and pulled them to safety, T. Laine spoke into her mic. “FireWind. We won’t be wearing vest cams or electronics. I don’t think they’ll hold up to the energies here.”
“Copy that,” he said back. “Limited exposure. An hour in the portable null room after.”
“Copy,” T. Laine said.
T. Laine called the North Nashville coven to come deactivate the working. Knoxville was closer, but the local covens would take a lot of hand-holding to be able to shield the energies and that was if the coven leader bothered to answer when we called her. The four witches who had helped out at the coffee shop were disinclined to work on death and decay again.
T. Laine slammed her ID, badge, and vest cam into the trunk of her car, where they clattered. She raised her arms and gripped the trunk lid over her head, her face hidden by her arms. Her clothes were fresh and clean, but her skin was sallow and tired; exhaustion molded every line of her body. I could hear her breathing, anger in each breath until they slowed into a controlled pattern. She dropped her arms and went back to work. To us, she said, “Put all electronics aside, no jackets, badges, or IDs. Dress out in spelled unis, goggles, masks, gloves, no comms equipment. Vests are our only protective gear. And, God help me, no weapons.”
Over comms FireWind asked, “Why no weapons?”
“Accidental discharge,” she snarled, “as they and the ammo fall apart. Our suspect was at work yesterday. Alive. I didn’t think about it at the horse farm, but weapons might be affected by the energies. And the chance of there being anyone alive enough to shoot at us is nil so we don’t need weapons anyway.”
Occam said, “I’m carrying a knife, but it won’t do jack against a dead body guided by a necromancer.”
There was an odd silence over the earbuds. “Copy,” our boss said. “Keep me advised.”
Moments later, every bit of our skin was covered; null pens were in our pockets. Eyes visible above the masks but behind goggles, we exchanged fast, silent looks of . . . that odd expression law enforcement and military exchange before potential trouble. It was part determination, part mental preparedness, part encouragement, saying things without speech, the way a good team could. Warnings, reminders, and promises to make it out okay.
T. Laine said, “This will be a deliberate clearing, victim rescue but no retrieval, non-suspect-based only. Touch nothing. Get in and get out. Fast.”
Occam and I nodded and followed our witch to the door to raid the house, though it was more like a slow, steady advance, up several brick stairs that shifted with our weight. The mortar was dusty and crumbling. T. Laine knocked. Called out, “PsyLED! Open—”
The door dropped. Toward us.
We jumped back. The door landed with a clatter and splintered into a pile.
A blast of fetid air swept out.
Moving slowly, stepping over the busted door, we entered. Staggered positions. Careful to keep a safe distance between us for two reasons: so our weight didn’t bring down the floor, and so an ambush shooter would be unlikely to hit us all at once. My breath came fast, my fingers tingling. I had no weapon. No weapon except the earth, and I couldn’t touch it even if I had wanted to, not with death and decay everywhere.
It was hot, stuffy, and dark. Shadows wavered through the goggles like the tattered remains of ghosts. The ceiling had partially caved in. Wallboard was sifting down, onto the carpet, which was dusting away. Everything was disintegrating.
Hugo Ames, or so I assumed, was sitting in a recliner in the front room, facing a TV that had fallen off the wall. He was a slimy bubbling decaying thing, left fingers on the floor near his chair, right fingers in his lap, all detached from his hands. His eyes were slimed, his mouth open, jaw tilted to the side, rotten teeth visible. His ears were drooping, the lobes hanging like so much melted wax. As I watched, a green bubble extended from his mouth as if he were breathing. It popped. Another expanded in the cavity behind it. My stomach heaved.
As my daddy often said, he was dead dead, as if certain kinds of death made people more dead than others. Hugo was very dead and appeared to have been dead for a while, though the curse would keep us from establishing an estimated time of death.