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“Humans share ninety-eight percent of their DNA with chimpanzees. That doesn’t mean that both species are identical.”

“I’m a lot like my mother.”

“Why do you say that?”

I don’t know. Maybe because my father’s a pureblood demon, and the only genetic trait he passed down to me was a penchant for earth materia?

“We share a lot of the same neuroses,” I said.

“Can you give me an example?”

I sighed. This was such familiar territory. I couldn’t believe the CORE had any interest in learning about the fact that my mother and I both had short tempers and loved to eat salted avocado spread on toast. But they’d recommended these sessions after I was nearly killed by the Iblis. I didn’t doubt for a second that Hinzelmann was sharing everything I said with Selena. Or maybe they just skipped her completely and went straight for her superiors.

Either way, they weren’t exactly getting their money’s worth. It seemed like the last interesting thing I’d talked about with Hinzelmann was my persistent fear of aromatherapy. I always started perspiring the moment I saw one of those elegant white potpourri diffusers in a store window.

Still—if the sessions were so boring, why hadn’t I told Derrick or Mia about them? Something in me refused to admit the fact that I was in therapy.

“Okay.” I steepled my fingers. “On Monday, she came for dinner. I was supposed to make a pot roast, but she ended up cooking the whole thing. She also spent a hundred dollars on groceries. Apparently, I was lacking in condiments.”

“You weren’t pleased by this?”

“Sure. I mean, I was grateful. But we didn’t need groceries. And I was the one who was supposed to cook, remember?”

“Did you want to cook that night?”

“Not particularly. But it’s the principle, right?”

“What principle is that?”

He finally blinked. His eyes had swirls of dark amber in them, like small clouds. I tried to pretend that he was just wearing contacts. As far as demonic species went, goblins were fairly similar to humans. Aside from being mostly nocturnal and living 50 percent longer on average, they were closer to humans than vampires. Many of them could pass for people of small stature with surprisingly little effort, provided they wore the right makeup and contacts. There was even a cosmetic procedure to shave their pointed ears, blunting them down to human proportions.

Hinzelmann had chosen not to assimilate. His shaggy blond hair did nothing to conceal his graceful, sweeping ears, which had multiple piercings. In a way, I was almost jealous. He probably had incredible hearing.

“The point,” I said, “is that she’s a guest in my house. She should just relax and let me take care of her when she comes to visit.”

“Old habits die hard, though. Mothers are always mothers, no matter how old we get. Does her behavior surprise you?”

I briefly tried to picture Dr. Hinzelmann’s mother, but I had no idea what sort of upbringing a goblin might have. Maybe he was the child of assimilationist parents, and he’d chosen to rebel by keeping his traditional features. Or maybe he’d come from a well-connected family who worked for the CORE. For some reason, I wanted to think of him as being plucky and working-class.

“Nothing she does really surprises me. But lately, I feel like she’s just being really attentive. Like she’s constantly worried about something.”

“Being attentive and being worried aren’t the same thing, even if they go hand in hand.” He jotted down something else, then looked up at me. “Is it possible that you’re the one who’s worried about something, and she’s just detecting your anxiety?”

“She wouldn’t have to be a very sensitive barometer. I’m basically worried about everything these days.”

“Are these domestic worries, or professional ones?”

“Well, they’re kind of permanently mixed up. I’m taking care of two orphans, and the CORE is watching me to see how I do. If I screw up, they could take Mia and Patrick away from me.”

“But you’re Mia’s legal guardian. The CORE doesn’t have the authority to take away your parental rights.”

“They don’t need it. We both know that.”

He gave me a funny look. “Why do you assume I know that?”

“Because you work for them. You know what they’re like.”

“We work in very different departments, Tess. I don’t engage feral demons in combat. There’s a very low mortality rate in this office.”

It was weird that he used the word “feral.” Like he and I were domesticated demons, not in any way connected to a vampire, or a pureblood. Mages were hybrids, strictly speaking, who’d inherited nothing through their demon DNA except for the ability to detect and control materia. Goblins were a much older species who’d migrated only over the last few centuries from their underground communities. Cities like Vancouver still had dedicated goblin safe houses, well hidden from prying human eyes.

“Sure. My job is stressful. But that hasn’t changed for the last ten years. I’m used to it by now.”

Hinzelmann consulted his notes for a second. “Last year you engaged in combat with an elder demon, correct?”

“An Iblis.”

“You were in the hospital for a week.”

“If by hospital you mean a private CORE clinic, then yes. I miss it there sometimes. The Demerol was great.”

He didn’t smile. “Chemical dependency can also be stressful.”

“I didn’t say I was dependent. Just that I missed it. And if you’re fishing for more information, then the answer is no, I haven’t taken any more Hex.”

“I wasn’t fishing for anything. Just stating a fact.”

“Right.” I stared at the blank space on his desk. “Dr. Hinzelmann, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course. But call me Lori.”

“Okay. Lori, do you have a girlfriend?”

I don’t know why I was curious. I just was.

His expression didn’t change. “We’re talking about you right now. That’s the point of these sessions: to assess your level of anxiety since the incident last fall.”

“Is that what they’re calling it? The ‘incident’? I think of it more as the fun time I got to have spinal surgery.”

“Do you feel like you’ve recovered physically since then?”

I still had debilitating headaches, nausea, and a bit of memory loss. Other than that, I felt like a trooper.

“I’m fine.”

“And emotionally?”

“Depends on your unit of measurement.”

He wrote something else down. “How are you sleeping?”

I dreamt about the Iblis once a week. I could still feel its fingers locked around my throat, crushing my windpipe. I could still see the purple flame rising in vapors from its eyes and mouth.

“Fine,” I said.

“And what about Mia? How is she acclimating to the tenth grade?”

“Pretty good. Especially if you consider the fact she’s immunosuppressed from all of the antiviral drugs that they’re giving her.”

“That sort of treatment can definitely have side effects. You should have her see a naturopath as well.”

“She’s being treated for vampirism, not for a wheat allergy.”

He shrugged. “Homeopathic remedies can make a difference. They’d probably help with your headaches as well.”

“How do you know I’m having headaches?”

“This is your third visit, and all three times, my receptionist has seen you popping aspirin in the waiting room. Plus, you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping soundly, and your left eye is twitching. Just slightly.”

I exhaled. “Is it really that obvious?”

He nodded. “And it’s much easier to be honest with me. It’s impossible to make any progress if you just tell me whatever you think I want to hear.”

“What would you consider ‘progress’?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

“I just want Selena to stop looking at me like I’m a nut job.”

“Do you think she’s worried about you?”

“She’s not saying anything, but yes. I can tell.”

“The same way you can tell that your mother is worried?”

I blinked. “Is there a really obvious Freudian explanation for this?”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t call it obvious.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“There’d be no point. Also, I’m a Lacanian practitioner.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

He glanced at his computer and smiled. “Sorry. Time’s up for this session.”

“You just don’t want to answer any questions about yourself.”

“Neither do you, it seems.” He was still smiling. If it wasn’t for his cat eyes, I’d feel like he had an incredibly soothing presence. The pupils kept distracting me, though.

I wondered if he could see in the dark.

4

The morgue was cold and quiet. The walls were so white that they seemed to glow, and everything smelled of industrial disinfectant with a hint of orange. Beneath that smell was the sour hint of decomposition, which I’d never completely gotten used to. It was an indescribable odor, and no amount of perfume, air freshener, or menthol-rub daubed under my nose could ever eliminate it altogether. It haunted the air, dark and limpid, an invisible organic layer settling softly and entirely over everything.

There was also something peaceful about the place. It wasn’t like I wanted to spend a lot of time here, but I appreciated the chill tranquility of the morgue. It was a still space, like a church or a library. I could let my mind wander as I walked down the hallway, and the only sound that followed me was my own footsteps.

The autopsy suite was less tranquil. It was hard to get used to the sounds of various instruments dis-secting a body, demonic or otherwise. The bone saw, in particular, made me a bit nauseous, especially when it spread fine dust into the air. It sounded exactly like a dentist’s drill.

I stopped in front of the door to the suite. Every time I stood here, I couldn’t help thinking about the grim circularity of my profession. Eventually, we all ended up on the steel table, our bodies washed and cleaned, our organs removed, weighed, and replaced in shrink-wrapped plastic bags. How long would it be until Tasha Lieu was cutting into me, trying to determine a cause of death?

Even though I knew it wasn’t logical, I was afraid of the prosector’s scalpel. I was afraid that I would feel the stainless-steel blade cutting into me, reflecting the skin, fat, and muscle tissue back to reveal my hidden interior. That was my ultimate terror: being cold, blind, and paralyzed on the autopsy table, unable to scream or say a word, as the scalpel bit deep into my body.

Having access to materia didn’t tell us anything about the afterlife. Would it be like sleeping?

Would I dream?

Would I keep coming back until I fulfilled some obscure karmic debt, or was there just nothing after my heart stopped beating?

When a human was turned into a vampire, the biological process was similar to death. Their cells underwent autolysis, decomposing and then transforming into something different as a new genetic blueprint took control of them. But if vampires remembered what it was like to “die,” they certainly didn’t want to talk about it.

Patrick was probably too young to remember anything about his transformation. For all I knew, he’d been snatched right off the street, then propelled into a dreamless stupor with powerful drugs and magic. Caitlin, the former vampire magnate, had placed her mark on him. But I didn’t really know what that meant. It was like the white lily tattoo on Lucian’s neck: a cipher.

I swiped my access card, and the door opened with a loud click. Inside the suite, the temperature was even colder. The walk-in refrigeration unit at the back of the room was closed, and resembled nothing but a harmless freezer. Inside, the bodies were kept on ice, along with tissue samples that would be analyzed later by the histology lab. Scraps and pieces collected for thin-layer chromatog-raphy and microwave analysis, which might not even yield anything. Sometimes, death remained unintelligible, leaving no trace on the victim’s body.

Tasha was leaning over the steel table with her back to me. I could see the shallow drain underneath the table, where murky water swirled and vanished.

A box of latex gloves was sitting on the counter, and I pulled on a pair, grimacing slightly at the feel of the powder on my skin. I took one of the heavy black aprons hanging on the wall and tied it around my waist, then slipped on a pair of plastic shoe-covers. Even with all of that protection, I always managed to stain my clothes somehow, and the smell never came out. Demon blood wasn’t like red wine. It lasted forever.

I cleared my throat to be polite. Tasha turned, and I got a partial glimpse of Luiz Ordeño’s body, which she was in the process of sewing up. Coarse thread dangled from the needle in her right hand.

It looked like fishing twine.

“Hey Tess. I’m just closing him up.”

I could see the stitches from the Y-incision, which stretched from Ordeño’s sternum all the way down to the pubis. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t Ordeño anymore; it was just a shell that couldn’t feel anything. But somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I could feel a sharp pricking, as if Tasha’s needle was threading its way through my insides.

I swallowed. “He looks different without the armor.”

“No kidding. It took four technicians over an hour just to undo all those tiny little straps and fasten-ers. Who knew that something from the Renaissance could be so well made?” Tasha laid the needle and thread on the instrument table. “Cindée’s looking at it now in the trace lab. She’s got a smile so big, it looks like she just won the lottery.”

I chuckled. Then I looked at Ordeño’s body, and the pleasant feeling vanished, transforming into coldness.

“What about him? Did you find anything interesting?”

She shrugged. “Nothing probative. Liver temp and core temp suggest that he’d been dead anywhere from eight to twelve hours before we found him. The light marbling that I saw on his arms and chest was probably caused by the body lying in an awkward position on the hardwood floor. The breastplate left marks as well, but those are distinctive.”

“Probably caused?”

She gave me a slightly irritable look. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Selena. Establishing time of death is an inexact science, and every decedent tells a different story. The only way I could give you an exact number is to travel back in time and record every physical phenomenon that may or may not have influenced the rate of decomposition. Even then, I could be wrong.”