimated that crow with the broken neck on the roof.”

I didn’t hang out on the roof of the police building as much as others did, but the one time I’d gone up there, a crow had died hitting a wall or window, and her mate had been there, cawing in grief, close to the body. Reanimating the crow wasn’t going to last forever. I hadn’t added much in terms of pushing back decay. I had hoped the other crow could use the time to accept reality.

Christine had seen me do it, and my explanation had not resonated with her even though it was perfectly logical.

“I told you why I helped the crow.”

“Hawkes, you made a dead bird fly.”

It had been for the living crow, but I chose not to argue. “I’m really fine with this. I’m still alive when I could have ended with a hatchet in my head.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Sorry.”

The muscles in her jaw worked, but she went silent as she pulled up to the curb, parking behind another police unit.

“This shouldn’t take too long assuming she had a fall.”

I unbuckled my seat belt. “How old did you say she was?”

“Eighty-five. I’m hoping it’s just a quick chat.”

The officers already at the scene directed us toward the dead grandma. Two of them were talking to a mailman in the kitchen, presumably the person who had found her.

I didn’t know how typical the interior design of this little house was for a grandma, but the old family photos on a chest of drawers hit that chord in my chest. A sensation that wasn’t quite jealousy but not exactly pain either ran through me.

One of the fantasies I’d lost myself in especially during my years at the Collegium was that I had a family, a mom and dad and an older sister. I’d laid out so much history for that fictional life that didn’t exist that I could have turned it into a soap opera with a dozen seasons.

At any rate, seeing family photos arranged with the care that was obvious here always reminded me of that fantasy. A cuckoo clock on the wall in the room up ahead marked the hour.

When Christine and I walked into the living room, we were greeted by the sight of an older lady spread out on the floor and—sitting next to her—a white poodle with beady eyes who was busy drooling on the floor.

“What’s that?” Christine asked and pointed at the little dog.

The officer who’d been standing guard over what was the potential scene of a crime flinched.

“Well, ma’am, she’s been growling whenever I got to close to her. I didn’t want to get bit, and she wasn’t doing anything, so I left her alone.”

Christine frowned. “Did you call animal rescue?”

“N-not yet,” he said and left the room to make that call.

The white dog’s eyes followed me as I pulled a set of gloves out of my pants pocket and put them on.

I crouched down next to the old lady. She’d not been here long, was in much better condition than a lot of the bodies I usually got to talk to. This was going to be a breeze.

“Let’s get started.”

Before I could, Christine’s phone rang. “Shit. I have to take this. Can you do your thing? This shouldn’t take too long.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

Christine left. I looked at the poodle. “Your mom’s going to talk, but it doesn’t mean she can still take care of you, okay?”

The dog looked at me with beady eyes, and a glob of drool fell to the floor as I watched.

I sighed. “Here goes.”

I reached for the old lady’s essence, and it answered right away, none of the sluggishness there that came with very violent deaths and bodies in poor condition. My power flowed freely, the ease of this raising the simple joy of flipping a pancake in the air and catching it perfectly.

“No!” she said.

“It’s okay. What’s your name?” I knew she was Elizabeth Lee, but going with the routine would read well in my report.

“Liza Lee.”

Good enough for me.

“Liza, tell me how you died.”

The beady-eyed poodle started growling all of a sudden, and Liza’s body twitched. She raised a cold hand, pointed.

“He killed me.”

I let go of the essence and Liza’s hand dropped. I spun.

The mailman was standing in the door. I could see the gleam of a kitchen knife in his right hand. He was pale, lips pressed tight and brows drawn. Anger.

“She was supposed to shut up forever,” he said.

I raised my hands. “Hey, don’t do anything—”

But it was too late. The mailman lifted his knife and came at me.