I had to defuse this standoff before someone panicked and escalated it. Luckily, bureaucracy was made of rules, and rules and I were friends.

I smiled at the receptionist. “As the next of kin and Head of her House, Prime Etterson has a right to view the remains of her family members at will. If you deny her access, I’ll be forced to notify her House counsel and you will have to show cause for failing to comply with your own regulations, in court, before a judge. I’ll wait while you check the validity of our claim with your in-house attorney.”

The receptionist reached for the phone. “One moment please.” She turned away from me and spoke into the phone in an urgent whisper.

I stepped away and steered Runa toward the window.

Minutes ticked by.

“What is taking so long?” Runa ground out.

“They’ll sort it out.”

The admin hung up. “Our apologies.” She motioned to a young white man with longish, dark hair who had been hovering by the copier behind her. “This is Victor.”

Victor, who had been trying very hard to be invisible up to this point, performed an award-winning impersonation of a deer in headlights.

“Victor will take you to the correct autopsy suite.”

“Thank you,” I said. “We’re also expecting a Scroll representative. Please have him join us when he arrives.”

We followed Victor to the elevator. It took us to the third floor, which was just as gleaming as the lobby. We walked through a white hallway to a large room, where six autopsy tables waited in a row against the wall. Four stood empty. The other two held bodies covered with white fabric.

A white man in his late thirties waited by the nearest table with his arms crossed. He wore a pristine white lab coat, which gave a glimpse of a striped grey dress shirt and yellow tie. His dark hair was cut so short, it was barely there. You would expect him to be clean shaven, but the stubble sheathing his face and neck was about the same length as his hair. It looked like he had gotten up a couple of mornings ago, shaved everything from the neck up, and now was letting it grow out. The effect was rather unsettling.

Victor beat a hasty retreat without saying a word. The man in the lab coat showed no signs of coming forward to greet us, so I headed for him. Runa followed. Two security cameras, one on the right wall and the other directly above the door, watched our every move.

The man lifted his badge, showing it to us. “Silas Conway, MD, assistant medical examiner.”

I waited. Nothing else came out. That was the totality of the introductions. Great start.

“Catalina Baylor and Runa Etterson. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Dr. Conway.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think we’re doing here?” Runa asked.

“Wasting my time.”

He did not just say that. “We’re here to view the bodies.”

Conway fixed me with his stare. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why.” Runa took a step toward him. “You have no right to block my access to the remains of my family.”

“I wasn’t blocking your access. I was otherwise occupied. I had to drop everything and come down here to accommodate you. The bodies are not in any state to be viewed, and it is the policy of this office to spare the family members the unnecessary trauma. I was trying to be considerate, but clearly my efforts and concern were wasted.”

Clearly. He was a veritable fountain of consideration and sympathy. He couldn’t even manage a “sorry for your loss.”

This felt wrong. First, I had called ahead, so he knew we would be arriving. Second, he wasn’t just irritated but borderline hostile, as if he were trying to antagonize Runa. This was a routine procedure and he was in breach of protocol. What possible reason could there be for that hostility? If he acted like this with everybody, let alone Primes, he would be fired. He had to know everything he said was being recorded on the security feed.

I should’ve come by myself, but I needed Runa to cut through the bureaucracy. Still, Runa was traumatized and fragile, and she swung from jokes to anger in half a second. I had to be very careful with her, and now this guy was pushing for a confrontation for no apparent reason. Controlling this situation was getting more and more complicated, and using my magic on a city employee was a felony. Starting this investigation by breaking the law wasn’t on my agenda.

Conway marched over to the two tables and stood between them. “You wanted to view the bodies, here they are.”

He jerked back the two sheets covering the remains.

I had read about burn victims in forensic textbooks. Several years ago, Nevada was forced into tracking down a pyrokinetic Prime. None of us could help her, so I sat at home, worried out of my mind, and read every book on fire and burn victims that I could get my hands on. At the time, Arabella had pointed out that I was just driving myself crazy, but somehow that was my way of coping with the stress. A kind of self-imposed exposure therapy.

Reading about someone burning to death and seeing an actual body were two different things.

The two charred figures on the tables couldn’t have weighed more than sixty pounds each. The heat of the blaze had desiccated them, and as the muscles and ligaments dehydrated, the bodies contracted, bending their knees and elbows and curling their fingers into fists. Textbooks called it the pugilistic pose because it was similar to the defense stance of a boxer. The facial features were gone. The skin and subcutaneous layer of fat were gone as well. It was impossible to guess at gender, race, or age of the bodies. I was looking at the two vaguely human-shaped objects sheathed in blackened, shriveled flesh.

A hint of a sickening odor spread through the room. Bitter, nauseating, sweet, and coppery, it was like nothing I had smelled before; a greasy, burned pork roast mixed with charred leather. Bile rose to my throat.

I turned away and saw Runa, standing statue-still behind me, her face so pale she looked dead herself. And in a sense, she was. Losing my mother and sister would’ve killed a part of me. It must have hurt so much. All we could do was hope that they’d died before the fire reached them. Nobody deserved to burn to death.

“Satisfied?” Conway asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to remember them the way they were?”

“No,” Runa said. “I want to remember them just like this. I’ll never forget this, and I’ll make whoever did this pay.”

“This was a tragic but accidental fire,” Conway said. “It’s natural to look for someone to blame, but we’ve found no signs of violence. My estimate is that the arson investigation will uncover the source of the fire and the final finding will demonstrate a terrible turn of events but not a criminal one. Go home, Miss Etterson. You’ll find no answers here.”

“Was there particulate found in the lungs?” I asked.

He glared at me and took a step forward. Trying to intimidate me with his age and size.

All my life I worked at being overlooked. Drawing any attention to myself meant putting others in danger. I didn’t just avoid conflict, I made sure I would never be anywhere near it. My natural inclination was to flee; out of the institute, to my car, and then to the safety of the warehouse and my family where everybody loved me, so I could recover from being glared at by this jerk.

However, there were two bodies on the tables and Runa needed answers. I took the job and I had to do it. Besides, I was right, and he was wrong.

I channeled my best impression of a displeased Arrosa Rogan, fixed Conway with a frigid stare, and held it. Eye contact and derision didn’t come naturally to me, but Rogan’s mother had been adamant that I learn how to do both. I practiced this expression in the mirror for weeks until I got it just right. It was like firing an emotional shotgun loaded with cold disgust.

Conway halted in mid-move.

“I assume they keep you around because you’re good at your job, since your manner and conduct are appalling. That you would meet a survivor with aggression and arrogance is beyond any guidelines of the ME’s office or common human decency.”

Conway’s face turned purple.

“So, I’ll ask again. Was there smoke in their lungs? If you can’t answer my question, find someone who can.”

Conway drew in a deep, rage-filled breath. I braced myself.

Victor appeared in the doorway.

“What?” Conway roared at him.

Victor stepped aside, letting a man in a severe black suit into the room.

“Hello, Mr. Fullerton,” I said.

The Scroll representative walked into the room. He was in his forties, trim, neat, with skin tanned by the sun, and dark hair combed back from his face. His eyes were an unexpected, very light shade of blue. They were also the only spot of color. Everything else—the Wolf & Shepherd oxfords, the tailored suit, the crisp shirt, the impeccable tie, and the glasses—was black.

“Ms. Baylor, it’s always a pleasure.” He offered his hand to Runa and she shook it. “Ms. Etterson, my deepest condolences.”