The Necromancer (Amber Lee Mysteries Book 3) (7 page)

“I feel like I can trust her.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me tell you something. Both of you.”

Damien was in the room too. We had met in the bookstore about two hours after my encounter with Collette. I had to open the shop up late, but no one had wandered into the store since I opened so I figured it would be a slow day.

“We get our powers from the four quarters, but she gets her powers from down below. From the dark places.”

“And that somehow makes her less trustworthy?”

“Necromancers like to meddle, okay? She probably brought this on herself.”

“That’s not very kind of you,” Damien offered.

“I’m not trying to be kind, I’m just trying to tell it like it is.”

“But you haven’t even met her yet.”

The words struck him, then. I could see it on his face and also taste it in a momentary flash of his aura. It smelt like the inside of a fresh book, and I could almost hear the books in the store calling out to him. Yelling at him.
Don’t judge a book by its cover
, they would say.

“Fine,” Frank said. “Where is this witch living?”

“Out in the woods,” I said, “In a cottage.”

“What’s wrong with the B&B’s in town?”

“I don’t know, Frank. I didn’t ask her. What’s wrong with you today?”

Frank sighed. “Nothing,” he said, “I’m just having a bad day.”

“Alright, well, let’s put that stuff aside for now and concentrate. Are we going to help this girl or not?”

“Yes,” Damien said. He didn’t hesitate. “We have to. She’s come to you for help. If we turn her away then we aren’t honoring the creed of the pentacle.”

“Plus,” I said, “We don’t have a real reason to turn her away other than… she’s different. And I’m not about to start doing that now.”

“Look,” Frank said, “We’re going to help her. We were always going to help. I’m just struggling to figure out what to make of the situation before rushing into it like blind fucking cavalry.”

“So, then, we need data,” I said. “Let’s hit the books. I’m sure there’s something in the back that can help.”

I tossed the key to Frank and he didn’t waste a second in heading to the back room and pulling out James’ special box of secret books. There was always something useful in there, and although I hadn’t ever read a mention about the real Underworld in any of those books, I also hadn’t read them all. But when I turned away from the door to the back room I came face to face with Damien, and my insides somersaulted.

We hadn’t spent much time alone since I found out about Natalie. I hadn’t asked him about her and he hadn’t offered, but I had it understood that she and him were still an item—and it was as if our relationship had never existed. Well, I guess that was fair enough considering the turn my own romantic life had taken.

Aaron.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” Damien said.

“Crazy day, huh?”

“For you, maybe. For me, it’s just Wednesday.”

“Well aren’t we just a bag of joy today. Something up?”

“Nothing,” he said, “It’s nothing. Really.”

That was it. The conversation hung, and awkwardness returned. I couldn’t understand what had just happened. Wasn’t I being nice? Was I not being conversational and—dare I say it—even playful? I had no idea what Damien’s deal was, but that was about as much effort as I wanted to expend on him, so I let the conversation sink into the gutter.

Lucky for me, Frank returned only moments later—his head stuck in a dusty old brown tome.

“I’ve found something,” Frank said, in a kind of hurried tone. “But I need to dig into it.”

“What? What have you found?” I asked.

“I can’t say right now. Give me an hour. Maybe two. I can take this book, right?”

He was already out the door before I could reply.

“Well,” said Damien, “I guess that’s my cue too.”

“If you want. We’re pretty much done here,” I said.

“Yeah… I guess we are.”

Damien turned and left. It wasn’t until I heard the bell jingle as he left the store that I acknowledged the words he’d used, the pause between words, and his general tone. What in the world was that all about?

Whatever.

I had more important things to deal with right now, like preparing my ritual bag and—oh!—buying groceries for Collette! I hadn’t noticed much in the way of food or anything comfortable in her little banged up cottage and felt bad for her. I really had no idea what she had been subsisting on. Leaves? Foliage? She didn’t strike me as a hunter of animals.

Maybe it was magick?

But, then, I didn’t think necromancers could make things
grow
—only die. So I was almost certain she wasn’t eating freshly ripened tomatoes and oranges out there. How did she even get all the way here from France, anyhow?

These questions assaulted me throughout the course of the afternoon, and after closing I headed down to the Express on Houston Boulevard and filled a hand basket with whatever I thought a nomad—slash—hermit would need, accounting of course for her lack of kitchen appliances and electricity.

Bottled water, deodorant, healthy power bars, multi-vitamins, cans of tuna, sweetcorn, and cans of olives stuffed with anchovies. Oh, and a can opener. I figured she would need one of those. And plastic bowls, forks, knives. I had no idea how long she would be staying in the cabin for. Maybe after this whole mess of hers was over she could go back home, or stay here. I didn’t know what her plan was. But I bought as much as I could comfortably carry for her because, well, if
I
went off to a foreign land with nothing and no one I could only hope someone would do this for me.

I guess I was paying it forward.

I got home a little after eight thanks to my shopping trip. The house was dark and quiet and smelt vaguely of wet grass and flowers. I thought, maybe, that my back garden had somehow come back to life, but as I toured the back yard the hard truth hit me like a shot to the gut. It was still dead, just like those poor swallows.

I would need to take some time during the weekend to fix it all up, but I had no idea where to start. The internet would help, of course. Or maybe I should do the normal person thing and go to the gardening store for some advice. Ed Northman was a sage around here when it came to plants, flowers and gardens. He taught me what I needed to know to grow my own little garden in preparation for Ostara after all, even if he didn’t know the first thing about pagan seasonal celebrations. But I wondered how he would react to seeing half a backyard of dead foliage.

How could I explain that one off?

And what was I really dealing with here? What kind of power did Collette have that she was able to… kill things like that? Frank could be right about her. Not only would I never hear the end of it if he
was
right, but if it turned out that we couldn’t trust her we would have to deal
with her; and that didn’t sit too well with me. I didn’t want to hurt her or even think about fighting with her.

She hadn’t said or done anything to suggest that her intentions were anything but pure. Collette was like a sparrow with a clipped wing, in my eyes, at first. But maybe, now, she looked more like a vulture. Do we help it, or do we leave it? Vultures don’t normally attack humans, but they do sometimes feed on the wounded or the sick. Does her power do the same? Does it feed off lesser—or sick—beings?

Dammit!

I hated going back and forth in my mind about things. I shut the thoughts out and headed back into my house to fill a hold-all bag with the stuff I had bought for the necromancer. Then I stepped into the attic, collected the candles I would need—white, green, red and even black—picked up a handful of stones to help ward against negativity, a series of colorful bracelets, and a bunch of herbs and incense. Then I stuffed everything into my black backpack and brought it downstairs, at which point I went into my closet again and pulled out a box full of dream diaries to look through.

Hardbacks, paperbacks, some red and black, others green and blue, some ringed, and others not; the box was a veritable treasure trove of short stories and memories of mine. I always enjoyed jotting my dreams and thoughts down—even the unpleasant ones—and now here they were, staring me in the face. Calling me from across the reach of time, each page wanting nothing more than to pull me into its embrace and have me re-live whatever memory it guarded.

Even the unpleasant ones.

It didn’t take me long to find the book where I had written down the dream I had about Collette. Reading it now, after everything I had learnt, I wondered if the dream was only a coincidence or a premonition. But I don’t believe in coincidences, so the truth soon became obvious. I had been told about Collette’s coming. From where I got the information, I didn’t know. A spirit guide? I also didn’t know to what end I had been given the information, but one thing was certain: I had written down my dream about the necromancer and the wolves, and to a degree that dream was coming true.

What other future event had my dreams told me about?

The doorbell rang, and I snapped back into the real world hard. Any harder and I would have gotten whiplash! I stood up, crossed toward the door, and checked the peephole before opening the door to Aaron. There he was, standing tall in a pair of navy blue jeans, a grey Ramones shirt and a biker jacket.

Not a simple leather jacket, either. This one had studs.

“Hey,” I said, sliding my hand up the side of the door and playing with the doorknob.

“I’ve got pizza and a bunch of movies to watch,” he said.

“Good, because I’m starving.”

Frank.

Damien.

Magick.

Collette.

It could all wait a few hours.

CHAPTER 8

Aaron had finished the entire pizza by the time I was done with my third slice. Lucky for me it was more than I needed. But his ability to put food away and seem to have three percent body fat amazed me.

“Do you always eat like that, now?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why, does it bother you? I can slow it down.”

“No, no. It’s just amazing. I’ve never seen anyone eat like that before.”

“I never used to. I always ate plenty, but never this much or this quick.”

“I remember. I guess this is a part of the new you, now?”

“I guess so. Everything’s… more intense with me now.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” My cheeks were burning. I turned my head to the side to avoid his eyes and smiled.

“Do you like it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, returning my eyes to him.

“I don’t know.”

I took his hand. “This is you. Of course I like it.”

Aaron smiled. I noticed a stray patch of sauce on the side of his lip so—ever the person to want to do things the hard way—I stood up, inched toward his face with my own, and licked the sauce away.

Aaron’s hands wrapped around my hips and pulled me down to straddle his thighs. “I love it when you do stuff like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Don’t play coy. You know what you do to me.”

“Maybe I do.”

“So then?”

“Maybe I also like playing coy.”

“Well played…”

I smiled, kissed, and pressed my lips against his; and Aaron reciprocated, plunging his hands into my copper hair and wrapping them around my head and neck. Our mouths danced and I found myself swaying against his body. Grinding. But I stopped myself.

“No, no,” I said, pulling away.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Playing games with me again?”

“Believe me,” I said, pulling my face away from his, “I want you just as bad. But we should talk, at least for a little while.”

“I didn’t say we couldn’t.”

“No, but if we start this now I just know we’re going to be at it all night.”

“That good, huh?”

“Don’t push it,” I warned. “I just don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

“And what impression is that.”

“That I don’t want to talk to you. That
this
is all you’re good for.”

“I don’t feel that way about you.”

I smiled. “And how do you feel?”

Aaron hesitated for a moment. I sensed that he was looking for the right words. I wanted to peer into his aura, but I was doing my best to numb my sixth sense around him. I didn’t mind reading other people’s auras, but doing it to Aaron felt too much like a violation.

“Intimate,” Aaron said.

“I like that word,” I said.

“I do too.” I brushed my hand against his cheek and smiled, but Aaron winced.

“Ow,” he said.

“Woah, are you okay?” I pulled my hand away from him and noted the red mark on his face. “Aaron…”