The pouch was full of odd paraphernalia that Shilo was certain had not been in common circulation for over a hundred years. Perhaps two hundred. They had that look about them, the kind that inferred that whatever you thought you were here for, healing was not what would find you.
The tools were mirror bright, shining a little under the moon. She had only ever seen him use the syringe. Now morbid curiosity made her wonder what the other tools were for.

"You can still sell body parts to universities and hospitals," he told her as he worked, disassembling the freshest corpse he could find for her benefit and learning. "Synthetic parts, flesh, even hair and teeth can be sold. But the real money is all in your head."

Something cracked. A squelch, and suddenly Shilo was looking at the top of a decomposing brain. Grayish blue, only just beginning to secrete liquid that glowed gently in the dark. It wasn't as bright as the glow she was used to seeing. Frowning, Shilo looked up to see the Graverobber assessing her reaction.

"A week," he told her, "maybe two, before the drug has finished cooking. After that it has a shelf life like anything else. Eventually the flesh dries out or rots way. Bodies are just incubators, kid."

"So a graveyard is a science lab?" Shilo asked, imagining the Graverobber as a mad scientist. He certainly fit half of that description, the other half was harder to picture. She could see little science in what he did.

"Science lab," he repeated, taking out the brain to leave the skull hollow, "home sweet home, a little piece of brain to call my own." Graverobber grinned at her, popping out the eyes. One came away attached to a bundle of stringy nerves, squashy and leaking black fluid. The other came away perfectly in tact, attached to nothing. "Glass eyes," he said, handing her the curiosity, "you don't see those anymore."

"Except on him."

Shilo wiped the eye on her skirt. She thought about throwing it away, but instead found herself tucking it into her bag. She looked at the oozing, stinking, mutilated corpse, then at the distant flashlight beams. Graverobber didn't act the slightest bit concerned by their slow approach, so Shilo resolved to remain just as calm.

Graverobber tossed the body aside. He dusted off his hands and folded his kit, ready to move on to the next incubator. Shilo trailed along behind him, holding this or that, refitting the capsule on the syringe, observing how he worked. When he had finished for the night, Shilo had acquired a string of pearls that had been buried with the old woman who had worn them - old money that could afford a proper played with the pearls as she stood in the open doorway of her mother's crypt.

Graverobber shifted his weight, glass clinking in his pockets. The gloom had deepened when clouds set in overhead, making it impossible to see his features clearly. All Shilo could see with any certainty was his shape, fuzzy around the edges, and the gleam of his eyes and teeth.

"How did you enjoy your first harvest?" Graverobber asked, the sound of a smirk in his voice.

"It was... interesting," Shilo replied, staring hard to try and make out his face in the darkness. "Very educational."

He chuckled as if she'd made a joke. Warm fingers, gritty with dirt, closed around her own, lifting her hand. Graverobber bowed and lips pressed against her knuckles. "Educational," he drawled, straightening again. "You are an education."

It wasn't until she lit candles in her room that Shilo looked at her hand. A perfect lip print, drawn in black, engraved the middle of her hand. Shilo traced it with a fingertip, smudging the colour into her skin. She began to wonder what she would look like with black lips...