“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 angry enough to try for revenge? Anyone you might have fired or otherwise pissed off?”
“No one. We haven’t had any personnel changes in the last three years, except for the recent departures, and those came after the killings began, not before.”
“I see. Quentin, come here.” He stepped over to join me, looking less than pleased. I knelt, patting his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring fashion, and studied the wound in Barbara’s neck. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but that’s never stopped me before.
“Look at this,” I said, turning her arm over to show the underside.
“What about it?” he asked, uneasily.
“The color’s wrong.” I indicated the skin between Barbara’s elbow and shoulder. “Blood seeks the lowest point in the body after death; it should be pooling here. But it’s not.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I lowered her arm, my frown deepening. “This is all new ground, Quentin. I always knew fae bodies wouldn’t decay, but I assumed at least a few systems would break down. Jan? Have there been any changes in the bodies since they were found?”
“No.” She scrubbed at her face with one hand, knocking her glasses askew. “At first, we thought they weren’t really dead, just sleeping. We were waiting for them to wake up.”
“But they didn’t,” said Quentin.
“No. They didn’t. We moved Barbara down here after a week, to keep her cool. We didn’t know how long . . .”
“How long it would take her to start to rot?”
She sighed. “Yeah. But she never did.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that.”
“What?”
“She’s never going to start to rot.” I rose, crossing to the second cot. Quentin followed. “Is this Yui?” I asked. Jan nodded. “Right,” I said, and pulled back the sheet.
Yui could have been a normal Japanese woman in her late twenties, if it weren’t for her four tails and her pointed, red-furred ears. Her hair was braided, exposing the puncture wound on her throat. This wasn’t good. Kitsune express their power in the number of tails they have, ranging from the usual one or two up to seven or eight. Keiko Inari, their Firstborn, supposedly has nine. The Duchess of Shadowed Hills only has three, and there’s not much that could take her without a fight . . . but Yui looked as calm as the others. Unless we were dealing with someone the victims knew, we were looking at something big and mean enough to take down a four-tailed Kitsune before she had a chance to get angry.
I didn’t like that idea one bit. “She didn’t struggle.”
“Well, why not?” asked Quentin.
“It’s possible that she was so surprised that she didn’t have time to react. It’s also possible that she knew her killer.” I looked up. “Three weeks between Barbara and Yui. How long between Yui and Colin?”
“Two weeks,” Jan said.
“Either somebody’s enjoying themselves, or something’s hungry.”
She flinched.
I sighed. “I’m just trying to get the facts straight. We’ll move on, for now. Do you have any paper cups?”
“What?” It was an odd enough request to make her stop looking upset and start looking confused. It was an improvement.
“Small cups, made of paper? You’d probably find them in the cafeteria.”
“Oh. Yes, we do. Why do you—”
“Great. We’ll need four of them, filled halfway with lukewarm water.” I pulled the sheet back over Yui, saying, “Quentin and I are going to try waking their blood.”
“Will that work?” Jan asked. Quentin looked at me out of the corner of his eye, expression telegraphing the same question.
“Probably not, but I don’t have any better ideas,” I said. “Do you?”
“Guess not. I’ll be back.” Jan turned and walked up the stairs. We watched her go, and then Quentin looked back to me, obviously getting ready to ask what the hell was going on.
I cut him off. “The bodies aren’t decaying because they’re still fae. The night- haunts haven’t come.”
“What?” he said, frowning.
“Do you know why we have the night-haunts?”
“To keep humanity from finding out about us.”
“Partially. And partially because fae flesh doesn’t rot.” I shrugged. “Look, purebloods don’t age, right? So why would they decay? I’m not sure what would happen to a changeling body without the night- haunts, but they take the purebloods so they won’t just be lying around for the rest of time.”
“Oh,” Quentin said, looking toward Barbara. Then, slowly, he asked, “So why haven’t the night- haunts come?”
“That’s the eight-million-dollar question, kid. I’m hoping these three can tell us,” I indicated the cots, including Colin in the gesture, “because I’m not sure who else can.”
“Oh,” he said again, and looked away.
I watched him for a moment. “Beyond the obvious, what’s wrong?” He mumbled something I didn’t quite hear, and I frowned. “Try that again?”
“I said, I want to stay.” He turned to face me again. “Please?”
“Really.” I raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think . . . ?”
“That’s always what happens. Something happens, and all the kids get sent away.” A sour look crossed his face. “I’ve been here before. I want to stay.”
He was a foster, after all. Maybe there’d been a reason for his posting at Shadowed Hills. I tilted my head, considering him. “Why should I let you?”
“Because Sylvester sent me to learn. How am I supposed to do that if you send me away when things get dangerous?” He shook his head. “I’ve never even tried blood magic before—not when it mattered. You have to let me stay. I need to know these things.”
“You’re just a kid; you don’t have to . . .”
“If I don’t do it now, I’m going to grow up to be one of those useless courtiers you’re always complaining about,” he countered. “At least this way, you can keep an eye on me.”