The Necromancer's Knives

by Jen Kirchner

  “He’s leaving,” Brad whispered.

  Sure enough, Henri was slinking back toward the woods behind my house. The enormous blue spell around him wafted behind like a ghostly trail.

  I reached up to switch off the automatic lights, so they wouldn’t click on when I opened the door. I was loving the covert action. “Let’s get him.”

  “What?” Brad hissed.

  “You’ve got a better idea for getting my magic back? We’re not letting him get away.” Before he could say more, I slid out of the car and shut the door as quietly as possible.

  Brad was out of the car in seconds. We hustled across the street in the dim light, our sneakered feet padding against the pavement. By the time we got to the woods behind my house, I was out of breath and having a hard time concentrating on Death Radar. Brad had grabbed my wrist and was pulling me along.

  I should have realized sooner that Henri had heard us running after him and was waiting behind my house. Despite the pounding in my ears, I heard Brad murmur, “Let’s rock!”

  White runes sparkled to life in the air. A surge of energy and sound pooled around us, then rushed toward Henri and launched him into the air, away from us, toward a towering elm—

  “No!” I yelled. Twisting out of Brad’s grip, I grasped for the innate necromantic ability to take control of an undead body. I wasn’t sure whether this ability had been dulled like Death Radar, so I threw all my focus into it. I took control of Henri’s body, feeling my soul reach out and slide over him, and I jerked him back toward me—

  His neck whipped back as I pulled, and he let out a startled cry. His body arced down as I brought him in for a hard landing on the ground. I didn’t relinquish control.

  It wasn’t kind, but at least he wasn’t slamming into a tree.

  Henri’s angry brow looked heavier in the shadows. His eyes bulged. His cheeks flushed dark with immortal blood and puffed with air, and possibly a thousand words that he wanted to say.

  “Hippo!” he blurted.

  Brad narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  I waved Brad off. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, to Henri, “What are you doing here?”

  Henri’s neck and shoulders attempted to shrug. I couldn’t see it, but I felt his body struggle against my will and fail.

  “I was looking for you.”

  “I bet you were,” Brad snapped. “Like that night you went looking for my dad?”

  Henri’s disdain was obvious in his expression and his haughty tone. “You want to get the necromancer girl, right? Switch magic back? I can scratch your back if you scratch mine.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. “I wouldn’t trust you if you were our last option on Earth.”

  “I suspect I am your last option. I’ll tell you where to find Norayr, and you can do me a favor.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “This has to be some kind of trick.”

  Brad snorted. “Oh, I get it. Norayr kicked you to the curb, and now you need a new sucker to help you.”

  Henri tried to answer. The spell around him flared. A hiss of air escaped his lips, and I knew that Grandpa’s spell prevented him from answering with much more than a stream of “hippopotamus.” His gaze shifted to the left and his cheeks flushed an even darker gray. Then he looked back at us and tried to shrug again.

  Brad turned to me and spoke as if ignoring Henri completely. “He told Norayr all that he knows about your magic. Norayr doesn’t need Henri anymore. Whatever deal they had is null and void.”

  That sounded about right. We already knew what Norayr wanted out of the deal, but I had no idea what Henri wanted in all of this. He’d been a self-serving jerk his entire life. I eyed him with curiosity.

  “What were you supposed to get from the deal with Norayr?” I asked.

  Henri’s gaze shifted back and forth between us, his body unnaturally still while in my command. “My name cleared. My reputation restored.” He paused. His chin lifted slightly, mustering all of the self-respect he could. “Luucas Mikkelson’s job.”

  I felt my eyebrows skyrocket so high I thought they were going to blast into the stratosphere.

  Brad barked out a startled laugh. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

  Neither was I, but at least we knew why Norayr was trying to discredit Luucas.

  I asked, “You don’t expect us to help you with that, do you?”

  “I do expect you to help me. I want Luucas to drop all charges against me, and I want my job back—and you will capitulate because you want your magic back so badly.”

  “Like hell Luucas is going to give you any of that.” Brad puffed out his chest. He hissed, “You attacked my dad, turned him immortal, and nearly killed him.”

  “And I was wrong.”

  Brad’s eyes narrowed, unbelieving.

  “I was on the wrong side,” Henri said, causing Brad to roll his eyes and fold his arms across his chest. “I was desperate for money and approval. I needed public support to keep my conservator job, and the pay was shit—it still is, despite what the press release says.”

  “Do you expect us to feel sorry for you?” I demanded.

  “Absolutely. I was barely scraping by. You take for granted the respect and privilege the Rendon family receives simply because of your magic birthright and connections. I made choices that you dislike because it temporarily disrupted your way of life. But you will recover. The Rendon extended family will recover. Because of your wealth and popularity, any trouble I have caused you will be a momentary inconvenience, but it could turn the tide on the rest of my unending life.”

  I realized my mouth was hanging wide open. I wasn’t sure which was more surprising—that Henri was willing to admit all of this, or that he made me feel ashamed of myself.

  “Wow,” Brad said. “You sure can spin a sob story.”

  Henri’s hopeful expression dissolved into fury. “Do you want to know where Norayr and the girl are, or not?”

  “Of course we do,” I said. “Tell us where they are, and we’ll let you go.”

  Brad said nothing; he was just glaring at Henri, like it would exert too much energy to run over and beat the crap out of him.

  “No. Not until you give me your word that you’ll help me.”

  “First of all, I’m not sure you deserve my help. Second, I can’t talk to Luucas for you because he’s in jail.”

  “So figure something out.”

  Brad snorted a laugh.

  “I’m serious. If you can at least get back my position as a conservator then I’ll tell you where Norayr went.”

  I clenched my hands, attempting to suppress my anger. “I don’t have that kind of time, Henri.” I didn’t realize I was shouting until Brad clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “She’s right, Henri,” Brad said. “Even if we agreed to talk to Luucas on your behalf, it wouldn’t matter because Norayr would be gone by then. You’re going to have to think of something else.”

  I was getting impatient. I didn’t want to hurt him. But, of course, Henri didn’t know that.

  I blurted, “Henri, tell us where Norayr is, or I’m stuffing you into the trunk of our car and taking you to Mikelis.”

  As Henri’s eyes widened in equal parts shock and fear, I tried to squash the guilt racing through me. I wasn’t exactly lying. At this rate, Brad and I would be forced to stuff Henri in the trunk of Heraclitus’s car and take him back to my family. No one would hurt him, though.

  But I obviously wasn’t going to tell him that.

  After a few awkward seconds of silence, Henri’s expression neutralized. “Fine. Norayr called the Council and told them he has Eliana Rendon and her magic in custody. He’s preparing to demonstrate how her magic can secure the welfare of the Immortal State.” When his head twitched, I realized that if his body were free he would have used sarcastic quotation marks. “Half of the Council and their aides are on their way here. The other half will attend by video conference.”

  “Where is he now?”
I demanded.

  “He took the girl back to the Scholar.”

  “Crapcakes,” I said, turning to Brad. “We have to go. We need to stop him.”

  “I agree,” Brad said. “But first, one question: Who in the hell is the Scholar?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Two hours later, we were back in Listowel, looking for a place to park. The sun had long risen in the sky, but the quiet town was just stirring to life. We gave the laundromat a wide berth and drove to the outskirts of town where it butted up against private woods and a golf course, near where I had exited the tunnels after Henri.

  I pushed Death Radar as far as it would go and couldn’t pick up Norayr. Maybe it was Death Radar’s shorter range or maybe Norayr had already met with the Scholar and departed, I didn’t know.

  I’d forgotten to mention the Scholar to anyone in my family. The most important topics had seemed to be my encounter with the necromancer girl, Rambo’s switch, and Henri’s sudden new ability to disclose everything about my magic.

  Henri didn’t have much to say about the Scholar except that they’re some kind of urban legend in Immortal society. They’ve been living on the outskirts for a long time, dealing only in one currency: rare and exotic information. And, he said, Immortal Intelligence were the real experts on the Scholar.

  Either that was all Henri knew, or it was all he was willing to tell us. I had a feeling it was the latter.

  Brad navigated along a narrow street. The private woods were to our right, surrounded by a towering chain-link fence and KEEP OUT - PRIVATE PROPERTY signs. We saw our opening at the same time. Brad hit the brakes while I slapped his arm with one hand and pointed with the other. Someone had cut the fence at the bottom, and people had crawled through the opening so often that the fence was curling outward. That must have been where Norayr and Henri carried out the necromancer last night.

  Brad found a parking spot on the street, and I was out of the car before he even cut the engine. No one appeared on Death Radar. With my new and impaired version of Death Radar, I wouldn’t be able to detect Norayr until we got close.

  Out of habit, or possibly desperation, I touched the cold silver rings of my bracelet to check the telepath.

  Still nothing. Wherever Dad and Mikelis had gone, they definitely didn’t want me joining them.

  Most of the houses across the street still had their curtains and blinds closed. There wasn’t a single pedestrian in sight.

  We ducked under the fence.

  The air was cooler under the trees. A narrow, muddy path wandered away from the fence. Brad and I both pulled out our phones and checked the map. The laundromat was about a mile and a half away in the same direction as the path. About half a mile away there was a small clearing. That had to be where I’d faced the necromancer.

  “Let’s go.”

  Brad grabbed my arm, bringing me to a halt. “Hang on. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Finding Norayr. Obviously.”

  “What if you walk right into him? I should go in front. So I can defend us.”

  “Isn’t the rear position worse? I could get picked off from behind and you’d never know.”

  He leveled a critical gaze upon me, as if he was contemplating how to cover the front and the rear at the same time.

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t even know where you’re going,” I said. “If someone pops up on Death Radar, I’ll tell you.”

  Not that Death Radar was popping for me anymore, but he didn’t need to know that. On this bright morning, I doubted anything was going to pop out at us except for bugs. Just to be sure, I focused in on Death Radar—

  Was that Ronel van Niekerk again?

  Just at the edge of Death Radar’s shortened range, there was a tiny blip of a signal. I thought she was there, but then…

  No. This nerfed version of Death Radar was just playing games with my mind.

  When we finally got to the clearing, the sun was in full force, casting a spotlight on the aftermath of my confrontation with Norayr and the necromancer girl.

  Behind me, Brad sucked in a breath. I felt his hand on my wrist, the same way he grabs me when he wants to haul me to safety, but he didn’t pull me anywhere. We just stood and looked at the scene.

  Deep, vicious slices crisscrossed the clearing. The grass had been razed. Bark had been ripped from trees, exposing their pale, white flesh, now streaked with amber-colored sap.

  To the right, the ring of dirt that Dad had erected as a barrier was still clearly visible. Directly across from where we stood, a cluster of small trees had been overturned, their roots broken and trunks splintered. Behind them stood the cave mouth, previously hidden by the trees. A large stone marker poked out of the ground just before the cave. It looked familiar.

  It took me a second to remember—an identical one was on the other side of the secret door, in the little cave room that was protected by the necromancer-voodoo hybrid posts.

  We picked our way across the rubble toward the cave. Halfway there, I checked Death Radar again. A few yards into the trees lay a doe. Death by “energy reassignment.” What did that mean?

  Despite my fear, I turned away from the cave mouth and hurried toward the signal.

  “What’s wrong?” Brad asked, chasing after me.

  “Something’s not right. There’s a deer.”

  “Well, it’s the woods,” he said, as if that explained it, but he followed me into the trees anyway.

  Locating the deer wasn’t hard; keeping myself from throwing up and bursting into tears was. Her throat had been slit, and someone had used her blood to paint six unintelligible symbols on the surrounding trees. The air smelled of rot. Pine needles, branches, and leaves had been swept from the ground, exposing the packed, wet earth.

  A seventh weird symbol had been dug into the dirt; it looked like a seismograph reading a 4.0 earthquake. The doe lay at one end of the symbol. There was nothing at the far end. In the center of the symbol there were four deep, round indentations. Trails led to and from the indentations.

  “Wheels?” Brad suggested, pointing at the indentations. I gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “If I had an angry girl who was trying to figure out her magic, I might put her in some kind of wheeled cage so I could transport her.”

  “Through the woods?” I asked, skeptical.

  He shrugged. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

  I looked around at the bloody scene again. It was obviously a voodoo ritual. I had no idea what any of it meant, but my gut said it was bad.

  “Rambo,” I asked, “are you sure you’re the only thing that can switch a necromancer’s magic?”

  The knife’s response was muffled. It was still inside my bag and wrapped in layers of towels and Moons’s pole dancing T-shirts.

  Yes.

  “There’s no voodoo spell that would do it?”

  Brad reached out and touched the back of my hand to hear the answer.

  There’s nothing equivalent to me.

  Brad and I exchanged a look. Apparently, the bloody ground was giving him doubts, too.

  “What do you know about voodoo?” I asked.

  The knife’s monotone reply felt like soft pebbles pelting my brain.

  It’s a shadow of old magics.

  Interesting, but vague. I shrugged at Brad, who dropped his hand.

  Our gazes wandered back over to the indentations in the dirt. I glanced around the space again, trying to make sense of it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape duck behind a tree.

  I whirled around.

  The hooded figure froze about ten feet away, halfway behind the wide trunk of an oak tree. In the daylight, the Scholar was much easier to see, but their features were still concealed. They wore the same oversized black hooded sweatshirt as last night. A deep shadow fell from the hood, obscuring their face. Baggy jeans. Black sneakers. The only difference from last night was that I could no longer see the layers of spell strings wrapped around them
. Why couldn’t I see the spell strings?

  “Hello, Scholar,” I said.

  Brad turned and grabbed my wrist. His free hand came up, poised to cast a spell if needed.

  “Hello, Eliana Rendon,” they replied, their voice a harsh rasp.

  “Uh,” I pointed at Brad. “Brad.”

  Brad rolled his eyes.

  I pointed at the symbol on the ground. “Did you do this? What does it do?”

  “All information must be paid for.” The Scholar gestured at the symbol on the ground, and I realized that they were wearing knitted gloves. Weird.

  “Norayr came to me for a service, and this was part of our transaction. As for the type of service… I do not disclose the details of my contracts. Confidentiality is imperative. As for his whereabouts, I could not say even if I wanted to tell you.”

  Brad shook his head, clearly confused. “How much did he pay you? Maybe we could pay more.”

  “I do not take money as payment.” The Scholar paused, as if considering a way to throw us a bone. “I believe you have information I desire. If not… perhaps we can still work something out. You have access to very interesting people. But I must stress the importance of following through with your payment.”

  Like layaway for evil. Great. But it suggested that Norayr may have only paid a deposit and that he still owed the Scholar something.

  Brad exhaled in irritation. “What do you want?”

  “I wish to know the final powers of the fourth channel,” the Scholar rasped.

  Brad and I exchanged confused expressions.

  “Well,” Brad said, his words slow and his tone annoyed. “Go look it up. It’s public record. Diaco Rendon is the only necromancer in history who’s reached the limits of the fourth channel. His powers are all documented and on file with the Immortal State.”

  The Scholar’s hood shifted, but I still couldn’t see their face. Even with the light filtering between the trees, it was bright. I was starting to think the darkness effect of the hood was some kind of spell.

  “I believe the record is inaccurate,” the Scholar replied.