Finn Fancy Necromancy

by Randy Henderson

  Still, I wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s life on that brotherly feeling. I would need to confront Morty and get some answers from him once and for all.

  I restored the glamour on the painting, and crossed back to Father. He rocked in small, fast bobs now as he studied the tree, and he began to hum the tune to the Doors’ “Light My Fire.”

  “It’s okay, Father,” I said. “Here, I want you to wear this. It’ll keep you safe. Do not take it off.” I showed him the amulet I’d grabbed, a protection against possession, and hung it around his neck. I kissed the top of his head, tucked the amulet beneath his shirt, then left and closed the door.

  I stood in the hall facing the door, collecting my thoughts.

  If I told the others about Father, it could destroy what life he had left. Mort might insist on sending him to the Hole. Pete would be devastated. Sammy, I had no idea how she’d react. And if the ARC found out—I didn’t know what they’d do. But I certainly wasn’t going to throw my father to the enforcers on maybes and half-crimes. If he’d been possessed, then he wasn’t at fault for the crime. And he didn’t make Felicity testify against me.

  But if the Legion possessed Father before, even through the house wards, I had to assume they could again. The last thing I wanted was to wake up in the morning with Vee’s body on my floor, or someone else hurt.

  Father did have the amulet now. And if someone possessed him again, it would most likely be while we slept like last time, when the Legion needed some kind of sneaky work done and no necromancers were awake to banish the possessing spirit. Besides, I’d already slept one night at home without incident, and it’d been twenty-five years since the last possession. Whatever trick they used to get past the house wards before, maybe they couldn’t do it now.

  Either way, it looked like I’d be crashing in Father’s room until this was over. If he did become possessed, I didn’t want him harming anyone but me, not if I was keeping silent about the danger.

  Well, I had to tell Zeke the truth, at least. I couldn’t put his sister in danger without telling him. And I’d need his help to confront Mort.

  “Uncle Finn?”

  I jumped, and turned to face Mattie.

  “Uh, hey. Yes?”

  Mattie looked down and tapped at the carpet with her toe. “I know you and my dad don’t get along the best—”

  “No, Mattie, that’s not true—”

  “It’s cool. My dad doesn’t get along with a lot of people. But … he’s not a bad person. He’s just worried all the time about the business and stuff, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “And Sammy, she tells me stories about when you guys were younger, how you used to play around, and play jokes on each other and stuff. That you and my dad were like a team, at least until you had to do all the Talker training.”

  “Yeah. We definitely had some good times.” Lots of them dangerous and stupid, but good.

  “So, well—maybe you can try to be his friend again, and help him have a little bit of fun? I just—I worry about him. I don’t want him to be so unhappy all the time, you know?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. Okay, Mattie. I’ll try.”

  Mattie smiled. “Thanks, Uncle Finn.” She put on a pair of headphones and went bouncing back up the hall, humming.

  Talk about bad timing.

  I left to go find Zeke, and accuse my brother of framing me.

  13

  Bésame

  I headed back to the dining room and found Heather and Pete sitting at one end of the table, eating pasta. Heather also had a bottle of wine out, and it looked like she’d drunk at least half of it. Zeke stood spooning pasta into two shallow bowls. He looked ready to fall asleep on the spot, wobbling a bit as he stood there.

  The smell of butter and garlic made my stomach growl, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Heather stood and moved beside me. She put a hand on my chest and asked quietly, “You okay? Need to talk?”

  “No. Thank you. Maybe later, but not right now.” I looked past her. “Pete? I don’t suppose you know what happened to the old family ledger, the one in Father’s room?”

  “Someone burned it,” he said around a mouthful of pasta. “Same night as … you know, the bad stuff happened. At least that’s what Mort said.” He went back to eating.

  Right. Pretty much what I’d guessed. “Actually, Heather, maybe you could help me research something? You were always better at the research than me.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Whatever you need.” Her cheeks flushed red.

  Music began playing from her pocket. She pulled out a mobile phone, and frowned at it. “I … I need to take this. Excuse me?”

  “That’s fine. I need to talk to Mort about something first anyway.” I moved to stand beside Zeke as Heather rushed from the room. “Where’s Vee?”

  “Upstairs resting,” he said. “She’s pretty drained.” He paused and looked at me. “I hope it was worth it.”

  “It was,” I said. My mouth watered as I eyed the pasta, but lunch would have to wait. “I’ll walk up with you, and we can talk about it.”

  “And don’t worry,” Pete said as he scooped seconds of pasta. “I’m saving room for dinner with Dawn.”

  Oh. Crap. I’d completely forgotten about the “date” I’d set up. What had I been thinking?

  “Dinner?” Zeke asked. “You taking your brother on some kind of date?”

  Petey blushed. “It’s just a practice date. Right, Finn?”

  “Totally,” I said.

  Zeke turned, scowling. “You can’t be serious?”

  “We can talk about it upstairs,” I said.

  Zeke yawned. “Fine. Then let’s get walking so you can start talking, fool.”

  Neither of us spoke until we reached the second-floor landing.

  “So,” Zeke said. “You’re going out on a date while someone’s trying to kill you?”

  “Yes, I am. Whoever’s out to get me, they’ve already taken twenty-five years of brotherhood away from me and Pete. I’m not going to let them take any more. Besides, my enemies don’t seem to want me hurt, right?”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” Zeke said. “One of the many reasons I don’t believe you’re all innocence and flowers, Gramaraye, whatever you say. But even if you’re officially in hands-off status, that won’t do much to keep them from hurting your fool brother or his date.”

  “Pete’s date is a mundy, and we’ll be around other mundies most of the time. If the Legion attacked mundies—”

  “Legion?”

  “It’s what I’m calling our enemies. If they attacked mundies, that’d get the ARC’s attention in a way I don’t think the Legion wants.”

  “Maybe not. Still seems like a pointless risk.”

  “Helping my brother isn’t pointless.”

  Zeke headed for the hallway to our left. “Fine, little miss Emma, you go play matchmaker and I’ll keep trying to get us clear of this mess.”

  “Wait, did you just make a Jane Austen reference?”

  Zeke paused, then resumed walking. “The only Austen I know is Steve Austin, the six-million-dollar man.”

  “Uh-huh. Then what did you just say, then?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I do. My mother used to read Austen’s books, and I’m pretty sure—”

  “I’m pretty sure you’d better drop it, fool! If Steve Austin ever writes a book—”

  “Wait, the character, or the actor?”

  “—writes a book about his adventures kickin’ ass, and they make it into a movie starring Chuck Norris, then you go right ahead and bring up the name Austen again. Otherwise, why don’t you just start over and tell me about the memories you recovered?”

  Right. I took a deep breath.

  “Twenty-five years ago, something possessed my father and made him attack Felicity,” I said in a low voice. “Or made him help her to stage an attack. I’m guessing whoever summoned and controlled the spirit is the same enemy trying
to frame me now.”

  Zeke stopped in front of Vee’s door and squinted at me for a second. “All right. So we go to the ARC and let their sorcerers poke around in your father’s head now that you know where to start, maybe figure this all out. We can get some enforcers in here to protect everyone, and finally start busting some feyblood heads for answers—”

  “No,” I said. “You’re not telling the ARC about my father.”

  “Maybe you’re not, martyr boy, but why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because of your sister.”

  Zeke leaned over me. “Is that a threat, Gramaraye?”

  “No. I meant because you understand. You went into exile to protect your sister. It turns out, I went into exile to protect my father. And I’ll do so again if I need to. If Vee had been made to commit a crime without her control, and you served your exile in her place, would you want the ARC to then turn around and exile Vee anyway?”

  Zeke leaned back, and glanced at the door to Vee’s room. “No. But if you’re right, if your father was made to commit the crime, the ARC will see that too and be lenient. Besides, when the ARC learns they exiled you for twenty-five years and you really were innocent, they’re going to owe you big-time.”

  “Right. And the reason they would owe me big-time is they screwed up. So why should I trust they won’t screw up again and send my father into exile? And even if they don’t exile him, he’ll be thrown into the Hole. Would you take that risk with Vee?”

  Zeke exhaled heavily through his nose and pursed his lips, causing his long mustache to dance. “Fine. We do it your way for now. I’m too tired to deal with the ARC anyway. But if they come to us, I’m not lying about what I know.”

  “Thank you. And one more thing.” I glanced down the hall, to Mort’s room. “I need you to come listen as I ask Mort a question, tell me if he’s lying or not.”

  Zeke’s stomach growled. He frowned. “I need to eat and sleep before I fall over. How ’bout I save you time, and let’s just assume he’s lying?”

  “The question’s kind of too important for that. Please? Would it help if I said you might have to force the answer out of him?”

  “You really know how to woo me. Fine. One fool question. Then I’m off to bed.”

  “Deal.”

  “Hang on, then.” He went into Vee’s room and came back out a minute later empty handed. “Let’s go.”

  I knocked on Mort’s door. Twice.

  “Yeah,” he finally responded in a groggy voice.

  “It’s Finn. I need to ask you a quick question. It’s pretty important.”

  “Fine. Come in.”

  I led Zeke into Mort’s bedroom. It looked much like I assume Darth Vader’s bedroom would look. The bed, entertainment center, dresser, end tables, curtain rods, all were matching black and chrome. The thick curtains were closed against the weak Pacific Northwest sunlight, but a television the size of a view screen played a baseball game. What a waste. I could only imagine how awesome something like Battlestar Galactica would look on a screen like that.

  Mort had his head propped up on black pillows. As we came in, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

  “Hey, guys,” he said in an oddly cheery tone. “You wanna watch the game?”

  “No,” I said. “Uh, how’re you feeling?”

  “Good. Good. The healer gave me a little something that made all the pain go away, like little bubbles, pop pop pop.” He chuckled, and his attention wandered back to the television. “I, hey, thanks again for helping out. No hard feelings, right? I mean you—ooo, look how fast he can run.”

  No hard feelings? For nearly getting us killed by sasquatches, or for something worse?

  “Mort, can you focus for a second? I need to ask you a question.”

  Mort looked at me, or rather his eyes looked in my direction. They actually focused on me a second later. “Sure. What’s up?”

  I glanced at Zeke, and cleared my throat. I didn’t want to completely alienate my brother, especially after Mattie’s plea. But I needed to clearly determine if Mort was guilty or not, and I didn’t have time for subtlety. “Mort, did you have anything to do, accidental or not, with the attack on Felicity, or making it look like I attacked her?”

  “What? No! Of course not. Like I told you, I really believed what the ARC said, that you’d hurt Felicity. But, you know, I’m really sorry about doubting you, man.”

  Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “He told the truth about having nothing to do with the attack on Felicity or framing you. But the rest—”

  Mort blushed. “Fine. So I’m not sorry for doubting you. But that’s not a crime.”

  “Right,” I said. “Great. Sorry for bugging you.”

  “But—” Zeke began.

  “That’s good,” I said emphatically, and motioned to the door.

  Zeke grunted. “Whatever. I need some sleep anyway.”

  “Thanks for checking on me,” Mort said as Zeke stepped through the door. “It was a pleasure.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, and I started to close his door but stopped. Damn it. Mattie’s plea poked at me again. And this was not how I wanted to relive this moment for the rest of my life in exile, or leave things with Mort anyway. I leaned back into his room. “Look, I know things have been a little … rough since I’ve been back. But when everything settles down, maybe you and me, we can go do something together? Something fun, like in the old days?”

  “I don’t know,” Mort said, staring bleary eyed at the television again. “We’ll see.”

  “Right. Okay. Later.” I closed his door.

  Zeke waited by the door to his room, between Mort’s and Vee’s. “Real winner, your brother,” he said.

  “I don’t think Mort’s involved in what’s going on with us. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him anyway.”

  “Well, at least we agree on that,” Zeke said. “So before I grab a little Odinsleep, is there anything else you want to tell me? Like what it is you need Heather’s help researching?”

  “Oh, right. Well, I think whatever’s going on, it has something to do with the fact that I can still Talk to a spirit that’s been warded, but only if my family did the warding. That’s the other bit of memory they tried to hide. So that should make it a lot easier to figure out who exactly my enemies don’t want me Talking to.”

  “And then we go Talk to that spirit anyway. Good. I like it. Go do your research and let me know what you find. Tomorrow. Right now, I—”

  “Need your sleep. Yeah, I got it.”

  Zeke blew out his mustache at me, then went into his room.

  I headed back downstairs just in time to find Heather clearing the last of the food from the table. “You ready to do that research?” she asked.

  I eyed the remains of the pasta and sighed. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  Heather followed my gaze and said, “Here. Eat up first. You need your energy.”

  Heather downed another glass of wine as I shoveled pasta and vegetables from the bowl to my stomach with only the briefest stop in my mouth, and then we walked to the family library.

  I closed the library doors behind us, and when I turned back around, Heather stood close enough that I smelled the apple scent of her shampoo. She locked the library doors, and put her other hand on my chest. She looked into my eyes for a second, and something like uncertainty or sadness flashed through hers. Then she straightened her shoulders.

  “Don’t be nervous,” she said, and I could smell the wine on her breath. “I don’t bite, much. Unless you beg for it.”

  She leaned in for a kiss. I jerked back, and hit the library doors.

  “Uh, I don’t think this is a good idea. What if someone comes—”

  “Everyone’s busy, and nobody comes in libraries anymore. Though I’m hoping we can change that.” She leaned in again. I put my hands between us.

  “Wait, I just—this is kind of sudden. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it—I mean, you know, not that I pict
ured you … doing stuff, but—there’s just so much going on, and I don’t know—” How to do it, I thought. Actually, my brain didn’t know. My body knew exactly what it wanted, and a wild gang of hormones did their best to stuff my brain into a sack and beat it into submission.

  Heather pouted. “You know, for someone who’s been without companionship for twenty-five years, I thought I’d be fighting you off, not the other way around.”

  “It’s not like I don’t want … not like I don’t like you or anything, but—”

  “The only buts I like when it comes to sex are the ones I can grab. Let’s not ruin this with a bunch of thinking, Finn. I want you, you want me, there’s absolutely no reason we shouldn’t have a little harmless fun. Are you being shy because you’re a virgin?”

  “What? I’m not—that is, what makes you—”

  “I think we both know better. You couldn’t even bring yourself to kiss me before you got sent away. But you don’t need to be nervous.” She pressed against me. “I’ll enjoy every minute of it, and so will you, I promise.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as me, but then she moved in again for a kiss, and I had nowhere to go but for it.

  Her kiss was different from Dawn’s truth-or-dare kiss, which I’d replayed in my head (voluntarily and involuntarily) thousands of times. Where Dawn’s kiss all those years ago had been warm and melting, Heather’s felt more like the suggestion of a true kiss, her lips hesitant, her tongue in retreat from mine.

  The kiss ended, and I leaned back, opening my eyes.

  “Well,” she asked. “Worth the wait?”

  “Definitely,” I said. What else was I going to say? That it felt somehow … lacking? Yeah, that would pretty much end any chance I had of rebuilding our friendship, let alone taking it further. Still, while it didn’t feel like I’d kissed my sister or anything, there was certainly no Hallelujah choir singing in the background either.

  Maybe it was just me. Maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It wasn’t like we’d had a fun-filled day together and were at some basement party or something. And there was the fact that she’d slept with Mort. And that she had a grown son. And that—