Finn Fancy Necromancy (17 page)

Vee scooped up Zeke's baton as I pointed the wand at the salamander. “Dormio!”

Nothing happened. As I'd feared. It was difficult enough binding a wizard spell to a wand, they rarely had more than one charge.

Pete reached Zeke and Vee. He grabbed Zeke under his shoulders and dragged him back, away from the salamander.

Striking the creature would only cause whatever struck it to burst into fire. What sort of lunatic had let a salamander out of containment? How did the people here deal with it?

I looked down at the orderly. The gloves. Like Zeke's uniform, they were probably enchanted to protect the wearer. I yanked and pulled at them, and managed to get one off, then the other. I pulled them on as I ran at the salamander.

“Finn!” Pete cried out as I sprinted past him.

I reached the salamander. It hissed at me, and tried to jump past me, at Zeke.

I slapped my hands together, catching it in mid-air. Already I could feel the heat burning through the gloves, rapidly growing too hot to handle.

I turned, ran, and tossed the salamander into the kappa's exposed water indentation.

Steam exploded outward, filling the hallway like fog. A fire alarm sounded, and sprinklers burst into action, raining water down on us. When the fog had cleared, I could see the salamander crawling weakly out of the kappa's indent, its fires quenched. It flopped glossy red to the ground, hopefully unconscious. And the kappa would be fine. It might have a bit of a burn on its skull, but the worst losing its water would do is paralyze it, and already the sprinkler system replenished its supply.

I stood panting for a second, looking at the carnage and chaos in the hallway and feeling a wash of relief at surviving. And a bit of pride as well.

In this moment of victory, I'd like to thank Mom for teaching me about elemental feybloods, Dad for telling me to always wear protection, and Zork for teaching me to solve a problem by combining two objects found in the environment.

Zeke moaned, snapping me out of my moment of self-congratulation.

“Okay,” I said. “Let's get out of here before the enforcers show up.”

Vee looked down at the troll, tears streaming down her face. “Is it dead, do you think?”

“I think it's for the Hole wardens to figure out. We need to go.”

“You don't understand. This is what happened last time. He went berserk and killed the waer who bit me. I don't want him to go into exile again.” She grabbed my arm. “Please, don't let them send him into exile again!”

The troll twitched, and Vee burst into tears of obvious relief. Pete and I hefted Zeke to his feet, and half dragged him down the stairs, Vee following close behind.

Orderlies blocked the bottom of the stairs but let us through. Vee had to sign release papers, and we roused Zeke enough to do the same. The staff seemed a little dubious about releasing Vee into Zeke's care given his state, but thankfully they had more pressing issues to deal with, and, I got the impression, were happy enough to have one less person to care for.

We all squeezed into the TransAm, with Zeke and Vee in the back, and Pete drove for Port Townsend, the engine roaring and the tires squealing like in a movie. “KITT, turbocharge!” I said. Nothing happened. Oh well, worth a try.

I looked back at Vee. “You okay?”

“Sarah hates cars,” she said. “But … I'm okay. Thanks.”

“Finn?” Pete said. “Are we going to get in trouble for beating up all those feybloods?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “It was self-defense.”

Unless the Legion meant for us to get in trouble. Did they know why I'd come here? Were they worried about the memories? Or had this in fact just been another attempt to frame me for something, and maybe kill off some of my support at the same time? Either way, if they somehow made it look like we were responsible for releasing the feybloods as well as attacking them, it would stir up even more trouble for me. And it wouldn't help smooth relations with the Fey either.

I'd certainly be enjoying another visit from the enforcers soon. But there was nothing to be done about it now, and no reason to worry Petey.

Zeke began acting more himself by the time we got to the house, able to walk on his own and even talk a bit (mostly to complain about the way Pete drove his precious car), though I could tell he wouldn't be in shape for fighting any more monsters without at least a good night's sleep and a heaping bowl o' Wheaties.

We all hurried inside, and I sighed as the tingle of the house's wards washed over me. I imagine for some folks it is a particular smell, or maybe a set of family photos in the entryway, that gives walking into their parents' home that unique comforting feel (or in some cases, I suppose, a discomforting feel). For me, it was the tingle of the wards that always told me I was truly home. That, and Mother's greeting.

“Oh! Hello,” Mother's ghost said as she floated into the entryway, her black hair trailing her like a cape. “New friends? Are these the kids from Arkansas?”

That was a code our family used to ask if someone was an arcana.

“Yes, Mother. Excuse us, we need to do our homework.”

Heather swept down the stairs that faced the front door and smiled when she spotted me. “There you are! It's a half-day at the school today, so I brought Mattie home, and I thought maybe we could—” Her eyebrows rose as Zeke and Vee stepped up beside me. “Oh. You've got company.”

“Yeah, they're, uh, friends. This is Zeke, and his sister, Vee. They're staying here for a bit,” I said.

Zeke and Vee looked equally surprised and unhappy at the thought. Petey, on the other hand, smiled like I'd just announced a second Christmas.

“I don't think—” Zeke said.

“I really couldn't—” Vee said.

“See?” I said, as Heather descended the remaining stairs. “It's practically like they're family already. Everyone wants to argue.”

Zeke glowered at me. “We ain't family.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But someone seems determined to make my life suck. And like it or not, Zeke, it seems you and your sister are now on their radar. I just figured you'd feel better having your sister close by in a warded home while you help me stop the bastards. Unless you have a better plan?”

Zeke scowled at me for a second, but finally shook his head.

“Right,” I said. “So, Zeke can take Pete's old room, and Vee can have Sammy's.”

“Well,” Heather said, stepping close to me. “Gone twenty-five years, and still taking charge.”

“Um—did you see Mort?”

Gods. Really, Finn? Idiot.

“Yes. He's taking a nap.”

“Oh, good.” That would give me time to think of how to get the truth from him. I looked at Vee. I felt a twinge of nausea again at the thought of letting Vee probe my memories, but nothing like before. “I know you've been through a lot already today, but would you be willing to finish what we started?”

Vee shrunk in on herself. “Sarah wants a nap. Maybe tomorrow.”

Zeke put a hand on her arm. “I could sleep for a week myself, sis. But it's important, and this fool only has a couple days to figure things out.”

She sighed. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“What's all this?” Heather asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Vee's just helping me remember something.”

Heather frowned, and put a hand on my arm. “I don't know if that's such a good idea, Finn. I mean, memory magic is touchy stuff as it is. No offense,” she said to Vee, then squeezed my arm. “Your body's been through a lot of magical stress, and you've had a Fey lurking around in there for a while. Surely there's another way. I know Magus Grayson is working hard—”

I put my hand over hers, and gave a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, but I'm not going to put my life in the hands of the ARC again. You totally get that, right?”

“Yes, it's just, you've been gone so long. I hate to see anything happen to you, is all. It's … nice having you back.”

“Believe me, I like being back,” I said. “But Vee's already raised some memories with no harm I can see so far—”

“Blocked memories?” Heather asked. “Did you remember anything new?”

“No, not yet. But—”

“There you go, then. I'm sure she's great at pulling up normal memories, but digging past memory blocks, that's dangerous. I know there are potions that help with memory. If you give me just a little time—”

“That won't help,” Vee said in a quiet voice.

“What?” Heather asked.

“Memory potions,” Vee said. “They make it easier to remember things. But they can't find specific memories, or get past blocks. Potions can't replace a complex skill. No offense.”

Heather's eyes narrowed.

I turned so that I was between her and Vee. “Look, I understand you're worried about me, and I appreciate it, but I have to do this.”

Heather looked like she wanted to argue further, but then her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. “Okay. I'll be here with healing potions if you need them.” She looked past me to the others. “You all look like you've been through hell. I'll go make some lunch while you're risking Finn's brain. It's the least I can do.”

“Yes, please!” Pete said.

“Thank you, Heather,” I said. “Really. I'm glad you're here.” I gave her hand a final squeeze, then said, “Follow me, guys.” I led Zeke, Vee, and Pete back down the left hallway to the family library.

The midday sun shone through stained-glass windows depicting unicorns dancing in a forest, painting the library with mottled pastels. A table with chairs of carved dark wood and red cushions sat at one end, and at the opposite end rested a chaise longue, and a wide marble pedestal on which sat a plain leather-bound tome. The walls were lined with books on black oak bookshelves, except the far wall, which held a fireplace and, above it, a silver-coated sword that once served as our family's protection against angry customers. And in the room's center, two deep lounge chairs with sides like forward-swept wings flanked a short end table with a Tiffany lamp.

I'd spent more hours than I cared to remember in this room, learning arcana history and necromancy on top of my regular schoolwork.

Pete went to his favorite shelf, filled with illustrated bestiaries. Vee plopped down in one of the lounge chairs. She motioned to the other one, and I joined her. Zeke took a final glance out into the hall, then closed and locked the door and leaned against it, arms crossed and eyes drooping.

Vee closed her eyes. “Just give me a minute. I'll try to reform the map in my head so we don't have to start from the beginning again.” She sat still as a statue for a minute, strands of pale hair falling over her face. Then her eyes opened, she leaned forward, and said, “Relax, close your eyes.” I did, and felt her hands on my head. “Sink back into the chair, feel yourself melting into its cushions, falling down into sleep, down into dream, down into memory…”

*   *   *

I tried to study the tome of necromantic rituals laid out on the library's large table as Grandfather sat reading his own book across from me, but my brain refused to focus. I stole glances at Mort and Petey to my left, and Jimmy Grayson to my right, but they were staring intently at their own books.

I looked back down, and tried to distract myself by making up my own School House Rock songs in my head, arcana-style.

I'm just a wiz, yes I'm only a wiz, and I'm bored with all the family biz.

Elbow room, elbow room, not often there's a coffin with elbow room.

Necromancy Nancy, what's your fancy? Summoning spirits and dressing up dead people.

That didn't help.

“Grandfather?”

Grandfather looked up from his book. He was a thin man, his gray hair always meticulously combed and parted, and on most days the lines on his face vigorously defended it against any smiles that attempted to invade its stoic position. He was the kind of man who always dressed for dinner, even if the family was having pizza.

But he also frequently shared secret and forbidden nuggets of arcana knowledge, or the kind of joke equally secret and forbidden under Mother's rules. He'd given us boys pellet guns with silver pellets for Christmas (for shooting garden fairies, he'd said with a wink). And apparently he'd actually asked Mother's permission to take Mort to a nymph over by Lake Quinault on Mort's fifteenth birthday.

The trick with Grandfather was knowing when he was in a serious mood, or a joking mood. Get it wrong, and it usually meant extra chores or a long lecture.

“You have a question?” he asked. “It had best be about necromancy. This is study time.”

Clearly, a serious mood day.

“It is,” I said. “But not from the book. I had a dream last night that I was a bird, and it made me wonder—if a necromancer can animate dead birds, and if a person's spirit, their memories, can be transferred into the Other Realm, can't I maybe, you know, transfer myself into a bird someday?”

Mort, Pete, and Jimmy all stopped pretending to study, and looked at Grandfather to hear the answer.

Grandfather closed his book. “I'm glad that you're creative and explore new ideas. So many of the young arcana these days, they seem content to just sit around with their television and Atari machines and grade school magics. But you must be careful. You—”

“Of course, I'd be careful,” I said. “I wouldn't ever—”

“Respect!” Grandfather said, slapping the arm of his chair.

I sank back in my chair. “Sorry, Grandfather.”

“Hrm. As I was saying, you must be careful. Trying something like transferring yourself into a bird, or any other body in this world, you would need to keep your own spirit from dissipating or worse, and that would require, well, more magic than you could access now that the Other Realm is walled off. This is why our lessons are so important. There are many things you might do with your power, Finn, that would destroy you in the end.” He leaned forward and patted my shoulder in a stiff, awkward manner. “And I for one would be very sad if you were destroyed.”