She concentrated on finding them, the echoes she’d felt attached to him the night before. The choral voices and the sugared apples. The tattoos were easy; she’d noticed them slithering just below the surface of his skin the moment she’d looked at him. There were others too, the ones she hadn’t been sure about the night before, that were somehow easier to pinpoint now that she wasn’t surrounded by police officers and other criminals who muddied the waters.
She smelled autumn leaves, still crisp and earthy as if they’d been raked into a multicolored pile and were waiting for a child to bound into them at any moment.
And something else. Something far less pleasant. It was the cloying stench of rotting flesh. She’d smelled that smell before . . . too many times for a girl of her age. Even though it was less intense than the scent of leaves, it was much more visceral, finding a hold in Violet’s gut and making her want to recoil. She had to remind herself it wasn’t real, that she wasn’t actually smelling Nua’s decaying family. It was simply an imprint.
Sara came to stand beside Violet while Rafe remained at the back of the room, staying as far from them as he could. “His twenty-four-hour hold is almost up and so far they don’t have enough to arrest him. I was hoping—” Her blue eyes held a strange mixture of optimism and regret. “I was hoping you might be able to tell us how many people he’s killed. Maybe who he’s killed. If we know what to look for we might have a better chance of finding it.”
Violet’s heart sank. She thought Sara understood . . . that she realized Violet’s ability didn’t work like that. “I can,” Violet said at last, a solution coming to her. “If you take me to the bodies.”
“How are you holding up?” Sara asked Violet as she handed each of them a bottle of water.
Violet unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow, trying to shake off the slimy feeling that still clung to her, that sensation of James Nua’s imprints that seemed to permeate her skin. She felt like she needed a shower.
“I’m fine,” Violet finally said, taking another gulp. “Really,” she promised when she saw that Sara was still examining her.
Sara slipped off her jacket and draped it over her arm. “What about you, Rafe? Was that too weird?”
They exchanged a look that Violet realized she wasn’t meant to decipher, and Violet was suddenly aware that they seemed to understand each other a little too easily. She wondered how long they’d been working together to form a bond like that.
Rafe inhaled slowly before answering. “It was weird enough. But you don’t need to worry about me.” His brows lifted. “Really, Sara, I’m fine.”
She studied him for a long moment, squinting at him with her lips pressed together, as if she didn’t quite believe him. But then she handed him something. “Here.” Rafe palmed it so quickly that Violet didn’t see what it was, only that it was small. A coin? Maybe a piece of jewelry? He tucked it into his pocket. Another secret between the two of them.
She turned to Violet again. “What about you? I know you can’t be specific, but I also know you sensed something back there. What can you tell me?”
Violet glanced at Rafe before answering. “He’s definitely killed before. Several times, at least five or six.”
“And you think if you can get in to see the bodies of his family, you’ll know if they were among his victims?”
Violet nodded, choosing her next words carefully. “I think so . . . yeah. The only way I can tell who he’s killed is by matching the imprint to the echo.” Violet waited a moment, making sure that Sara understood what she was trying to tell her. She didn’t look Rafe’s way. She didn’t want to know if he understood.
Sara gazed over Violet’s shoulder, thinking, and then she nodded. “Well, let me make a call. I’ll see if we can make a quick stop at the morgue.”
Even though her stomach knotted, Violet knew it couldn’t be avoided. If she was going to learn to help—really help—she’d have to do things like that.
Things like going to the morgue.
Sara left them standing in the hallway while she made the call, trying to get them a “viewing” right away.
When she was out of sight, Violet turned to Rafe. “What happened back there? You seemed sort of . . . I don’t know, freaked out. Are you okay?” She knew why Sara hadn’t believed him when he’d said he was fine; his face was still ashen.
Rafe just shrugged, and even though she wanted to, Violet didn’t press him. Rafe didn’t like to be pushed, and she didn’t entirely blame him. If he wanted to talk, he’d tell her.
That was when the door to the other room, the one James Nua had been in, started to open. Violet’s eyes bulged as she jumped out of the way, realizing belatedly what was happening.
James Nua was still in there.
And she was out here.
Rafe reacted before she did, and she felt her heart slam against the walls of her chest as his hand closed around hers, pulling her roughly behind him.
But it was too late. Nua was being escorted out, and he’d already seen her.
He carried himself as if it were a normal affair for him to be restrained and accompanied in that way, strolling with handcuffs and armed guards. And even when Violet saw the light of recognition flicker in his eyes, his step barely faltered.
Barely.
And then a knowing grin parted his lips while the black ink coiled and curled and crawled along his skin. “Hey, White River.” His voice sent a spiderweb of fear shooting from Violet’s core, radiating outward, firing tenuous threads that made her arms and her legs quiver. Its sticky webs reached into every crevice of her being. Somehow he not only recognized her, but he’d just mentioned the name of her school.