Stiletto by Daniel O'Malley

investigators seemed uncomfortable with that particular forensic approach. But apart from those, everything was reassuringly scientific.
    “Pawn Gadenne, it looks like you have everything under control, so I think we’ll shuffle along,” said Rook Thomas. “I’ll have your preliminary report on my desk in the morning?” He nodded obediently. “And do you need me to sign off on any special acquisitions or requisitions for tonight?”
    “No, I don’t think so. Thank you, Rook Thomas,” said Gadenne. “Oh, I tried to call in Pawn Clements. I thought her perspective might be useful, but she’s not answering. I realize it’s well below your responsibility, but you don’t happen to know if she’s on leave or something, do you?”
    “Pawn Clements,” said the Rook uncertainly. “I know the name, but, um, remind me?”
    “Felicity Clements,” said Gadenne. “Young, just a few years out of the Estate. She has touch-based abilities — she reads the environment and can look into the past. She’s posted with an assault team, I believe, but she often gets seconded to us for the on-site portions of our investigations.”
    “Oh, I know why I recall her name,” said the Rook. “I just saw it written down today somewhere.” Her shoulders slumped abruptly, and her voice was solemn as she said through the filter mask, “Ah, hell, I’m afraid she was in the team that got caught in the fire this afternoon.”
    “No,” said Gadenne. “The one in the row houses? With the disappearing sleepwalkers?”
    “Yes,” said the Rook. “I’m sorry to say the whole team was killed.” Odette and the graaf remained respectfully silent.
    “Damn,” said Gadenne. “Do we know what the story is there?”
    “Not yet,” said Thomas. “One of the other forensic teams is picking through the wreckage, trying to get a handle on it.”
    “Well, I don’t envy them. At least with this lot” — and he looked around the room — “it’s not our own people.”
    “Quite,” said the Rook. “And Gadenne, our London investigation resources are going to be spread a little thin for a while because of that fire. The labs have a billion samples, the historians in the Rookery and the Apex have already started researching the location, and the meteorologists are putting together a climatic portrait. You’ll be able to send a few samples to our labs in other cities, but for the rest, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait your turn.”
    “I understand,” said Gadenne. “We’ll have our hands full here for a while anyway.” He nodded to some team members who were preparing to check under a corpse that was sprawled faceup on the floor, its arms rigid above it.
    “And lift and turn on three,” one of the investigators ordered. “One... two... three. ” The team lifted, and Odette couldn’t help but flinch as the body, utterly stiff, was moved. It looked like a mannequin being shifted. Then there was a collective gasp from the room as, under the force of its own weight, the skin of the face tore like wet cardboard.
    “Fucking hell, put him down, put him down!” the investigator ordered. As they did, however, the rip grew larger, jagging down into the body’s collar. Before everyone’s aghast eyes, the head ripped away and hung from a shred at the nape of its neck. A torrent of black liquid poured out of the corpse. Everyone jumped back as the stuff spilled out and spread across the floor. Odette was not the only one to squeal in horror. Even the security guards scurried away. One of the investigators threw up inside her mask, which made for a brief but complex sideshow.
    Despite herself, Odette crouched down, staring at the body. It was clear that everything inside the man had liquefied, turned into whatever that fluid was. All that was left was the husk of his skin crumpling into itself.
    My God, what kind of business are we getting ourselves into? she thought weakly. Then she caught a wave of smell, strong enough to wash