i 13e44e81ff362920 by T L Read Free Book Online

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