Necromancing the Stone

by Lish McBride

  Ramon hit me back, harder. “Dude,” he mimicked, “it’s as much my fault as yours. You didn’t ask to get kidnapped. I chose to come after you, knowing full well I might get hurt. I honestly don’t think any of us could have anticipated this outcome.” He leaned back on his elbows. “Anyway, it’s done. And you know what? I don’t mind.”

  I set down my mug and hunched forward, resting on my elbows. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll stop festering in my guilt?”

  “Do what you gotta do, man. All I’m saying is, it’s not that bad. Sure, there are downsides—I’m still having control issues, and it hurts like a son of a bitch, but there are upsides too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like getting to be a big-ass bear. You can’t tell me that’s not fierce. Look at it this way, with all of your new crazy powers, doesn’t it reassure you to know that you can use them to help your friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s just like that.” We watched as Frank tripped over his own feet, landing facedown in the grass. “Someone has to take care of you guys. It will be a little easier to do that as a were-bear, you know?”

  “I have this vision of your room covered in Care Bear paraphernalia, right down to the grumpy bear sheets.”

  “If you start asking to see my were-bear stare, I’m going to eat you.”

  “Aw, don’t be grumpy there, sunshine bear.”

  He shoved me.

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. “I will say this—I was surprised you turned into a grizzly.”

  “What, are you saying that because I’m Mexican? You don’t think a man of my heritage can handle a grizzly bear?”

  “I was just going to say because you’re so short.”

  It went downhill after that.

  32

  I NEVER PROMISED YOU A ROSE GARDEN

  A few weeks later, I was back in Olympic Park, hiking with new escorts. Ramon was spending some much-needed time with his family. He’d been easing into visits with them since his accident. When I told him I felt bad that he’d had to miss out on family time because of me, he’d shrugged and reminded me that it could have been much worse. A few misplaced punches in the basement brawl could have resulted in him not seeing his family again ever, unless you counted his funeral.

  I didn’t really want to know what Pello was up to. With him, less information tends to be better. So I found myself hiking with Ariana and Ione from the Council. Ione was there for very practical reasons. She was going to be helping with the rune work and whatnot for the charms Murray requested. The ones the Bigfoot needed were a little complicated, or so I was told, since the illusion had to fool the eye and the nose. Not everyone could bang these kinds of charms out—they were fairly labor-intensive, and you needed someone skilled to produce a charm that was anywhere near decent.

  Ione was skilled, or she wouldn’t have been on the Council. The witch was so quiet during the meetings that I’d had a hard time getting to know her. But out in her element, she was markedly different. Her hair was pulled back so you could see her face, and she was smiling. Though by no means a chatterbox, she was actually talking.

  Ariana still scared me, but I think that was healthy and normal, since she was one of those people who could kill you eighteen different ways with a relish fork.

  “You are sad?” Ione said. We had taken a break to enjoy the view and drink some water. At least that’s what they were doing. I was trying to look less sweaty than I was and sitting on a rock. Ione only glanced my way when she spoke, still shy of me. I think it had taken her some courage to ask me the question in the first place.

  “Yes,” I said. “I am.” There was no reason to lie. The only time I’d seen Brid in the last few weeks was at the Council meeting we’d held about the Bigfoots (Bigfeets?) and their request. Gary had shown up to the meeting as the local representative. It was nice to see him again, even though he tried to convince me to bring Minion back—he could have used some help, apparently. But Minion had been gone from Hollywood too long already, so I’d returned him as soon as I was able. There was really no reason to keep him. I didn’t have anything for him to do, so he’d spent most of his time sitting around, looking sad and eating sandwiches. I think he missed Douglas. Besides, he required an around-the-clock babysitter, and nobody deserved that duty. I explained that to Gary and tried my best to not even glance at Brid. It was too hard to look at her.

  When you break up with someone, and I’m not talking casual breakups here, it’s hard to take the sudden absence of such an important person in your life. It reminded me of when I’d stopped going to school and the weird uneasy feeling I’d gotten afterward, like I was forgetting to do something. My life until that point had pivoted around some form of education, and all of a sudden, it was gone. Homework, classes, running around, and then—bam—nothing but a life of work stretching out before you. No one prepares you for that feeling or even mentions it. You just suddenly have a gap and have to decide how to fill it.

  A breakup is like that gap, only much, much more painful. One day the person you talked to constantly or did stuff with is just absent. Gone. Poof. And even though I’m not one of those people who has to be in a relationship all the time, I was feeling at a loss.

  Later, one of the many times I went over the breakup in my head, I realized I probably could convince Brid to take me back. The pack didn’t love me yet, but Brannoc and Bridget had given me their blessing. Surely they would overrule the rest? But I couldn’t do it. Oh, I totally wanted to, don’t get me wrong, but if I did, then I’d always wonder why Brid had changed her mind. Was it because she loved me, or was it because Brannoc thought it was a good idea? No, she’d have to choose on her own, and I’d have to be patient.

  I sucked at patient.

  But that wasn’t the only reason I was sad. I’d had to kill someone. Again. I didn’t really want that to become routine. Killing people in general, not Douglas specifically. Now that I’d seen Ed take him off, I knew he was dead for good. Still, I didn’t want to make murder a habit. They don’t make a patch for it, like they do for smoking.

  Ione drank from her canteen and stared out over the vista. The sun was out, birds were chirping—all in all, it was beautiful. Nature kept banging on my head, trying to remind me that the world was still a stunning, wonderful, mystical place, but I was having a hard time understanding the language anymore.

  Ariana gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. I think she was only used to touching people when she was assaulting them. “It’ll work out,” she said.

  I cocked my head at her. “What will work out?”

  She twisted the cap shut on her water bottle and gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. That’s just what people always say when something is bothering someone. Then the other person accepts it and says thank you.” She eyed me. “That’s what polite people do, anyway.”

  “Thank you, Ariana.”

  Ione smiled at me and winked when Ariana wasn’t looking. A kind of she-means-well expression.

  We started walking again, and I tried to not get mired down in soul-sucking depression. Ione walked with me in companionable silence. I found myself liking the quiet witch. There was something soothing about her presence.

  “It will get better,” she said. “Ariana might not know that, but I do.”

  “I hope it does,” I said.

  We started talking a little then, Ione asking me about my family—she was very interested in my sister and mother, and I promised to introduce her to them. She was laughing and telling me about some spell she’d tried that had backfired when we met up with Murray.

  He greeted us warmly and escorted us back to the same glade we’d eaten in before. I think it was one of his favorite spots. During lunch, I told Murray that we were going to do our best to support his people. We were bringing only a few charms this time—Ione needed more time and supplies to get going—but it was a start. I was providing a lot of the money myself, but I didn�
�t tell him that. Grants take time, even with our little local government, and I desperately needed to see some good happening.

  He kept hugging me, he was so overjoyed. Let me tell you, you haven’t been hugged until you’ve been hugged by a Bigfoot.

  “You’ve made my people very happy,” he said, setting me back down on my feet.

  “Just keep up the good work,” I said, taking a few deep breaths to expand my aching ribs back out to their normal place. We cut the meeting short after that. Murray was eager to get the charms back to his people, so we said our good-byes and headed out. I was thinking the day through, happy that things had gone well, when Ione tapped my shoulder and cleared her throat.

  “That plant seems to know you,” Ariana said. She looked pretty unfazed by the whole scene, which involved my shocked face, Ione’s interested one, and a friendly but huge devil’s club plant.

  The plant was dipping and swaying happily in a nonexistent breeze and looking a bit like a puppy. I put my hand out, palm up, a little hesitantly. One of the bigger leaves arched down and slid softly along my palm so that none of the barbs pierced my skin. Which was a tricky maneuver to do and not entirely successful, but I pretended it was. “Nice to see you again, boy.”

  Ione studied the plant and me. “This happen to you a lot?”

  I shook my head, still staring at the devil’s club. “As far as I know, it’s just this one. I sort of bled on it.” I gave her a quick sketch of what had happened before.

  Ione listened, thoughtful. Ariana quickly grew bored and started playing with her knives. She has a lot of them hidden in strange places all over her body.

  “Have you trained with a witch at all?”

  “Nope.” I didn’t remind her that I’d just recently started training as a necromancer. My ignorance didn’t really need to be bandied about any more than necessary. “Never really occurred to me.”

  “Well, you should,” she said. “You’ve got a little talent in that area, I think.”

  I said good-bye to the jaunty plant, earning myself a few more barbs in the process, and we headed out. “I’ll make a note to do so,” I told her. It would be nice to do something that didn’t involve death once in a while. I might end up having only a spark of what my sister or my mother had, but I didn’t think any talent should be wasted.

  *

  That night Haley joined us for a little party. When she arrived, I was standing next to the half-pipe, winded from only a few passes, my ribs hurting like all get-out. She pulled up dressed to the nines and started unloading a few grocery bags from her car, things the caterers weren’t bringing. I went to help her, taking the bigger sacks so she only had to manage a smaller one. Which of course made my rib cage scream, but I ignored it.

  “You look beautiful,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said, eyeing me carefully. “Everything okay, big bro?”

  “Remember a few months ago when I was kidnapped and beaten and almost died?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “After the last few weeks, I officially feel worse.”

  “Well, then, let’s go set up for this party, and you can tell me all about it while I try and hide the cutlery from you.”

  “What cutlery? You still won’t tell us where the steak knives are.”

  She snorted. “You’re a vegetarian—what the hell do you need steak knives for anyway?” She adjusted the small bag in her arms. “I told you. I’ll give them back when you’ve earned it.”

  I nudged her with my elbow. “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  “I take that back. You’re a jerk.”

  “Too late, you already admitted it,” she said with a wink.

  James appeared and took the bag from Haley. “Children, don’t make me separate you two.”

  Haley stuck out her tongue at him.

  “C’mon,” I said. “I think it’s time we got our wake on.”

  *

  The wake we held that night was for Douglas. I know that sounds weird. I mean, who holds a wake for an enemy, right? I do, that’s who. Okay, maybe it seems a little unorthodox, but it wasn’t always so. I had to read The Iliad in high school, and there’s this big hubbub at the end when Achilles kills Hector and then drags his body around behind his chariot. Everyone is really upset because that’s just not what you did—no matter what beef you held in life, you treated the body of a fallen warrior with respect. Mistreating the corpse of Hector didn’t make Achilles look powerful and mighty. It made him look like an asshole.

  I didn’t want to be like Achilles. I’d already taken Douglas’s life; no need to prance around about it. During that short span in Douglas’s basement when he’d tried to train me, I’d seen how he’d treated the dead, and it sickened me. It had also formed some ideas in my head and showed me that there were lines I didn’t want to cross.

  Besides, I wanted to do it for James. He deserved some closure and a chance to say good-bye. I’d given him a few weeks to pull his act together and give the rest of us a break, and then we held a ceremony for my fallen enemy, and we did it Irish-wake style.

  So it was a summer-warm Friday when we found ourselves in our Sunday best seated around several rented tables. Lanterns were strung and lit, food was laid out, and flowers were everywhere. I sat at the head of the gathering, which was a motley crew of friends and creatures, with James to my right. He was still a little quiet and withdrawn, but I think he was pleased to be there.

  I topped off his wineglass with whatever he’d picked out—I was somewhat amazed by the fact that he’d let us buy actual wine for once—and raised my glass for a toast.

  “Some of you have wondered why we are here tonight and why I, of all people, am throwing a wake for Douglas.” There was a murmur of assent. “And I get it, it’s weird. But wakes aren’t really for the dead—they’re for grievers, the loved ones. Family. And I look out at this table, and I understand that even though Douglas may not have been the best person in the world, he most certainly left some great people behind.” I looked out at the crowd, at the gnomes already singing merrily over their cups, at the nymph adjusting the crooked flower in the Minotaur’s lapel, and at James, who couldn’t quite look up from his wine.

  “So I’m raising my glass to the person who brought all of us together.” I lifted my wineglass and the others followed suit. “To Douglas! A bad man with good friends. May we all be as lucky.”

  There were a lot of hear-hears and general revelry, and I think everyone finally grasped why we’d gathered. We weren’t celebrating Douglas’s life, not really. We were celebrating the beginning of our family.

  Dinner was served, food was eaten, and a lot of wine was drunk. James and the others told a few of the less disturbing stories they’d collected featuring Douglas, and we laughed and talked until several of us couldn’t stand very well.

  At the end of it, when cleanup had begun and a few people were sleeping on the grass, James came up to me. He looked like he was trying to say something, but couldn’t quite figure it out. Finally he gave up and picked me up in a giant bear hug instead. I think I would have been less surprised if he’d hit me over the head with a wine bottle.

  “Thank you,” he said, and then he was gone before I could reply.

  I stood there, surprised and a little bewildered in the midst of all the drunken revelry, and wondered at how interesting my life had become.

  *

  I stayed up long after everyone else had gone to bed. The night was clear, and the stars were shining as best they could with all those city lights running interference. I sat in the grass trying to sort out my warring emotions. I felt lonely and sad, because I missed Brid something fierce, but I also felt full and happy and loved from the evening’s festivities. Sometimes life offers you up that kind of dichotomy, that soul-shearing rift of two very different things happening at once. My mom refers to them as life’s growing pains, a phrase Brannoc had unknowingly echoed the last time I saw him, and they aren’t pleasant.
/>   I whistled and Stanley came tromping out of the woods. I needed a little company. I patted his velvet nose, and he told me how happy he was to see me. Then he chewed on some grass, out of habit more than anything.

  I felt something land on my shoulder.

  How you holding up, Meat?

  “Okay, I guess. I don’t know. I think I’m still trying to decide how I feel about things.”

  Humans. What does it matter how you feel about something? Is that going to change what happened? If you decide you don’t like it, will history do some song and dance and change around to make you feel better?

  “I guess not.”

  Then why bother? You’re not a hatchling anymore. You know the world isn’t always sunshine and roses.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “But it’s human nature to try and understand our part in it.”

  No wonder you guys never get anything done.

  *

  A week later, I got my first tattoo. I’m not much of an artist, so I didn’t bother trying to sketch anything out. I was a little nervous, but committed, and grateful that the tattooist didn’t blink when I told her what I wanted. I guess they hear all kinds of strange requests in their line of work.

  “How big you want it?” she asked, pulling out some sketch paper. We figured out the details, and I came back later to get it done. And yes, it hurts. Tiny needles are jabbing into your skin—that’s not a pleasant feeling, people.

  She smiled when she was finished and sat back, satisfied with her handiwork. “I’ve done a lot of good-and-evil chest pieces,” she said. “You know, an angel on one side, a devil on the other. Sometimes it’s swallows, or some other animal, but this is the first time I’ve done one with pandas.”

  I got up and looked in the mirror. On the right side of my chest, a happy bust-style portrait of Ling Tsu the panda with a background of bamboo. On the left side, the same image, but zombified. Of course I knew it was exaggerated—Ling Tsu hadn’t been rotting, his eyes red, his mouth snarling, and his ear falling off.