by Lish McBride
“You’re about twenty years too late for that,” I said. “Forced exodus or no.” And that’s when I felt the hurt that had been squatting underneath my anger. And that hurt was telling me that if Nick had just stayed around, even though being that close to Douglas would have been a danger, I could have been trained earlier, properly, and not half-assed. That my situation would be different and I wouldn’t be mired down the way I was now.
“I know,” he said, and I could hear the pain in his voice. Damn it. I was starting to feel sorry for him. The thing was, I knew it wasn’t really his fault. Not really. And he’d done his best, but I could feel the anger boiling inside me where it had been stashed so that I wouldn’t keep letting it out all over my mom. The binding, while well-intentioned, had led to my kidnapping, Ramon’s “life change,” and Brooke’s death. I know there was no way they could have predicted this outcome, but it was still the consequence of their actions. I hadn’t wanted to stay mad at my mom, though, so I’d buried it. Nick was a good, safe outlet. Which meant I wasn’t being fair to him. Double damn it. Sometimes I wished I was more of an asshole. It would make my life so much simpler.
I stuck my hand out at him. “Fine. Truce,” I mumbled.
He grabbed my hand quickly, and I could tell he was trying to get it before I changed my mind, which made me feel worse.
“I’m still mad,” I said.
“I know.”
“Well, as long as we’re clear on that,” I said. We were quiet the rest of the drive, but the tension was gone for now.
I made Nick wait in the car while I ran in and said hi to my mom. I found her in the kitchen, pouring some kind of infused oil into a jar.
“You look very sweaty,” she said.
“Yes, well, I’ve been hiking.” I opened the cookie jar on the counter and looked inside. Peanut butter. Sweet.
“There’s a container in the pantry—better take them all, or Ramon will get pouty.”
Best. Mom. Ever. “Okay, cool.” I grabbed them and set them on the counter, chewing my cookie and trying to decide how to approach our conversation.
My mom glanced out the window. “Speaking of which, why is Ramon still in the car?”
“Ah, well, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Uncle Nick is in the back seat.”
She put her pot back on the stove and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh?”
“That’s it? ‘Oh?’!?”
“What did you expect, dear?” She smiled at me as she put the lid on the jar and twisted.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Something. Anyway, I think he wants to stay here for a while.”
My mom swiped at the jar with a towel, even though I didn’t see any of the oil on the outside. Probably habit. “That might be best, actually.”
I bit into another cookie. “And how might that be best?”
My mom leaned against the counter, finally giving me her full attention. “What with … the incident.” She waved a hand in the direction of Haley’s door so I’d know which particular incident she was referring to. “It might be best to have more people around.”
“I’ll come stay,” I said without thinking.
She smiled and leaned over, swiping some cookie crumbs away from my mouth with her towel. “You’ve got your own house to look after now. I appreciate it, but I think your dance card is quite full.”
I sighed. “Fine. What did James say about the house?”
“He recommended that I redo my wards, especially the one in the chimney, since that was done ages ago.”
“That’s all? Did he say how he thought they got in?”
She shook her head. “No, but he did suggest that making them simply repel those who wished harm was not enough.”
“Oh?” I said, eyebrows raised. “Whom are they supposed to keep out now?”
“Everyone.”
*
After we dropped off my uncle and Pello, we headed back to the house. A lot of things were whirling around in my head as we drove, and Ramon was kind enough to stay quiet while I tried to figure things out. What I needed was to speak to someone who knew what she was talking about. I pulled out my cell phone and hit June Walker’s listing. I had her on speed dial. As the only other necromancer I actually knew, she definitely warranted it. She answered on the third ring, and before she could finish her hello, I’d unloaded everything on her. I was able to gloss over some of it, thanks to Ashley and Dessa. Apparently, between the two of them, they’d been keeping June abreast of things.
“What do you really want to ask me, Sam?” she asked once I’d finished babbling.
“Is there any chance he could have survived?” Between the dreams and all the weird crap, well, it just kept coming back to Douglas.
I heard the click of her lighter as she lit a cigarette. “I don’t think so. With your power boost, the ritual he tried to inflict on you was obviously completed. That couldn’t be unless he was dead.” She paused to take a drag. “But—”
“Why is there always a but?”
She laughed. “Because it’s Douglas. He complicates things. My suggestion? If you’re worried, seek out evidence. Make your pukis show you where he took the body.”
*
It took some fast talking and a lot of unpleasant wheedling to get James to comply. Finally he agreed to meet us there, and I gave Ramon new directions. We found James standing in front of the crypt, leaning against the side nonchalantly, like it was no big deal—like he hung out in cemeteries every day. Of course, working for Douglas, he probably had.
The inside was cooler than the outside in terms of temperature, but not in terms of aesthetics. Or smell. Even with the door propped open for light, the crypt was quite obviously home to a rotting corpse. Without a word, James escorted me over to the marble slab where what was left of Douglas was waiting for me. Ramon decided to stay outside—something about the smell and sensitive noses.
My necromancer status aside, I hadn’t actually seen a lot of decomposing bodies. They’re just not something you run across a lot of unless you work in a field specifically built around handling rotting flesh. Sure, I’ve been to a few funerals, Haden’s for one, but those bodies had been embalmed.
Douglas had not. I was trying not to let my mind see all of it at once, but my stubborn brain kept thinking words like maggots and goo, and when I saw a beetle crawl through his empty eye socket, I have to say I backed up a step. Basically, my enemy had been reduced to a sloppy, bug-ridden mess. I choked on the smell and tried to cover my nose with the back of my arm.
James just stood there. Unaffected, merely curious, coolly assessing the cadaver like it was something else—a place setting, maybe, or my dress attire.
“I’m sorry I made you do this,” I said.
James had leaned over the corpse, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze following another beetle as it climbed out of Douglas’s suit jacket. “Why? Didn’t it set you at ease?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, of course.” I gestured with the hand not held under my nose. “I was just apologizing for making you see, um, him … like that.”
James shrugged, eyes still following the beetle as it perched on the edge of Douglas’s shiny black shoe. For a second, I really thought he was going to paw at it like a cat. “No apologies necessary,” he said. “This is only a shell. He’s not in here.”
“That’s an enlightened way to look at it.”
James looked at me, silver eyes blinking in the dim light. “I suppose so, yes.”
*
It was dark when we finally got home, and, despite the nap, I was still tired. There was a tranquility to the house, with everyone ensconced in individual activities. I headed to my room with a wave to James. I needed some quiet time to think.
Which was totally not going to happen, because I found Brid curled up asleep in the middle of my bed. It hadn’t been long since James had ordered my new bed, but every time I walked into my room, I was hoping it would be there. Especially
now. Brid shouldn’t be curled up on a mattress and a box spring on the floor. Even with the hurt of what was going on, I wanted something better for her than that. She looked pale, and there were bruised patches under her eyes, probably because she wasn’t sleeping, which wasn’t too surprising. People handled grief one of two ways; they either cocooned themselves in blankets and slept too much, or sat hollow-eyed in their living rooms, sleeping too little. I’d learned that when Haden died.
I slid slowly onto the mattress, doing my best not to wake her. Of course, what I should have done was tiptoe out and shut the door so that she could grab some of that much-needed sleep, but I couldn’t quite get over my own selfish need to hold her. Especially since I knew there might not be a next time.
My fingers snagged on the belt loops of her jeans as I slipped an arm around her waist. I curled up closer to her, resting my head behind hers. Her hair tickled my nose, but it was nice to be next to her. She smelled of sweat and the outside, a hint of her orange and sandalwood shampoo under that. There’s something about being close to Brid that makes everything inside me go quiet. It’s a restless feeling I don’t notice until it stops, until I’m with her. She’s my peaceful place.
“You are quite possibly the least smooth guy I know,” she mumbled. “You can’t even put your arm around me without tripping up.”
“Isn’t it amazing how adorable awkwardness can be? I’m actually very suave, but I do these things just to please you.”
She squeezed my arm closer to her in response. We stayed like that for a while, pulling quiet and comfort from each other, knowing full well that it wouldn’t last.
She rolled over and kissed my chin. “What’s that smell?”
I looked down at her as she settled against my chest. “What is it with you and telling me I smell funny?” Some of her first words to me when we met were about how strange I smelled.
“You pick up some very odd aromas sometimes, and they cover up the you smell, which I happen to like. So what have you been up to this time?”
“What you’re smelling,” I said, “is the scent of the outdoors. Of rugged manliness. That is the stench of Bigfoot.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Was he sick? Because you also smell like rotting things.”
“Oh, right. What I meant to say was that’s the smell of rugged manliness and Douglas’s putrefying corpse.”
“Gross.”
“Indeed.”
“You realize you’re getting dirt all over your sheets, right?” She plucked at my shirt with her fingers.
“It’s my bed,” I said defensively.
“Just making sure you’re aware. Your sheets, your call.”
I rolled off the bed with a heavy sigh. I’d left my shoes at the door so that I didn’t violate James’s house rule about no shoes past the entryway, but my socks were stiff with sweat and dirt, and the rest of me wasn’t much better. I threw my socks in the hamper, followed by my shirt. Brid catcalled me when I took off my shorts. I threw them at her in response before grabbing a pair of clean jeans to slip into. She tossed them back. I made a show of adding them to the hamper before I jumped back into bed. She giggled, and it was a good sound to hear. I just wished it had lasted longer.
“I’ve missed you,” I said when she’d stopped giggling.
“I know.” She crawled back into my arms. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Me either,” I said. “I feel like I’ve been chasing my tail. Tracking down each little clue or lead. How the hell do detectives do this? It feels like I’ve made zero progress.” I buried my fingers in her hair, pulling it gently until the curls wound over the backs of my nails.
“My dad made everything look so easy.”
I pressed my lips to the top of her head, turning only slightly when I needed to talk. “Yeah, he did. But he’d also been at it a long time.”
“What if I screw up?” It hurt to hear her sound so scared and broken. The Brid I knew was brash and fierce. This side didn’t pop up too often. As I tried to think of a properly reassuring thing to say, I realized that Brid probably didn’t get to let this part of her out on a regular basis. You had to look confident and assured, or people started to lose faith in you.
“People screw up,” I said. “Just try your hardest and fix mistakes as best you can when they happen.”
“Most people would have simply replied ‘you’ll do fine.’”
“I’m not most people.” I hugged her tight and then pulled back so I could look into her eyes. “And you will do fine, but you know that deep down, I’m sure. You’ve had a bad shock, and you’re hurt, and that would shake anyone’s faith. But your dad picked you, Brid. If you can’t dig up faith for yourself, at least trust in his abilities. He knew you could do it.”
She cried then, and I held her while she sobbed. I knew that hurt, and it’s a terrible thing to lose someone who is such a fixture in your life. I’d been having a shit year, but Brid’s was worse. She’d had all my bad days pushed into a few months. The loss of her father, the sudden thrust into a position of power she wasn’t expecting, being kidnapped and tortured by a psycho. It was a lot to take, even for someone as strong as her.
I held her tight to my chest. “I know it’s hard,” I said. “In fact, if there’s anyone who knows, it’s me. That kind of loss and then, right after it, before you can even take a breath, you get sucker punched with your new position.”
Brid shifted so she could look me in the eyes. Hers were puffy, and her face was red and splotchy. I brushed her hair out of her face, running my thumb along her chin. “All those people watching you, waiting for you to screw up. Not helping, just judging and piling more things on you while they do.” I felt my own frustration well up. “But you know, as much as I’d like to complain, I look at you and think, ‘Well, shit, Brid’s had all that at an accelerated pace and she’s not bitching and moaning, is she?’”
“I am a little,” she said with a sniff.
I gave her a bit of a grin. “You’re not wallowing, though. And you know what? Screw those other people. I think you’re doing great.”
“And you’re all that matters?” A hint of a smile played on her lips.
“Why, yes, I think I am.” I put her in a headlock and kissed her forehead again.
“I’m so tired of crying,” she said.
“I know.” I wiped an errant tear away. “If you need a break, I can cry for you for a bit. We can take turns.”
She smiled a little and nudged me. “I just bet you would, sissy.”
“Hey,” I said, pretending to be insulted. “That is one of the advantages of dating a sensitive Beta male. We cry for you, we remember anniversaries, and we might even hold your hair while you vomit. Classy with a capital C.”
“I’ve never vomited around you, but I seem to remember helping you while you puked.”
I gave her a quick kiss. “Hey, why you got to bring up old shit all the time?”
She laughed and kissed me back. “Thanks, Sam,” she said. Then she kissed me again. This time she didn’t pull back as fast. When she got up to lock my door, I didn’t stop her.
*
Brid dozed in my arms. I traced aimless patterns on her bare back while I thought. Though I felt pretty worn out myself, I was kind of afraid to go to sleep again. More nightmares were not what I needed right now. In fact, I felt like I had exactly what I did need at the moment, and I wanted to enjoy that.
My window was open, and the warm evening air blew in, bringing the smells of sea and summer with it. I could hear the gnomes yelling something in the distance, and I grinned.
Brid adjusted her position with a grumble and threw an arm over my chest. Her forearm sat awkwardly on my medicine pouch and I had to yank it out from under her, the lump of the egg I’d stashed in there was digging painfully into my chest. Slowly, I reached around the sleeping girl so I could use both hands to pull the jade egg out.
I tossed the medicine ba
g onto my nightstand and held the egg up so I could see it better. The carving really was exquisite, and even though it had been sitting in the pouch, close to my skin, it was still cold. That was weird, but it made some sense after Ashley saying it had some sort of death magic mixed up in it. I held it in my hand for a minute, fingers tightly closed. The chill remained. Was everything in this house weird? Maybe I was starting to get paranoid. Pretty soon I might accuse the coffeemaker of talking to me or think that the old recliner was the reincarnation of Winston Churchill.
But the house did have some strange things in it. I mean, wasn’t that why I had to take the property in the first place? My lawyer had said something about how normal people couldn’t move in because who knew what Douglas had left behind.
Cautiously, I traced the edges of the egg, looking for hidden latches or something. It seemed too small to hide anything in, but what the hell did I know? Finally, I closed my eyes to try and look at it with my mysterious magicky bits. There was probably a proper name for what I was doing like “using my sight” or my “third eye” or something, but again, what did I know? Very little, and it felt like the more I learned, the more my ignorance increased.
But whatever you wanted to call it, I looked at it and the damn egg lit up like a small moon. A blue, swirling moon. Crap. I recognized that particular nauseating swirl. Whatever kind of magic was involved, Douglas had done it, but was that really a surprise? His house, his egg, his magic. Duh. Still, he was dead. Shouldn’t the magic have deactivated or something? Of course, I had no idea.
My phone rang. I rolled Brid over and jumped out of bed. She woke with a start. “Where’s the fire?”
I ignored her while I pulled my shorts out of the hamper, digging my phone out of one of the pockets. Of course, I missed the call and had to hit a few buttons and call the number back—it wasn’t one I recognized.
“Hi,” the gruff voice said on the other end. “This Sam LaCroix?”
“That depends entirely on who is calling.”
“You realize that by saying that, you’ve basically admitted that you are?”
“No, I implied that I might be, which is not the same thing at all.”