Ursula plopped into her chair. I was finally given the opportunity to study her eyes, and in them, I saw hope. A small amount, bottled and tucked away. An amount that seemed to be fading by the minute. With each time Ursula re-organized the files in hopes her boss—and friend—would be pleased, she lost a little of that hope. I recognized her despair, and I recognized the need to keep busy.
“Tell me about it,” I said. “I haven’t had a case in over three weeks.”
Ursula looked mildly interested. “What have you been doing?”
“What haven’t I been doing?” I ran a hand over my forehead. “I mean, I haven’t been doing a lot. Willa and Jack run the pizzeria. My mom keeps trying to have family dinners three times a week, but I haven’t been to one in a month. I just... I’m trying, Ursula.”
Ursula nodded as if she understood, though my statement had been clear as mud. “Doc McGregor Jones is doing a nice job filling in as needed.”
“I’m sure.”
“But you’re not here to talk to him,” Ursula reasoned, staring intently at my face. “Why are you here?”
“To talk about Sienna.”
“She’ll be back.” Ursula cleared her throat, then tried again, her voice scratchy as she strove to sound confident. “She wouldn’t have walked off like that without a reason. Once she’s ready, she’ll be back.”
“That might be true,” I agreed. “But I’m not willing to take that chance.”
“What can I do to help her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m hoping you can help me. In these last few weeks, have you thought of anything Sienna said that might give us a clue as to what she was hoping to do out there?”
“I’ve replayed her leaving a thousand times in my head,” she said. “The only thing I can figure is that you said something that triggered her.”
The accusation in Ursula’s voice had toned down from the first days since Sienna’s departure. The shred that was left still hurt.
“What about in those file cabinets you’ve been organizing?” I asked. “Anything crop up that was strange? Wildly out of place? I don’t even know what I’m asking. What I’m asking you to look for. I just... I need something.”
“Why today?” Ursula asked. “You’ve had two months. I already talked to the police.”
I glanced around me and lowered my voice. “I heard word that Sienna is alive. Out there, somewhere in the Dead Lands.”
“Of course she is,” Ursula said, sounding matter of fact.
“How do you know that?”
“She’s my closest friend,” Ursula said. “I would know if she were dead. I’d feel it.”
I nodded along with Ursula’s very unscientific metric. It was better than nothing, and if she believed it, I sure as hell wanted to believe it, too.
“Did the police search her home?” Ursula asked.
I frowned. “I think they did a quick check. Nothing seemed out of place. No sign of forced entry or struggle of any sort. It didn’t even seem like Sienna went home after leaving the morgue.”
“She didn’t,” Ursula said. “I watched her go into the Dead Lands.”
“What do you think is at her house?”
“I don’t know,” Ursula said. “But she did leave me this.”
Ursula pushed her rolling chair back. She pulled out a drawer and selected a key from a ring of many. She took her time working it off, then handed it to me.
“It’s her house key,” Ursula said. “She told me never to use it except in dire circumstances.”
I accepted the key and looked down at it.
Ursula’s voice cracked as she continued. “I’m finally willing to admit these might be dire circumstances. I doubt you’ll find anything there, but it’s... I suppose it’s better than nothing. She’d want you to have it. I know she would.”
“Thank you, Ursula,” I said. “I truly appreciate this. I’m not asking you to trust me, but—”
“I trust you.” Ursula gave me a thin smile. “I can be mad at you and still trust you. I don’t know what you told Sienna, but it made her run off, and for that I’m pissed at you, detective. But if anyone can find her and convince her to come back, it’s you. So, I’m here to help you. Whatever it takes.”
I reached out and rested my hand on Ursula’s. I squeezed and gave her the biggest smile I could muster which, admittedly, wasn’t all that big. Then I took the key and let myself out of the morgue without looking back.
SIENNA’S HOUSE WAS located not far from the morgue. Not far from the Dead Lands. She lived in a little cottage just off the path, as close to the Otherlands as the borough permits allowed.
Stopping on the path leading up to Sienna’s, I took a moment to survey the surprisingly fitting place that had housed the necromancer until two months before.
The cottage looked almost Hansel and Gretel in nature, if the color were sucked entirely from the fairytale. Sienna’s residence appeared almost ghostlike with its faint, gray-shaded walls pressed against the dark backdrop of pine trees standing in a severe row, fog seeping between the gaps of their trunks.
The shutters were white, the chimney a dull, ashen color. The grass in the front yard looked as if it were on fire. Each blade looked tipped with silvery frost, and the fog from the Dead Lands curled between the strands like serpents. Rose bushes lined the path up to the front door, but only white blooms thrived there. When I reached the top of the stairs, I found a black wreath made from exotic-looking feathers hanging from a nail as the only greeting.
I inserted the key into the lock. It turned easily, allowing me entrance to the small home. Inside, a small kitchen sat to my left and a living room to my right. I started in the kitchen.
Luckily, Sienna appeared to keep her house very neat. One spoon and one bowl sat in the sink—clean and on a drying rack. A mug sat on the counter, and though it was empty, rinsed, a few streaks of coffee looked to have stained the edges. Sienna’s breakfast the morning she’d left.
I moved through the kitchen but found nothing out of the ordinary. The refrigerator had a few perishables that’d gone bad, and I threw them out, then tossed the bag by the door to take out later. The rest of Sienna’s food appeared to come from the freezer or boxes and cans in the pantry.
I moved into the living room and found a surprisingly cozy space. I hadn’t expected the tough-as-nails necromancer to have an overstuffed white couch with a fluffy throw draped over the back of it. Or a footrest with golden tassels hanging from the sides, looking welcoming before a now-cold, though obviously well-used fireplace.
A recliner sat in another corner underneath a circular window through which sunlight streamed in. That window was one of the few that didn’t face the doom and dreariness of the Dead Lands. On the sill sat a few plants. Only a small cactus remained alive of the bunch, and I carefully added a thimbleful of water before moving on in my search.
I scoured the books on the table next to the recliner, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. A few books on magic, a few for light reading. No journals, handwritten notes—nothing.