“Save that for me. I’ll do the stuff on the ladder.”
Sargis chuckles. “It’s fine, Keran.”
“You could fall. It’s my job.”
Sentiment creeps into my dad’s voice. “I love you, too, Son.”
I end the call and barely blink as I read further. The police were looking for Zagiri, alright, but they were looking in the wrong place. If Zagiri wanted better tools, more privacy, and a security system just in case things went south, the graduate lab is where she would set up shop.
Sevan flips through Zagiri’s journal. Being that we’ve only made it halfway through, Sevan does her own research while Avet and I conduct ours on our tablets.
It’s not bad having a third person around, I guess.
I eat with one hand when our meals come, barely tasting my food while I comb through the police reports. The trail gets colder and colder, with no one adding to the file for over a year.
And just like that, Zagiri is forgotten.
It’s not until Sevan inhales sharply that I realize I have been staring at the same section of my screen for several minutes without absorbing any of it. “You guys, listen to this. ‘I know this will work, but I need a witch to bring it to life. When the two join the house, they can help me. They already said they would apply here. Then the three of us can work together. But I don’t want to put them in danger. Maybe the chemicals are strong enough to work on their own? I’m going to try it tonight. If it works, then no one will lose their family to a rabid vampire ever again. If not, well… The formulas are here. Cher and Taline can finish my work.’” Sevan looks up at me, her eyes wide. “It’s the last entry.”
My stomach churns so violently, I nearly vomit.
Avet’s upper lip curls, his nostrils flaring. “Zagiri roped my sister into this crazy plan. Attempting witchcraft and calling it science is naïve at best. I’m putting Zagiri to rest today. Right now, in fact. She’s not going to lead any other witches down this path of insanity.”
I can’t argue with him on the subject. Witches are quite protective of their gifts and hate seeing them misused. They treat the craft with respect and turn their noses up at people who come to them for a quick fix, or looking to twist their gifts into something they were never meant to be.
When Avet turns his tablet to us, my breath stills in my lungs.
It’s a common story—a child being left alive while the vampire drains the parents. Children’s blood perhaps doesn’t appeal to a vampire as much as a ripe adult with a strong heart. No one quite knows the reason why children aren’t common prey of immortal creatures. It’s the one perk of the grim job that we don’t question.
Well, immortal isn’t quite the right word. If they don’t feed, they could become emaciated and turn to stone. They aren’t dead and could be revived, but for all intents and purposes, they perform no lifelike functions.
And trappers know how to kill them. Stabbing a vampire through the heart with a wooden stake does the trick just fine. They go even quicker if your weapon is made of apricot wood.
My own mother’s murder looked much the same as the scene staring at me from Avet’s tablet. A child of maybe eight years old, lost beside the wreckage of a struggle gone wrong. Two bodies with their shoes and socks torn off, their ankles broken, bent at odd angles with slash wounds on the soles of their feet. They could have been mere puncture marks, but the parents put up a fight.
Good for them.
I don’t think about my mother often anymore. I was twelve years old when she died. But the violence of her death punches me in the psyche every now and then, like when a similar crime scene is shoved under my nose to examine.
Avet’s words are grim. “I think that’s motivation enough to turn a smart girl into a determined one. Says she was there through the whole thing.” He doesn’t finish his thought aloud, but I know he means to say, “Just like you.”
Though Avet doesn’t say it, Sevan intuits enough to reach under the table, placing her hand on my knee.
I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. And I certainly don’t want a woman to get closer to me because she pities my plight. That is the last reason I want a beautiful trapper to touch my knee.
“It was a long time ago.” Then I clear my throat to scrub away any trace of emotion. “Put that away, Avet. The journal said enough. Let’s use the compass to find her body so this can end. We’ve got an hour until nightfall.”
Avet reaches over to grab up his backpack, pausing only to shove the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “I’m ready,” he mumbles around his food.
Though I want to stay and do some more digging, seeing the undoing of Zagiri’s happy childhood scatters my focus enough to turn off my tablet. I follow Avet out the door, wishing I could run away from everything that hollowed out my soul, leaving me raw and bare.
If I don’t get to have a peaceful life, at least I can make sure that Zagiri finally gets her rest.
20
OLD WOUNDS
We wait for nightfall because things like this can get messy if the spirit isn’t cooperative. One way or another, Zagiri will be put to rest. Once the process is complete, it’s not like it can be undone. But the minute or two it takes for the magic to do its thing can serve as an impetus for the spirit to do some real damage if they are unhappy about their body being messed with.