The Necromancer's Knives

by Jen Kirchner

  Panicked, I reached up to pull the fingerprint back out. Just before I did, the access spell’s blue script flared and Mikelis’s fingerprint turned blue, completely melding with the spell. The spell script pulsed—weak, but with consistent life—against my skin. I exhaled, relieved it had worked.

  We passed through the access spell without incident and walked across the long, shaggy lawn up to my back porch. Mikelis held open the door and let me enter first. We both glanced at the open bookcase, but neither of us mentioned what happened last night.

  “How was your band meeting?” Mikelis asked.

  It was not a better topic, but if I waited to tell him, it would only make things worse.

  “Not great. The FBI showed up. They were mad that Brad didn’t come.”

  Mikelis hmphed in amusement. It was the immortal version of a snort.

  He followed me to the kitchen, where I rooted around for anything that could suffice as a vase. When Mikelis blew up my kitchen, I wasn’t left with a lot. In one of the cabinets, I found an enormous travel mug that read “I heart Virginia.” It must have been Luucas’s. There was a thriving Immortal State community just outside of Virginia Beach, and as part of the East Americas, it was under Luucas’s jurisdiction.

  Mikelis removed the crepe paper from around the roses while I filled the mug with water.

  “The FBI says I have a stalker.”

  Mikelis’s hands stilled. I could feel his gaze while I looked for scissors.

  “The killer is after you?” he asked.

  “That’s what they think. Johnnie got us into the Vegas Fashion Bash so the FBI can set a trap and catch him.”

  “Good. When do we leave?”

  I winced. “This is the part you aren’t going to like. If it makes you feel better, I don’t like it either.”

  I shut the empty drawers. I had no scissors. The knives were going to learn about horticulture during their punishment period.

  “Marcus extended my dating contract without asking me. Cody’s trying to save his reputation, so we can’t be seen together, especially with you acting as bodyguard.”

  Mikelis’s expression went flat.

  I rambled on, trying to soften the blow. “I’ve called Marcus three times already to tell him to cancel the contract, but he’s not answering and hasn’t called me back.”

  Mikelis folded his arms across his broad chest.

  I continued. My babble was faster now. “He’s defending my case against the Immortal State. He’s on European time. Probably in a lot of meetings. I’m waiting for him to call back. Anyway, the FBI thinks you’d just scare off the killer, so they’re asking you to sit this one out—their words.”

  “No.”

  An uncomfortable moment of silence passed. I really wasn’t sure how to argue with that. I understood his reservation, but I was determined to help the FBI catch this criminal.

  “The Feds want the killer to feel like I’m vulnerable and you give the opposite impression.”

  “If I find that guy, I’m going to do a lot more than give an impression.”

  My pulse quickened. “I don’t believe in violence, Mikelis.”

  “But I do.”

  What in the hell was happening right now? Where was this coming from? “Then maybe you shouldn’t come.”

  In retrospect, that probably sounded worse than I meant it. But I believed in peaceful resolution, and I wasn’t going to budge.

  Mikelis unfolded his arms and braced his hands on the counter. “Kari, I know violence makes you uncomfortable—”

  “Uncomfortable?” I said, incredulous, but he kept talking.

  “—but it solves problems. It ends conflicts. It makes people safe. I accept who you are and that you don’t believe in violence, but you need to respect my beliefs, too.”

  “There’s no good reason to kill anyone,” I said, noting my voice had jumped an octave and a few decibels. I felt hot all over. I badly wanted a glass of water and an escape hatch out of this conversation. “The FBI is going to catch this guy before he kills anyone else, so you don’t need to do anything. I will be perfectly safe. Cody’s arranged security for me. I think it would be better in this case—”

  “Ooh.” He drew out the vowel for extra sarcasm. “You prefer Cody over me.”

  “No!” I said, exasperated. “I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt. It’s all I care about.”

  “More than you care about me?”

  “Why can’t you be equally important?”

  He stood up straight. “You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”

  I took a step back, feeling like I’d been slapped. “Of course not.”

  “Really? Because it seems convenient that when you’ve got a classy event to attend, your contract with Cody Springer is mysteriously extended and you don’t want to be seen with someone who gets their hands dirty. Maybe you don’t know who I really am, Kari. Maybe you imagine I’m someone that I’m not.”

  “And what are you, then?”

  His mouth spread, slowly, in a predatory smile. “I’m a killer.”

  I felt my heart splitting in two. “No, you aren’t.”

  “Yes, I am. It’s what I was born to do.” He paused, as if waiting for the pain of his words to sink in more deeply. “If you can’t accept that, then you should run back to your pretty little actor.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. The pain in my chest was excruciating.

  My voice was barely a whisper. “I think you should leave.”

  I stepped aside as he sauntered past, carrying himself with cool grace, toward the hall. Then he paused. My heart stopped, holding out hope that he’d apologize, that he’d understood my request wasn’t a personal attack. That he’d realized he was overreacting.

  He turned around. His face was dead of emotion, but his eyes were full of fury. I probably should have run, but I didn’t. I didn’t believe he was capable of doing the things he claimed. If he laid me down and gutted me with one of his knives, it would feel no different.

  He walked back into the room and stopped before me. He was so close. His gaze held mine as he reached around me and grabbed the roses he’d brought. Without a word, he lifted them from the cup. My mouth fell open, but he didn’t react. He turned away, dripping water across the floor as he disappeared into the hall. Seconds later, I heard the back door slam shut.

  I stood there, numb, tracking his signal on Death Radar as far as I could—nearly half a mile—as he left me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next night, Ryan, Nicolas, Pasha, Johnnie, and I landed on a private air strip surrounded by desert and infinite stretches of starry sky. The hatch opened, allowing the crisp night air to sweep through the plane and wake us.

  Not that I’d been sleeping. I should have, since the jet’s leather seats were plush and Cody had sprung for tiny satin pillows that felt like clouds, but my brain wouldn’t stop churning over the last few days.

  For the first time in my life, I felt truly alone. Mikelis and I hadn’t spoken since our fight, nor had I been able to reach Marcus about the dating contract. I hadn’t heard from my family, either. Brad was still on the lam. Luucas had barely been home since our confrontation about his bogus investigation, and when he was passing through for a change of clothes, he ignored me or answered my questions with grunts.

  I had to avoid my knives since I hadn’t yet come up with a suitable and creative punishment, and my cat was still with Heraclitus. I would have gone to pick up Miss Nadia, but it would have meant braving the world beyond my delicate access spell, and Death Radar told me that Immortal Intelligence was staked out down the block from my house.

  I was last out of the plane. The airport crew was already making quick work of our bags, transferring everything from the jet’s underbelly into two black vans parked at the bottom of the airstair.

  An enormous man stood in front of the van with his thick arms folded across his chest. Had I not known him, I would have been intimidated. Hi
s skin was dark, his head as bald as Mr. Clean, and his thighs each as wide as my waist. In a previous life, he’d probably been a linebacker or a sumo wrestler, but in this life he kept women from ripping off Cody Springer’s clothes.

  “Hey, Walkie-Talkie!”

  Walkie-Talkie had a real name, but no one had ever told me what it was. I figured if he wanted me to stop calling him that, he’d correct me.

  His deep voice rolled up the stairs. “Hello, Miss Hunter.”

  By his attire, it was clear this wasn’t a social call. He wore black slacks and an untucked black polo and had a radio wire in his ear. As I neared, he grabbed a black radio from his belt, said something into it, then stuck it back into its holster. He managed a rare smile that bordered politeness and mere tolerance.

  “I didn’t realize I’d be spending the next two days in your company,” I said. “Why aren’t you with Cody? I thought you were his main guy.”

  Walkie-Talkie stepped forward and picked up my bags. Despite his size, he moved with lightness and ease to the back of the van and opened the door.

  “Mr. Springer requested that I personally accompany you. My team can handle his security detail for a couple of days.”

  He set my suitcase inside the back of the van and turned to face me. His game face didn’t falter, but his gaze slid over my shoulder. I turned around.

  The team had clustered in a tight group behind me, with Pasha at my left shoulder and Johnnie at my right.

  I said, “This is Walkie-Talkie, Cody’s head of security. Walkie-Talkie, this is Pasha, our assistant. Nicolas, he’s drums. Ryan, our bass and vocals. And Johnnie, our new manager.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed at Walkie-Talkie, scrutinizing every inch of his person. Given Walkie-Talkie’s size, I was surprised that Ryan could finish in under an ice age. “How much experience do you have in security?”

  “Six years as a Navy SEAL, five as personal security in the Middle East, and four for Mr. Springer.”

  I couldn’t help but give Walkie-Talkie an impressed “Ah,” while Pasha echoed with an “Ooh.” He couldn’t have been this size when he was a SEAL—there’s no way he could have fit in a wetsuit. I bet working for Cody was less stressful, with less running and getting shot at, and allowed Walkie-Talkie to put on the pounds. Despite it, beneath the huggable flab was trained muscle.

  Nicolas’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing my temporary security. “Magic user?”

  “Third channel.”

  Nicolas looked appeased.

  I cleared my throat in a lame attempt to end the awkward interview. “Anyway, Walkie-Talkie’s apparently going to be with me while we’re here, so let’s make him feel welcome.”

  Murmurs of greeting were offered by everyone, but Walkie-Talkie didn’t seem to notice or care. He just took my elbow and practically forced me into the van.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were off to the hotel. Most hotels on the Las Vegas Strip had their own courtesy tourist attraction. Our hotel had decided on daring stunts. Every two hours, someone would appear on a designated stage outside of the hotel to eat fire, escape from a straitjacket while dangling upside down fifty feet in the air, or parkour blindfolded. The hotel also had a casino, five restaurants, a handful of bars, and a coffee shop.

  Pasha checked us into the hotel. Cody’s team had booked the rooms as part of the security arrangements. As Walkie-Talkie escorted me to the elevator, I heard the girl at the front desk shout out, “Sasha Lick? Miss Lick?”

  And, of course, Cody had personally chosen our aliases. Everyone was staring at me. Ryan snickered as he walked past on the way to the elevator.

  I willed myself to turn around. The girl at the front desk was waving a white slip of paper at me.

  “Sasha Lick? Miss Lick!”

  I gave my self-esteem a conciliatory pat on the shoulder and walked back to the desk.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Lick. I forgot to tell you that you have a message.”

  She held out the paper and I took it. I glanced down at the message. Marcus. A phone number with the Swedish country code.

  “Thanks,” I said. I followed Walkie-Talkie to the elevator and up to my room.

  My room, it turned out, was a penthouse that overlooked the Strip. I dropped my suitcase and purse in the large foyer and looked around while Walkie-Talkie gave everything a thorough check: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchenette, and a large living and dining room.

  Everything was white marble, dark woods, and gold trim. How stupid was Cody to assign me a fake name for anonymity but put me in a palatial suite? There couldn’t be many of these.

  Walkie-Talkie finally returned and handed me a black walkie-talkie of my own. “I’m in the next room. If something happens”—he pointed at the red button on the side of the black box—“just click the red button twice and I’ll come.”

  Something about the way he said it unnerved me. Suddenly, everything felt real.

  “I need to make a call,” I said, “but I don’t have a phone. Do you think the hotel phones are safe?”

  He reached into his pants pocket and produced a cheap phone with a small screen and awkward keypad. “Use this burner phone. The number’s on the back. Throw it away before you leave Vegas.”

  He left me alone in the empty penthouse. I tried shaking off the weight of our conversation and went in search of a bedroom that wasn’t larger than my entire house. I dropped my luggage in the first bedroom I found and called the number on the slip. The phone paused for a few seconds, then made a series of clicks. A low ring vibrated my ear.

  “Hallå?”

  “Hi, do you speak English?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. I’m returning a call from Marcus Servilius.”

  “He’s not available at the moment. May I ask your name?”

  “Sasha Lick.”

  I thought the dramatic pause on the other end was due to the overseas delay until I heard a snicker.

  “Sasha…” Her voice trailed off, like she was begging me to repeat myself.

  “Lick. Sasha Lick. I’m a stripper who’s made poor life decisions. I need Marcus’s help counting my mountains of one-dollar bills.”

  I gave her my number. She was laughing hysterically when I hung up.

  I needed to wash off the smell of travel, so I went to the master bath and turned on the shower. I’d just gotten in when the burner phone screamed a sound somewhere between a nuclear meltdown alarm and an angry Chewbacca. I jumped out of the water and grabbed a towel, dripping water as I ran to the bedroom.

  “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end was devoid of emotion and spoke in a clipped accent that had been molded by two millennia of cultural and linguistic clashes.

  “Miss Lick.”

  “Marcus!” I was so bottled up that I shouted his name into the phone. I wrapped the towel around my body, trying to ward off the power of the air conditioning on my wet skin. “Are you calling me from Stockholm? What’s going on? Am I going to jail? How’s my mom doing? Why am I still dating Cody Springer?”

  He didn’t immediately respond. I thought I heard shuffling and then a door shut, but it was hard to tell. We didn’t have a great connection. When he spoke again, he was whispering.

  “Cody Springer is not important right now. Your trial—”

  I cut him off. “Yes, it’s important! I had to tell Mikelis that I’ll be Cody Springer’s designated bimbo even longer. You can’t make these decisions without asking me first. I’m, like… an adult and stuff.”

  If Marcus had any thoughts on this sudden outbreak of adultness, he didn’t voice them. I clutched the towel a little closer to my body, shivering from the cold.

  “Mikelis is angry about the arrangement? He is Immortal. Tell him how much Cody is paying you, and he will surely understand.”

  “Actually,” I confessed, “I’m not sure he was mad about Cody as much as he was—wait. How much is Cody paying me?”

  Marcus told me. I dropped my towel.


  “Is Mikelis with you?” Marcus asked.

  “No,” I said, trying to grab the towel off of the floor. “We got into a huge fight because the FBI didn’t want him to come.”

  “I suppose this is a poor time to tell you that the revised contract forbids you and Mikelis from being seen together in public.”

  I jammed the phone between my shoulder and my ear and tried knotting the towel over my chest. “Yeah, that’s what he’s mad about. The lunatic who’s been killing our fans is now after me, and I had to tell Mikelis that he can’t help. Why did you do this?”

  “Mr. Springer’s people kept offering more money until I could not refuse.”

  “That’s a terrible reason, Marcus.”

  “Eliana, Cody Springer is filming a new movie two thousand miles away from you, and it will be followed by a rigorous promotional tour. He will be traveling for the duration of the new contract. Even with you back in Rochester, the distance exceeds designated bimbo range.”

  Was he really making a joke right now?

  “No, Marcus, this isn’t happening. Extra no. Hell no. No squared.”

  “The deal is in your best interests. Cody Springer is willing to give you anything in order to, as they say, save face. Given the tragedy surrounding your band at the moment, should your ‘relationship’ come to an end, the public will not look favorably on Cody. Even if the press release states that the split is amicable, the public will think he abandoned you when you needed him the most.”

  “That sounds like a problem for Cody, not me,” I said. “What do I tell Mikelis? He may never speak to me again.”

  “How did you expect him to react? Mikelis is in love with you. The only way he knows how to defend something is to throw himself at the danger, and you have taken that option away.”

  “Marcus, I didn’t know you were a romantic.”

  “I have been in love before,” he said dismissively.

  “You? Really?”

  “Of course. I understand how it feels.” Before I could ask more, he changed the subject. “We need to discuss your trial. The Immortal State is offering you full citizenship. You would be the first human citizen in our history.”