Anything dead. Fine thought, that. Fox's mind flashed back to discovering young Rosalie Crandall in that warehouse, and her mouth tightened down at the corners. The apparently imaginary child who had pulled her in here aside, she wanted to see no corpses.
"I'll go with His Eminence if he'll allow it," she said in a low voice, wishing she'd brought her cosh along with her. Perhaps there'd be a second fire poker lying about, but she would feel better if she had something to defend herself with. The cross around her neck got a brief touch, and thern she adjusted the chain the object hung from so that it lay on the fabric of her shirt instead of beneath the cloth. Every little bit helped...
"If there's a storage area, there'd likely to be blankets and such. We can bring some back with us."