Grave Debt

by D. D. Miers

  "It's not the candle is it?" I asked.

  "Sorry, uh, what's a phylactery?" Ethan interrupted. "My public school skipped over the dark magic section of the vocabulary workbook."

  "It's basically a repository for a lich's soul," I said. "I mean, assuming it works the same way as it does in D&D. I didn't know liches were actually a thing until just now."

  "They're basically only theoretical," Daphne explained to Ethan. "Supposedly, there's a way of separating the soul from the body, which keeps the body undead and undying forever. The soul continues to 'remote pilot' the body from the phylactery. A couple of other people have tried to achieve lichdom over the years. But they either died trying or the Fae killed the shit out of them as soon as it looked like they'd pulled it off. Aethon Tzarnavaras is the only one to ever succeed. If he actually is a lich, that is. I mean, that's the general assumption, but who fuckin' knows?"

  "Do you have any idea what he might want the candle for?" I asked. "Because it's definitely him."

  "I mean, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Daphne said. "Since he already has it."

  "He can't use it," Ethan explained. "It's bound to Vexa."

  "What?" Fiona and Donald said at the same time.

  "What were you trying to use it for?" Daphne asked me, suspiciously.

  "Nothing!" I said quickly. "I didn't even know what it was! I just picked it up!"

  "This is exactly why these things can't be left in the hands of private magic users," Donald said, shaking his head.

  "If you weren't trying to use it, why did you steal it?" Daphne asked, standing up.

  "Because every corpse in the building sat up the minute I touched it!" I stood up as well, my voice rising. "I figured leaving it in a funeral home wasn't a great idea!"

  "Jesus Christ, Daphne! She's trying to help!" Ethan said, urging us both back into our seats. "This isn't an inquisition!"

  "No, she's trying to get the candle for herself!" Daphne shouted back. "You seriously believe she bound herself to it by accident?"

  "Yes, I do!" Ethan declared, making my heart squeeze in my chest.

  "You've known her less than a week!"

  "You've known her less than an hour! What makes your judgment any better than mine?"

  "I'm not making puppy dog eyes at her like a lovesick schoolkid for one thing."

  "I'm not. That's not what this is about!"

  I was about to interrupt again, when something else interrupted for me.

  A door slammed in the distance, and a tear opened up in the far wall. Jagged as ripped fabric, it yawned open and an old man stepped through.

  He had a decidedly Vincent Price look about him, though the beard implied he would have rather been Ian McKellen. He wore a long scarlet robe that swirled impressively as he stepped out of the rend in space time and into the library study room.

  Everyone became silent as he appeared, his eyes scanning the gathering quickly.

  "Ah," he said. "I see the stray has returned. And how like a dog of him to drag something dead home with him."

  He looked at me down his long nose. Chilled, I was afraid I'd gone from unwelcome to in danger.

  "Nice one," Fiona said, breaking the tension without looking up from her computer. "How long did you stay in the in-between composing that one, Shakespeare?"

  The wizard turned slightly red, casting a baleful glare in the girl's direction.

  "Morning, Uther," Donald said with a cheerfulness that didn't suit the mood at all. "I brought donuts in this morning if you want some. I got those bear claws you like."

  "The bear claws can wait," Uther said with far more gravity than the statement deserved. "I would much rather discuss the necromancer in my library."

  "I'm here to—"

  "I do not care what you are here to do, “Uther said. "There is nothing you could contribute that would be worth tolerating your presence. I would suggest you leave immediately. You're not welcome here."

  His words stabbed me. I was torn between anger and hurt.

  "I haven't done anything wrong," I stammered. "'I've barely ever even used my powers. I didn't . . . I was born like this!"

  "I do not care," Uther said flatly.

  How did you fight with total indifference? I looked toward Fiona and Donald in hopes of some kind of support. Fiona focused on her computer again. Donald looked uncomfortable but wasn't saying anything. To my surprise, it was Daphne who spoke up.

  "Uther, you don't speak for all of us," she said. "This group is a democracy."

  "You overrode my authority with Ptolemy, and look how that ended," Uther said.

  "Ptolemy was nothing but helpful," Daphne said firmly. "He assisted us with dozens of recoveries and relocations."

  "And then he failed us," Uther said. "And allowed an incredibly dangerous artifact to fall into the hands of dark practitioners and be lost. Can you even be certain he did not plan this? Using our resources to return the candle to his family?"

  "He had a stroke," I interrupted, tears stinging my eyes. "They run in the family."

  "Ptolemy was loyal," Daphne insisted.

  "More loyal to us than his family?" Uther said with an imperious sniff.

  Daphne frowned at me, clearly considering it, but she shook her head.

  "Ptolemy wanted the candle secured more than any of us," she said. "Working with him was the right call. And . . ." She hesitated, clearly struggling to convince herself, lips pressed together in annoyance. "We should give his niece the benefit of the doubt."

  "I will not—"

  "It's not your decision," Daphne said. "We'll put it to a vote. Fiona, Donald? Allow Vexa to help us on a probationary basis, or blanket ban all necromancers?"

  "My vote is for whatever pisses off the old man more," Fiona said, without looking up from her computer.

  "You will regret your arrogance one of these days, child," Uther said ominously.

  "Yeah, remember you said that next time you can't remember how to check your email, old fart," Fiona replied.

  "Donald?" Daphne asked the other man, who shifted uncomfortably.

  "I'm with Uther," he said eventually. "Necromancy is just . . . there's no way you can ever use that for anything good, you know?"

  "Then we're tied," Daphne said. "We'll have to wait until Tanya and Deshawn get back to—"

  "Don't I get a vote?" Ethan asked, clearing his throat. Daphne looked embarrassed.

  "Of course," she said.

  "Of course not," Uther said at the same time.

  Daphne sighed tiredly. "Ignore Uther," she said. "You've put your neck on the line enough times to deserve a vote."

  "When did we hold one of your precious votes to determine if the mongrel was part of our group?" Uther asked. "It was my understanding he was a charity case, not a recruit."

  "Jesus, Uther, do you have to make everything a fight?" Daphne asked. She dragged a hand down her face, then looked at me. "Listen. This is all pointless. Thank you for bringing us the information, but there's nothing we can really do about it, anyway."

  "What do you mean?" I asked. "You're just going to let Aethon keep the candle?"

  "Look at us," Daphne said, gesturing to the room around them. "Do we look equipped to fight the most notorious dark wizard in history? I'm not sure what you were expecting when you came here, but we're not the magic police. We're a couple of nerds and one crotchety old man. The most exciting thing we've done this month was rehome a domovoi. We meet up, we talk about magic with other nerds on the internet, and if we hear someone's got a working lucky coin or a haunted Furby or something else, we try to get it before anyone can get hurt. You want to know where we keep all the 'dangerous' artifacts we recover? Most of them are in a cardboard box over there. If Aethon's genuinely out of hiding and up to something, the Fae will find him and wipe him out soon enough."

  "And what if he kills me before they find him?" I pointed out. "Or what if he kills another city full of people?"

  "I really hope that doesn't happen!"
Daphne said, putting her hands up. "But I can't actually do anything to stop him if he does. We just do not have that kind of fire power here. I'm sorry. You should probably go home and just try to hide out until this blows over. I know that's not the answer you were hoping for, but that's all I've got. I'm sorry."

  I didn't want to keep fighting with them. I didn't even want to be there, anymore. I now understood why Aunt Persephona had warned me against coming here.

  I left the study room, and Ethan followed a moment later, putting an arm around me.

  "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't expect them to be . . . like that."

  "Yeah," I said. "Me, either."

  "They're usually better when Uther isn't around. He's an asshole, but he's the best wizard any of them know."

  "Ethan?"

  We both looked up as someone called Ethan's name. A large black man came through the library doors and smiled at Ethan.

  "Hey, you're alive!"

  They hugged briefly, and Ethan introduced us.

  "This is Deshawn," he said. "He's the one who found me and brought me to the curators. He's got wild speech."

  "Innate magic," Deshawn explained. "I can, uh, talk to animals. Sort of. It's more like being really good at understanding their body language and stuff. I found this guy digging in trash cans, and I could tell right off that he wasn't a wolf."

  "You get a lot less weird looks dumpster diving when you look like a big dog," Ethan said with a shrug. "The trade-off is people call animal control on you."

  "That's me," Deshawn said with a laugh. "The person who called it in thought he was a bear."

  "Hey, it was a lucky night for both of us," Ethan said. "I found people who could help me, and you didn't have to fight a bear!"

  They both laughed and I wished I could join in, but I was still too flustered from meeting the rest of the curators.

  "Do you know anything about Ethan's curse?" I asked. "I wanted to ask the others but . . ."

  I trailed off, unsure how to explain how that had gone. Deshawn just held up a hand.

  "Say no more," he said. "I know how they can be. Daphne tries to be progressive, but she's got a lot of internalized shit to work through. Curse work isn't my specialty, but I can try to help."

  "Where's Tanya?" Ethan asked. "She's great with curses."

  "We were out redirecting a pixie swarm," Deshawn explained. "She stepped in a fox hole and twisted her ankle. I took her home. Besides, she's worse than any of them but Uther when it comes to the 'dark' stuff. Soon as she found out your girl was a necromancer, she'd be waving sage all over the place, throwing salt around, crying about her aura. You know how she is."

  Ethan sighed, nodding in agreement.

  "He's been having trouble controlling his shifting since last week," I explained. "He nearly died and I healed him."

  "I didn't know necromancy did healing," Deshawn said with a frown.

  "Neither did I," I said with a shrug. "It just kind of happened. I thought he was just having trouble because he was recovering from the fight, but he's pretty much back to normal now and he nearly lost it at the drive-in last night. I managed to stop it, don't ask me how, but I'm not sure I'll be able to do it again."

  Deshawn's frown deepened, making furrows in his broad, handsome forehead.

  "Let me have a look," he said, and shook out his hands before stepping closer to Ethan, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest. He was quiet for a moment. I sensed his energy moving, but I couldn't really tell what it was doing.

  "Shit," he muttered. "That looks bigger than last time. You do anything stupid recently? Like, the kind of thing that got you cursed in the first place?"

  "I don't know what got me cursed in the first place," Ethan said, at a loss.

  Deshawn took his hands off Ethan, shaking his head.

  "I'm sorry, man," he said. "I don't have good news for you."

  "Give it to me straight, doc," Ethan said with a nervous grin. "I can take it."

  "This was always going to happen," Deshawn said. "You know that. This is the natural progression of your curse. I just figured you had a couple more years at least before it got this bad."

  Ethan hung his head, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. I clenched my fists in my skirt, wishing I knew what to do. Deshawn took a deep breath and went on.

  "The only reasons I can think of that your curse would accelerate this way is either you fulfilled some condition of the original curse such as the curse was 'every time you eat shellfish it gets worse, until you fight the lobster king or whatever.' And you went to a seafood buffet. That, or you were exposed to a huge does of negative magical energy that basically supercharged the thing."

  "A huge does of negative energy like nearly dying from a lich's fucked-up necrosis spell and then getting healed by a necromancer?" I asked, a horrible suspicion growing in me.

  "Yeah, that'd probably do it," Deshawn said with a grimace. "Sorry."

  "Is there any way to stop it?" I asked, guilt feeling like someone ran over my guts with a steamroller.

  "Only breaking the curse," Deshawn said. "Every curse has a breaking condition, but it could be anything. And there's no way to find out what that is without knowing who cast it in the first place."

  "So, we'll track down whoever cast it," I said. "We'll figure something out."

  "That's the first thing we tried when Ethan showed up," Deshawn said, shaking his head. "We looked at the curse every way we knew how and couldn't find a signature. Not even a trace to follow."

  "There has to be something," I pushed. "He didn't curse himself."

  "I mean, that is a possibility we looked at," Ethan told me, looking a little uncomfortable. "Apparently it happens."

  "Magical energy and human emotional energy aren’t that different," Deshawn explained. "What most people call ghosts are actually the lingering imprint of intense human emotion on the ambient magical energy of an area. Intense emotion can behave a little like magic. It's why religion and superstition work sometimes.

  “If people put enough emotional energy behind something they really believe, they can cause whatever they expected to happen. To a degree, anyway. If something is impossible or even very unlikely, this kind of unintentional magic won't be enough to cause it. A person who believes themselves to have bad luck can influence probability around them—they'll run into red lights more often, dropped toast will land butter side down, etc.—but they won't have pianos falling out of the sky to crush them or whatever. Unless they work in piano moving or something."

  "Ethan couldn't have given himself this curse, then," I said, taking an educated guess. "Because turning into a giant wolf isn't really in the realm of what's normally possible."

  "Yeah," Deshawn confirmed. "This probably isn't a self-curse. Someone did this intentionally, and knew enough about cursing to keep their identity well-hidden so that Ethan would have less chance of breaking it. There's still breaking conditions. That's an immutable magical fact. But they could be anything, and we have no way of finding them out."

  "Is there any way to slow it down in the meantime?" Ethan asked.

  "You could see the fairy about it," Deshawn said. "He might have something for slowing down curses. And you should probably spend a little less time with your girl till you figure it out."

  "I'm not afraid of him hurting me," I said dismissively.

  "Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about," Deshawn replied. "I'm sure you're a nice person and all, but you're a big beacon of negative energy. I mean that in the nicest possible way. It's not like 'you're a negative person.' It's like particles, negative and positive. Magic is probably some kind of particle. But we don't get a lot of physicist wizards. As long as I'm talking pseudo-science bullshit anyway, basically you're putting off a ton of negative magic particles or whatever, and the curse is soaking those up, like an ionic bond. Even if you're not actively working any magic on him, you're still feeding the curse just by being around him. Avoiding him
won't make it any better, but it might buy him some time."

  Chapter 8

  Ethan talked with Deshawn a little longer, but I couldn't focus on the conversation. I was hurting Ethan. Just standing here next to him, I was making his life shorter. He was going to lose his mind and turn into a monster years faster than he would have because of me. He wouldn't have even been in that funeral home to get hit by Aethon's spell if it weren't for me. In a morning already full of really shitty feelings, this was the worst.

  When Ethan had said his goodbyes to Deshawn, we headed out into the parking lot, but I stopped before getting into the Jeep.

  "You all right?" he asked.

  "Are you?"

  He paused for a moment, then smiled.

  "Yeah," he said. "I'm okay. It's not as bad as Deshawn made it sound. I'll be okay."

  I looked away from him. It was still pretty early in the day, the sun too bright, steaming on the bare pavement of the parking lot. My hand pressed against the hood of the Jeep. It burned, but I deserved that right now. I wished it would rain. Was there a spell for that? I probably couldn't be trusted with it. If how I felt right now was anything to go by, I'd spend the rest of my life curled up under my own personal thunderstorm.

  "I'm going to keep trying to get the candle back," I said at last, taking a deep breath and shoving my miserable feelings down somewhere that I could deal with them later. "If something happens—If Aethon does something and there's any chance at all that I could have stopped it—I'll never forgive myself."

  "I figured you'd say that," Ethan said with a small laugh.

  "So you should probably leave," I continued, and he stopped laughing. "We're . . . dangerous for each other. I guess I was okay with the risk when it was just me who was in danger but—" A sniffle interrupted my words and I cursed quietly, scrubbing at my eyes. I didn't want to cry right now.

  "I don't want to hurt you, Ethan," I said, trying to keep the sob out of my voice. "I don't want to be responsible for that."

  He was around the car and holding me a second later, squeezing me tightly to his chest. I probably should have pushed him away, but I couldn't help holding on to him.