The Necromancer's Seduction (5 page)

“Mind control? That’s scary. Did he do something taboo with his power?”

Kara eyed me, her lips pinched.

“I see. That’s why he was expelled.” She neither confirmed nor denied my statement,
guarding the coven business, as all the witches did.

“Your coven annoys me, in case I haven’t told you before.”

“Only a few times a week. Look, if you raise him, ask him.” Her eyes flicked to the
street. “Ask him about Jenna.”

My head hadn’t ceased throbbing. I rubbed my temples and stared at a man standing
on the corner of the street, preaching from a Bible. He waved his hand in front of
him, lecturing an invisible audience. I wanted to get off this street and far away
from the demon lair.

My bus approached, and I sped up, causing my shoe to slip on the slick concrete. I
managed to keep from falling on the sidewalk with awkward stumbles not meant for heels,
but not in time to catch the bus. Kara caught up to me.

I spun toward her. The meeting, Malthus, even Ewan had rubbed me raw. My nerves felt
exposed, and I had nothing to block my emotions from splattering all over her.

“How can I reanimate him? He’s going to wake up and relive the Jenna trauma, whatever
it is.” I waved my arms at her. “He’s going to direct that anger toward me.”

Kara gave me a hard stare. “Sometimes we have to do the shitty things, you know, like
scrub the toilet. Not all of us can run away and hide when supernatural life isn’t
to our liking.” Pink splotches dotted her pale cheeks. “What, you think you’re the
only one who’s had bad shit happen?”

My spine jerked, a catapult readying the next defense against her words.

Kara inhaled and looked away. I shivered despite the sun’s rays lancing the clouds
and drying the moisture left by the rain. I knew the cold that seized me had nothing
to do with nature and everything to do with the preternatural. Kara. She couldn’t
control it. It came out when she was upset. Really upset. Icy blasts. She didn’t react
to it, as if used to the feel of liquid nitrogen freezing her soul.

Another bus approached, and I noted the destination. Not exactly the direct route
home, but I didn’t care. I stood a few feet away from her. “People don’t come back
totally the same. He’ll be twisted up.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened to your grandmother?”

The bus stopped in front of us, opening its doors.

“I know your mother’s . . .” she started.

“No, you don’t know—” The rest of the words choked my throat. I stepped on the bus
and turned for a parting glance at Kara. She stood a moment, lips pursed, before walking
away.

I fisted my hands and walked up the rest of the steps. All the seats were taken, so
I grabbed the bar on the ceiling when the bus took off. I tightened my grip as my
body swayed with the bus’s jerky maneuvers through traffic. The bodies surrounding
me pressed close. Odd how when crammed in between a bunch of people, you still feel
alone.

Chapter Four

I trudged the extra blocks to my house, oblivious to the bustle around me on the sidewalk.
I stumbled to avoid a kid sprinting past me, my movements sluggish, my mind reeling
from the meeting and my argument with Kara. We’d never argued, but then we’ve always
tiptoed around the supe business, leaving it to simmer just below the surface. It
was only a matter of time before it spewed out, hot and dirty.

I stopped in front of a glass door covered with photocopied announcements of local
bands, a visit from the newest enlightened guru, and roommate classifieds. The bright
eyes of a young girl with black hair spiked off her scalp stared back at me from a
missing persons poster.

I pushed against the heavy door and breathed in the aroma of roasted coffee, letting
the smell calm my frayed nerves.

“Ruby. Where have you been?” Kurt demanded over the buzz of the coffee grinder. An
old hippie, Kurt has owned this café since the sixties and has witnessed a lot of
action from his grimy windows. “Espresso?”

“Make it a double shot.”

“That bad, eh?”

Oh, if you only knew. Blood demons, sexy demons, the walking dead, assassinated grandmas
. I blinked back the tears and gave him my best attempt at a cheery smile. He wiped
his hands on his Bob Marley T-shirt, frayed at the edges and tie-dyed with coffee
stains.

After Cora died, I’d whittled away countless hours in his shop to escape the emptiness
of my house. That’s saying something. Kurt’s worse than a farm full of clucking hens.
Cora never minded his rambles. I wanted to scratch my skull every time he reminisced
or gave us his latest thoughts on global politics, but today I needed it. I needed
the chatter to chase away the noise.

He gave me a worried look.

“Nothing that a good double shot can’t help,” I said, trying to put him at ease. Poor
guy. He’d worried enough over the women in my family. He’d been devastated when I
told him about Cora’s death. He’d be even more freaked if he knew the truth.

“You know the usual collegiate crap . . . unruly, unmotivated students, overbearing
department heads.”

He placed my coffee in front of me then flipped his long gray ponytail onto his back
before resting his elbows on the counter. “When I led the ‘Students for Progress’
party back in college, we staged a sit-in at the Dean’s office.” He droned on, and
I smiled—smiled instead of hiding a grimace, as was my customary reaction when he
launched into a story.

“They fired a professor for his controversial views on the war. Wasn’t right. That
happened right before your grandmother and I went on our trip to Africa.”

My head popped up. “You went on a trip with Cora?”

“Didn’t she tell you? That’s when she acquired the necklace you’re wearing.”

“She told me she bought it in West Africa, but not much more.”

“We were waiting for transport to Mopti in Mali, the last stop on our backpacking
trip. This beaten down van rocked up next to us.” He laughed, his eyes far away. “Local
transport. Anyway, we squeezed in between the locals. I had to curl up in the seat
with my knees against my chest for the two-hour ride.”

I eyed his wiry six-foot frame. “That sounds uncomfortable.”

“Not as bad as Cora. At the next stop, her seat mate left, replaced by a goat.”

I set my coffee on the counter to avoid spilling it.

Kurt slapped the counter with his hand. “That goat slobbered all over her favorite
skirt.” He rubbed his hand against his forehead. “At the next stop, a couple of Tuareg
desert dwellers boarded, loaded with amazing silver jewelry they’d been selling at
the stop. She offered to buy a necklace if they’d trade seats with her.”

I touched the silver necklace shaped in a square and engraved with tribal designs.
“I guess they accepted the deal.”

He laughed. “They made her buy three.”

He tapped my necklace with his finger, the laughter gone. “This one was her favorite.”

I knew my grandmother, but knew little about the woman Cora. I treasured these glimpses
into her past. The heavy ache in my chest lightened.

“Thanks for the story.” I picked up my coffee and walked to the exit.

“You come back anytime you need a good cup of joe and oatmeal cookies,” he said.

I lifted my cup in salute and stepped out of the café, laughing again while picturing
Cora with a goat licking her skirt. I sipped the coffee, savoring the earthy smoothness
of the nutty Sumatra. Mmmm. Kurt brewed the best coffee. He sought the richest beans
from all over the world, roasting them himself.

I made my way over the uneven sidewalk to the small park around the block, the thumping
bass from passing cars providing a welcome distraction. I sat on an empty bench and
watched a man play Frisbee with his dog against a sky bruised with the blue-black
stain of dusk.

I squeezed the red journal in my hand. The tips of my fingers prickled at the contact
with the moleskin. My mother had raised a supernatural revenant. Another one of the
things she never shared with me.

I opened the journal to a random page, somewhere in the middle, and read a passage
where Cora described creating a bunch of zombies. Revenants were strong, but their
intelligence made them vulnerable, where a zombie’s mindless determination made them
nasty, hard to kill. Sic enough of them on someone, and even a demon will struggle
to fight them off.

I didn’t want Danielle to create the werewolf revenant, too dangerous, but the Seattle
pack insisted. I tried and failed. Not sure why. I used the source of the wolf’s power,
exchanged the blood.

The source of a wolf’s power? I’d researched the basic ritual to create a human revenant
and figured the same ritual would work for a supernatural. Now I wasn’t so sure.

I need to warn Ruby against ever trying to raise a supernatural revenant. The wolf
rose up and lunged at Danielle. Between us and the wolves, we were able to contain
him, barely, before he collapsed—dead. Maybe Danielle lacked the strength. Maybe the
ritual lacked precision. Whatever it was . . .

A shiver wove its way through my vertebra and upended the hairs on my neck.

The words held me captive, transfixed, repulsed. I loved reading the firsthand accounts
of my mom and grandmother’s necromancer exploits, but they’d barely escaped being
mangled by a wolf revenant.

The sound of panting to my side distracted me. I turned a brief eye to the black lab,
tongue waving at me, flinging saliva. He eyed a Frisbee that had landed at my feet.
I tossed him the Frisbee while reading the next entry.

The old Delhi necro, Naasih, mentioned arcane power spheres created from corpses.
A necro absorbs energy from deceased corpses or zombies, creating a sphere of power.
The necromancer can use the power for any purpose.

I reread the passage. What the hell were power spheres?

I ran my hand through my hair and flipped through more pages.

Ruby thinks I don’t know she used her power on Halloween, but I saw the nonchalant
guilt etched on her face. Probably gave her friends a scare. I’m dying to ask her,
but I don’t want to make a big deal of it. I wish she’d attended the witch party with
me. I met the sexiest, most charming demon who just crossed over from the realm. He’s
perfect for Ruby.

My smile smoothed my furrowed brow. I’ll be damned. Can’t pass one on Cora.

Some college friends and I had abandoned a dull Halloween party. We left, slightly
altered from various alcoholic concoctions, searching for excitement—it was Halloween
after all.

Halloween was the one time that I tested my evasion of the supernatural world. Every
year, Cora attended a killer party held by the witches. The supes took full advantage
of the one night when the general public tolerated the bizarre shadow or wicked howl.
Not that Cora didn’t try her damnedest to entice me with the possibility of meeting
hot men, but I resisted, reminding myself that hot men meant hot
supernatural
men.

When my friend suggested a few of us go to the cemetery, I thought some real atmosphere
was better than sitting around with other drunk people watching slasher flicks soaked
in gore. While in the cemetery, a wicked idea slithered into my mind. My friends were
looking for a real Halloween experience, and I happened to possess the uncanny ability
to raise the dead.

I ended up raising three corpses instead of my planned one. I laughed, remembering
the speed with which my friends scaled the wall of the cemetery upon hearing the corpses
curse and bang furiously on the metal doors of the mausoleums. I returned later and
apologized to the resting spirits for disturbing their peace.

My chest warmed. I was glad she knew, and I regretted not sharing the experience with
her. But could I embrace that power again without releasing chaos?

I noticed some missing pages. The journal was pre-perforated, making it easier to
tear out pages, but also making it harder to notice missing ones. Who had removed
them? Why?

The panting returned. I reached for the Frisbee on the ground to my side and held
it out to the dog while reading from the journal. A sharp tug on the Frisbee jerked
me off the bench. Damn dog.

A high pitched yowl followed by a strangled whine and crunching, popping noises had
me leaping off the ground.

I gasped at the fangs clenched around a Frisbee shard. I jolted back, ramming my calves
against the edge of the bench. What the . . .? My insides jelled at the batlike creature
towering before me, blasting me with its rancid, sulfuric breath. My eyes darted between
the monstrosity, shredded Frisbee, and—I shuddered—pieces of the dog’s corpse.

I scrambled over the bench and landed on the ground so hard my bones clattered. The
bat thing spread tenebrous wings webbed with purple-black membranes and used the small
talons on the wings’ joints to crawl onto the bench, resembling some grotesque puppet.
Perched on the back of the bench, it swung its thick tail, capped by a spiked barb,
back and forth behind it.

“Nekromanteia.” The creature’s voice echoed around me.

Here’s a moment I’d gladly switch places with a witch, vampire—or any other supernatural
would do. I scooted backwards, my gaze glued on the creature. The adrenaline pumped
through me, liquid fire replacing my blood.

The thing lifted its wings and angled its body in a strike position. I was fucked.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw its tail whip around toward me.

Then the beast veered its head and hissed. “Marchois.”

I dared turn my head to the object of the bat thing’s attention. Ewan stood behind
the creature, sword in hand. Relief shook my body. The creature turned and hopped
off the bench to face Ewan, sweeping its tail behind it. I scooted away, but not before
the tail caught on my ankle. I felt a hot pinch, then intense pain that radiated up
my leg. I couldn’t feel my toes. I bent at the waist and saw blood trickle from a
small cut on my ankle. I crawled to a tree, but my movements were sluggish, as if
I were slogging through mud. A viscous fluid seemed to replace my blood, weighed each
cell down until my legs failed to respond, followed by my hips, arms, shoulders, and
chest until it seemed as if I was breathing through cheesecloth. Blinking took effort.
I managed to prop my body against a tree before full paralysis took over. What was
in its tail?

“Is this where you hide from your shame?” The thing wheezed at Ewan. I swear it was
a laugh.

Ewan twirled the sword with his hand, his eyes trained on the creature. The demon
and the bat thing circled each other with bat thing thumping his tail on the ground.
Ewan chanced a glance at me, and I saw worry crease his brow. I could no longer move
and was forced to watch the confrontation unfold. I hated lying there helpless, but
what could I do? Send some zombie ants to bite its claws?

“Who brought you here, Frerac?” Ewan’s voice boomed through the park.

The bat, or rather Frerac, wheezed. “You will die before you discover the answer you
seek.” It lunged, snapping at Ewan with its fangs.

The two continued to circle, Ewan avoiding the thrusts of the creature’s tail and
flap of its wings. The sword responded eagerly in his hand. The Frerac batted its
wings, lifting off the ground. It swooped in the air, losing its jerks and stumbles
from moving on the ground. Ewan ducked to avoid getting buffeted by frantic wing beats.
The creature capitalized on Ewan’s awkward position to slice his arm with the tail
barb.

I struggled to unstick my tongue and take a breath. My lungs seized, panicked at the
inability to take in enough air.

The creature beat its wings faster. “Your power grows weak, and the human is dying.”

Ewan’s eyes glittered, and the strain from his wound showed in the lines on his face.
He held the sword with the blade straight up in front of him. The creature hovered
over Ewan, twirling its tail in an attempt to spear him a second time. The rest passed
in a blur of motion. Ewan leapt and managed to seize the tail without getting sliced.
The Frerac hissed and bent its body to snap at him, but Ewan swung the sword and severed
its head from its body, all before his feet touched the ground.