“Fine,” I said, more sharply than I’d intended. “Can we get this over with?”
“Right.”
The stairs descended almost vertically into a large, well-lit room. Judging by the stacks of computer parts and desk furniture lining the walls, they used it for storage before it became a makeshift morgue. The air was cold and tasted faintly bitter, like machine oil and carpet cleaner. Three army cots sat in the center of the room, covered by white cotton sheets with unmistakable shapes beneath them. The dead have their own geometry.
Jan stopped at the base of the stairs. I gritted my teeth and walked past her.
“Jan?”
“Yes?”
“Come here. Quentin, you too.” No sense coddling him now—he was going to have to face the reality of our situation sooner or later.
They walked over to me, both frowning. Quentin was trying to look stoic; Jan just looked sad. I held my hand over the sheet, asking, “This is . . . ?”
“Barbara,” Jan said. “She was the first.”
“Right.” I studied the shape through the sheet, trying to get an idea of the body before I disturbed it. Under normal circumstances, I leave the dead to the night-haunts and the police . . . but the night-haunts had opted out, and I couldn’t exactly call the police when the bodies belonged to clearly inhuman creatures. That left me. Reaching down, I folded the sheet away from Barbara’s face. Jan turned away. Quentin put a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide.
Alive or dead, Barbara was beautiful. Roses bloomed in her cheeks, and her lips were naturally red, making her look like every Disney princess that’s ever graced the silver screen. Her hair was a long, toffee-colored tangle, and bands of matching fur tipped her sharply pointed ears. The only marks on her were the punctures at her wrists and neck, identical to the marks I’d seen on Colin: clearly missing the major arteries and just as clearly fatal.
“Toby . . .”
“I know, Quentin. Jan?”
“Yes?”
“You know who we’re supposed to be looking at. Is this Barbara?”
“Yes.” She sounded strained.
I knew how she felt. “When did she die? I need a time frame.”
“Sometime over Memorial Day weekend. She stayed late on Friday—she had a deadline to meet—and that was the last time anyone saw her alive. Terrie found her on the cafeteria floor when she came in on Monday.”
“Barbara was already dead?” I bent, prying her left eye open, and stared into the jade-green iris. Her pupil didn’t contract. I let go.
“She was . . . like this.”
“Did Terrie check for a pulse or try to perform CPR?”
“She said Barbara was cold and didn’t respond when her name was called.” She grimaced. “Terrie couldn’t call the ambulance. She couldn’t spin an illusion that would last long enough to fool the paramedics if the night-haunts didn’t come.”
“Don’t you have security cameras?” I raked both hands through my hair. “Is there a way we can get a better idea of when this happened?”
“We have cameras, but they weren’t running.”
I dropped my hands, turning to stare at her.
“We don’t know what happened. All the records were wiped.”
“So you have no idea when this woman actually died, and a four-day window for the event.” Jan nodded. I groaned. “Lovely. Terrie works nights, right? When does she get in?”
“She works from nine at night until six in the morning, usually. She’d taken the weekend off for a convention—she stopped in Monday morning to turn on the lights and make sure the place was still standing.”
“So Terrie wasn’t expected?”
“No.”
“And what time did she find the body?”
“4:52 AM.” The exactness of the answer startled me. I blinked at her, and she shrugged. “She paged us—Elliot and I—as soon as she realized Barbara was cold.”
“How did she page you? Alex said the phones here don’t work normally.”
“Most of us have modified cell phones. There are also pay phones in the cafeteria and near the third- floor bathrooms, and most offices have landlines. Any of those can dial outside the knowe, if you press nine first.”
“All right. When did you get here?”
“About five-fifteen. I don’t know exactly. All the gate time stamps after Friday afternoon have been wiped.”
I frowned. “I see. You say you got here around five-fifteen. Where do you live?”
“Here, mostly—we have some offices that we’ve converted into bedrooms—but I maintain an apartment for storage and so I can get my mail. We’re not zoned for residence.” She shrugged. “It’s about three miles away. I came straight over.”
“Had you recently lost any employees who might have been