LITMIR.BIZ

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not the shy type,” says Candy.

      Julie doesn’t ask what that means. She just pulls another device from her bag, this one like a large cell phone.

      “Good,” she says. “That will make things go faster.”

      To Death I say, “After this, you’re cleaning up. This place is starting to smell like the reptile room at the zoo.”

      “Smells are interesting,” he says.

      “Some less than others.”

      Julie sets one of his hands on the device. It lights up for a second. When she takes his hand away, his finger and palm prints glow pale blue on the screen. She does the same thing with the other hand and puts the device away.

      “Can I take your picture?” she says.

      Death nods.

      She uses her phone to take full-­face shots and each profile.

      “Stand up,” I tell him. “It’s ‘Nick the Stripper’ time.”

      I mime taking off a shirt. He starts undressing.

      “What are you looking for?” says Candy.

      “Identifying marks. Scars. Birthmarks. Tattoos. That kind of thing.”

      Death looks down at his naked body, as interested in it as they are, but baffled at being surrounded by his own flesh.

      Julie goes over his front, legs, and back.

      “Lift up your arms, please,” she says.

      The moment he does, Candy says, “What’s that? A tattoo?”

      Julie and I look where Candy is pointing, near his left armpit. Death cranes his head around trying to see.

      “It’s not a tattoo,” says Julie.

      I put my finger on the design. The skin is slightly raised and pinker than the surrounding flesh.

      “It’s a brand.”

      “Do either of you recognize it?”

      Candy and I both say no.

      Julie touches the brand with her gloved fingers. She glances at Death.

      “Do you know where it came from?”

      “No.”

      She photographs it, stops when she checks the shot.

      “There’s something else.”

      She fits a zoom lens to the phone’s camera—­more Vigil tech by the look—­and takes another shot.

      A pattern on Death’s skin glows a bright green.

      “It looks like a tattoo that’s been lasered off,” she says.

      She shows the design to Candy and me. Neither of us recognizes it. The marks look like letters, heavily stylized, in a circle.

      “It’s not a word. Maybe it’s his initials,” I say.

      “Why would he remove his initials?” says Julie.

      ­“People lose their names all the time,” says Candy. “When they’re scared and want to hide from something.”

      No one says anything for a minute.

      “Is this the body of a good man?” says Death.

      Julie takes the lens off her phone and puts it in the messenger bag.

      She says, “It’s too early to tell. You can put your clothes back on.”

      This time, Death dresses himself. Just like a big boy.

      “I’ve gone over the recording Chihiro made of your first talk, so I know you woke up in an isolated area near a deserted concrete building, right around Christmas. There were ­people nearby. Teenagers, you said. Did you get a look at any of them? Would you recognize one if you saw them again?”

      Death picks at a sleeve cuff.

      “No. I didn’t see any of them well and they ran away so quickly.”

      “Is there anything else you can tell us about your awakening? Anything else you saw?”

      “One of the men had horns.”

      I say, “What do you mean horns?”

      “On his forehead. Above his eyebrows. I suppose they could have been markings.”

      “Tattoos. Okay. Anything else?”

      “The same man had a drawing on his cheek. A number fourteen in a circle of letters.”

      “That’s it?”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “Approximately, how long did you walk?” says Julie.

      “Five hours,” he says.

      “You sound very certain.”

      “I am. I found a watch. One of the teenagers must have dropped it.”

      “We looked through your things. There wasn’t any watch,” says Candy.

      “It stopped working, so I threw it away.”

      I say, “Do you remember where?”

      “Of course.”

      He points to a trash can by the head of his cot.

      Julie reaches in and fishes out a gold pocket watch attached to a broken fob chain. She presses the winder on top and the cover pops open. The watch shines, but it’s just cheap plastic in a metallic coating.

      Julie holds it up.

      “There’s something stamped on the cover, but I can’t make it out.”

      She hands me the watch.

      I study it while Candy looks over my shoulder.

      On the inside of the cover is a skull with candles in the eye sockets and an open book in its mouth.

      “It’s a necromancer’s mark,” I say.

      “Then maybe the kids weren’t partying,” says Candy. “Maybe they were part of the resurrection.”

      “Maybe, but this thing is a piece of shit. No professional Dead Head would carry something like this.”

      I hand Julie the watch. She looks it over.

      “They sell things like this at flea markets and goth shops, don’t they?”

      “You can buy them all over Hollywood Boulevard. Good luck tracking it down,” I say.

      “Maybe they weren’t professionals, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t necromancers,” says Candy.

      “It’s possible,” says Julie. “May I keep this?”

      “Of course,” says Death.

      “Maybe I can pull some prints or DNA off it.”

      She puts it in a small container and places it in her bag.

      “I’m wondering something,” says Candy. “Could we use a spell to track where Death walked from? Maria, who gets the store videos, is a witch. She might be able to help us.”

      “That’s not a bad idea,” says Julie.

      “Yeah, it is,” I say. “If you backtrack Death, then you’re backtracking the knife, and I’ve seen what happens when you aim hoodoo at that thing. Let’s see what Julie comes up with before we get too Tinker Bell.”

      Julie arranges things in her bag.

      “All right. I have plenty to work with right now. We’ll hold off on any spell work until I see what the physical evidence shows us. Do you have the knife with

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