The Necromancer's Nephew

by Andrew Hunter

  Garrett looked around. He could make out the shape of the front door amid the carved runes of the six walls, but no other obvious exits existed.

  He walked over to stand beside the strange crystal orb. The light within it seemed to ripple like water and its colors shifted constantly. He reached hesitantly toward it, and it flared brightly, making him pull back.

  Gathering his courage again, he placed his hand on the cool crystal.

  The crystal glowed brighter still, its colors more vivid. As he held his hand against the stone, it grew warm, and, most curiously, images of wood and water flitted through his thoughts. For a moment he found himself drifting, bodiless, through a dream of a shadowy green forest and a silvery brook.

  "It's a wisplight," Marla's voice spoke from behind him, "I think it likes you."

  "Marla!" Garrett spun to face her, "Hi."

  Marla wore a high-collared dress of burgundy silk that hung just below her knees but left her arms bare beneath two black lace epaulets. Delicate, beaded sandals graced her feet, and her black hair was tied back into a tight bun, save for two long strands that framed her face.

  Garrett forgot how to breathe.

  Marla's eyes fell to the flowers in Garrett's hand, and went suddenly wide. "Duskblooms!" she said, "Garrett, are those for me?"

  "Yeah," he gasped. He managed to lift his arm to offer them to her.

  She took them and brought them to her face, breathing in their scent with a look of girlish joy.

  "I hope you like them," Garrett said.

  "Oh, Garrett, they're wonderful!" she said, and rushed forward to wrap her arms around him.

  Garrett returned the hug. Even through his gloves, he could feel the coolness of her skin beneath her dress. He wondered if he hugged her long enough, would she grow warm?

  She stepped away, and he let her go, though it took all his will to do it.

  "Wherever did you find them?" she asked.

  Garrett smiled and cleared his throat. "Uncle found them for me at the market."

  "I can't believe it!" she said, "I've never seen them for sale here... thank you, thank you!"

  Garrett nodded, and then his eyes fell. "Marla," he said, "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry about yesterday."

  "I had a good time yesterday," she said.

  "I mean... at the end, when I..."

  "Oh," she said, looking down.

  "I was trying to... I mean, I wasn't trying to see your fangs," he said.

  Marla's hand lifted to her lips, and then she laughed.

  "I like you Marla, a lot," he said, "I just don't want you to be mad at me."

  "Oh, Garrett," she said, "I'm not mad at you. I guess it was all kind of silly."

  "Anyway, Warren shouldn't have said that. He was being a knob."

  Marla giggled. "It's all right. Thanks for coming here to tell me though."

  "Yeah," he said, scuffling his boot on the thick black rug, "I guess I just wanted to apologize. I hope we can go out again sometime."

  "I'd love to," she said.

  Garrett smiled, tried to say something, and then just smiled again.

  "I'm glad," he said at last. He looked around the amber room. "I'm not really sure how to get out."

  "You don't have to go, do you?" she asked.

  "No!" he said, a little too loudly, "I mean, no, I can stay as long as you'd like."

  "You want to see my room?" she asked.

  Garrett nodded.

  Marla opened another panel in the wall, and Garrett followed her through into a long, shadowy hall.

  "So, who was the guy at the door?" Garrett whispered as they walked past carved ebony doors that ran along either side of the hallway.

  "Oh, that was Klavicus," Marla said, "He's a little strange, but very loyal."

  "Oh... are there a lot of vampires here?"

  "Not as many at this time of year," she said.

  "Why's that?"

  "The Council is holding session back in Thrinaar for several months, so we have only a few low-ranking ambassadors and visitors staying at the embassy."

  "This is our apartment," Marla said when they reached a black hexagonal door, indistinguishable, to Garrett's eyes, from any of the others in the hallway. She rapped her knuckles lightly on the door and then turned the handle.

  The door swung open to reveal a large, well-lit parlor. A simple, yet comfortable-looking divan sat against the wall, squeezed between two enormous, glass-windowed book cabinets. Hundreds of books and scrolls filled the shelves, all neatly sorted and arranged, not at all like Uncle Tinjin's heaped stacks.

  "Mother?" Marla called.

  "Yes, dear?" Mrs. Veranu's voice answered from an adjoining room.

  "We have a guest," Marla said.

  Marla's mother poked her head around the dividing wall with a look of childlike curiosity on her face. She flashed a toothy grin when she saw Garrett.

  "Finally worked up the nerve to pay us a visit in our lair, eh?" Mrs. Veranu asked.

  "Look what he brought for us!" Marla said, holding out the duskbloom bouquet.

  Mrs. Veranu's eyes went wide. "How did...?" She sprang to Marla's side with catlike grace and inhaled the flowers' scent.

  "They were my father's favorite," Marla said.

  "I didn't know that," Garrett said, "I'm glad you liked them."

  "Like them?" Mrs. Veranu said, "Garrett, these are amazing! They don't grow around here. I'm guessing Tinjin had something to do with this?"

  "Yes, Ma'am. Uncle found them for me."

  "That old rascal," Mrs. Veranu murmured, running her fingertips over the purple blossoms.

  "I wanted to show Garrett our place," Marla said.

  "Good idea," said Mrs. Veranu, "He can stay for lunch."

  Mrs. Veranu busied herself finding a vase for the flowers while Marla led Garrett through another door into a tidy little room with a multitude of colorful paintings adorning the walls. A single, small bed lay in the corner, and a small black cat lay sleeping on its patchwork quilt.

  "This is my room," Marla said.

  "Are these real places?" Garrett asked, looking at the paintings. Most of the scenes were of fantastic and vibrant landscapes.

  "Some of them are places I've been," she answered, "but most of them are only things that I've dreamed about."

  "You painted these?" Garrett asked.

  Marla nodded. "Do you like them?"

  "Yeah," he said, "They're really good!"

  Marla smiled.

  "What's this place?" Garrett asked, pointing at a scene of a rocky island beneath a stormy red sky. The island itself lay in full sunlight, its reflection shimmering in gold on the surface of the dark sea that surrounded it.

  "I don't know," Marla said, "I dream of it from time to time, but, when I wake up, I can't remember very much about it."

  Garrett noticed that all of the paintings save one were rendered in a very loose, airy hand with the exception of a single small, square canvas set into a gilded wooden frame. This was the collection's only portrait, and it had been painted by a master. The two people in the painting looked as though they might draw breath and speak at any moment. Their eyes shone, full of love, almost looking at one another, their faces yearning to smile through the forced formality of the pose.

  One of them was obviously Marla's mother. Garrett would have said that she looked younger in the painting, though she obviously hadn't aged. It was something about her eyes. The man's eyes glinted like honed steel, set in a scarred, leathery face. He had curly, iron-gray hair, and a black silk doublet stretched across his broad shoulders. A single scarlet rune lay embroidered above his heart.

  "My father," Marla said.

  "What does the rune mean?" Garrett asked.

  Marla glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. "It means drinker of sorrow."

  "Meow?" Marla's cat stretched its back and dug its claws into the frayed old quilt.

  "Did you finally feel like waking up?" Marla asked.

  The lit
tle black cat jumped down and crossed the floor to rub against Garrett's legs.

  "He likes you," Marla said, "Garrett, this is Lovecraft."

  "Hello," Garrett said, stooping to stroke the cat with his gloved hand.

  Lovecraft answered with a low, rumbling purr, rubbing his ear against the toe of Garrett's boot. Garrett reached to scratch at his ear, and the cat suddenly turned and bit his finger.

  "Aah!" Garrett yanked his hand back as Lovecraft bounded away. The cat crouched beneath the corner of the bed quilt and watched him with large yellow eyes, tail swishing.

  Marla giggled. "He likes to play," she said.

  "Is that what he calls it?" Garrett said, rubbing his finger with his thumb.

  "What do you think?" Marla asked.

  "About what?"

  "My room, do you like it?" Marla lifted her hands from her sides.

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "it's great!"

  "How's your fairy?" she asked.

  "Oh, good... I think," he said, "She sings really beautiful songs, but I don't know what language she's singing in."

  "The fairies speak Fae," she said, "I know a little, but not much."

  "I still wish there was something I could do for her, if she won't eat food."

  Marla looked thoughtful for a moment. "I have an idea," she said, "Follow me."

  Garrett followed her back out of her bedroom. He cast one last reproachful glance at the cat, still glaring at him from the corner of the bed.

  Marla went to one of the bookcases in the parlor and searched the shelves for a minute. At last she pulled a heavy tome from an upper shelf and handed it to Garrett. "Try this," she said.

  Garrett cracked open the large leather-bound book to find hundreds of lushly illustrated pages filled with florid text, written in an unfamiliar language.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "Fairy stories," she said, "The language is Fae, but it has been transcribed phonetically into Gloaran runes."

  "What do I do with this?"

  "Read it to her," Marla said.

  "But I don't know how to pronounce this stuff," he said.

  Marla shrugged. "It's better to be entertained with a bad accent than not entertained at all."

  "I guess so," he said, tucking the book under one arm, "Thanks for loaning it to me."

  "It's yours," she said, "I gave up trying to learn Fae a long time ago."

  "You gave up on learning something?" Garrett laughed.

  Marla frowned. "I read a lot," she said, "but I only spend time on the things that really interest me."

  "Well, thanks for the book. I appreciate your help."

  Marla leaned forward and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for being my friend," she said, "Until I met you, I hardly knew anyone who was less than a hundred years old."

  "Really?" Garrett asked, "How old is your mom?"

  "Three-hundred eighty-six," she said.

  "How old are you?"

  Marla frowned at him. "I'm fifteen, Garrett," she said.

  "Oh, sorry... yeah."

  She smiled again. "It's all right. I guess the whole vampire thing is still a little strange to you."

  "Yeah... not bad strange, just, I'm trying to learn everything I can," he said.

  "Thanks."

  "For what?"

  "For caring enough to learn about us," she said.

  Garrett smiled.

  The apartment door opened, and Mrs. Veranu entered, carrying a covered platter and a silver pitcher. "Lunchtime," she said.

  She closed the door with her foot and set the platter down on a small table. "Marla, have you been telling people my age again?"

  "Sorry," Marla said.

  "I have excellent hearing," Mrs. Veranu whispered loudly, grinning at Garrett. She carried the silver pitcher through a side door into another room and returned a few moments later, holding a silver goblet in each hand.

  Marla found another chair to add to the two already beside the table, and bade Garrett join them. He sat down, finding the platter set before him. Mrs. Veranu pulled away the red cloth covering it to reveal a small pile of fruit and berries, along with a single lump of brown oat bread.

  “Thank you,” Garrett said. He pulled off a handful of grapes and berries and then passed the plate to Marla.

  “Those are for you, Garrett,” Marla said with a smile, “Mother and I don’t eat that kind of food.” Her eyes went to the silver cup on the table in front of her.

  Mrs. Veranu drank deeply from her own goblet, leaving her lips red for an instant before she cleaned them with a flick of her tongue. “I brought that plate up for you from the pens. We keep a wide variety of animals down there, and they are quite well-fed.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, pulling the platter back. He laughed then, looking at it. “What sort of animal eats bread?”

  Marla glanced away as she raised her cup to her lips, and Mrs. Veranu only chuckled.

  Garrett did not pursue the issue. The bread proved very tasty, if a little dry.

  “So, how are your studies coming along in the black art of necromancy?” Mrs. Veranu asked with mock gravity.

  “Oh,” Garrett said, “I raised a zombie! I named him Caleb. I brought him along today to show you, but the doorman made him wait outside.”

  Mrs. Veranu smiled. “Klavicus takes his guard duties very seriously,” she said, “Well, you can bring your new zombie by the shop sometime. We’ll be open again tomorrow.”

  “All right,” Garrett said, “I was going to stop by there this morning, but Uncle said you weren’t there. Is today some sort of holiday?”

  Mrs. Veranu gave a muffled snort. “Not exactly,” she said, “We have guests from Thrinaar who feel the need to call emergency councils all the time.”

  “Is everything all right?” Garrett asked.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Veranu laughed, “It’s just that, in Thrinaar, everything is an emergency. They are kind enough to bring all the spare emergencies with them when they go visiting their outcast cousins.”

  “Oh,”

  “Speaking of which,” Mrs. Veranu continued, “I have another emergency meeting in a few minutes, and I’ll need to speak with you when it’s over Marla. Do you think you can see Garrett off and meet me in the library in about an hour?”

  Marla nodded, a worried look on her face.

  “Nothing terrible,” her mother said, “I just asked the Moonwings about those riding lessons, and Krauss promised me an answer today.”

  Marla’s expression brightened considerably. She looked at Garrett with a manic smile and then back at her mother. “Do you think they will let me?” she asked.

  Mrs. Veranu grinned. “Don’t get too excited!” she said, “We don’t have an answer yet, but Krauss is an old friend, and, if he says no, it will only be out of concern for your safety.”

  “I’ll be very careful!” Marla said.

  “I know that. You just have to make sure he knows that.” Mrs. Veranu drained her cup and thumped the base of the empty goblet against the tablecloth. “Well… time for me to go. See you tomorrow, Garrett.”

  Garrett started to say goodbye, but the apartment door was already closing behind her.

  Marla finished her drink as well and then rose from her seat to gather up the two red-stained cups.

  “Would you like to see the gaunt pens, Garrett?”

  “Sure!”

  ****

  The stables beneath the vampire embassy stank of dried dung and the stale breath of nearly fifty monstrous beasts. Black wolves the size of oxen snapped and snarled at Garrett as Marla led him past their cages. A smaller hutch contained a trio of tiny foxes with blood-red fur and luminous green eyes. They flattened their oversized ears and hissed at the young necromancer.

  "Messenger foxes," Marla said, leading him farther back into the windowless stone-walled stables.

  Garrett recognized the creatures inside the cages at the back immediately as much larger versions of the baby creature he had seen in the back roo
m of the pet shop.

  "Gaunts," he said.

  Marla smiled and nodded as she reached through the inch-thick bars to stroke one of the midnight-skinned creatures that hung bat-like from an iron hook in the ceiling. It turned its eyeless face toward her slightly and made a deep thrumming sound in its throat.

  The gaunt held its leathery wings wrapped tightly around its body, but Garrett could tell that this, the smallest of the score of beasts hanging in the cage, was at least twice the size of a man.

  "You want to ride one of these?" Garrett asked.

  "Yes," Marla said, her eyes still on the gaunt, "I'd love to."

  Garrett lifted his hand and moved to reach through the bars.

  The gaunt suddenly let out a dreadful "Kack! Kack! Kack!" and its short, bristly mane stood on end as it bared its long white teeth at him. The other gaunts rustled their wings and murmured restlessly.

  Garrett jumped away from the cage, his heart hammering in his chest. "What'd I do?" he gasped.

  Marla whispered soothing words in draconic, stroking the beast until it settled back into a restful state. She stepped slowly away from the cage and whispered, "I think it's the way you smell."

  Garrett's cheeks burned. "Wha... what do you mean?" he asked, "I don't smell bad, do I?"

  Marla shook her head. "Oh no! It’s nothing like that... you just smell like the undead, and living animals usually react badly to the smell."

  "Oh..." Garrett said, "I guess that makes sense. Why don't they react that way to you then?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I thought vampires were... you know, undead too."

  Marla's eyes went hard. "You think I'm like a zombie or something?" she asked.

  "No!" he said, raising his hands, "I just mean... well, you don't ever die, do you?"

  "Oh," she said, her expression softening, "No, we don't age the same way humans do. I will grow up like a human girl, but, once I'm grown, I won't really get visibly older. We do change a little over time after that, but we don't die of old age. We're still living creatures though."

  "I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I didn't know how it worked."

  "That's all right," she said, "We don't go around explaining it to everyone we meet."

  Garrett laughed. "So, how will you change?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You said that you would change a little over time... after you grow up."