At the Behest of the Dead Read Online Free PDF

don’t react well to sun. Plus, I’m, you know, a freaking necromancer.
    I eyed the coffeemaker suspiciously.
    “I’d offer you some coffee but I’m not sure how old it is. Maybe a day, maybe three.”
    “I’m fine. If you have some water that would be great.” She had to notice the sparseness of the kitchen. The lack of appliances other than stove and refrigerator. I don’t eat at home much, and when I do it’s usually a microwave meal.
    “Nice house. Had it long?”
    “A few years.”
    “Wife?”
    “I’m good, thanks.”
    “Uh, sorry to hear that?” She chuckled.
    I ran the tap for a second and then offered what I hoped was a clean glass. She regarded it with a dubious eye but took a sip anyway. I noticed her eyes were tired and dry. I opened myself to her aura but it was recessed. You can tell a lot about a person from the circles that surround their body, but hers were withdrawn and dull. Combined with the lassitude she was attempting to hide, I knew what the problem was right away.
    Addict. Probably pills. I bet if I went through her car I would find a prescription bottle full of painkillers. Well, it wasn’t my problem, although I could help her. People need to want help. That’s the first step to a cure, no matter how strong a potion I prepare. Rehab works the same way and both are a bitch. Unless someone wants to change, they’ll be back to their old ways in no time at all.
    “Don’t be. W e have an on again off again relationship. Right now we’re off because she thinks I can’t get my life together.”
    “Women, eh?” She took a long pull from the glass. I could discount it as rain but I suspected the little drops on her forehead were actually tiny beads of sweat. Maybe it was close to her next dose, next fix, whatever it was she slid down her throat to make it through the day. I didn’t judge since I have had my fair share of addictive crap poured down my gullet over the years. Drugs, booze, and an assortment of weird stuff that only ‘we others’ knew about, but I would probably share if the price were right.
    “You should be talking to my agent, Carlisle. He arranges my work.”
    “I know about that bounty hunter, but this case isn’t like that. This is a real murder investigation, not chasing ghosts.” She waved her hand in front of her face like she was chasing away an annoying fly
    “ Pulled the shortest straw?”
    “Very funny. I just don’t believe in this magic stuff but I got volunteered. So be nice and tell me to go away.”
    “Go away.” I smiled.
    She stared up at me for the count of three and then turned to go.
    “Wait. Wait. I didn’t mean it.”
    “Oh we’re good,” she said and headed for the door.
    She wore sensible loafers that didn’t clomp across my hardwood floors.
    “Oh come on, officer … didn’t get your name.”
    “Andrews, d etective.”
    “Detective is your first name?”
    “Sure.”
    “Don’t be bitter. Why don’t you take a seat and tell me about the case? That way you can go back with a clear conscience, knowing you did as your superiors asked.”
    “Superiors? Who talks like that?” She sighed , looked around the room, and then went back to the kitchen. I moved aside. She opened my fridge and studied the interior then sighed again and looked around with distaste.
    “I can summon a Pepsi machine.”
    “I like Coke.”
    “How does that react to the other stuff?”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Nothing. Never mind.” Probably not the best time to bring up the drug abuse.
    She picked up her water glass and drank deeply. I watched but didn’t speak. Maybe she was just gathering her thoughts. Maybe she was about to slam the glass down and storm out again.
    I decided to make the first move. “You want help finding a killer?”
    “It’s just complicated and , quite frankly, I don’t understand how anything can make the kind of wounds we’ve seen. People torn up, ripped in half. It’s enough to make you old and grey.”
    “I don’t see