We get back to my place, and Lukas pulls out my keys to unlock the front door like he’s the one who lives here. Seriously, why is he the one carrying MY house keys? I glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or more likely, he just doesn’t care. He casually steps inside, kicks off his shoes, and makes himself comfortable on MY couch, like he owns the place. I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching him with a mix of amusement and mild irritation. He pats the cushion next to him.
“Bring the case file, come sit down.” He prompts, his tone relaxed, far more relaxed than he was out in the restaurant. I sigh and fan myself with my hand, it’s pretty warm, and the walk back didn’t help. Before I can even think about where to sit, Lukas jumps to his feet.
“You get comfortable. I’ll get you a glass of water. Or would you rather tea?” He asks, already wandering into MY kitchen without waiting for an answer. The audacity of this man. Honestly.
“Uh, water is fine.” I answer, more out of confusion than agreement. Since when does he play host? This is so weird, but for some reason, I don’t stop him. Instead, I sit down on the couch and start spreading the case files across the coffee table, carefully moving some of my knick knacks around to make space. Lukas returns a moment later with a glass of ice water. I glance at it and pause. It’s in my favourite glass. I don’t like it because it’s particularly fancy or special, but because it’s the perfect size and has a nice weight to it. It just feels good in my hand. He’s even added some of the little heart shaped ice cubes that I keep in my freezer. I raise an eyebrow.
“How did you know to pick that glass?” I demand. Lukas tilts his head.
“It’s your favourite, isn’t it?” He asks, seemingly confused.
“Yes, but I never told you that. Did you… Did you read it in my mind?” My voice sharpens slightly, suspicion creeping in. Lukas sighs heavily and shrugs.
“Does it matter?” He asks. I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for an answer. After a moment, he gives in.
“I didn’t read that in your mind, I just noticed you always pick this glass. I’ve been here for three days now. I’m bound to notice some things about you.” He says firmly. I blink, caught off guard. He’s right, he has been here for days. And now that I think about it, I’ve started noticing things about him too. For example, the way he fiddles with his watch when he’s distracted or how he always greets Roxy by scratching behind her left ear. And now, looking at him, I realise my earlier accusation might have stung a little. It’s subtle, but there’s a flicker of hurt in his expression.
“Sorry, that was kind of unfair of me. I shouldn’t make accusations like that.” I say quietly, shifting uncomfortably. Lukas raises an eyebrow.
“It wasn’t… Completely unwarranted. I DO read your mind fairly often.” He admits, looking almost sheepish.
“Yeah, but you don’t lie about it. And, honestly, I’ve been taking advantage of it to talk to you sometimes, like I did at lunch earlier.” I admit reluctantly.
“I can’t really complain about something I’m using to my benefit. As long as you’re honest about it, I suppose I don’t mind it most of the time.” I conclude. His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting me to say that. He slowly sits on the couch beside me, watching me carefully.
“Are you saying… I have permission to read your mind? Whenever I want?” He asks hopefully. I shake my head firmly.
“Not quite. I don’t want you digging around in my head when I’m not aware of it. But I’m not stupid. If you’re holding my hand or something, I KNOW you’re reading my mind. If I don’t pull away or tell you to stop, then I guess I can’t really complain about what you hear.” I clarify. Lukas leans back, his brow furrowing as he processes my words.
“So… as long as you know that I’m reading your mind, you’re okay with it?” He asks, a little incredulously.
“Something like that.” I agree with a shrug. A wide, almost childlike grin spreads across his face, and before I can stop him, he grabs my hand. I glare at him.
*That’s not an excuse to just start grabbing me whenever you want.* I project the thought sharply into his mind.
“Sorry.” he says unrepentantly, his grin softening into something more sheepish.
“I just needed to be sure you meant it.” He squeezes my hand lightly. Then, slowly, he lets go. His smile lingers, though, as if he’s won something important. I shake my head, exasperated.
We spend the next few hours poring over the files Damien gave us. For a case written off as a prank, the documentation is surprisingly extensive. Damien is nothing if not thorough. He’s even included copies of hospital reports on the missing bodies, both from before and after the incident. How he managed to get his hands on these documents is a mystery, but I’m not about to question it. At this point, I’ve learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it’s carrying useful intel.
“So, what do you think actually happened here? Why move the bodies around? And why set fire to the morgue?” I pause, considering my own question.
“We are assuming the fire was intentional, right?” I add. Lukas nods, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Probably. It could’ve been a distraction or an attempt to cover up evidence. Maybe whoever set it expected the fire to cause more damage. They might not have realised how relatively fireproof the morgue actually is.” He reasons.
“But why move the corpses?” I counter, gesturing at one of the photos.
“If we’re working off the assumption that the necromancer was involved, then yeah, the bodies were probably reanimated. But what’s the point of just moving them around the hospital? Why not take them somewhere else and actually use them for something?” I pose the question. Lukas leans back, crossing his arms.
“That, I don’t know. If the necromancer could control multiple bodies, why leave them behind at all? Maybe something was wrong with the bodies?” He guesses. I frown, mulling it over.
“I mean, they were already dead. How much more could’ve gone wrong with them? Unless… There was something wrong with the necromancer?” I suggest. Lukas tilts his head, considering my suggestion.
“Or maybe it was an experiment. Like a trial run. If I were a necromancer trying to figure things out, I’d probably test the limits of what I could do in a controlled environment like this.” He adds.
“Now that’s not a bad theory.” I admit, tapping the edge of a report.
“It’s not like necromancy is some simple, intuitive thing, right? It probably takes practice. Maybe the necromancer planned to take the bodies but messed up somehow.” I continue.
“It’s possible. Maybe the necromancer isn’t particularly skilled yet. Could be that all of this was an accident.” He concludes.
“I like that idea. Maybe they’re just a really bad necromancer, and all of this is one big series of screw-ups.” I say hopefully. Lukas’s face darkens, his tone flat.
“Except for the part where our families are involved with a demon, and my father is almost definitely a zombie.” He sighs. I wince.
“Don’t ruin my theory with your logic.” I grumble.
“Oh, my apologies, please, continue.” Lukas says sarcastically. I roll my eyes.
“Okay, okay. I get it. You’re right. So… Does any of this actually give us useful information? Something we can work with?” I ask since that’s what’s actually important here. Lukas sighs, his expression thoughtful.
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem like it right now, but maybe it’ll make more sense later. Sometimes pieces only fit once the puzzle’s closer to being finished.” He decides.
“That’s… Weirdly optimistic of you.” I glance at him, surprised by his good mood.
“What can I say? I’ve been spending too much time around you.” Lukas smirks, and I shake my head.
“Maybe,” I mutter, glancing back at the files. “
I-” The shrill sound of my phone ringing cuts me off mid-sentence. I barely register the interruption before Lukas snatches it up again. Seriously, why does he keep doing that? This time, though, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he glances at the screen, his face going blank, and hands the phone to me.
“Clare… Your mother is calling.” He says cautiously. I stare at the phone in his outstretched hand, my stomach sinking. Well, this can’t be good.