I quickly pulled the little tab and set it, then slipped my old watch off and the new one on.

Despite my ravenous hunger I hummed to myself as I readied the cutting room. Had all the instruments out and placed all nice and pretty, the floor and table cleaned as much as they could be cleaned. By the time Dr. Leblanc came into the morgue, I even had the body of a Miss Twyla Faciane laid out on the table, ready to go. Moreover, the scent of the morgue covered up my own less-than-fresh scent. Or so I hoped.

The doc gave me a bemused smile as he pulled on his smock and saw me at the ready. “I think I may start to worry about you, Angel,” he said with a dry chuckle. At my baffled expression he gave me a kind smile. “Not many are as eager to dig into a dead body.”

I flushed. Shit, what if he thought I was some kinda weirdo? I mean, I was, but not in the way he was probably thinking.

“Sorry,” I said. “I mean, I’m just trying to do a good job. . . .” I trailed off into a mumble and winced. Now I sounded like a suckup.

“Relax, Angel,” he said with a wink. “I can see that you want to do well. It’s nice to see a strong work ethic.”

I could feel my face heating again and made myself busy with straightening the instruments while he made notes on his clipboard. Now I felt like a heel since my eagerness had more to do with the hunger clawing at me than any desire to be a super-employee. Not that I didn’t want to do a good job, ’cause actually I really did kinda like it when the doc gave me one of those approving smiles. Yeah, I was like an eager puppy. Give me a smile and a pat on the head, and I was good to go.

I went through the motions of the autopsy, moving as quickly as I could while concentrating hard on not dropping anything. The sooner this autopsy was over, the sooner the bag would be in the cooler, and the sooner I could stop feeling like my stomach was about to leap out of my body and go on a rampage through the town.

As soon as Dr. Leblanc gave me the nod, I propped Miz Faciane’s head up on the block and separated her hair. I made the cut quickly, doing my best to not cut too much of the lady’s hair. It was impossible to not cut through some of it, but I didn’t want her to be half bald in the casket. I managed to nick my own finger in my haste, though. The blood that slowly welled up was thick and dark, and I quickly grabbed another glove and jammed it on over the first before Dr. Leblanc could notice.

On the upside, I was getting better at peeling the scalp back and was able to do it without taking half the damn day. And the bone saw didn’t feel like it was going to shake my arm off. Look at me, actually getting the hang of this silly job.

I pulled the top of the skull off and couldn’t resist taking a deep breath as the aroma of the brain filled the air. Not too much longer. . . .

A chill washed over me as I looked at the brain. No. No. This can’t be happening.

I took a steadying breath. “Hey, Dr. Leblanc,” I said, using every ounce of control I had to keep my voice sounding normal and casual, and not at all terrified and sick. Because this brain didn’t look right, and I had a bad feeling that it wasn’t good news for me. “I think there’s something wrong with this brain.”

He stepped over, peered at the brain, let out a soft sigh. “Well, that explains it. What you’re looking at is a tumor.”

Shit. Could I eat that? Probably not. But surely I could eat around it. I was famished enough to give it a try. All I needed was a couple of bites.

Dr. Leblanc was speaking and his words didn’t fully register at first. “Wait, what?” I asked, hoping I’d misheard.

“Save the brain,” he said, gesturing with his scalpel to the skull. “There are some large plastic tubs in the specimen room. Grab one of those and fill it halfway with formalin, then put the brain in there. I haven’t seen a tumor like that in a long time, and I’ll want to examine it more thoroughly later on.”

He turned back to his work on the body, a good thing since I knew I was staring at him in horror. I couldn’t eat a brain after it had been stored in formalin. The poison of the preservative would more than counter any benefit I’d get from the brain itself. And he’d notice for sure if I cut any of it off. I could feel tears of frustration starting behind my eyes, and I quickly spun and headed to the specimen room before he could see and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. Shit. Shit! Today was Friday. There were no other bodies in the cooler which meant that even if another one came in this afternoon or over the weekend, it would almost certainly be Monday before there was another autopsy. There was no way I could last that long.

I didn’t have a choice. I was going to have to ask Kang for brains. I’ve kept up my side of the bargain, I told myself. He’ll come through for me. I only need enough to tide me over.

And if Kang wouldn’t come through for me I was dead meat.

Literally.

Chapter 30

As soon as Dr. Leblanc finished up and returned to the main building I called Scott Funeral Home and asked for Kang, only to be told he wasn’t coming in until noon and no, they could not give me his personal information or cell phone number. I left a message asking him to call me. I didn’t know what else I could do.

I cleaned everything I could possibly think to clean in the morgue, obsessively checking the clock every five minutes. I could feel my coordination going to shit the more I did, but I was too wired and nervous to sit still. At 12:05 I called again. It took forever for him to come to the phone, and I was beginning to think I should have given a name other than my own.

“Angel, what’s the matter now?” Kang said curtly after he finally picked up the line. I fought back the wave of annoyance and took a deep breath.

“Two things,” I said, speaking quickly. “First, I dunno if you’ve seen the news, but another headless body was found the other day.”

“I saw. So?”

Another deep breath. “They haven’t released the names of these last two,” I said. “But, they were both, um, like us.” God, I hoped no one was listening on the line.

He was silent for a few seconds, and I felt a little bit of satisfaction that I’d made a dent in his attitude.

“Probably coincidence,” he said, deflating my satisfaction completely.

“Are you kidding me?” I said, struggling to keep from shouting. “This last one was Zeke! They all had their goddamned heads chopped off. And you think it’s coincidence?”

“Fine,” he replied, voice taut. “It’s a problem. What do you want me to do about it?”

You’re an asshole! I wanted to scream, but I hadn’t asked him for the brains yet. I took a deep breath to get my temper in check. “Nothing. I simply figured you might want to be aware. Okay? So you could, um, watch out and shit.”

I heard him exhale. “I see. All right. I appreciate your concern, though it’s misplaced. No one knows about me.”

And the three victims probably thought the same thing, I thought, but I wasn’t going to waste energy arguing with Kang about this. I’d warned him. Hopefully he’d at least watch his back now.

“What’s your second thing?” Kang asked.

“I, uh, I’m in a bind with my supply. Lost my whole stash. I need some to tide me over.”

He made a noise that sounded scornful. “Figured. Fine, come by the funeral home after we close at seven P.M. I need to work late anyway.”

Shit. I was starving, and I didn’t want to have to wait until this evening. It had been three days since I’d last eaten. But I also didn’t really have any choice. Kang was so damn twitchy I didn’t dare push the issue. “Cool,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“Uh huh. Come after seven.” And with that he hung up.

The next seven hours were the longest hours of my entire fucking life. I drove to the park, found a shady place and sat curled up in the front seat of my car—trying unsuccessfully to nap and not move or do anything that might burn me out faster than absolutely necessary. I had the windows rolled down to keep the car from getting too stifling, but as the day progressed the scent of joggers and people walking their dogs grew more and more noticeable. Hunger roiled within me every time someone went by and the scent of their brains wafted through the car. I finally rolled the windows up and forced myself to endure the stuffiness and my own stench.

The hunger wound through every cell of my body—so much a part of me, I felt as if everyone could see it. Colors and sounds felt muted, but one thing cut through my sense of smell: brains. Brains in everyone around me. Pulsing with life and flavor. God almighty, all I needed was to club one of them down, feed while it was still warm . . .

I shuddered, clenching my jaw against the urges. I wasn’t that far gone yet. I was still aware. Surely I had a couple more days until the hunger ruled me? Zeke had been out of work for a couple of weeks, right? Except I already knew he hadn’t been without brains that entire time. I was pretty damn positive he’d killed that drug dealer and Mr. Harris. And if he’d had a stash he might have only been without brains for a few days.

But according to Kang that’s all it would take—he’d said that things started to go south pretty quickly after only a few days.

That’s me—going south.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through my mouth, but that only caused my lower lip to crack in a disgusting fissure that made me look like I had some sort of hideous deformity. I would have cried but my eyes could barely maintain enough moisture to allow me to see.

At a quarter ’til seven I uncurled and started the car, nursing a dull fury as I drove over to the funeral home. Kang was being a complete dick making me wait like this. And I didn’t have a fucking choice but to take it, which pissed me off even more. He had access to more brains than I did by a long shot. Most deaths didn’t require autopsy. In the less than six weeks I’d been working for the Coroner’s Office, I’d seen at least half the bodies released on scene, plus the funeral homes got everyone who died at the nursing homes and hospitals. Sure, most of those were natural deaths, which usually meant they were older. And okay, so older brains didn’t taste as great, but, seriously, once you added some flavor or spice—like my soup—it didn’t make that much difference.