Fred snorted. “Meaning if you barf on the body, kid, it’ll be playing on the break room TV within the hour.”
“Bert wouldn’t do that.”
Fred grinned evilly. “No, but I would.”
Ian gave us both a look that said he was the adult and we were twelve. “You were saying, Bert?”
“A warning, though,” the necromancer said. “Depending on the level of residual energy remaining, the body could . . .” He hesitated. “Let’s see how to put this delicately.”
Fred shifted uneasily. “Just say it, Doc.”
“Move.”
“What?”
“Move. The corpse could move.”
I stood utterly still. “Could you be more specific?”
“Jerk, spasm, flail. I’ve even had one punch me.” Bert grinned. “Packed quite a wallop, too. Impressive for a deceased.”
If a corpse sat up and took a swipe at me, I’d be using a lot of words, but “impressive” wouldn’t be one of them.
Then without any warning, Bert placed his bare-naked hands right on the corpse’s face.
Ick didn’t even begin to cover it.
This wasn’t a doctor examining a corpse; this was a necromancer about to do some seriously spooky shit.
Maybe this was his way of getting back at us for not letting him expand our horizons with a treatise on soul ripping.
Bert lifted the fingers of his left hand slightly and repositioned them. None of us could miss the dimples left behind by the pressure of his fingers.
Just like Play-Doh.
Please don’t move your hand again, I said silently.
Thankfully, he didn’t. But that image had been branded into my brain, like that cloven hoofprint on the dead elf’s chest, and it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“I’ll be able to see what his eyes saw in his final seconds of life—hopefully including his killers. It works like an imprinting. If any images remain, they would be in the eyes.”
Bert settled his fingers around the orbital bones surrounding the corpse’s eyes.
Then he did what you couldn’t pay me any amount of money to do . . . Okay, I’d probably do it for some amount of money, but it’d have to be absurdly huge.
Bert leaned over the table, putting his face close enough to kiss the corpse, his eyes less than two inches from Sar Gedeon’s.
There was nothing Bert Ferguson wouldn’t do in the name of science.
Unlike before, there was no joint popping, no chest constricting, and I could breathe in all the air I wanted to, though considering that it still smelled like roasted elf, I only took in what I needed to keep from passing out.
No one moved, including the dead elf. I was sure I wasn’t the only one grateful for that.
Bert was breathing in and out, the breaths growing loud and labored, the speed increasing until they were short gasps. His hands and face were whiter than the tile behind him.
I didn’t know what to expect; but to me, it looked like Bert was in trouble.
I shot a sharp glance at Ian. His face bore signs of worry bordering on alarm.
Fred spat a silent curse.
We all knew the cardinal rule—do not disturb a practitioner in the middle of a magical link or incantation. I didn’t know the reason behind it, but every ounce of common sense told me that snapping a link of any kind between a living person and the spirit, soul, energy, whatever of a violently murdered person couldn’t be anything but bad.
But for Bert’s sake, not breaking that link would be worse.
If we did nothing, I had a feeling there’d soon be two corpses in SPI’s morgue and no one left to talk to either one of them.
Ian got his arm between Bert and the corpse, wrapping his big hand around the necromancer’s shoulder, and leveraged his weight against Bert’s chest to pull him off the corpse. Fred did the same from the other side.
Bert didn’t—or couldn’t—budge.
A keening cry came from Sar Gedeon’s now open mouth.
Normally spirits spoke through Bert. I had no idea who or what this was.
Fred blanched and swore. Bracing his feet on the floor, the elf detective twisted his body and pulled harder.
Nothing.
It was as if Bert was fused to the body.
The keening grew louder and more frantic.
Veins were bulging on the sides of Bert’s neck.
Dammit, he was going to have a heart attack.
Bert’s eyes were locked on the open and lifeless ones of Sar Gedeon. His hands might as well have been superglued to the dead elf’s face.
Brute force wasn’t working.
There was just enough room between Bert and where his face was almost touching the corpse.
Human contact. Calm, warm human contact. I wouldn’t be touching the corpse, I’d be touching Bert.
I quickly moved to the head of the table and slipped my hands over Bert’s eyes, breaking the visual contact between him and the dead elf.
“Bert, it’s Mac.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “Come back to us.” Moments passed. “Bert, can you hear me? You can do this. Whatever it is, you’re stronger. Fight it, Bert. Kick its ass.”
Bert drew a breath that I swear must have shuddered clear down to his toes.
Good thing Ian’s and Fred’s arms were supporting him, or Bert would have collapsed on the corpse.
They eased him back onto the floor. There was another steel table next to the one the elf’s body was on, but thankfully the guys chose the floor. Bert was a necromancer and was comfortable around dead people, but waking up on a morgue slab would scare the crap out of anyone. I knew what my reaction would have been, and nobody’s ears could’ve withstood that much screaming.