by Lish McBride
*
Grass tickled my hands as the sunlight created a warm red glow on my eyelids. It made it hard to keep them closed. I was practicing my newfound skills with a game of hide-and-seek with Ashley and Brooke. A game, I might add, where I was always It.
Though I was never very good at it, I was worse that day—it was hard to concentrate on practice when I kept replaying my conversation with Haley in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and searched. I could sense Ashley off to my left, the crackling presence of a Harbinger. I could feel the shadows of plants, trees, and animals. The outlines came together in my head. But I couldn’t see Brooke. I tried harder. Nothing. Which wasn’t possible, since I knew she was hiding out there somewhere. I just didn’t know where. I turned around. Still nothing. I steadied my breathing and thought. Where else could she be? I turned back around and tilted my head up slightly. In my mental sketch of the forest, I could clearly see Brooke’s long legs dangling over a tree branch. They were swinging back and forth nonchalantly, because apparently to Brooke being that far up in a tree was no big thing. I guess once you’re dead, falling from great heights loses some of its scariness. I smiled and opened my eyes. “Olly, olly, oxen free.”
James walked out onto the lawn, his tail twitching. “What’s next, kick the can?” He sat next to me, his head high as he told Frank where to set the picnic basket. “He’s a member of the Council, and you have him playing children’s games.”
Ashley shot him a withering look. “He needs to learn precision, and his grasp of the basics is fuzzy at best.”
“Why are you back in that form again?” I asked. “You could have carried the basket yourself if you’d switched.”
James turned his cool feline gaze on me. “What, Frank is too good to carry food, but it’s okay for me to do it?”
“No,” I said, exasperated. “That’s not what I meant. I … you know what? Never mind. If you want to be a kitty, be a kitty.”
“I don’t mind,” Frank said as he set down the basket. He opened it and took out a blanket, followed by an assorted picnic lunch. I had no idea what I was paying James, but based on his picnic-assembling skills alone, he needed a raise. I moved over to the blanket and snagged a piece of cheese.
Ashley flopped onto her side, her pigtails swinging. She arranged her skirt. I’m not sure why, but she generally dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl. “Hand over the goods, Frank.”
Frank reached back into the basket and pulled out a plastic container. I didn’t have to look into it to know that it held Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries. The smaller container probably held syrup. I’m sure James even had whipped cream somewhere. As part of a bargain, I owed Ashley a steady supply of waffles. After I moved in, James took over on the days I was home. At first Ashley argued and said this was against the spirit of the agreement. But after one spectacularly awful batch of waffles by me, Ashley conceded. The kitchen is just not my domain. Not sure I have a domain. I should get one.
Brooke settled down next to Ashley and pulled out her spectral clipboard. She’d become very fond of it. “Speaking of Council,” she said, “don’t forget the meeting is at four.”
“How could I forget? No one here would let me if I tried.”
“Well, someone has to keep your shit together in my absence.” The voice came from behind me. A little lower than I remembered, like someone had taken a slight bass growl and added it over his regular voice. Changed or not, I knew that voice. I hopped to my feet in an instant.
Ramon stood a few paces back, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Dessa, the daughter of a local seer named Maya who’d helped us out during the Douglas thing, stood a few paces back, waving. She was also related to June, the only other necromancer I knew personally. I should also add that Dessa is a stone-cold fox—Ramon’s words, not mine.
I felt most of my guilt and worry vanish when I saw Ramon grinning fit to explode. The guilt would return, probably in spades, but I’d worry about that later. I hugged the bastard. He hugged me back without hesitation. I could feel some of his new strength, though it was obvious he was trying to be careful. He squeezed me again.
“Man, it’s good to see you.”
Aaaaaaaaaand the guilt was back. The pack had told me not to visit, but I hadn’t tried very hard. “They told me—”
“I know,” he said. “No worries. Now, let’s break it up before people start to question our sexuality again.” I laughed and let him go.
“They told me the same thing,” Dessa said. “So I just texted him instead.” Why hadn’t I thought of that? Because I’d been afraid of what his return texts would say, probably. Or worse—that I’d get no reply at all.
Brooke squealed and clapped, jumping up to give Ramon a quick ghostly kiss on the cheek. “I would’ve visited, but you wouldn’t have been able to see me. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on these two.” She kissed his other cheek, just for good measure.
“Good to see you too, chica,” he said.
I introduced him to the rest of the group. James, doing his best to look abused even in feline form, ordered Frank to make up a large plate of food and pass it to Ramon. He took it with a thanks and dug in. It was good to see him up and healthy again. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been unconscious in a hospital bed, strapped down with wires and cuffs. He’d been fighting the infection then, all because he’d barged in, white-knight style, to save me. It had been touch-and-go for a bit. Now he looked back to normal, with the exception of a few pounds of muscle added on. Ramon used to be as slender and scrawny as me. Not anymore. Just one more new thing to get used to. I pointed out the new skate ramp—as if he could miss it—and called it a welcome-home present. James made sure to refer to it as an eyesore that was ruining the lawn, and I made sure to ignore him.
“Let’s go check out your new digs so you can put your crap away,” I said, punching Ramon in the arm.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Ramon’s new room. James could be a bit unpredictable at times. I think after all his complaining, I expected something Spartan, cold, maybe just enough effort to get by, like a prison cell or a college dorm. Instead, I was greeted by a massive four-poster bed complete with curtains and dark cotton sheets. The frame looked like oak. There was a matching desk and nightstand. James had even unpacked Ramon’s stuff left over from the move out of our old apartment.
“Wow.” Ramon flopped onto the bed as I continued to gape.
“Yes, well, it was the best I could do on short notice.” James hopped up onto an armchair. “I put what few things you had from Sam’s place away. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it might help you settle. Feel free to move anything you like.”
I ran and threw myself on the bed too. It poofed. A feather mattress. Hot damn. “How come you didn’t do this with my room? I still have milk crates holding up a plywood shelf for my books.”
“If you remember, you insisted on bringing your own stuff, including that moth-eaten thing you call a mattress. You wouldn’t even put your music in the library, or your books. Ridiculous.”
I hadn’t wanted to mix up my stuff with Douglas’s. I know it sounds weird, but I felt like, once that happened, this new house situation was permanent, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. Besides, evil bastards shouldn’t like good music. It just doesn’t go with torture and dark machinations. Which reminded me, I should show someone that egg I found. But I was really comfortable.… I sank deeper into the bed.
“I don’t remember that,” I lied.
“You referred to it as a ‘slippery slope,’ saying you didn’t want to get used to Douglas’s wealth and lifestyle. Why you think luxury leads to the dark side is beyond me. Having nice things doesn’t necessitate evil. You work hard. Why can’t you sleep on something that isn’t a home for millions of dust mites?”
He had a point. I didn’t want to get any closer to being like Douglas, but did that mean I needed to keep my room in a squalid condition because that was familiar? Was I jus
t being stubborn?
Ramon got up and started exploring his room. “You kept all your crap furniture?”
“Most of it,” I said. “The stuff that would fit in my room. James wouldn’t allow some of my stuff in the common areas.”
“I was afraid it might give the other furniture ideas. Pretty soon the whole house might start slumming it.”
“Be nice,” I said. James’s only response was a slow feline blink.
“You’re like one of those monks who beats himself with a cat-o’-nine-tails in order to stay penitent.” Ramon opened one of the desk drawers and turned to James. “You even put office supplies in here. Thanks, man. I owe you one.” He peered more closely at it. “Is this engraved?”
“What does it say?” I rolled a little closer on Ramon’s heaven mattress.
“It has my name,” Ramon said, slowly. “And what appears to be a bear paw print.”
I watched his face to see his reaction as he stared at the paper, looking for any hint of anger or self-pity. I wasn’t really sure yet how Ramon was taking his … condition. A wave of relief went through me as the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He laughed, a deep, belly-wrenching laugh, and thanked James again.
James stiffened a little, his ears twitching forward in attention, like he hadn’t expected the gratitude. “You’re welcome. I also took the liberty of purchasing some basic bathroom items for you. They are in the washroom across the hall. You’ll have to share with Sean, I’m afraid.”
Ramon shrugged. “That’s cool. I’m just glad to have an actual bed. No more couch living for Ramon.”
“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person,” I said. “It’s creepy.”
Ramon pulled out his desk chair and sat. “Sam, I know why you held on to your stuff, but seriously, you’re not going to go all evil just because you get a new bed and a shelf. I don’t think you’re bought off that easy. But if you’re worried, I can keep an eye on you.”
“Yes,” James said drily, “we can always keep your stuff in the basement with the rest of the torture devices should the need to self-flagellate arise at any point.”
“All right, all right,” I said. “I give. James, you win. May I please have new furniture?”
He gave me a slow, regal blink. “As Master wishes.”
“Cut it out.”
Then he stared at the clock and left, soft paws padding down the hall. I got the message. It was time to go greet the other Council members.
6
EVERY TIME IT RAINS, IT RAINS PENNIES FROM HEAVEN
Douglas examined the coin lying in James’s hand. Flat and silver, the writing or the symbols had been worn smooth long ago. He couldn’t even hazard a guess as to its country of origin. It was attached to a heavy, braided cord that was stained with age. Supposedly, it was a piece of hangman’s rope, which Douglas found a touch excessive.
“The previous owner must have had a flair for the dramatic.”
James made a noncommittal noise. “If I’m ever in the underworld, I will ask him.” He pulled a long silver chain out of his pocket. “I figured you’d want this.” He took his knife out, cutting the cord quickly. Once the coin was on the chain, he slipped it over Douglas’s head. Douglas felt an icy resonance when it hit his chest. A hypothermic blast, then feeling, real feeling, and not some ghostly approximation, returned. He stretched his arms out and looked at his hands. Solid. Real. At least as long as the coin was around his neck. No need for the rotting shell of a body in the mausoleum. He was tempted to kick up his heels in triumph. Well, almost.
“Where on earth did you obtain a Stygian coin?”
James shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Not really. Impressive, though.” Douglas stretched, enjoying the feeling of having substance again. The coin was like a tiny silver miracle.
“You’re welcome.” James sat down on the marble bench of the mausoleum, adjusting his duster as he did so. “My place is here—I should be here with you,” he said forcefully. To Douglas it seemed that James said this more to himself than anything.
“Nothing would draw suspicion faster than if you left. Everyone knows a pukis only changes hands if the owner dies. Your disappearance would cause problems.” Douglas examined James’s face. He supposed most would look at it and see only faint boredom, nothing more. But Douglas had owned James for a long time. He could see concern in the tilt of James’s head, fear in the slightly pinched brow, and an overall confusion in the set of James’s body. For a brief second, Douglas wondered if it might be too much, asking him to serve two masters.
Then James changed the subject, and Douglas let him. “That coin should enable you to move more freely, anyway. Though my earlier suggestion still stands.”
“Starting over seems a lot like quitting to me, James.”
The pukis shifted, looking uncomfortable. “You have a chance at a clean slate. Go anywhere. Be anyone. I implore you, let it go.”
“Let my murderer go free? No consequences? Let bygones be bygones, and such rubbish?” Douglas snorted. “I think not. Besides, I’m not willing to throw away all the work I’ve put into this area. It will take some adjustments, I know, but the removal of a few key obstacles should do the trick.” The key obstacles being Brannoc and Sam, of course. It would feel good to get those two off the Council, then once they were safely taken care of, Douglas would emerge and disband what was left. No more governing by democratic discussion. He would rule. And after that, he could start expanding his realm, one piece at a time. The possibilities were endless.
James looked down, and his hair slid over his eyes. He had to twitch it away with a shake of his head. Douglas had never seen it so long and noticed for the first time that there was some curl to it. Then he realized that this was because he hadn’t been there to tell James to get a haircut. It wasn’t exactly a game they played, but it was close. James would get a bit shaggy. Douglas would threaten him with some scissors and a bowl. Then, feigning submission, James would make an appointment at the barber’s. That exchange was no longer taking place, and even though it was but a small moment in their otherwise lengthy lives, Douglas grieved for it. Briefly. Then the grief turned to anger, as it always did with him.
“You were overconfident last time,” James said softly.
“He was lucky.”
“He might be lucky again.”
“I highly doubt that. Did you fulfill your other task? It’s about time we started our campaign against one Samhain LaCroix.”
James hesitated before answering.
“James.”
“I purchased the athame—plain and common, just like you asked, but…”
Douglas tapped his fingers impatiently on the wall of the mausoleum. His delight in the ease it took to tap his fingers overwhelmed his frustration with James, but only momentarily. “Should I be sending my condolences to the LaCroix family or not, James?”
The lock of hair slipped back onto his forehead as James shook his head. “It’s just … I thought…” His jaw clenched as he looked away. “I thought I would draw it out more. Build the situation up. Spread him—and his resources—even more thin than they are.” He looked back at Douglas pleadingly. “Do you see?”
“If you didn’t stick her with the knife, then where did you stick it?”
James looked at his feet. “In her door.”
“Her bedroom door? Not the front door?”
James nodded.
Douglas continued his tap-tap-tap on the wall and considered this. Sam was such a sensitive boy, disgustingly sentimental by nature. With people like that the best way to hurt them was through the people they held dear. Killing the blond girl had proved that.
He’d cycled through several targets and had landed on one: Sam’s sister. With that in mind, he’d sent James over to slice her up like a Christmas ham. A nice visual and a very clear point, but then again, over very quickly. Perhaps James’s version would be ultimately more pleasing.
“Dramatic,�
� he said. James performed best when he wasn’t micromanaged. Sometimes he forgot that. “I like it.” Yes, this way was infinitely better. James had violated the inner sanctum. He’d breezed past defenses and doors and sidled right up to his quarry—mere feet away. No one in the LaCroix family would be sleeping easy now. Which would mean that when he actually killed the girl, it would be that much more effective. Oh, the guilt Sam would feel—the powerlessness! Douglas wanted to do a jig at the idea, but settled for a smile. It seemed more dignified.
In contrast, James was so still that he almost appeared to be meditating. Finally, he asked, “Why her?”
Douglas paused before answering, but only because he was surprised that James had asked the question in the first place. “Anyone in my house posed some risk—too easy to be seen there, and I’d rather avoid it. Brid was also hazardous—besides, I’d like her to be alive so that she can receive the full impact of future events. That left Sam’s mother and sister. Out of the two, I thought Haley would be the easiest target. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering if there was a better choice, tactically speaking,” James muttered. “But you seem to have come to the best conclusion.”
“Naturally.”
He stretched then, just because he could. With the coin on, Douglas felt as good as new. Solid. Like nothing had happened to him. If they hadn’t been hanging out in a mausoleum next to his rotting shell, he’d say he wasn’t dead at all. As long as he kept the coin on, of course. That might become a nuisance eventually, but he could deal with it later. For now, he’d handle the problems directly in his path, like Sam. Of course it was only natural for James to fret, but really, what could Sam possibly do? Kill him twice? “You seem troubled by my orders. Should I be concerned about your loyalty, James?”
James stared at his shoes, taking his time to respond. “I’m worried about you.” He’d never been particularly demonstrative, even in his youth. Douglas had owned him since James was but a boy, and even then he’d been quiet, scrawny and pale, but with an air of gravity rare in someone so young. The way he was acting now was tantamount to an emotional breakdown in everyone else.