The Necromancer's Seduction

by Mimi Sebastian

  “Do what?” He gave me a bemused smile, as if pleased with his parlor trick, but didn’t elaborate. “Find out anything interesting?” he asked from the seat next to me.

  I squeezed my nose with my fingers, shook my head in dismay, and told him about the revenant niece. “If I ever, ever hint at bringing back a family member as a revenant or anyone out of pity . . .” I drew in a ragged breath. “Make it painless.”

  He placed his hand over mine. I was getting too used to his warmth. “That won’t happen to you. You’re stronger than that.”

  I stared at him, my eyes wide. I hoped so. “What about the demons?”

  “They haven’t experienced any breaches, but I already knew that. My real purpose in coming was to feel them out, see what position they’re holding on the chess board.” He drummed his hands on the table. “Someone is definitely trying to wreak havoc.”

  “I think that’s obvious. Question is why?”

  * * * *

  Back in the subway tunnel, Ewan touched the tiles of the portal, and the image of the Golden Gate Bridge appeared before us. He clutched my hand tight. The muscles in his neck stretched.

  We stepped into the portal.

  My feet fell beneath me. I flailed, trying to make contact with any type of surface. The acrid smell of burnt flesh singed my nose, then terror seized my vital organs when I no longer felt Ewan’s hand in mine.

  My body hit water, the jarring splash stinging my skin. When I finally figured out what the hell was going on, I directed my arms and legs to swim up. I broke the surface of the water with a loud gasp. Screeches cracked the air. I tried to see around me, but a white hot glare blinded me.

  I hauled myself out of the water onto wet soil and crawled away. The gravity of my situation hit me full force. If I didn’t find Ewan, I was stuck in the demon realm, and my likelihood of surviving alone was remote. I shivered, my clothes sticking to me in muddy gobs. My vision improved, allowing me to see shapes moving around. One in particular stood in the distance, tall, surrounded by an aura of fierce energy. Ewan?

  Something wet wrapped around my ankle, knocking me down and dragging me back toward the water. I dug my fingers into the muddy soil, but that was as useful as grasping a stick of butter. I splashed back into the murky water. Whatever had hold of me pulled me deeper at an alarming speed. Pressure squeezed my eardrums. I was never good at holding my breath for extended periods.

  My lungs tried to force air out through my mouth, but I pressed my lips together to hold it in. Long, swaying vines surrounded me and wrapped around my body, a slimy gauze for a mummy’s corpse. I thrashed my limbs, but the water absorbed my adrenaline-fueled bursts, mocking my panic and shock.

  I had a few precious seconds left before my lungs burst. A black mass floated past and caught on the vines. I squinted in the murk at what appeared to be a dead demon creature with black liquid spewing from a gash on its serpentine body. Something on the surface was killing demons. I hoped it was Ewan.

  Could I possibly? No time like the present to find out. I ignored my burning lungs and touched my power. It fizzled, a flat soda bottle. I screamed a scream no one could hear, releasing my remaining air in a flurry of frantic bubbles.

  Drowning is a horrible way to die. It’s a conscious death, unlike a car wreck where death steals life in an instant. My lungs struggled to take a breath I refused to take, and my heart pumped in a survival instinct that was killing me. All the Montagne women, dead within a decade.

  No. Not like this.

  I clawed at the vines. My lungs contracted, taking in water, making me convulse and choke against the invasion. Blackness skirted along my vision and something else, suffusing me . . . yes.

  The potency surged. I flailed and managed to touch the creature’s slimy skin at its wound and directed my power into its body. I blinked against the blackness overtaking my vision. My last thought before I lost consciousness was to command the creature to get me the fuck out of this cesspool.

  I woke with my throbbing head on Ewan’s lap, my lungs aching with each breath.

  “I tried to reach you—” His concern washed over me. He smoothed wet strands of my hair from my face.

  I basked for a moment in the sensation, then pushed myself up, rubbing my temples. “What happened?”

  “They were waiting for us.”

  “They?”

  “Assassins.”

  It was at that moment I noticed Ewan’s silk shirt shredded down to a single ribbon around his waist. My heart flip-flopped as my eyes scorched a path up his chest, revering the muscles carved with all the right indentations in all the right places. I met his stare, a stare that provoked, that challenged my resistance.

  I tore my gaze from his and scanned the area, remembering. “Ewan where’s . . .?”

  “Oh, you mean your new zombie pet? He’s quite enamored of you. I almost had to kill him a second time, but he calmed down after I convinced him I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “What is it?” I gaped at the creature that slithered closer on tiny legs, resembling a salamander but with a flat head more like a cobra’s.

  “His name is Myyr. These guys are pretty nasty mercenary types. It’s amazing you have one under your control.”

  Myyr lifted his head, which was rimmed by a band of blue scales. He opened his mouth and hissed, showing off two sets of dripping fangs.

  “Who knew . . . a demon creature zombie,” I said in disbelief.

  I closed my eyes, ready to send the creature back to death when Ewan stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Wait. He might come in handy. Can you leave him here?”

  “I suppose. Why?”

  “Guard dog. He may be able to give us information about the portal breach.” He shifted his attention from Myyr to me. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “My vision’s still blurry, and my lungs hurt, but I’m alive.”

  “You appear to be weathering time in the demon realm without too many ill effects. Most humans don’t last long, but supernaturals last longer, so maybe that explains your resistance. Either way, we need to get you out of here.”

  “So what happens? Why can’t non-demons stay for a long time?”

  “The forces at play, our natural world, draw energy from all life in the demon realm. Demons are able to take the energy back, recycle it. A human can’t. They wither away and die.”

  “That’s really interesting, strange but interesting.” Too bad I can’t teach a class on the anthropology of the demon realm.

  “Not really, when you think about it. Trees in the human realm take carbon, which they need to survive, and produce air, which you need to survive. Same concept, different elements.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.” He scanned the sky. “Before any more assassins decide to make an appearance.”

  Whoever had sicced the attack demons on us had known when we’d cross through the portal. He, she, it, or whatever was one step ahead of us. I hoped we could catch up before it was too late.

  Chapter Twelve

  I recuperated with Jax and Adam in the demon lair over a frenetic martial arts movie and Chinese food while Ewan debriefed with Malthus. I watched the black-clad Ninjas bound off buildings and fly through treetops in surreal, fantastic slow motion and laughed at the scenes that seemed more real to me than the one I’d just survived in the demon realm.

  When the movie ended, I loathed moving off the couch. Moving meant acknowledging reality, however warped it’d become, and reality meant my Tuesday class. I’m forever going to associate that class with fae and dead witches.

  I pushed myself up. “I gotta go.” I turned to Adam. “Can you come by my place this evening? I should be home by five.”

  “We gonna spend some quality necromancer-revenant time together? Do our part for inter-afterlife relations?”

  I dug into my last reserve of patience. “Look. I know this is hard for you. I’m trying the best I can under the circumstances.”

  “
I’m sorry. I’ll be more cheerful. Happy about the fact that I was reanimated against my will.” His words slapped me. Jax kept a wary eye trained on Adam, his body tensed. Maybe quality time was a bad idea.

  Adam sunk deeper into the couch. “Sorry.” His tone wasn’t sorry. It was still pretty angry.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  I ran into Ewan in the foyer. He’d changed into loose jeans and a T-shirt. Thank God. I couldn’t cope with more bared-Ewan-chest right now.

  “How’s Adam?” he asked.

  “He hates me. I don’t blame him, but it’s not a good thing.” I wanted to hold Ewan’s hand again and eat hot dogs.

  “You’ll figure this out.” He rubbed my chin with his thumb, catching my lip in a subtle caress.

  I ignored the soft tremble of my lips at his touch. “He’s coming over to my place later so we can talk.”

  He pulled his hand away and rubbed his neck. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I’m figuring it out. If I can’t spend time with him and exert some level of control, then I’m not much of a necromancer.”

  “He needs more time to get used to his situation, and you need time to rest and gather your strength so when his urges surface, you can quell them with your power.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. “It’s been less than a day since I reanimated him, too soon for those urges, plus we don’t have time.” And whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was curious about my revenant and wanted to get to know him better.

  Ewan eyed me from lowered lashes, then nodded more to himself than me. “Call me later.”

  I trotted down the steps to the street, exhausted and sulking, the high from raising Adam having worn off. I’d convinced myself I was going to leave this brave new supe world behind once we found Cael or whoever’s behind the murders, but the fishing line had tangled around me. I’d used my power twice. Each time grew easier, less painful, didn’t leave new shoe blisters on my ankles. It tempted me now. The fishing line tugged, tightened, urged. It whispered power spheres.

  And I listened.

  * * * *

  I found Adam waiting on my doorstep when I got home from class. Teaching had sapped what little energy lingered after raising him. He followed me to the kitchen where I poured myself some water. He fingered a glass, his back to me. Revenants, like vampires, didn’t drink or eat food. They feed off the necro’s power. When that’s not enough, they resort to the protein rich zombie diet, and I thought that perhaps Ewan had been right. I needed to rest.

  He wore a hoodie with a cartoon picture of what was supposed to be a zombie holding a sign with the words, Zombies are were people too. Cute.

  “Where’d you get the hoodie?” I asked.

  “You like it?” He turned around smiling. “I figured I should do my part for my people while I can.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. From reluctant revenant to a champion of the reanimated.”

  “Why fight it when I can have fun with this? Embracing my inner zombie has improved my disposition.”

  “Except you’re not a zombie,” I said dryly.

  “Revenant, uber-zombie, call me what you will.” He spread his hands out in front of him, palms outward.

  “If it stops the constant glares thrown my way, then power to the zombies . . . I guess.” I shook my head. “So back to my first question?”

  His blank eyes lit up. “The hoodie, right. That’s the interesting part. On the way here, I went into one of the little boutique stores that sells funky stuff and saw the hoodie. Naturally, I had to posses it, so I put it on and walked out.”

  “Great. I raised a shoplifting revenant.”

  He shrugged. “I’m dead. Who cares about moral ambiguities? So back to the story. I told the store clerk that I’d worn it into the store, and what a coincidence that he had the very same hoodie on sale. I voiced the spell and pushed the command into his mind, and he didn’t question it. Admittedly, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, making the manipulation easier.”

  “You influenced his mind,” I said, trying to maintain my calm, but feeling the fear rising within me.

  “Yeah. It was one of my human witch spells.”

  “So you brought that spell back with you.”

  “I think you brought it back with me.”

  Shit. The diagram. Why didn’t the first necromancer compile a manual with a list of cautions? Don’t raise a supernatural revenant, don’t construct a ritual that rouses a witch’s mind control spells—all the rules I’ve broken.

  “Look, you’re supposed to do what I say, right?” I asked. He narrowed his eyes and nodded. “So don’t mind control anyone for now.” He turned his back to me, fingered the glass, and muttered something about ruining his fun.

  I strode over to him and tugged on his hood. “Come with me to the Tenderloin. I want to get some sticky buns.”

  He turned, and I released his hood. “You like sticky buns?”

  “A guilty pleasure. I also want to buy some lemon grass. You can help me cook some Thai food.”

  He tapped his fingers on the counter, his expression doubtful. “You know how to cook Thai food?”

  “My grandmother traveled to Asia and taught me some recipes she learned.”

  “She traveled a lot?” he asked.

  I nodded. “She thought visiting exotic places would reveal all the dark necromancer secrets.”

  “Did they?”

  I didn’t know. In the wee hours, I’d find Cora staring out the front room window, awakened from a nightmare brought on by the memories and thoughts transmitted to her from the corpses she’d reanimated. Unlike mindless zombies, reanimated corpses and revenants retain their life memories. Problem is the memories often contain details and images of the car wreck or grisly attack that killed the person. I never got more than fleeting thoughts, like déjà vu, but I stocked my mind with scenes from movies to block out the trespassing memories of the corpses.

  I didn’t know if Cora had held dark necromancer secrets, but I knew she’d held the dark secrets of the dead. I looked down at the floor. “Something got her killed.” I grabbed his arm and led him down the hall. “Come on, this is the first time I’ve felt like cooking since she died.”

  “Okay, but gotta check on something first. Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Up the stairs. First door on the right,” I said without thinking.

  “You don’t have a bathroom downstairs?”

  Without turning my head, I stopped and pointed at a door to the side of the staircase. Adam opened it. I moved farther down the hall, but could see him in front of the mirror tugging at his eyelids and wetting them with eye drops. “My eyes have been super dry. Is this some kind of revenant affliction?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we can find a doctor that specializes in treating the undead.”

  “Your sarcasm is unappreciated.” He finished his eye examination and glanced around. “Don’t you ever use this bathroom? You could eat dinner off the floor.”

  “Let’s go. Don’t forget to close that door.” My words clipped the air, rushing out to catch up with my feet already at the exit.

  Out on the street Adam asked if we could stop by his place to get some clothes. The last thing I wanted to do was go to Adam’s place, just like the last thing I’d wanted was to find his body, but a quick visit couldn’t hurt, I guessed.

  “I’ll wait here,” I said when we arrived at his apartment.

  “All right. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  I wandered into the convenience store on the ground floor of his building and flipped through some magazines. A few minutes turned into fifteen. I put the magazine down, ignored the glare from the clerk, and went outside. I felt a tug on the bond. Weird. I was still getting used to the sensation, like having a cast over a broken arm or leg, except this cast bound my chest.

  I entered his building and walked up the steps. The door to his apartment opened by itself.

  �
�I figured the necro wouldn’t be far behind.”

  Sybil wasn’t wearing a tight skirt this time, but her black jeans didn’t leave much to the imagination. “You coming in?” she asked.

  I was starting to believe that Adam’s apartment was a gateway to Shitsville.

  She’d apparently made herself at home on his couch, legs crossed, and arm resting along the back. He was leaning against the windowsill at the bottom of the stairs that led to his bedroom.

  I searched Adam’s eyes before sitting on a step midway up the staircase. He ignored me, keeping his eyes fixed on Sybil. Witches were super-attuned to body language, always assessing others for a telltale whisper or flick of the hand that would signal the start of a spell.

  “You’re not supposed to be around Adam,” I told her.

  “Just because you raised a supernatural revenant, don’t think you’ve gained some kind of status in the community. You’re still nothing.”

  It took a moment for me to recover from the sting of her insult. I pursed my lips and said with my best dose of arrogance, “Then you have . . . nothing to fear.”

  My words hit their target, and Sybil uncrossed her legs and sat upright.

  “The coven has the book,” Adam broke in. “This is pointless.”

  “You have the spells here.” Sybil tapped her forehead with one finger.

  “I’m not going to tell you the spells.”

  “I can clear your name.”

  I saw the indecision twist his face, cloud his vision. Sybil smiled, her smugness showing through her pursed lips.

  “I can’t believe you’re okay with being made a revenant and helping the very people who expelled you from the coven,” she said.

  “I know you killed Jenna. Maybe the coven would be interested in that information,” he said.

  “The coven investigated her death and ruled it assisted suicide.” She fisted her hand in front of her and rubbed her manicured nails with her thumb. “You can’t prove otherwise. Plus who’s going to listen to a dead man?”