by Debra Dunbar
“Can you see what the e–mails are about?” Nyalla didn’t want to get her hopes up. It could be a customer with a really odd e–mail name.
“Oh yeah. Here’s your man, little sis. The early ones are about reversing traumatic brain injury, and the other guy is trying to slough him off onto a healer friend. Then they turn to resurrection. The guy is hemming and hawing about how he’s missing some crucial ingredient, and he doesn’t know if a substitute will work. Ben is offering him an obscene amount of money. Holy cow! I’m totally in the wrong business here. That’s just insane what this guy charges.”
“Can you trace the necromancer too? Get me his real name and address?”
“Yeah, hold on. These e–mails are just too juicy not to read. Wow, guy decides to do it. Then after that, all the e–mails are Ben furiously demanding a refund and telling the dude he needs to get his butt back to Winfield and fix the mess he left behind.”
“I’ll deal with Ben. Can you text me the information on the necromancer? In case Ben doesn’t confess and take me to him, I want to be able to go there myself.”
“Will do. Just promise me you’ll take that cop boyfriend of yours?”
“Promise.” Nyalla crossed her fingers behind her back, as if Wyatt could see through the cell phone.
“Good. I’ll dig this info up and send it to you, and then I’m heading back. Text me where you think you’ll be tonight, and if my plane gets in on time and traffic doesn’t have me trapped in Baltimore for hours, I’ll meet up with you and Eric.”
“Got it. Thanks, Wyatt. You’re the best brother ever.”
Nyalla tossed the phone on the seat beside her and looked out the windshield at the rain, now coming down in earnest. Fear and doubt, those old friends, reared their ugly heads. She wasn’t the best driver in dry weather, let alone with wet pavements and reduced visibility. Gritting her teeth, she adjusted her seatbelt, put the Suburban in gear, and made a wide u–turn on the two–lane road. Within seconds, she was headed back to Westminster, and Ben’s business.
The rain had tapered off to a drizzle by the time she arrived. Nyalla dashed to the door, smoothing back her braided hair as she entered. Ben sat in the same spot they’d left him, and Nyalla wondered if his recent lack of business had anything to do with the loss of his brother. She thought of Wyatt, and how devastated she’d be if he were to die. The thought tempered her words and gave her sympathy toward the man that she might not normally have had.
“Seriously? Please tell me you’re back because you’d like me to design some flyers or a website and not to harass me.”
“The dark master? I’m asking you to be honest with me, Ben. You contacted him when your brother was in a coma, and again after he died. You engaged his services to resurrect your brother.”
Ben looked remarkably calm, but Nyalla didn’t think twice about diving into his mind. There was the layer of grief and memories, as before, but down under it all was fury at the man who had screwed everything up. And terror. Ben was afraid for his nephew and his sister–in–law — and for himself. His mind whirred, trying to figure out what he could do to protect them all.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get out of my office before I call the police.”
It was time to play hardball. Nyalla strode forward, leaning both hands on the front of his desk and meeting Ben’s eyes.
“You held a newborn Jack in your arms, marveling at your tiny nephew. John told you that you’d be next, married within a year and your own son on the way. When he was four, a neighbor had driven over his favorite toy. You comforted him, feeling helpless to make it all better. It’s the same feeling you have now, that you had when he was in the hospital. All your life, you’ve wanted to protect your brother, but you never could prevent bad things from happening. This was your chance. You’d bring him back, and everything would be the way it was. You’d both be sitting on lawn chairs, watching the kids play in the yard like you’d both always talked about.”
The man before her crumbled, the agony in his eyes piercing Nyalla deep in her heart. “He can’t die. Can’t. I’m the eldest. He’s supposed to outlive me. We’re supposed to have our whole lives together. We’re supposed to grow old together. He’s not just my brother; he’s my best friend. I can’t see a future without him in it.”
“This monster is killing people. It will kill John’s wife and child. If you love your brother, you can’t stand by and let that happen. I know you contacted someone to resurrect him. You’ve got to help me find him.”
“I’ve been trying to, but he won’t respond to my e–mail or phone calls. I don’t know where he lives, or his real name. I paid him in cash.”
Nyalla straightened from the desk and paced in tight circles. “Give me his phone number, and the name he goes by, plus anything you know about where he might live. Did he need to take a plane ticket to get here? Did he indicate a lengthy driving time? What kind of car did he drive?”
Ben recited a telephone number. “His e–mail name was ‘The Dark Master’ but he had me call him Tadax. I think it may have taken him an hour or so to drive here. He had a red Mini Cooper. I remember because I thought it was an odd car for someone in his profession to drive. I mean, shouldn’t he be driving a hearse, or a black Lincoln Town Car?”
“Got it.” Nyalla hit send on the text to Wyatt, hoping he’d check his phone before he headed to the airport. That done, she pulled one of the chairs in front of the desk and sat. “So tell me what happened with Tadax and the resurrection.”
Ben put his head in his hands for a few seconds before he looked up to meet Nyalla’s gaze. “At first he didn’t want to do it. Said there was some ingredient or spell component or something that he needed and couldn’t get easily. He mentioned something about having to make a deal with a demon to get it, and that opened up all sorts of problems on its own. When I told him what I’d pay him, he agreed and said he could substitute something else, but it may not work. He let me know if it didn’t work, I’d still have to pay him for his effort, and to cover the cost of the other things he needed.”
Nyalla frowned. She’d been undecided as to whether Tamika was a fraud or not, but this Tadax certainly sounded like one. “And you tried it anyway? With a necromancer who admitted he didn’t have the right components and doubted his ability to raise John?”
Ben’s eyes were sorrowful as he looked at Nyalla. “Yeah. Other sources agreed that I only had three days to do this with any degree of success. After that, the resurrection would be only for a few days, and John wouldn’t be quite right. It was a long shot, but it was the only option I had. I figured that if it didn’t work, then nothing would happen. I had no idea some monster would be woken–up in John’s body and start killing people.”
“So what happened that night?”
“Tadax agreed to meet me at the gravesite the night after John was buried. He sprinkled a bunch of different stuff on the ground, drew some stuff on the gravestone and burned incense. It all looked pretty complicated, but at that point I was starting to feel like a fool. What was I doing giving this conman a lot of money to put on a show at a cemetery in the dark? I watched from the side, and Tadax stood at the foot of the grave and began saying a bunch of stuff in a strange language. Nothing happened for a long time, and he just kept going on and on.”
Ben stood up, and it was his turn to pace. “Just when I was about ready to give up and tell Tadax to stop, this mist started rising up. It was everywhere, pockets of it all over the cemetery. It snaked across the grass, right through grave markers and trees toward John’s grave, where it combined to form a sort of column. Tadax stopped chanting and looked concerned. Then the ground started shakeing. Not all over, like an earthquake or anything. It was the ground over John’s grave that trembled. They hadn’t placed any sod over the grave yet, and bits of dirt started flying everywhere, as if the mist itself were drilling through to the casket. Tadax shouted at me to run before taking off toward his Mini Cooper.”
&n
bsp; “He left?” Nyalla could hardly believe it. The necromancer clearly knew something had gone wrong and had run off to save his own skin rather than stay and face it. Pretty cowardly for someone who supposedly worked with the dead as a profession.
“I thought this might be some elaborate hoax to keep me from demanding my money back, so I didn’t go. The ground kept shaking, and with a noise like a gunshot, John’s gravestone cracked right where Tadax had done the drawings. As soon as the stone split in two, the mist vanished, and the ground stopped moving. I didn’t know what to think, so I just stood there, kind of frozen in place. That’s when I heard the noise.”
“Noise?” Nyalla felt her skin raise, a chill running through her.
“Like a scratching noise. It kept getting louder and louder, and I thought it was an animal at first. After a few seconds, I realized it was coming from John’s grave. I can’t believe I did it, but I walked up to the edge of his plot and looked down at the dirt. It was shifting and moving around, and then something pale started to come from the dirt. A finger emerged, long and thin and bending as it moved dirt away. I screamed and kicked at it, and the finger broke off and flew across the next few plots into the grass. I didn’t stay after that to see what else was coming out of the ground; I took off for my car and got the heck out of there.”
The finger Boomer had found — it must have been the one Ben severed when he kicked it. Newly awake, the ghoul would have been vulnerable. Nyalla felt anger rise up inside her. If that poor excuse for a necromancer had stayed, he could have easily killed the ghoul at that stage. Instead, he’d fled and left them all to deal with a far more powerful one.
Ben gave a shaky laugh. “In the morning, I started to think I’d imagined it all, or maybe it had been a hoax. It was only when Shelly called me about John’s grave and missing body that I knew something had gone wrong. I tried to contact Tadax, even threatened to go to the police, but he won’t respond.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Nyalla asked.
“And tell them what? Overcome by grief I hired some whacko to raise my brother from the dead, and I suspect whatever he raised instead is behind the grave robberies and murders? No one would ever believe that. When you and Eric came here to question me, I was stunned. Are the police really taking this whole ghoul thing seriously?”
Nyalla shook her head. “Eric knows. The others think it’s an occult practitioner who’s gone off his rocker.”
Ben collapsed into his chair. “So what do we do? I watched, but I don’t know what the necromancer was using, or everything he said. Maybe if we did everything backwards, it would reverse the raising of the ghoul. Maybe I could I just wing it?”
“I think winging it is what started this whole mess.” Nyalla’s mouth settled into a grim line. “Wyatt is hopefully working on finding your necromancer, and if that doesn’t pan out, we have another friend looking for someone else who might be able to do this for us.”
“Wyatt? Wyatt Lowry? I thought you and Eric… .”
“Wyatt is my bro— he’s like a brother to me,” Nyalla hastily interjected. “I’m a college friend of Amber’s.”
“Oh. Amber.” Ben got the same sappy look on his face everyone did when she mentioned her stepsister.
Nyalla made an amused noise. “Put away your lurid fantasies and let’s brainstorm some ideas over a late lunch while we wait for everyone to get back to us on research. We don’t have much time left to prepare, but unless I get some food, I’m going to be worthless tonight.”
Ben grinned, looking very much like his younger brother. “Got it. And I know just the place.”
25
Where are you?”
Nyalla looked about her, confused for a moment at Tamika’s question. “The Eastside Tavern. It’s off Route 26, just outside Winfield.”
“Stay there. I’ve got some information I’m bringing, and I don’t want to have to chase you all over the county.”
“I thought you had to work until this evening.” Nyalla frowned, puzzled by Tamika’s sudden enthusiasm.
“I called in sick. You’ve got that whole deer–in–headlights thing going on, and your boyfriend isn’t much better. You need me. Besides, I figured getting fired would be the least of my worries if a ghoul tore through the county. I’m at your house now. I’ll be right there.”
The line disconnected, and Nyalla stared blankly at her phone. She’d anticipated the ghost hunter would vanish, much like Ben’s necromancer. She certainly didn’t expect her to ever set foot in the ghoul’s territory again, even if it were daylight.
Ben was regarding her with upraised eyebrows. He had a smudge of ranch dressing on the edge of his mouth from his crab–cake sandwich. Nyalla was appalled. Who would put such a thing on a crab cake? Perversely, she did not point out the spot to him.
“An expert is meeting us here, so we need to stay a bit and wait for her.”
“Just as well. Not like your old buddy Wyatt has come through with anything,” he groused. His slight of her brother made Nyalla even more determined to let him walk around with food on his face.
Ben was right, though. The only thing they’d come up with so far was wiring the graves with Christmas–tree lights, and possibly employing a portable ARC welder on the ghoul. The flame didn’t reach very far, so that particular weapon would have limited range. As would the scythe Nyalla had found in Ben’s garage when they’d stopped by his house so he could change.
“Are you sure you don’t have any explosives?” she asked again, hopeful that maybe there was that one grenade he’d forgotten about.
Ben looked at her strangely. “No. And I haven’t remembered where I keep my flame thrower either. The welder is the closest thing I have.”
She sighed and looked at her phone once more. Half past two. Eric wouldn’t be off work until eight o’clock, so they’d need to get as much in place as they could without him. Sunset was at eight thirty, which would cut things rather close. Even though Boomer was adamant that the ghoul wouldn’t be up and around until close to midnight, she worried it would make an exception and get up early. After all, he’d completely missed eating last night and had to be especially hungry and grumpy — two bad combinations, especially if he woke right after sunset and they weren’t fully prepared.
Once again she checked for messages from Wyatt. Nothing. She hated to bother him but sent him another quick text anyway. They were getting desperate.
Nyalla felt a rush of air, and a chair scraped beside her. A thin hand plopped down a huge stack of papers and folders. She followed the arm up to Tamika’s face. The girl obviously hadn’t taken the nap that she and Eric had, and that made Nyalla feel vaguely guilty. Dark circles rimmed red eyes, and the colorful, spiked hair was flat and matted.
“Who knew all these nut jobs were so close to home,” Tamika cheerfully pronounced. Nyalla thought this was a rather odd statement coming from a woman who hunted ghosts and investigated paranormal incidents as a profession.
“Ben, this is Tamika, the expert I told you about. Tamika, Ben is John Mayfield’s brother and the one who contracted the necromancer.”
Ben cringed slightly at the pronouncement, but Tamika seemed curious. “Cool. Which one of these bozos did you hire? I’d like to make note of it so I don’t waste my time with him in the future. Anyone who botches a resurrection this badly is not someone I’d like to use on an investigation. There should be a place where we can post reviews of these people — psychics and mages and the like. Kind of a supernatural Angie’s List or something.”
“He didn’t tell me his real name. I was supposed to call him Tadax.”
“Ahhh,” Tamika nodded, pulling a folder from her file. “He used the Random Evil Name generator. One of those guys. Well, I don’t have a Tadax, but I do have some other necromancers for us to consider. This one here goes by Rathma — clearly he’s spent too many hours playing Diablo 3.”
Nyalla took the folder, opening it and holding it forward so Ben could see th
e contents. It was full of screen prints from various websites and chat rooms. Instead of a picture, Rathma had a drawing of an avatar of a hooded man with glowing eyes.
“Then I have Ash,” Tamika continued, pulling out another folder, “who seems to fancy himself the lead from the Evil Dead series. I wonder if he has a chainsaw prosthetic hand, or if he’s Ash from one of the earlier movies.”
Nyalla set the other folder down and took the one Tamika held out. It contained the same type of printouts.
“Here is Nostradamus. From his website, he seems to raise the dead for purposes of prophecy. I don’t know how dead people are supposed to know the future, since they’re dead. Maybe they’re on some other plane of existence outside time and can see our futures that way. Hmm. That’s a good theory.”
Nyalla had to wrestle the next folder from Tamika while the girl continued to espouse theories of why dead people might make good predictors of future events. This necromancer seemed to be a bit less amateur then the others, and Nyalla perused the details of his website while Tamika went on with a very one–side discussion of free will and its effect on the success rate of prophecies.
“And then there’s George.”
“Huh?” Nyalla looked up from the folder in surprise. “Just George? There’s an honest–to–goodness necromancer in the area who simply goes by the name of George?”
“Well, I don’t’ know how honest–to–goodness any of these guys are. And that makes me wonder — why are none of the necromancers women? Is there a glass ceiling in the occult world that prohibits women practitioners from achieving higher levels? Do they blacklist women for some reason? Is this a good–ole–boys network? Because that’s really unfair.”
“Tamika! Focus! We don’t have much time. The other necromancer’s name is really George?”
The girl frowned at Nyalla, her lips pouting slightly as she pushed the last folder toward her. “Yes — this necromancer goes by George. He even has a real picture as his avatar too.”