Quinn’s hand was on her own in a heartbeat, stilling her motion. “You should not…” his voice drifted off.
“It’s not your place,” she replied and then waited for him to relent.
He removed his hand, reluctance warring with pain in his expression. “It’s not how you should remember her.”
“Again, it’s not up to you.”
Becka pulled the fabric and it slid off like a quicksilver onto the floor. Her gut processed what she saw faster than her mind, and Becka had to turn away as her stomach emptied its contents.
Quinn, ever the warrior-gentleman, offered her a handkerchief.
Becka wiped her face. “You seem to have a pocket for everything.”
“I come fully equipped.”
Becka stared at him and then rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
“The levity seemed appropriate.” He kicked a few layers of dirt over her vomit, immediately reducing the sharp smell in the air.
Becka huffed. “Did you know?” She motioned to the wreck of Tesse’s neck.
“Of course. I am a part of the investigation. Although I have just seen pictures. This is the first time in person.”
Becka stepped back to her sister’s side. The horror of the damage wouldn’t process. It was as if her mind was rejecting it, as if denying it would somehow retroactively prevent her sister’s passing, mend the skin back together, and breathe life once more into her empty husk.
“What happened to her skin?” Becka pointed to Tesse’s neck where it appeared to have been shredded by sharp, long claws. Dark markings on her flesh blurred the distinction between the ragged edges of the remaining skin and the muscle and bone underneath. “Was it there before the attack, or as part of it?”
Quinn tilted his head. “Can you be more specific?”
“I don’t mean the slashing and flayed bits. Tell me what you know about the black symbols.”
Quinn’s expression shifted to one of peaked curiosity. He pulled out a flashlight and aimed it at Tesse, leaning in for a better look. “What do you mean?”
Becka sighed. “I wasn’t aware she had a tattoo. It seems like something she would have mentioned to me?”
She leaned in closer, curiosity overcoming her revulsion over the wound. “It’s too bad the attack destroyed the central part of the image. All that’s left are those wisps of curlicues. Like words in cursive, but overlaid. I can’t make it out.” She swayed, unsteady on her feet and still woozy from her earlier retching.
Quinn looked up from the body and fished around in his jacket for a moment. He then placed his hand on her elbow and held out a notepad and pencil with the other hand. “Could you sketch them for me?”
Becka rounded on him, pushing the paper away. “Why would you even ask that? I’m here, grieving my sister! Besides I’m sure your crack investigative Enforcer team has this well documented already.”
He raised the pad of paper to her, undeterred. “It is not, so I am going to need your assistance.”
“Huh? You’ve got to have plenty of pictures.”
“There are no pictures or drawings of what you describe that I am aware of.”
“Why not?”
“Becka, I cannot see the marks you see. And from the documentation I have reviewed on this case, no one else does either.”
Becka gaped. She glanced again at the markings. Was she, in her grief, imagining them?
“You really can’t see it?”
Quinn shook his head. His curiosity had peaked into a level of rapt excitement. His eyes determined; his posture tense. Since they’d met, he’d never looked more fully the role of detective.
She pointed at the largest intact area, directly underneath Tesse’s chin. “It’s right here.”
Quinn again made an effort. He pulled back the sheer draping from Tesse’s head and shoulders, got out a small flashlight, and then leaned in close.
He played the light across her flayed flesh, his brow furrowed. He extended the notepad to her again, but now it was open to a fresh page. “If you would be so kind.”
Confused, Becka accepted the notepad and pencil. “I’m not particularly artistic.”
“Use all of the pages you need. Just point to where I should direct the light.”
Becka drew a series of sketches, feeling unable to fully capture the imagery in any one scene. She had Quinn adjust the flashlight between each picture, and he compiled without complaint. Perhaps if the tattoo had been intact...but separated as it was, she couldn’t quite imagine it whole. Plus, there was a whole section missing, replaced with sinew and bone where supple, pale skin should have been.
As she studied the designs a flash of pale color within the coils of Tesse’s hair caught her eye. Becka reached out, using the tip of the pen held in her fingers, and teased a pale lavender rose petal out from the voluminous layers and onto the white stone.
“Is this a House Rowan tradition I am unaware of?” Quinn asked.
“Not one I’ve ever heard of,” Becka answered. “It looks fresh.” Becka reached out to pick up the petal to get a better look.
However, when Becka touched the petal it dried out and crumbled into blackened dust in less than a second, as if time had suddenly caught up with it all at once. Becka ran a finger through the remains, remembering the blackened fur on Tesse’s cat.
“This reminds me of Oriani’s tail,” she said. “Why do you think it did that?”
“It might have been a conjured object,” Quinn replied. “Although you don’t usually come across those hidden from view. The whole point is usually to show off. Do you see any others?” He played the flashlight over Tesse’s hair.
“I don’t,” she replied. “But I’m not going digging through her hair for more either.”
Becka refocused, returning to the task of capturing the markings within the pages of the notepad. When she’d done the best she could to recreate the overlapping swirls, lines, and geometric forms, Becka handed the notebook back to Quinn to review.
He
