person to blindly accept what someone else told him, even those in authority.
"I will call HQ. We need a Death-talker." She made the call while Logan spoke to the police officers, then combed the scene a second time in case he'd missed anything. Logan liked to be thorough.
He listened as Jess requested a Death-talker. They gave him the heebie-jeebies, with their pale corpse-like faces and glazed eyes. Those white eyes, the irises so milky they were barely discernible from the whites of the eyes themselves. Logan had no idea if Death-talkers were born with those scary eyes or if they were the result of the trauma experienced in each session. He'd never dared to ask. He respected them, of course. On more than one occasion, he'd seen the toll communication with a spirit took on a Death-talker.
He'd felt sorry for them, bound to those almost malevolent rituals by the powers they'd been born with. Logan shivered. He'd be witness to another Death-talk soon enough.
"They will send her soon," Jess said, as she walked up to him.
"Soon" for the Walkers meant any second. The Human soon meant any time in the next few hours. Logan still appreciated those differences, being one of many mages who'd come into their powers in their early teens, old enough to remember life as a normal human.
"She will know where to find him," she stated to put Logan at ease, as if Jess knew he'd wondered how the Death-talker would appear at this particular scene without creating mayhem herself. "She will go directly to him."
Logan glanced at the ambulance, where a Death-talker would soon materialize right beside the corpse, drawn to it by her affinity for death.
Seconds ticked by.
Jess touched his shoulder and walked toward the ambulance. One door stood open. The other hid the gurney and its grisly passenger. The lights had dimmed somewhat. Shadows clung to the corners and provided enough cover for the woman who sat so solemn, like a grieving widow, beside the corpse.
She beckoned them in with a slight tilt of her head, which remained hidden within tumultuous folds of drab gray silk. As usual, she was dressed in the same dull color as all her sisters.
Logan had learned Demons saw color better than grays. Gr ay—a non-color—was safe for a Death-talker to wear. It hid them from the creatures living in the Ether—or the land of In-between. From what he knew, the Death-talkers were naturally attractive to the evils in the land of the dead, so it was a wise precaution.
Jess leaned over and spoke low in his ear. "Pipe down and stop thinking so much. We do not want to disturb her while she works."
Logan waited, mildly annoyed by her freakish ability to read his mind, until she crawled into the tiny space. He never complained when she used her power on a suspect or a snitch, but it didn't feel right to be on the receiving end of a mental probe. Guess he needed to be more conscious of putting up his walls. He followed and pulled the door shut behind him. He wanted no chance of anyone peeking at a Death-talker in action. Especially when they weren't even supposed to exist.
She wasted no time, waiting only until he shut the door to begin. She lowered her hands to the chest of the corpse, heedless of her fingers sitting on raw flesh or of the congealed blood clinging to her pale digits. Her eyes closed as she murmured words in a language dead for thousands of years.
Then she leaned over him and closed the distance between her mouth and the opening in the face of the dead man; an opening that had once been, when it had lips and skin, his mouth. Then she stopped, her lips almost touching his mangled skin in a macabre caress and drew in the deepest of breaths—deep, to the bottom of her diaphragm. The movement caused the silken shroud to billow from her shoulders, and she injected the air into the mouth of the corpse. She shuddered as the last of her breath left her. Then she paused and sat up to take another lungful.
Minutes ticked by, and though Logan
"I will call HQ. We need a Death-talker." She made the call while Logan spoke to the police officers, then combed the scene a second time in case he'd missed anything. Logan liked to be thorough.
He listened as Jess requested a Death-talker. They gave him the heebie-jeebies, with their pale corpse-like faces and glazed eyes. Those white eyes, the irises so milky they were barely discernible from the whites of the eyes themselves. Logan had no idea if Death-talkers were born with those scary eyes or if they were the result of the trauma experienced in each session. He'd never dared to ask. He respected them, of course. On more than one occasion, he'd seen the toll communication with a spirit took on a Death-talker.
He'd felt sorry for them, bound to those almost malevolent rituals by the powers they'd been born with. Logan shivered. He'd be witness to another Death-talk soon enough.
"They will send her soon," Jess said, as she walked up to him.
"Soon" for the Walkers meant any second. The Human soon meant any time in the next few hours. Logan still appreciated those differences, being one of many mages who'd come into their powers in their early teens, old enough to remember life as a normal human.
"She will know where to find him," she stated to put Logan at ease, as if Jess knew he'd wondered how the Death-talker would appear at this particular scene without creating mayhem herself. "She will go directly to him."
Logan glanced at the ambulance, where a Death-talker would soon materialize right beside the corpse, drawn to it by her affinity for death.
Seconds ticked by.
Jess touched his shoulder and walked toward the ambulance. One door stood open. The other hid the gurney and its grisly passenger. The lights had dimmed somewhat. Shadows clung to the corners and provided enough cover for the woman who sat so solemn, like a grieving widow, beside the corpse.
She beckoned them in with a slight tilt of her head, which remained hidden within tumultuous folds of drab gray silk. As usual, she was dressed in the same dull color as all her sisters.
Logan had learned Demons saw color better than grays. Gr ay—a non-color—was safe for a Death-talker to wear. It hid them from the creatures living in the Ether—or the land of In-between. From what he knew, the Death-talkers were naturally attractive to the evils in the land of the dead, so it was a wise precaution.
Jess leaned over and spoke low in his ear. "Pipe down and stop thinking so much. We do not want to disturb her while she works."
Logan waited, mildly annoyed by her freakish ability to read his mind, until she crawled into the tiny space. He never complained when she used her power on a suspect or a snitch, but it didn't feel right to be on the receiving end of a mental probe. Guess he needed to be more conscious of putting up his walls. He followed and pulled the door shut behind him. He wanted no chance of anyone peeking at a Death-talker in action. Especially when they weren't even supposed to exist.
She wasted no time, waiting only until he shut the door to begin. She lowered her hands to the chest of the corpse, heedless of her fingers sitting on raw flesh or of the congealed blood clinging to her pale digits. Her eyes closed as she murmured words in a language dead for thousands of years.
Then she leaned over him and closed the distance between her mouth and the opening in the face of the dead man; an opening that had once been, when it had lips and skin, his mouth. Then she stopped, her lips almost touching his mangled skin in a macabre caress and drew in the deepest of breaths—deep, to the bottom of her diaphragm. The movement caused the silken shroud to billow from her shoulders, and she injected the air into the mouth of the corpse. She shuddered as the last of her breath left her. Then she paused and sat up to take another lungful.
Minutes ticked by, and though Logan
Similar Books
