The Necromancer's Knives

by Jen Kirchner

  There was nothing in there except for Thai take-out, but he was welcome to it.

  I checked the map. With a quick and simple gesture, I could send myself straight to The Floor, but I would return to the last place I’d left. Unfortunately, that place was now likely filled with necromancer powers. I needed to land in a safer spot. To change my destination, I’d need a new set of coordinates and a little blood.

  I stepped away from the table, giving myself some space, and gestured the new coordinates near my feet. Inky black hashes and dots splashed across the white linoleum. Then I grabbed Stubby.

  Yes!

  I poked my finger with the tip of the blade, then smeared my blood into the coordinates. A loud clang rang out, and the blood flashed to black. The coordinates blurred and spun wildly, connecting to that precise spot on the plane of the dead. I went to tuck Stubby into a drawer while I was gone.

  Not the underwear drawer! I’ve been good…ish.

  I suppose that was true. At the very least, Stubby had been better than Longy. I opened the drawer next to the underwear drawer, where I keep all of my weird supplies. I set Stubby inside, then grabbed the lollipop jar and ꜱʏᴍʙᴏʟꜱ notebook from the table and set them next to Stubby. Then I shut the drawer.

  “Stay quiet,” I said.

  I stepped onto the coordinates and gestured with both hands. My soul was ripped from my body and sucked away into the afterlife.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was falling down a dark tunnel, unable to stop or slow my descent. Pinpricks of white light, just beyond my reach, streaked upward.

  When my descent ended, I stood on cracked rock in a silent, barren landscape painted in sepia, like an old-fashioned photo at a state fair. My ears constantly felt like they needed to pop but wouldn’t. Ten feet before me flowed the river Styx, a black-green river filled with magic runoff that powered an eclectic mix of non-channel magic, like Wicca and voodoo. My points of interest were on the other side of the Styx.

  A haze hovered over the river and blocked my view of the opposite shore, but a steep bank rose above. A black mass crowned the top: the newly dead. As I watched, more souls fell from the sky and joined the mass. Unable to move freely, they would fan out and drift toward the Point of No Return and the enormous white tree that towered in the distance.

  Movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned. An eight-foot undead nightmare stood before me. His dusty brown robe fluttered in a nonexistent breeze, and his deep, eyeless sockets seemed to fix on my face.

  I was so excited to see him that I ran right over and threw my arms around him. Our height difference didn’t matter. The ferryman was used to our awkward hugs. I felt his gangly arms wrap around me. His bony hand patted my shoulder.

  When he pulled away, he nodded and raised one arm, pointing an emaciated finger toward the white tree. Then he pointed a second time. I had no idea what he was trying to tell me, but I appreciated his attempt all the same. I would have asked, but there’s no sound on The Floor. No speech. Just questions unanswered and endless possibilities. The ferryman knew that, so he just squeezed my shoulder, turned, and glided back to a crude wooden raft bobbing on the river’s edge.

  I looked toward the other side of the river. Raising my hands, I felt energy cling to me, swirling around my palms and wrists. I gestured a crude formation with my fingers.

  In a blink, I stood on the opposite bank, teetering on the edge of the tall embankment. The souls of the newly dead stood before me, packed so tightly they were almost shoulder to shoulder. Gray mist emanated from them like a fog and trailed off in tiny wisps.

  I couldn’t risk a blind hop, gesturing myself to land in a random spot. If I landed too close to a necromancer power or on top of a soul, I’d be in trouble. I’d have to walk until I was out of the haze.

  Using both hands, I gestured at the souls directly before me, pushing my hands outward. The crowd erupted in a macabre fireworks display. Columns of shadow launched away, arcing through the space and landing elsewhere on The Floor.

  No one was hurt; I had just sped up their journey to the afterlife.

  I sensed panic in the multitude as I walked through the channel I’d created. Wide eyes followed my trek, and mouths opened and closed, exclaiming and asking questions I couldn’t hear.

  Some souls thrashed and flailed, trying to dislodge their feet from the ground, like mine, and were confused when they couldn’t. A woman screamed soundlessly and reached for me, her fingers coming so close they almost brushed my shoulder—and that’s when I bolted through the gap and rushed into open space.

  The subdued browns of The Floor welcomed and calmed me. I paused for a minute, squinting to see in the distance. I saw nothing but souls drifting, fanning out as they did, toward the afterlife. No necromancer powers. Just dead people.

  Huh.

  I gestured again, aiming for an empty spot a little farther on The Floor. When I arrived, I turned a full circle, taking in the view of the flat, dry rock and making sure the coast was clear. The souls were more evenly spread out here.

  In the distance, I saw two black pillars gliding across the rock.

  I guessed they were around the halfway mark between the Styx and the tree. From here, the powers seemed small, but I estimated that they were actually about twice the size of the power that had almost killed me.

  I focused on the ghostly white tree in the distance and gestured again. In a flash, I had crossed over half of The Floor’s distance. Anaconda-sized roots twisted around me, curving through the air in gangly, gnarled forms before plunging back into the hard rock. Though I stood at the outskirts of the tree roots, I still had to duck to glance out at The Floor.

  No souls drifted toward the tree—they circled around, heading for the Point of No Return. Even the closest souls were faint, dark shadows far beyond the perimeter of the tree roots. I turned to glance at the Styx when a black pillar five times my size zipped across the stone, weaving and winding around souls, its whiplike tentacles flailing and caressing the souls as it passed.

  A necromancer power. A gigantic one.

  I backed up fast, tripped over a root, and fell hard on my side. Pain seared my physical body, a distant feeling, and I scrambled backward, smacking my head and scraping my hands, my hair catching on roots that arched around me. When my back slammed into something hard, I let out a silent scream of terror, jumped, and banged my head.

  I was near the tree trunk. Shaking and panting for breath, I stared through gaps in the roots. My hands were poised and ready to jump back to the physical world if the necromancer power came for me. I counted to ten.

  Twenty.

  Fifty.

  Nothing happened. The power hadn’t noticed me.

  As the panic subsided, I started to process what I’d seen. Big necromancer powers roaming halfway between the river and the tree. Farther out, an enormous one. Did their locations correspond to their sizes? Where were the small necromancer powers for fourth-channelers like me?

  I rolled over onto my hands and knees and started crawling toward the Point of No Return. The wall loomed over me, ominous, even with its bright and shimmering appearance. Its light poured between the open spaces of the roots and gave the tree a ghostly glow.

  As soon as I passed the trunk, I could feel the pull of the wall, wanting to suck me into whatever lay beyond its facade. The ends of my hair flicked up and floated in the wall’s direction. My body moved more easily, as if gravity were bringing me downhill. I had to be careful; if I got too close to the wall, it would suck me through it, and then there was no coming back.

  But I had done this before. I knew where I was going. I followed my usual path, which was more like a tunnel through the roots. Straight, then right, then left, right again, then stop. My hair streamed forward, nearly blinding me.

  I lifted my hands, pulling energy into my palms. A speck of wild light appeared and grew larger as the energy gathered. Once the light was about the size of a ping-pong ball, I gestured again, e
nding the ritual. The energy hardened into a dark sphere and dropped into my hand. This solidified magical ether was the primary material component for many necromancer items like sacrificial knives and protective posts. I used them for research.

  From here, it was a straight shot to the wall. I rolled the sphere like a bowling ball. The wall did the rest. And just like that, the sphere was gone.

  Necromancer spheres are the only things that can come back from the other side. I’d have to wait about a day before it returned. Hopefully it would find a power that Brad and I could agree on for a spell, but I was doubtful. This method of discovering magic powers was incredibly random.

  I gestured with both hands and released myself from the plane, back into my body. On the way back up, I thought about the different sizes of powers and came up with some new theories that would make Stubby call me a nerd again.

  I blinked at the bright, sterile lab. My hands burned from scraping them across the rock. I had to use my fingertips to rub the bump forming on my head. “Sorry that took so long. You won’t believe what I saw—”

  My eyes adjusted, and I realized I was talking to an empty table. The lollipop jar was on the floor and lollipops were scattered around the room. Brad and Nicolas were pressed against the far wall. Their eyes were wide and their postures were stiff. Brad was in his casting pose with one finger in the air, ready. Nicolas was rubbing both of his temples with his fingers.

  Before I could ask what was happening, Brad grabbed me and yanked me to the wall.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I yelped.

  Brad released me. He and Nicolas pointed at Ryan.

  I turned around.

  Ryan was on the other side of the room with his nose pressed into the small space between the metal wall and the cabinets, where the panic room button was concealed.

  “Ryan, what are you doing?” I asked.

  His body jolted, as if my voice shocked him.

  “How do you work this?”

  His words rang in my ears and somehow inside my mind, creating a strange echo.

  I stuck a finger in my ear and wiggled it. “The door?”

  Ryan turned around. Stubby was in his hand. My breath caught in my throat.

  Ryan’s eyes were wide open in an unblinking trance. A black cord of necromancer smoke coiled around his arm, ran across his shoulder, and flowed into his half-open mouth. When he spoke, Stubby’s voice was layered atop the reverberation still permeating my brain.

  “I said…” Ryan’s body took a deep breath and shouted, “HOW-DO-YOU-WORK-THIS-FLESH-PUPPET?”

  I let out a blood-curdling scream. I wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or blind rage. Probably both.

  “I’m serious,” Stubby said, through Ryan. “All these limbs are confusing.” I continued hearing Ryan’s voice and Stubby’s mental voice layered together. “I’m so bored! I want to open the door and watch TV, but—” Ryan’s arm swiped Stubby’s ebony blade through the air. “Ooh, I like that.”

  “Stubby!” I screamed. “Let him go right now!”

  “Help me open the door first. I want to watch TV.”

  Stubby-Ryan turned back around and walked forward, headbutting the metal wall. Ryan was going to have a hell of a headache later.

  I snatched up a handful of lollipops from the floor. One by one, I pelted Ryan’s head and back with the brightly colored candies.

  “Stop that,” Stubby complained. “I’ve almost figured out how to use his legs.”

  “Your television privileges are revoked forever!” I shouted. “You will listen to it from the underwear drawer! You’ll wear flannel panties with teddy bears and bows on them! And I’ll drown you in perfume!”

  “Then I’m definitely going back into the panic room.”

  Stubby-Ryan knelt. His arm reached into the space between the wall and the cabinets.

  “Now!” Brad shouted.

  He and Nicolas bolted toward Ryan. I was still throwing lollipops when they jumped onto Ryan’s bent form, slamming his head into the metal wall and pinning him to the ground.

  “Is this what pain feels like? Interesting.”

  Brad stomped on Ryan’s hand. The knife skittered across the white linoleum, spraying a haze of black smoke. The smoke around Ryan’s throat dissipated.

  Ryan moaned.

  “Are you okay?” Brad asked.

  “Head hurts.”

  Nicolas peered into Ryan’s eyes. Blue runes flickered in the air. Energy pulsed against me, soft and serene. “Do you remember anything?”

  “Everything. I just couldn’t stop myself from doing it.”

  I grabbed Stubby from the floor, opened the underwear drawer, and dropped the knife inside. The dark blade bounced once on the fluffy pile of brightly colored silk, satin, and lace, and slid into panty oblivion. A single trail of black smoke wound its way up through the layers of cloth.

  Does this mean no presents?

  I slammed the drawer shut.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mikelis and I stood in the woods behind my house inspecting the faint blue spell string squiggling and slithering around my property. The movement of the runes seemed strained, and its color seemed less vibrant than most second-channel spells, but so far it’d held.

  Of course, I’d babied it all day. I’d only added a few magical fingerprints to the spell: myself, Brad, Luucas, and the gate remote. Now that Mikelis was here, I was going to add him, too.

  Not that Mikelis ever needed to be added to get through. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but I always felt the brute force he applied as he came through. This spell definitely wouldn’t stand up to Mikelis’s usual treatment, though, and if Nicolas had to cast it again, his head might pop. So, I was going to do this the old-fashioned way.

  “Well,” I asked, “what do you think?”

  Mikelis had one foot propped on a small stump and one hand held behind his back. The skepticism in his eyes was clear, and his lips were pinched into a frown.

  “Marcus can replace it when he gets back,” I said. “Whenever that is.”

  Mikelis nodded, resigned. “Until then, Intelligence won’t get past this.”

  “That’s all I need. As long as no one can sneak in.” I pointed a finger at Mikelis and gently peeled off a copy of his fingerprint—

  “Just me.”

  Mikelis’s voice was so low that I almost didn’t hear it. There was something strange in his tone that I couldn’t quite identify. I stilled, holding my pose with one finger in the air like I was checking the direction of the wind.

  “Of course you can. You’re a necromancer. Necromancers have ways of messing with everyone’s spells.”

  He studied me for a few seconds. I had a feeling he was debating whether to elaborate.

  Finally, he said, “No. You’re the only one who can do that.”

  I dropped my hand, releasing Mikelis’s fingerprint. “What?”

  He pointed to where his fingerprint had snapped back into the supernatural plane and was receding into the background. “I can’t peel apart layers of a spell and do weird things to change them. Only you can do that. If I want to affect an access spell, I have to do…”

  His voice trailed off for a second while he searched for the right word. I tried being patient while I waited for him to fill in the blank. Patience was not one of my virtues.

  “…things.”

  My brain went into overdrive. What was he saying? Had he done something awful? The insinuation behind his words made me break out in a cold sweat. Everything that necromancers do involves blood or death—sometimes both. I’m the exception to the rule because my magic is different. I always thought it was just me tricking the magic system. I guess I’d always assumed that other necromancers could trick the system, too.

  Apparently not.

  “You look upset,” he said.

  I was. He looked upset, too. Wary. A little frustrated. It felt like a standoff. One where no one wanted to make the first move.

  I stee
led myself and licked my lips. “Did you kill someone?”

  “Kari, you know my past. I’ve killed a lot of people.”

  It didn’t escape my notice that he’d deflected. I was shaking so hard that my breath was a ragged whisper. “I know. That was a long time ago, though. You know what I mean.”

  His lips dipped into a frown.

  I repeated, “Did you murder someone to get past my access spell?”

  “No.”

  All the tension went out of my body. A shaky laugh escaped my mouth. “Well, good. That’s all that matters.”

  The look on his face said he didn’t share my relief. “I assumed you knew how necromancers got around access spells. We need to talk about this. It’s important, but…” He scrubbed his face with one hand. The other was still held behind his back. “If we talk about it now, tonight will be ruined.”

  I didn’t want that, either. I needed a temporary escape from my life, and I was feeling too selfish to let another night with Mikelis get ruined.

  “It can wait, then,” I said. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “Tomorrow. But for tonight…” He brought his arm from behind his back, presenting me with a bouquet of red roses wrapped in crepe paper.

  I was stunned, and I forgot all about the awkward conversation. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had gotten me roses. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  I took the roses. It didn’t matter that it left me one-handed. I could still add him to my access spell. I pointed at Mikelis and gestured again. An elaborate black symbol peeled off of his body and hovered in the air before him. It was made of grand, sweeping lines that looked like painterly strokes. Three dots within an elaborate swirl at the bottom indicated his channel.

  With gentle movements, I directed his magical fingerprint through the air. I held my breath as the symbol glided in sync with my hand and inserted itself into the access spell. The access spell halted its movement and dimmed so low it was almost invisible. Its energy dipped to a faint vibration, as if the spell was reaching out in its final throes of life.