The Necromancer's Knives

by Jen Kirchner

  I’d been expecting this. For some reason, I thought Marcus would sound a lot more excited.

  At least, as excited as Marcus can get.

  “Luucas told me this was the solution to all my problems.”

  “I would hardly call it a solution. Your situation has become worse since the new first-channel spell came to light. The offer from the Council is vague and includes strange wording that could be a trap. On the other hand, fourth-channelers are considered endangered, and you would be protected from foreign governments. I am not entirely sure what it would mean for your future.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I can tell you what it would mean.”

  I told him about Immortal Intelligence breaking into the house and the conversation with Norayr, and I followed it up with Luucas’s bizarre confession about the bunker, my mom, and the key to the person behind voodoo master Ruairí O’Bryne.

  “Luucas spoke with Isadora?” He sounded pensive. “He should not have done that. The last I heard, Isadora’s condition had not improved. Any hints she offers are suspect.”

  “I told him that, but I don’t think he was listening to me. And now I have Immortal Intelligence after me.”

  Marcus grunted. “I will not sugarcoat this for you, Eliana. Norayr Hakobyan is dangerous. He cares about the integrity of the Immortal State above all, which is why the Council gives him so much leeway. His involvement explains the stipulations around your citizenship.”

  I braced myself. “Stipulations?”

  “Before you are granted citizenship, you would need to be tested.”

  “In case I have cooties?”

  I could practically hear the joke whooshing over Marcus’s head.

  “You must perform a series of tests that prove you have the ability to insert magic into the channels and that you can tailor the spells already assigned to the channels.”

  Norayr had to be behind this. He would orchestrate the test to make me reveal everything I can and can’t do, until there were no tricks left up my sleeve and no loopholes left to escape through. He’d own me forever.

  “Marcus, I can’t do that. There has to be another option.”

  “Only one comes to mind. You could change your identity and go into hiding.” He paused. “Forever.”

  I noticed that he skipped the phrase “for the rest of your life.” He was assuming I’d become immortal at some point.

  “We need to think of something else, Marcus. Something that doesn’t involve screwing the majority of the planet’s population or going on the run.”

  I shivered in my towel, and I wasn’t sure it was because of the cold.

  “Eliana, as your attorney, I must be honest: I do not think there are other options. However, I will speak with the court again tomorrow. I will see if I can broker a more peaceful agreement where you will not be forced to alter magic or enable the State to wage war.”

  He didn’t sound positive about it, but I appreciated that he was going to try.

  “Thanks, Marcus. This almost makes up for renewing my contract with Cody Springer.”

  “Almost? Do you recall how much he is paying for the pleasure of your non-company?”

  I sighed. “You’re positive I won’t see Cody at all for the next three months?”

  “My dearest Eliana, when have I ever been wrong?”

  Before I could remind him, he hung up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day before the Fashion Bash was not a relaxing, fun-filled day. Our schedule consisted of a quick breakfast, a walkthrough of the venue, a check-in with Agent Ganning, a sound check, a rehearsal, another sound check, and a meeting with a tailor. We barely had time to eat.

  To Walkie-Talkie’s credit, he was a reassuring presence the entire day. He made jokes at appropriate times to ease any stress or tension, and he even held my purse a couple of times. I had a feeling that I was easier to look after than Cody, even with the FBI everywhere.

  By the time dinner rolled around, no one had seen anyone suspicious, and I was exhausted. I collapsed in bed after a late dinner and called it a night.

  The day of the Fashion Bash felt different. Everything moved at the same high speed as the day prior, but something was off. Walkie-Talkie was aloof; he stood alone in corners while talking on his phone or mumbling into his earpiece. Agent Ganning was supposed to meet with us again in the morning but had to cancel. I asked Walkie-Talkie if everything was okay—twice—and he gave me a vague answer each time. I wasn’t sure if he honestly didn’t know the answer or if professionalism dictated his reticence.

  At 2:45 on the dot, we were dressed, dolled up, and ready to go. Johnnie had already departed for the venue to check on our gear. Pasha marched us down to the limo.

  I couldn’t remember the last time we all looked so rich. Ryan wore a black suit with a black shirt that had one too many buttons undone. His chest was pink from a fresh wax.

  Nicolas was clad in a pair of black jeans and a tuxedo jacket. His black dyed hair stuck up every which way and his eyes were lined with heavy black pencil.

  Pasha’s hair was pinned up into a tight black bun, and she looked understated in a little black dress so as not to upstage us.

  We’d also dressed up our temporary musician, Merel, who was filling in for Brad. She embodied the badass rock-and-roll woman, wearing tight black pants, a cropped red leather jacket, and skyscraper heels. I told Pasha that I wanted Merel’s outfit instead and was ignored. I wore a tiny sheath dress made of lace, paired with a barely-there slip. I’d tried to complain about the dress, but Pasha pointed out that it met all of my criteria for public attire: it had full sleeves, it wasn’t backless, and it showed no cleavage. For my legs, I pulled on thigh-high stockings and garters. My skin was covered, but I’d have to do acrobatics to make sure I didn’t flash my underwear while climbing out of the limo.

  Walkie-Talkie was already downstairs, talking on his earpiece. We climbed into the limo. Walkie-Talkie bent down, hovering over the open door.

  He nodded in the direction of the driver, who we couldn’t see due to the partition being up. “The FBI is chauffeuring this limo, so you’ll be fine as long as you stay inside it. I’m going ahead to make sure the red carpet’s safe.”

  Nicolas frowned. “You aren’t coming with us?”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said, standing. As he closed the door, he raised his radio and said, “The queen is rolling. I repeat, the queen is rolling.”

  Who in the world was he talking to? He was working alone, as far as I knew, since his team was still with Cody.

  Ryan leaned forward and smiled at Nicolas. “He’s talking about you, Eyeliner.”

  Nicolas grinned and pointed at Ryan’s exposed chest. “Ten-four, Wax-On.”

  Pasha snickered.

  Walkie-Talkie rapped twice on the roof. The limo pulled away.

  The limo took us south on the Strip, then through a series of side streets to avoid the city’s congestion, before arriving at the designated checkpoint a block from the venue. Two dozen limos were already lined up and waiting. We stopped at the back of the line, too far away to see the red carpet yet. Before moving to the event, security would verify that everyone’s name was on the guest list. Event coordinators would handle the timing.

  A red carpet event is a strange parade designed to look like the casual arrival of famous people in random order. The perception couldn’t be farther from the truth. Red carpets are timed with military precision, like a fleet of Navy battleships heading out to war.

  The security team was slowly working its way down to us. We waited another twenty minutes before one of the guards approached our limo and stopped at the driver’s window. They talked for a few minutes. The guard stepped back and our limo pulled out and drove directly to the front of the line. Just before we pulled through the security checkpoint, the limo pulled to the curb and the driver cut the engine.

  Our group exchanged a confused look.

  Nicolas reached over and hit the button to lower
the partition. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re being asked to wait,” the driver said. “Something’s going on at the venue.”

  “How long?” I asked the driver.

  He shrugged, then pressed his fingers against his earpiece. He listened for a few seconds and said, “As soon as I get the all-clear. Just sit tight, and we’ll be on our way in a moment.”

  “Are we going to make it in time?” Nicolas asked. “We play a set in two hours.”

  The agent didn’t respond. Instead, he raised the partition back up.

  Pasha pulled out her phone. “I’m calling Johnnie.”

  We waited in tense silence for Johnnie to answer.

  We could see the red carpet from here. Hundreds of people clustered on one side of a thin red carpet that began at the curbside where the limos deposited celebrities. The carpet itself was shaded by the event center, a squat building made of metal and glass. White gauze awnings stood over the carpet, and the loose ends of the gauze blew in a breeze created by a few strategically placed electric fans. Velvet ropes provided the barrier between the red carpet and the tiered platform where journalists and photographers jostled each other for better angles.

  There was a lot of active magic. Blue and white spell strings swirled around the entire perimeter of the red carpet, chasing each other around and around, from one end to the other. Protective runes, I assumed. Over the crowd, additional strings of magic flashed and popped, mostly the blue and red runes of the second and third channels, activating and splashing against my skin, and then hovering in random places in the air.

  I could feel the strength of the second-channel protection spells. Every security person must have been wearing personal protection spells, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the attendees and guests were wearing them, too.

  Out of habit, I checked Death Radar. The dead raccoon behind the hotel bummed me out. I also detected a few immortals around, but no one I knew. Most of them were in the crowd. The Immortal State didn’t have an authorized community in Nevada, so I figured they were on vacation.

  Two limos passed us, heading to the red carpet. My pulse ratcheted up a few notches.

  “Voicemail,” Pasha grumbled. Her nails clicked against the phone as she waited through his recorded greeting. “Johnnie, this is Pasha. We’re still in the limo. We’ve been pulled out of the red carpet line, and we’re worried about missing our showtime. Do you know what’s going on? Call me.”

  He never called.

  Forty minutes later, we were directed back into the limo line. We pulled away from the curb and up to the security checkpoint.

  To our surprise, Walkie-Talkie was waiting there. He walked over with two security guards who were dressed like him. Had he brought backup?

  The guards stopped at the driver’s window. Walkie-Talkie opened the limo door, and everyone scooted over to make room.

  I barely caught the end of a conversation as Walkie-Talkie climbed inside.

  “Two minutes,” one of them said. It sounded like a promise, as if it was something Walkie-Talkie had requested. Then they turned and walked back to the front of the limo line. Walkie-Talkie shut the door.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  Walkie-Talkie shrugged. “Procedure.”

  “Procedure feels a little funny to me,” I said.

  He just shrugged.

  Two minutes later, we were finally at the red carpet. Pasha gave me a once-over, poked at my hair, and did her usual booger check. She handed me a tissue.

  Walkie-Talkie ordered us to stay inside. He got out and walked around to my side, which faced the carpet. I assumed he wanted to open my door, but I was tired of sitting around. We had a gig to play. I pushed open the limo door and angled out as best I could without hitching my dress up to my armpits.

  As I stood there and smiled, Nicolas, Ryan, and Merel climbed out and stood next to me. Cameras flashed. People called our names. Nothing terrible happened. So far, so good. When we moved up the carpet, Pasha slid out of the limo like a ninja and stepped off to the side, our glamorous lady-in-waiting.

  After ten minutes of smiling and posing, we were only at the red carpet’s halfway mark. My skin tickled from all of the spells. I was having a hard time telling the difference between first-channel spells and camera flashes.

  People were shouting my name, wanting me to look their way for a photo. I turned and smiled, paused, refreshed my smile, and turned again. Excitement in the crowd was quickly building, and shouts were escalating to a roar. I heard a new name shouted above the din.

  “Cody! Cody Springer!”

  I froze. My smile and eyelids were open so wide they hurt my face. An excited roar erupted from the crowd. Confused, I glanced back at the curb, and to my relief I didn’t see Cody. More movie stars and models were being dropped off at the red carpet. For some reason, they’d all paused and were staring at me.

  No, wait. They were staring past me.

  I turned around. Walkie-Talkie smiled and said something into his radio.

  My eyes slid past him toward the only thing moving on the red carpet: striding toward me with purpose, wearing black tuxedo pants, a white tuxedo jacket, and a white shirt with the top three buttons undone to show off his tanned pecs, with his black hair blowing in the artificial breeze like a model in a shampoo commercial, was Cody Springer. His eyes locked on mine and I froze, caught in his gaze like a tiny ship in a massive tractor beam.

  Cody reached me in seconds.

  He stepped into my space and slid one arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. His fingers slid up my back to my bare neck. His lips pressed against mine, and he dipped me backward, low.

  Cameras went crazy, flashing hot white light at us, eager to capture every second of our togetherness. Spells popped and flashed against me.

  His eyes flew open at the initial static shock of our contact. His entire body tensed. Tiny squiggles of spell strings in white, blue, and red danced in the corners of my eyes, and now that Cody was touching me, they were dancing in the corners of his eyes, too.

  His mouth left mine and we stared at each other. Cody wasn’t that much taller than me, especially when I wore heels, so it was almost impossible to break the awkward, pressing stare we were locked into. Behind his eyes, I could see it—the million-piece Kari Hunter puzzle falling into place. Another second-channel spell went off somewhere nearby, its bright blue cobalt runes winking in and out of existence.

  Cody’s eyes widened. He knew.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I hung in Cody’s arms, helpless, while cameras flashed and people screamed our names. I’d never wanted more for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

  Cody pulled me back onto my feet and released me. His eyes were wide, and I could see the instant his thoughts went from surprise to panic. His mouth opened as if he were about to scream out, “Kari Hunter is a necromancer!”

  I snapped into crisis resolution mode. There was no time for rational thought. I threw myself at Cody, grabbing the back of his head with both hands, and pressed my mouth against his.

  The crowd went wild. Cameras flashed. People screamed.

  While his lips mashed mine and I inhaled his garlic-onion breath, I accepted that this was likely not the best way to keep my identity a secret. However, no one would blame me for reacting like this—except for Mikelis.

  Only I would have my tongue in a handsome beefcake’s mouth and still think about someone else.

  Just before I passed out from oxygen deprivation, Cody pulled away, breaking our kiss. He grabbed my hips and pulled me against him, hard. His mouth brushed my ear, and his breath was hot on my neck. “I own you now,” he said. “You will do everything I say, or I’m telling the world.”

  Cody released me—and backed right into Ryan. Startled, Cody tried to turn around, but Ryan caught him around the neck with a beefy arm and flashed a thousand-watt smile. Before I knew what was happening, Nicolas sidled up to me and pressed me into Cody�
��s side. He slung his arm across my shoulders and clamped his hand onto the back of Cody’s neck.

  “Where are you going, buddy?” Nicolas asked. “Smile for the cameras.”

  Clearly, Merel had no idea what was happening, but she joined us, too. She slid one arm around Ryan’s waist, locking the five of us together. Then she started waving to the crowd. There was no way I could wriggle out of this and run for my life. But at least Cody couldn’t, either.

  “So, this is a joint cover-up,” Cody said, smiling and nodding to the crowd, refusing to let anyone believe this situation wasn’t part of his grand entrance. “That’s good, because now I own all of you. From now on, you’ll do everything I say, or I’ll tell everyone about Kari.”

  Good thing Merel couldn’t hear him all the way on the end. I wasn’t sure Nicolas could hear him, either, for that matter.

  Ryan’s smile never faltered. He nodded at something that was being shouted at us. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Cody. You’re going to keep this to yourself.”

  “Or what?” He threw his head back and laughed, delirious with power. “From now on, Kari, you’ll pretend you’re in love with me. You’ll hang all over me in public. You’ll tell everyone I’m amazing in bed.”

  “Ew, no,” I said.

  “You don’t have to sleep with me,” Cody added, “but you’ll make out with me in public. A lot.”

  “Still ew,” I said.

  “That’s it,” Nicolas announced. “We’re getting out of here.”

  He pushed us forward and caused a chain reaction of awkward movement. We were packed so tightly together that we each had only six inches of stepping space, so we crab-stepped and bumped and jostled each other, locked together, smiling and waving, stepping on each other’s feet and looking incredibly silly.

  I shuffled along with the flow, trapped in the middle, fighting back angry tears. This wasn’t the time to wonder how it had happened. We needed a plan.

  Cody nodded at the black-clad security team stationed every five feet along the red carpet. “You see those guards standing by, watching our every move? Talented second- and third-channelers, all of them. They’re going to decimate Kari if I start screaming who she really is,” Cody said. “She won’t get two steps without turning into a puddle of goo on this carpet.”