The Darkest Edge of Dawn

healing energy was alive within me, I zeroed in on my head, pulling the energy up, directing it, and letting it take over.

A deep, accusing voice broke my concentration. “She’s pregnant.”

I cracked one eye open to see my partner standing in front of me with his brow raised, one corner of his mouth drawn down, and both hands on his hips, drawing back the sides of his black leather jacket. The stark white of his T-shirt was almost too bright for my head to bear. I finished with the rag. “And your point?”

A flash of exasperation widened his eyes. He flung a hand and a glance back at the hellhound. Anyone seeing her lying there like that could tell she was expecting. “You knew it was pregnant.”

I shrugged in answer. How in the hell was I supposed to explain? And why even bother? So I could feel more freakish than I already was? No thanks. Those closest to me knew I was changing, still morphing into something no one had ever seen before thanks to the gene manipulation. Two months had passed since I learned the truth behind the strange evolution taking place inside of me, but damned if I wanted to talk about every weird-ass side effect. Healing. Making nightmares a reality. Throwing bolts of power out of my hands. Eating like a sumo wrestler. Why not visions? A sharp laugh burst from my throat and I rubbed a hand down my face.

Might be cool if it wasn’t going to kill me.

I finished with the rag and tossed it into a nearby trash pile. “I’ll call Animal Control and have them send her back to Charbydon.”

“They never send them back, Charlie. It’s policy to euthanize them. You should’ve let me kill her.”

There was a time I’d have agreed wholeheartedly with my partner. Having Brimstone around must be making me soft. I blew my long bangs away from my eyes. “Why? Because some asshole brought her here for God knows what reason and then abandoned her? She’s not evil, Hank. She’s just an animal trying to survive.” I brushed the debris from my raw elbows and hands. “I’ll make sure they send her back.”

I marched away, tracking down my Nitro-gun, which had skidded down the warehouse floor when I hit the ground, glad for a reason to get out from under Hank’s curious gaze. Once I located my gun, I holstered it and then called a friend at Animal Control.

My next call was to Liz. We had a body to raise from the dead. And this was just the break we needed.

2

Liz made it in fifteen minutes. Not bad for her day off. But then, Liz was one of those people always prepared, always organized, and always on time. I’d hate her for it, except that she’d weaseled her way into my heart a long time ago with her wry sense of humor, dedication to the job, and pitbull tenacity. I’d learned just as quickly as the other new officers, when meeting the chief medical examiner for the first time, that the small-framed doctor and licensed necromancer with the striking Asian features had balls of typanum-infused steel. Everyone respected her. Everyone.

And a natural-born necromancer like Liz was rare—only one in every major city, if you believed the statistics. Having her on the ITF payroll was a major bonus to the department.

I remained crouched near the nymph’s body as Liz’s telltale footsteps—quick and determined—grew louder. She stopped behind me as I glanced over my shoulder to see her in a plum-colored velour jogging suit, her large black duffel bag hanging off one shoulder and a canvas gurney rolled up under her arm like a yoga mat—she always kept one in her trunk because, hey, you never knew when you might need to move a body, right?

“That knot on your forehead is the size of an egg, Madigan. Kind of looks like a third eye.”

“Don’t you ever say hello? You know, actually greet a person before pointing out their flaws?” Rhetorical question. We both knew she never did.

She squatted down next to me. “Eh. Greetings are a waste of time. You know a person wastes seventeen hours of an average lifespan just on greeting people they already know?” Her bag rested on the floor between us. Her straight black hair fell forward, curving just under her chin, but held away from her vision by the corners of stylish horn-rimmed glasses.

“No kidding, really?” The faint scent of gardenias tickled my nose, a welcome break from the decay all around us.

“No. I just made it up. But I bet I’m close. You also smell really, really bad. Could use a charm like the one put on these corpses.”

“Thanks. Your honesty is touching, really.”

“Mmm. So I take it the fact I’m here on my day off means you don’t plan on calling the ITF?”

“By the time the ITF gets here, secures the scene, and debates on whether or not to raise the dead, our victim wouldn’t have anything left to tell us. I’ll make the call after we’re done.”

Unable to argue the truth of my words, Liz turned her attention from the pile back to the intact victim on the floor, leaning closer and closing her eyes as she ran a flat palm a few inches over the body.

I was antsy. Every moment we waited was another moment Daya’s last memories slipped away. Liz couldn’t bring back the nymph’s spirit, but she could reanimate the corpse long enough to engage what was left of those final memories. The longer the dead stayed dead, the less of a chance one had to learn anything useful at all.

“Patience, Madigan,” Liz murmured, sensing my energy. “Have to sweep the body, get a good look at everything first. You know the drill … No energy signature on her. Never seen this kind of drain before; looks like she’s been sucked dry. Practically mummified, and she’s stiff, yet her skin isn’t cold. Bizarre. You do know,” she said, tilting her head to look at me, “the ITF has been working the Adonai missing persons case …”

“I know. I’ll call. We’ve been monitoring this case, too.” I turned my attention back to the gruesome pile. “And now that they’ve been found dead, DC will want us to look into it.”

“You mean take out the killer. That still doesn’t bother you, does it?”

We’d had this discussion before. Liz was privy to our cases and the truth of what we did because we needed her and we trusted her. But from the beginning she’d made it clear she was uncomfortable with the power we’d been given.

“Depends,” I answered, “on who or what killed these people. You know as well as I do some things can’t be locked up, or reformed, or tried in a court of law. Hank and I do what needs to be done.”

A heavy sigh escaped her red lips, and her attention went back to the body. “And so do I.”

There were no illusions about what Liz was referring to. Raising the dead came with a hefty price. Every time a corpse was raised, it cost the necromancer a little bit of life force. And once it was gone, you couldn’t get it back, couldn’t recoup it like blood loss. How much loss depended on a lot of factors: how long the victim had been dead, how long the necromancer kept the dead animated, and how skilled the necromancer. Fortunately for Liz, she was the best. But still, I asked, “You sure about this?”

A soft snort came with her answer. “Serial killer powerful enough to prey on Adonai? Yeah. You need me. I’m sure. Where’s Hank? We need to get started.”

“Checking the perimeter.” I stood and brushed off my palms.

“And the hellhound you told me about?”

“Over by the office. We should have enough time to do this before Animal Control gets here.”

Liz surged to her feet. “All right then,” she said, unrolling the canvas, “let’s do this while it’s still worth it.”

Hank’s footsteps echoed through the lofty space as I helped Liz roll out the canvas and place it on the floor alongside the body. “Perimeter is clean,” he said, approaching. “Doubt the killer uses this for anything other than a dumping ground.” He gestured to the corpse. “We’re not going to do it here?”

“No,” Liz said. “We need to raise her away from the others. That empty storage room I passed up front should work.” Her voice dropped to a low mutter as she bent to grab Daya’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t want any residual power to raise a body part … or a dead cockroach. Trust me, that’s no fun.”

Hank and I exchanged incredulous looks over the sunken, dead body we were about to raise, not sure if she was serious or joking.

Liz tossed us two extra pairs of gloves. “Charlie, get her ankles.”

I cleared my throat, pulled on the gloves, and then grabbed both ankles. They felt wooden; no shift or give.