Victoria Cage Necromancer: The First Three Books (Victoria Cage Necromancer Omnibus Book 1)

by Eli Constant

  "You can put me down now," Kyle says gruffly. "I'm fairly sure I can manage getting to Tori's bed on my own from here."

  I'm not positive, but I'm fairly sure that Kyle puts it that way to rub our relationship in Liam's face. I can't say anything though, because if I do it'll show Kyle that I care about Liam's feelings, maybe a little too much. The truth is... I do, of course. But I can't focus on that. I was glad at least that Liam’s mental voice was still mute.

  "As you wish," Liam says gallantly, and sets Kyle on the floor with a bit of a knightly flourish. The blanket falls to pool against the floor. It looks like an odd lumpy animal. I wonder if Liam picked that particular blanket because it seems… beary. "I thought you'd be heavier." He swipes at his clothing, trying to work out the wrinkles that have formed from carrying the bigger man.

  "And I thought you'd be weaker." Kyle's voice isn't playful, but it's also not full-out mad. He's walking the middle ground, maybe keeping the beast in check. I don't see the tension in his eyes like I did last night. Back standing, Kyle seems to be suddenly aware again that he’s naked. He bends down quickly and grabs the blanket, wrapping it around his lower body. He looks insanely fetching… in a caveman turned modern way. “Thanks for the blanket. I’m sure it’ll keep me warm in Tori’s room. Tends to get chilly in there at night, despite our body warmth.”

  Points to Liam for keeping a stern face and not rising to the bait.

  Kyle walks away, heading for the side door that leads to my apartment’s stairs. Liam lingers, but not for long. He looks at me, almost wistfully, and then he strolls out of the front door. His head high. Shoulders back.

  It makes me love him… just a fraction more. Both of them. For standing on the higher ground, when both of them could have devolved into nastiness. Well, Kyle certainly toed the line with his final jabs.

  “What have I gotten myself into,” I sigh out, closing the front door and heading towards ‘home’.

  Where Kyle is. And where Liam is not.

  ***

  I’m just stepping out of the shower when my phone starts buzzing.

  Quickly throwing on my robe, I tiptoe walk into the bedroom, water drizzling down my thighs and leaving little spots along the floor. The phone is lit up and beckoning me as my fingers swipe against the terry cloth of my belted gown to make sure they’re dry. It goes dark before I actually touch the cell though.

  A missed call from Terrance. Likely about the case, some new detail he wanted to talk over or sort out. It could wait. Despite sleeping in Liam’s quite-nice bed, I still felt drained. Because my body was rested, but the emotional side of me wasn’t.

  I slip the phone into the deep pocket of the robe and I scoot back into the bathroom to work the knots out of my hair. It was getting too long, to that point where it’s lovely and all, but highly unmanageable. I liked the look of it, but my happy place was a moderate length falling somewhere just below my breasts when I’m wearing a bra. Because, let’s face it, if I measured without a bra, it would be several inches longer. I had the… long and fall sort, not the rounded to the chest and full sort. Boobs are weird.

  The phone nags at me from the pocket, but I just don’t care. I hadn’t checked it after getting home, or even after Kyle dressed and left for the bar. After the night I’d had, I just wanted the outside world to chill its jets.

  I’d hated Kyle leaving. I’d wanted him to curl up on the sofa. Pop on an odd documentary, the kind that basically put you to sleep as soon as it started, yet he found it wildly fascinating. Kyle has people trained to get things going without him at the bar now. Honestly, he doesn’t even have to be there much anymore, but today is inventory day. He’s expecting the liquor resupply. And for that, he only trusts himself. He’s had a bottle or two go missing in the past and he’s too nice to accuse anyone. Then again, maybe he needed the outside world today, to make him feel like less of a beast and more of a human.

  Limiting his time at the bar on a regular basis though… I feel like he’s done that on purpose—he worries about harming people if his bear breaks cage.

  This morning was the first time he said he’d leave me if he couldn’t control it though. I wouldn’t let him. I couldn’t. Him leaving me would do more harm than him going beast-mode.

  I wrap my hair up in a towel before putting on a pot of coffee.

  Coffee will make everything better.

  Chapter Eleven

  “…penguins don’t differentiate between male and female very well,” the documentary playing on the television droned on. I wasn’t paying attention, but watching it made me feel, just a bit, like Kyle had stayed instead of leaving. “So, often times, a male will court a male without realizing it. Homosexuality is found throughout the animal kingdom. In the case of one special homosexual penguin couple residing at…”

  Knock. Knock.

  I start, nearly spilling my very-cold coffee on the gorgeous little owl pillow I’ve snuggled against my legs for warmth. “Coming!”

  Setting my mug down, I stand and wrap the robe more tightly around my body. It’s been hours since I showered, but I’ve not had the will to put on anything that felt like ‘get up and live a normal life’ clothing.

  I open the door without asking who the knocker is, which is really dumb. Just when I think I’ve gotten a bit street smart, I walk out in front of a car or open the door to a stranger. Tori against the world. Zero to… whatever high score life has against me now.

  Luckily, it’s Terrance standing outside my threshold looking supremely irritated, his navy blue eyes the deepest hue I’ve ever seen them. Pools of near-black looking daggers at me.

  “Ruh-roh, Terrance. What’s got your panties twisted.” I cock a sideways grin, thinking I’m being absolutely funny. He’s not amused though, not even a little bit.

  “I’ve called you no less than four times today, Tori. What the hell’s going on with you, girl?” Terrance pushes into the living room, his eyes roving over every surface, looking for what?

  “Terrance, is everything okay? Seriously?” I close the door and lean against it, crossing my arms. The grin is long gone now.

  “Yes. No. Dammit, Tori. I was worried.” He marches over to the sofa then and sits down heavily. “This case is hard. Not the hardest of my career… Well, shit. Maybe it is. I don’t know anymore.”

  “…having proven to be good parents to the faux egg, the homosexual penguin couple was then offered a real egg, taken from one of the other heterosexual couples with more than one.” I grab the clicker and shut off the documentary, though now I really want to see the double dad penguins raising their little boy or girl egg. And I want to watch the penguin populace who just accepts that sometimes a male penguin gives a little pebble to another male penguin and that’s that. Love accepted. Though, I’d learned in another documentary that sometimes it’s not a pebble and more a—‘hey, here’s a quick bangety-bang. I’ll find out if you’re a male or female after’.

  “So, has something new happened?” I join him now that the television’s gone quiet, grabbing my coffee as I move past where Terrance has taken up residency in my typical spot. “There’s a pot on if you want some,” I say lifting my mug a little to indicate it. “It’s not fresh, but not ancient either.”

  “Better than the station’s I’m sure,” Terrance said, getting up. He’s full of nervous energy; it radiates off him in waves. Though he’s stood, with the obvious intent of getting coffee, he doesn’t move to the kitchen. Instead he paces.

  “Terrance, what did you want to talk about? Honestly, you’re making me really nervous here.” I sit cross-legged on the sofa, pulling a different throw pillow into my lap—this time one with a pug wearing glasses and a top hat that reminded me of this girl Kim from college who’d been obsessed with dogs—and I sip the Antarctic coffee with the cream that’s starting to separate.

  “It’s insane, Tori. There were bodies found in each of the fire locations, except for the last one where the family died. Five murders. And that’s
not the worst of it. They’re all missing their hearts. Their faces… it was like fear, frozen in time. Mouths gaping open, eyes open so far I thought their eyelids had been cut off.” He sits again, as if forgetting the coffee and why he stood in the first place.

  “Not kids, right Terrance? Tell me they weren’t kids.” I put my mug down, my stomach is knotting so much I might be ill.

  “No, not kids. All women. The youngest appears to be mid-twenties, the eldest in her sixties. No correlation between them yet, but it’s too early in the investigation to be sure. They were only found this morning. I called you the first time after going over the images other precincts sent over.”

  Now, as if telling me the worst of it has lifted a weight from him, he does get up and head to the kitchen. He knows where everything is, and makes short work of pouring black slightly-warm coffee into a too-cheery-for-the-conversation yellow mug.

  He doesn’t come back to join me on the couch, but instead sits at the small kitchen table. It wobbles a little as he sets his mug down. It’s been that way for a few months… erhm… since Kyle and I tested out the height for a particular recreational activity.

  I move, first pouring out the old coffee and putting on a pot for tea. I need something soothing, less jitters-inducing.

  “Okay, hearts gone.” I try to say it as mechanically as possible, trying not to envision the gaping wounds, blood-turning-brown, the fear on their faces that Terrance had described. “Any other marks on the bodies? Symbols? Words?”

  “Not that we saw. Just the hearts gone. And how… how scared they all looked.” Terrance huddles around his coffee, a grown man finding security where he can, because he’s past the age of soft blankets, binkies, and running off to mommy for aid. It’s a sadness in our society that we’re expected to grow so far from where we started, to find independence when actually what we need is solidarity not solitary confinement.

  The tea kettle whistles. I ignore it, my brain focusing on other things. The sound reaches a fever pitch, slicing through the air. Still, it’s Terrance that gets up and moves the kettle from the stove.

  “Can I see the bodies?” I pick up the honey bear in the middle of the table and roll it in my hands.

  “I can’t get you in with the other counties, be too hard to explain. Unfortunately, the only fire site in our jurisdiction was the last. And no body there.”

  “Even with me acting as the coroner right now and being a consultant with Bonneau? No one would let me on their territory? Seems like some testosterone type crap.” I put the bear down, frowning.

  “It’s not testosterone, Tori. It’s procedure. Which you and I shirk a lot, because of your… abilities.” Terrance scratches his head, also frowning. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulls out his cell phone and dials. Seconds later, he’s speaking. “Dan, Terrance here. Mind if I bring my acting coroner in to check out the body you all found at the arson site?” He nods as he listens. “Great, tomorrow’s great. See you then.”

  “Well, that seemed easy,” I said, standing up and once again securing my robe tighter around my body.

  “Only because Dan’s a friend and didn’t ask too many questions. It gets your eyes on a body though.” He sits back down. “So, how’d the self-defense class go the other night?”

  I look at him, letting my face display how I felt about that question. He chuckles. “Let’s just say I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Terrance says in an obvious attempt at humor to lighten the weight that’s surrounding us. I longed for the days when Bonneau was peaceful. When I was preparing bodies that had seen enough years to count as a full life.

  “No, seriously. The wonder woman cop who ran it basically called me out and said I should hop over county lines to get more than one class a week. I’m not that inept, Terrance. Besides, I’ve got a very specific skill set that those people can only dream about.”

  “Sure, you do. But it’s no match for a killer with a gun.”

  I wanted to fight him on that, but he didn’t know the full extent of what I was learning to do—how I could draw a person’s life force from their body through the smallest cut imaginable. I just needed an opening, to taste the blood and the decay that being alive causes within a body. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Course, if there’s a graveyard nearby when I’m being mugged, the tables might turn.”

  “Don’t even joke about that, Tori.” Terrance lapses into herd mentality, where any mention of The Rising and zombies causes the pulse to race and memories of news bulletins that showed entire towns being overrun by the dead. Time heals, but it doesn’t erase.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m on the other end of the spectrum though, Terrance. Hated for something people like me did. Sometimes, all I can do is joke.”

  We sit for a little while longer. I make tea. He’s lost in whatever thoughts my words have brought to life. Or maybe he’s thinking about the case—the fires, the bodies.

  When he leaves, he tells me to answer my damn phone next time he calls.

  I tell him he’s spilled a little coffee on his shirt. He looks automatically, finding there’s no stain. I smile, he rolls his eyes in irritation.

  Do you ever wonder if an interaction with someone in your life could be your last?

  Maybe I should say something more poignant next time. Just in case.

  Chapter Twelve

  I’m restless after Terrance leaves. Like my body is a ball of barely-contained electricity and if I don’t power something awake, I’m going to burst into bolts of lightning.

  My phone ringing saves myself, and the rest of the world, from an electro-charged necromancer.

  “Hey, Dean. What’s up?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you were… erhm… coming to work today?” He sounds a bit pathetic asking. It’s weird, as he’s normally prone to sarcasm and giving me a hard time, rather than the meek and mild routine.

  “I wasn’t really planning on it. I had a rough night. And it’s a clear schedule today, isn’t it?” I racked my brain, trying to think if there was anything on the calendar for today. I was sure, well ninety-nine percent sure, that there wasn’t.

  “Yeah, I thought so too, but there’s someone here who claims to have an appointment with you. He’s a bit rough-around-the-edges.” Dean must be in my office, away from whoever is waiting to see me.

  “Weird. Okay, I’ll be down in a second.” I’m a bit irritated that I have to dress to impress, rather than continuing to feel like an electrical cord looking for an outlet, but maybe it’s a good thing. The more I have to do, the less I think. And my thoughts aren’t leading to the best of places right now. Kyle leaving me. Bodies with missing hearts. Pentagrams and ley lines and arson.

  I opt for business casual, putting on a pair of dark jeans free of holes, a peach-hued blouse see-through enough to need a cami, and my… Adam’s leather jacket. It’s faded, and tired, but it’s what I want to wear to meet this mystery client.

  Locking the apartment door on my way out and shoving my keys in my pocket, I take the stairs two at a time. Dean’s already unlocked the business entrance for me.

  Not seeing the client when I first walk in, I head to my office. Dean’s behind my desk, his fingers clasped together and supporting his chin as he stares at the door, presumably waiting on me. A few feet past the threshold, I realize someone’s sitting in one of the high back chairs. They must be quite small, because the chair really isn’t the tallest in the world.

  Coming into view, I see the last person I expect in the world.

  Mordecai Jones.

  “Mordecai, what a pleasure,” I say, sort of half-bowing which causes Dean to quirk an eyebrow. “Dean, this is Mr. Jones. He runs a taxidermy place on the outskirts of Williamsburg County.”

  “Oh, sure. Mr. Jones. I’ve heard of you.” Dean stands up awkwardly, and there’s a little catch in his throat as he speaks. Apparently, whatever Dean’s heard about my dwarf king friend wasn’t exactly flattering
.

  “Ms. Cage,” Mordecai stands up and holds his hand out to me. I take it, shaking firmly. His face is still as interesting as ever, with its large pale scar and valleys of wrinkles. “It has been a while.”

  “It has. Since…” I let my voice trail off, thinking about how he’d helped save Mei from psycho doctor. Clearing my throat, I speak again. “I was beginning to think you’d dropped off the face of the world, or were just avoiding me. I left a message a few months ago to check in with you.”

  “Yes, I received it.” He doesn’t expand on that, which gives me the impression he was avoiding me after all. “I’ve something I need to discuss with you, Ms. Cage.”

  “If you’d like us to handle a funeral for you, Mr. Jones, it might be best to schedule a proper appointment.” Dean sort of squeaks out the words. He’s walking slowly, but purposefully, towards the exit to my office.

  “No, no funeral, boy,” Mordecai says firmly, his voice threading power through the room towards Dean. I see my employee shake a little, his eyes going wide. “This has something to do with Ms. Cage’s other job.”

  “Other job?” Dean is curious enough to pause in his race for safety. “What other job?”

  “Her work with the police, boy.” Mordecai bites of the word ‘boy’ and he sounds like a school teacher reprimanding a pupil. No hint of his accent bleeds in, but his power is a quiet rush of low tide waves.

  “Oh, right,” Dean gulps. “Well, I’ll give you some privacy then.” He rushes the rest of the way out and closes my office door a little too hard, causing the few knick-knacks I have lying about to shake a little.

  “You scared the hell out of him, Mordecai. That wasn’t necessary.” I move and sit down at my desk, crossing my arms and leaning on the dark wood surface.

  “Humans annoy me,” he grumbles, “I do not see how you, Queen of the Blood, can consort with such fools.”