Across from Pinion sat a man wearing a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and black pants whose nametag read “Reverb.” Based on his frame, it looked like he worked out regularly, but he was an Incarnate, so who knew? On his head was a shock of white hair that normally would have made me think of someone in their senior years, despite the contrast with his physique. However, I found it impossible to even estimate an age based on appearance, because his entire face beneath the eyes was covered by a metallic mask. In fact, the mask didn’t just cover his face — it appeared to be bolted onto it, with rivets running along the edge of his jawline.
Finally, between Rune and Reverb was a fairly heavyset man dressed in what I took to be monk’s robes. He had short, iron-gray hair and appeared to be in his early forties, and — like his colleagues — seemed to have one distinctive and notable attribute: he was surrounded by something like a soft, blue-white glow. No; upon closer inspection, it was actually more like an electrical charge that pulsed along his exterior. His nametag said “Static.”
I took all of this in over the course of a few seconds. There was a chair at the end of the table near Rune and Endow that I presumed was intended for me. Without waiting for an invitation, I came forward and sat down.
I spent a moment looking around the table, not sure what was expected or where to start. Then I mentally shrugged and decided that it probably didn’t matter.
“I’ve already met some of you,” I began, “but for those I haven’t, my name’s Jim. I’m here to help with the incident that occurred.”
“You mean Gamma’s murder?” asked Pinion, speaking with a crisp British accent. “There’s no need to be circumspect. You can say it: murder.”
“The murder, then,” I said, acquiescing. “Did Gamma have any enemies?”
Mariner chuckled. “There’s an old saying among our kind: Incarnates don’t have enemies.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Enemy implies an adversary,” Endow explained. “Someone or something capable of competing with you or doing you harm. Gamma was an Incarnate.”
“And because almost nothing can harm an Incarnate, you don’t have enemies,” I concluded. “There’s a fallacy in that logic, but we’ll come back to that. For now, though, I’ll phrase the question a little differently: who didn’t like her?”
“She wielded almost limitless power for eons,” said an odd, almost robotic voice. “There would be many who did not like her.”
I looked around in bewilderment. I hadn’t seen anyone speak. In addition, the voice had seemed to come from all around us.
I reached out to Rune telepathically. <What the hell was that?>
<Reverb,> he responded. <He speaks by taking ambient sound — the rustle of cloth, the squeak of a chair, even breath sounds — and playing around with things like modulation and tonality until he obtains a reverberation approximating the word he wants.>
<Seems like a lot of work,> I surmised. <Why doesn’t he just speak?>
<Because the sound of his voice would kill you.>
I kept my face passive, but found myself shocked by Rune’s statement. Thankfully, telepathic conversation occurs much faster than verbal communication, so no more than a second or two had passed since Reverb had spoken.
“Okay,” I said after recovering from my surprise, “this discussion seems to be going nowhere, so I’m just going to be blunt. Gamma’s dead, and someone at this table killed her — sans yours truly, of course.”
“That’s something we’ve already established,” Static chimed in. “I thought you were here to provide new information about her death.”
I didn’t respond to Static immediately. Instead, I found myself intrigued by the fact that I was picking up emotional vibes from him: sadness and melancholy, but also confidence and resolve. It was in stark contrast to the other Incarnates, from whom I didn’t detect anything at all on an empathic level.
“He’s got to ask questions before he gets new information,” Rune said, somewhat coming to my rescue. “You can’t expect miracles. After all, he’s not an Incarnate.”
This got a few laughs from those gathered, and bought me time to come up with my next question.
“When I mentioned enemies a minute ago,” I noted, “I think Endow pointed out that it’s not necessarily someone who wants to do you harm. It can also be someone competing with you.”
“You mean like a rival?” queried Pinion. “Again, Gamma was a Chomarsus. She didn’t have any.”
“But who stood to gain from her death?” I clarified.
“No one,” Rune stated, shaking his head. “At least, no one here. We don’t inherit the sivrrut of our deceased fellows or anything like that.”
“So is there anyone who isn’t here who benefits from her dying?” I asked.
Mariner let out an exasperated sigh. “Is that really important? I mean, we’ve already determined that the killer must be one of us. Why does it matter if someone not at this table derived a benefit?”
“Because typically when there’s a murder, there’s a motive behind it,” I explained. “If you find the motive, you oftentimes find the killer. And it may not be about who gains from her death. Maybe it’s just plain old revenge?”
“Revenge?” Reverb repeated (although the voice seemed to come from Rune’s chair).
“Yeah, revenge,” I reiterated. “Maybe she stole someone’s boyfriend. Maybe she filched your grandmother’s cookie recipe. Maybe she hired away your pool boy. Maybe she…”
My voice faded as a new thought popped into my brain.
“All of you have laamuffals, right?” I asked.
“All but the Inscrutable,” Static confirmed, inclining his head toward Rune. “Before you, that
