by Lisa Daniels
“That,” Rosen said icily, “is none of your business.” Though, of course, they’d exploded into an argument on the same evening he’d arrived… and he seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
“If you’re going to scream your heads off in front of me, I’m going to have an opinion, whether you think I should have one or not. And it seems to me he just wants to have more time with you.” Albert looked as though he wanted to say something else, too, and when Rosen probed him further, he added, “And he’s an idiot.”
She had to smile at that. “Idiot or not, he’s still my idiot. And he’s stuck with me for a long time, even if...” She swallowed the words that were meant to come.
Albert, however, seemed to hear the words she couldn’t say. “Even if you’re a necromancer?”
“Yes,” she said, no longer bothering to deny it. “Even if I’m a necromancer.”
Albert regarded her for a moment, as if weighing the words he was about to say next. “Don’t tell me you’re staying with him because you’re afraid that no one else would want you?”
“No,” she said, voice suddenly harsh. “No, that’s not it at all. And change the subject.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “So, do you know where we’ll be staying in Stoneshire?”
“No idea, but I’m thinking maybe near the forensic institute itself.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Did you know that Stoneshire’s name used to be Stonegrave until the 70s?”
“I didn’t,” Albert said, one eyebrow shifting upwards.
“They also informally called it the City of the Dead. Because when people died, they usually ended up in a plot of one of Stoneshire’s many cemetery parks. They’ve also polished their reputation to have good funeral services, and when cremating a loved one or a loved pet, doing respectful last rites to make it easier for the living ones to handle the reality afterwards. But the local council thought the name to be a little too on the nose, so they changed the last part. Just so people wouldn’t think of graves.”
“I don’t know if Stoneshire’s any better, to be honest,” Albert said, and Rosen merely shrugged at him.
“All those dead, though,” she said, allowing a little shiver to run through her soul. “I wonder how many I’ll be able to see on the Other Side.” She closed her eyes, lightly dipping into her magic.
And felt a presence.
Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at Albert. She’d felt this presence before, back in the university, too, but assumed it was just local. But if she felt it here, even though the location distance meant she shouldn’t… her eyes settled on the gold chain around Albert’s neck. Something was attached to that chain, but hidden under his shirt displaying a stylistic black and white picture of a panther crouching. “What do you wear around your neck?”
With his eyebrows now scrunching in puzzlement, he tugged out the chain to reveal a heart-shaped locket.
“What’s in it?”
His yellow eyes stayed with hers, not tearing away as he said, “Some of the ashes of my father.”
Rosen bit her lip. The fact that she’d felt the presence so easily meant that the spirit was on the closest layer to the living. Also meaning it was unlikely to be hostile. Only the gentlest spirits tended to linger on the first layer of the Other Side. Spirits like people’s animals, with no deception in their souls, children who hadn’t yet learned to be cruel… and sometimes adult humans, too. “I’m sorry to hear about that.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. Sometimes the world likes to deal us bad hands, but we learn to handle them,” he said, without the trace of a smile.
Rosen decided against telling him about the spirit she felt nearby. She didn’t want to start pushing away the bodyguard so soon. But if she could have a chance, she’d find a way to speak to that spirit privately, without any chance of being overheard. Since if the spirit could be felt here… that meant it was following someone. And if it was following someone, that meant that someone perhaps had something of their once living body upon them.
Like ashes.
“It’s a wonderful locket.”
He played with it absently for a moment, before saying, “I noticed you have what seems to be a graveyard in the garden. Do you bury family members there…?”
“Kind of. It’s where our pets go. The humans have traditionally preferred cremation to being buried,” she replied. “Far less chance of their bones being abused, then. Ashes aren’t nearly as potent, and can be scattered.”
“Oh.” Albert nodded thoughtfully. “Right, you’d have a completely different view of death, then.”
“We do,” she agreed. “As for the animals, it makes it easier for the living to process if they can speak to their beloved pets every now and then.”
“You raise the animals?”
“Sometimes. I was raising Brooke as a kid. She was my dog, but killed by eating something poisonous when I was eight. I was sad for days afterwards, until my father showed me that I could still see her every now and then, if I wanted. It made a big difference, knowing that Brooke’s spirit was watching over me. She’s moved on, since. I told her I was okay.” Rosen smiled in memory of her golden-haired Brooke. “My sister has her cat in the garden, too. Willow, I believe the name is. I don’t think Willow’s moved on yet. She still speaks to her cat every now and then.”
She wondered if she was pushing Albert away with this talk. People didn’t like the way necromancers spoke of the dead. Since death to necromancers had an entirely different meaning. Death was a stage. Many saw it as final, but necromancers knew death simply to be the next place a soul went. Before moving on. To that white light, to whatever lay beyond, that even those who associated closely with death never comprehended. The souls didn’t know what happened next, either.
Albert showed no such signs that he found her talk disturbing either, and she couldn’t help but feel surprised all the same.
“I think it’s great that you’re able to still contact people after they’re gone. Many others don’t have such luck. They just scream into the void, never knowing if the void’s listening or not.”
With those cryptic words, they slid into small talk, saying everything and nothing, until it was time for Rosen to go to work and endure her shift.
The last shift before she needed to travel to Stoneshire. Where that ancient body lay, where they suspected the soul attached to it still lingered. Just waiting for someone to hear it. And they had chosen Rosen for the honors. She was determined to do her best, and to make sure her energy was maxed. Just in case the spirit following the bones happened to be hostile, which would require more energy from her.
Sleep didn’t come easily after she finished her shift. She was too busy thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and of the distance her boyfriend maintained in the bed they shared together. The relationship between them was falling apart, and she didn’t know what to do to salvage it, short of quitting her job. And she knew she’d never quit her job. Working at the precinct meant everything to her. She didn’t plan to throw all that away to maybe fix their degrading relationship.
If only James could just accept she needed to spend a lot of time on the job. If only he found a job, too, that took up a lot of his time, so that neither would feel the sting of each other’s absence as much.
* * *
The flight to Stoneshire took three hours. Samhain was a big country, after all. Very big, yet sparsely populated in comparison to other countries. For all Samhain’s size, its population was more similar to Canada’s. Concentrated in the cities, but light and scattered elsewhere.
Her bodyguard remained silent and uncomfortable during their flight, giving Rosen the impression that he hated being locked up in a metal box. Her goodbye from James had been rather frosty, though he’d at least come up to the airport, if nothing else.
Samhain unfurled beneath her, all greens and grays and whites, with the shimmer of coastline and dark blue
seas along its edges, before being lost to cloud and sky. Twice they ran into turbulence, the second time rocking the cabin so violently that some people started praying, while the pilot assured them through the intercom that everything was fine. Eventually she felt the dip, and watched the scenery change into the stark gray stone of their destination city, which preferred castles, steeples, old stone cottages, and houses, with the occasional apartment stories made in solid, dependable, rectangle formations. Nothing fancy. Everything practical. Albert examined through the porthole window with interest as well, having to lean slightly to peer over her shoulder. The landing was smooth, people clapped simply from the joy of surviving yet another flight, and they disembarked.
A forensic anthropologist waited for them, holding up a sign with Rosen Grieves’ name. A few people who recognized the Grieves family name regarded them with the usual mix of expressions, and Albert made a great show of puffing up his stature so that people didn’t think of doing anything funny.
“I’m Amelia Hargraves,” the anthropologist said, reaching out a hand for Rosen to shake. Her grip was firm and confident. There was a solid confidence about her blue eyes, too, resting behind half-moon glasses, and the set of her wide face added to her stately presence. “We’ve been looking forward to having you.”
“It’s not every day you get to be able to examine the remains of Laogh McKenna. By all rights, the spirit should have departed by now. It must be over three hundred years old at least, if not older.” The one thing she decided not to add, since she wasn’t in the habit of panicking people unnecessarily, was that the older a soul was that remained, the more likely they had the traits to turn them into a revenant. “Have you called any other necromancers?” she added casually, thinking that if McKenna’s soul had become a revenant, if it still lingered, then two more necromancers would be enough to help constrain it. One alone wasn’t enough.
“We only summoned you.”
“Ah,” Rosen said. “Were there no others nearby?”
“You’re the only one in Samhain at the moment registered with the police force,” Hargraves admitted. She quietly adjusted her white blouse top, neatening her knee-length skirt. “The last three that were registered have… well...”
“Died,” Rosen finished. “Yes. I’m aware of that.” She noticed how Albert’s face twitched slightly at the mention. Had he been assigned to any of those necromancers? “I understand my father’s a busy man, but you can perhaps call upon my sister if it’s needed. She might not be a police cadet, but she has been directly trained by me, so she has the ability to do what needs to be done.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Hargraves led them to her car, a rather grim expression on her face. “All the same, we’d prefer someone registered as a professional. It looks better for us, see. And for you, too.”
Naturally. It always was about promoting the positive image of necromancy. Because people fell upon their mistakes like hungry wolves. It was like that lesson she’d learned in the classroom all over again. Their math teacher wrote the eight times table upon the board, but got the first sum wrong. The other children in that class were howling with laughter, giggling like little demons, whispering to each other. When the teacher had finished her work, she’d turned to ask what the class had thought, and several took great glee in pointing out her mistake.
And she’d smiled. Told them the first mistake was deliberate, and she wanted to see how they’d all react. This, she had said, is how people will treat you in the real world. It doesn’t matter how many things you get right, people will ignore it. They only focus on the one thing you did wrong. Remember that.
Rosen had never remembered such a sweet, guilty silence such as the one which followed their teacher’s words afterward. She did exactly what the teacher had suggested, too, taking the words to heart.
That was what it was like for necromancers, too. They needed to be perfect. Never trip up, never make a mistake, or people would conveniently forget all the good things done. She needed to be perfect. People didn’t accept anything less.
Hargraves drove them through narrow lanes that only allowed one car per side, and sometimes even down one-way routes, passing castles with banners fluttering, cottages, some with thatched roofs, others with fancy little gardens full of ornaments such as gnomes, ponds, treehouses, and rope swings. There was a delicious, old air to everything, and Rosen could easily picture many of the buildings looking the same in the 18th century as they did now. There was something majestic about the weight of history Stoneshire carried, and its people carried that same weight.
“Here we are,” Hargraves said. Her red painted nails rapped upon her leather steering wheel. “You’ll be staying here, too. It used to be a university before it mostly was swapped for lab services, but we have student apprentices and interns who come here to learn the trade. I’ll show you to your rooms first.”
Rosen decided she liked Hargraves. There was something about these efficient women that pleased her down to the bone. Hargraves was clearly used to being in control, and the fact that she hadn’t treated Rosen with disdain as well served as a plus. Not all people cared for interacting with necromancers, as if they thought there was some terrible disease upon Rosen’s skin or in her breath that might leap onto them if they weren’t careful.
Forensic anthropology wasn’t exactly an easy profession to get into, either. You needed someone with a hard, old stomach for some of the things the job entailed.
“I wasn’t expecting the bodyguard,” Hargraves said. “That wasn’t a part of the information I was given. But we have accommodation. Do you want a single room with two beds, or rooms side by side?”
“I would prefer,” Albert said softly, “for one room. But one that affords enough privacy so that we don’t interfere with one another so much. I must do my job, and that job is to protect Miss Grieves at all costs.”
Well, Rosen thought wryly, she sure was surrounded by these efficient people. She supposed it started with her father, efficient and ruthless in his ambition. And perhaps her mother, too, who insisted on running her children’s lives through a strict schedule. Always in bed by eight. Washed and in pajamas by seven-thirty, with exactly half an hour for her to read a story to them. No technology, because it kept their minds too active, poisoned their imaginations…
With a small twinge, Rosen remembered once more that she missed her mother, and wished she’d come back from whatever sunny island she was living on to join her children once more. Though Rosen didn’t totally blame her mother for separating from Rickard Grieves. He wasn’t exactly an easy man to live with.
“We have something like that, I believe,” Hargraves said with some amusement. She had a keychain, and selected one room in a corridor with identical doors on either side. Like a rather drab hotel. “Here.” She unlocked the room, which revealed a relatively modest space with two double beds, each in a separate room. Each bedroom as well seemed to have its own facilities, from a small kitchen to a small bathroom to a tiny corner with a television in it. “Students tended to be more efficient if they weren’t squabbling over who wanted the bathroom and who wanted to watch a certain program,” Hargrave explained. “It was very practical, but they mismanaged university funds for years until forensics took over.”
Rosen nodded to herself. “Thanks.”
“Give yourselves time to settle in. We’ll have McKenna’s bones ready for you in two hours’ time. They’re currently being studied by a colleague of mine, and two interns whose parents paid a lot of money to be able to take on such a prestigious case.” She smiled before closing the door, saying the spare keys were in a bowl in one of the kitchens.
Instantly, Albert claimed the room closest to the entrance and exit. “Improves your chances of survival,” he said.
“Yeah, just in case the axe murderer hacks his way through the door and needs to catch a breather before entering my room,” Rosen said sourly. She preferred being near the exit herself. She liked having an escape n
earby, a plan of action ready in case anything happened.
“This is no laughing matter, Miss Grieves.”
“Yes, yes, you intend to do your job. It’s logical.” Rosen ran fingers through her dark tresses. “I just find this a little inconvenient, as you know.”
Plus, she wouldn’t be earning any bonus points with her boyfriend, who clearly felt intimidated by Albert’s presence and manner. Thinking of the boyfriend… she examined her phone for a text message or two.
James: hope u and the robot landed ok.
“Robot” being her bodyguard, of course. She felt a small twang of guilt she hadn’t messaged him already to confirm her safety, and did so to him and her sister. James didn’t reply, but Talia sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Sighing, Rosen tucked her phone away and lugged her meager possessions to the other room. They were only expected to stay a few days at most. She also did a quick probe of the air around them with her magic, and felt the ominous press of multiple spirits. Including the one that followed Albert around.
City of graves, indeed, she thought with a little shiver in her bones. Necromancers would find no rest here.
Chapter Four – Albert
Albert had only visited this place once before. It was to guard a necromancer who soon transferred out of the country altogether, preferring to work in western Europe. He found Stoneshire to be a proud and old city, with a unique style and prone to hosting medieval tournaments, even though the place hadn’t existed in medieval times. He also found that it seemed to put some kind of pressure on the necromancer he was supposed to be looking after.
Apparently, too many souls for their liking. Too much to focus on. They got the same feeling whenever they worked near places with prominent cemeteries or sacred burial grounds. Spirits liked to attach themselves to their remains, it seemed. Hence people always felt a little chill when walking through graveyards, and the atmosphere of the place drowned them in an eternal hush, leaving them to starkly contemplate life.