Necromancer: A Novella

by McBride, Lish

  “No,” he said, “just a misunderstanding.” As the man turned toward Lesser Kevin, his face lit up, changing the smile to something lighthearted and normal. “A case of mistaken identity. You know how it is.”

  Kevin looked confused. “My employee tells me you had a complaint about your car?”

  Behind Kevin, Frank cowered, his eyes wide, broom still firmly in hand. He gave me a little wave.

  The stranger shook his head in dismissal. “No, no. It’s not a big deal. Again, a simple misunderstanding.” He walked over and shook Lesser Kevin’s hand. Kevin still looked sort of apprehensive, but he didn’t seem to be having the same problem touching the stranger as I did. In fact, the contact seemed to relax him. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate it.”

  He turned to leave but nodded in my direction on his way out. “Sam,” he said, like he was my friend, but it wasn’t friendly. It was ominous, like when my mom spoke my name in public with that tone that meant I was going to get an earful once we were alone.

  Well, Ain’t That a Kick in the Head?

  I leaned my skateboard against the wall so I could zip up my hoodie. After the weird events earlier, closing time had seemed a little anticlimactic. Ramon still did his usual tricks to try to get a laugh out of me, and I forced a few smiles, but I felt too distracted to really pay attention to any of it. We made Frank do most of the actual cleanup. He didn’t complain, just went about wiping, stocking, and mopping until the place was ready to go.

  What the hell had crazy Classic Shiny car guy been talking about? What Council? I’d have marked him off as nuts, or eccentric since he drove an old Mercedes, except for the memory of cold electricity running up my arms. He’d asked about my birth. Well, where I’d been born. Maybe I should call my mom.

  Ramon flicked off the lights, and Frank, Brooke, and I filed out. “Anything going on tonight?” Ramon asked.

  Frank cleared his throat and pulled out a stack of DVDs from his messenger bag.

  Ramon grabbed them. “The Beastmaster, Dragonslayer, Conan the Barbarian. Frank, I’m sensing a theme.”

  “Sweaty guys in loincloths?” Brooke asked.

  “I’m secure enough in my sexuality to enjoy a good barbarian movie,” Ramon said, holding up the Conan DVD so Brooke could see the glistening Arnold on the front. “It’s Frank I’m worried about.”

  “You’re so funny. Just funny, funny, funny all the time,” Frank said. “You should be a comedian.” He held his hands out as if he was envisioning a marquee. “Ladies and gentlemen, Ramon the Obnoxious.”

  “That’s redundant,” Ramon said, handing the movies back to Frank. “All comedians are obnoxious.”

  “Well,” I said, “I know what we’re doing tonight.”

  Brooke scoffed. “Huh-uh, count me out, boys.”

  “Really?” I asked. “These are the most girl-friendly movies we’ve watched in weeks.”

  “Please,” she said, “I’ve seen Conan. He throws a chick into a fire.”

  “Yeah,” Ramon said, “but she was asking for it.”

  “Nice.” She huddled into her jacket and pushed her purse toward her hip. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” She flashed a grin at us and waved before walking to her car.

  Frank watched her, looking like he might drool. I just wanted to make sure she got to her car okay. Tonight had made me a little paranoid. But she climbed into her blue VW Beetle and drove away, honking and waving as she left.

  We all turned and walked toward Frank’s white Jetta. I didn’t live too far from Plumpy’s, so I’d ridden my skateboard to work. Ramon didn’t have a car. He usually found it much easier to force me to drive him everywhere in my Subaru.

  Frank opened the trunk so Ramon and I could throw our boards in. I reached up to shut the trunk door and caught a movement in the shadow of a nearby building. A man was walking toward me. A big man. Of course, I’m not that tall, so a lot of guys make me feel short. But I think this guy would make most people feel puny. He was tall, muscle-bound, and man-pretty. I bet he spent a lot of time in the gym standing in front of the mirror checking his abs or bouncing his pecs. He was also tan and moved like one of those guys you see in the commercials for the military where they’re climbing rock walls and running down beaches. The kind of dude you don’t want to get in a bar fight with.

  He moved up close to me, not totally in my face, but definitely in my personal space. I was beginning to see a pattern emerging. I could see Frank and Ramon watching.

  “Are you Sam?” he asked.

  The way today was going, I didn’t really want to answer. But I also couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I said, “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been sent by Douglas Montgomery.”

  “You say that like I should know who that is,” I said.

  He grinned at me—not so much a grin as a flash of teeth. “You should.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t,” I said.

  “Then I guess you should find out.”

  “No, I’m good. My dance card is full, but I’ll check with my secretary. Ramon?”

  “Booked,” Ramon said.

  I fixed on the big guy’s brown eyes and tried not to flinch. “Tell your boss to get back to me in a few months.” Then I did something stupid. Well, something stupid besides shooting my mouth off. I turned my back. A sound came from behind, a bit of a growl, low and deep, and then my feet left the ground as he clobbered me with a fist that felt like an SUV. The jolt of pavement followed, a hammer blow before I started to roll. I curled my arms to cradle my head. I skidded along the parking lot, grateful for my hoodie and jeans, knowing that I would be hurting soon anyway. Another strike hit my back, and whatever it was, it hurt like hell. Like sharp, burning hell.

  A hand grabbed me by the sweatshirt and lifted me up. I spun like a top, and the grip shifted to my throat. Not good.

  The man loomed in front of me again, looking pissed. He pulled me in close, right up to his face. His nostrils flared in and out as he breathed, as if he were taking in all the smells around us. His pupils dilated. Probably from an adrenaline rush. I didn’t think this guy had the best self-control. I held still, ignoring the aching of bruised muscles and the burning in my back. What had he done to me?

  I hung there and tried my best to radiate calm. Fear would only make it worse, I was sure of it, and I couldn’t get angry because this guy could wipe the floor with my carcass. So I dangled there in pain, pretending to be calm, and waited for him to make his next move.

  “You even smell a little like him,” he said, his voice going throaty.

  Disturbing. Was it good to smell like someone else? I reached out cautiously and put my hands over his, leveraging for a bit of breathing room. “Like who?” I choked out. Buff Guy had a fierce grip.

  “Like the grave,” he said, not really answering my question. “Like cold death.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Creepy, creepy, creepy. I didn’t add that he smelled like meat. Not that I could. Apparently, choking helped me keep my mouth shut and mind my manners. I wished he’d put me back down. Or that Ramon and Frank would rush him from behind. Then he’d have the opportunity to strangle all of us. I needed to get bigger friends.

  “And blood,” he said. “You smell like blood.”

  My pulse began to speed up despite my attempts to stay calm. This huge guy was talking about my blood, and he looked really, really happy about it. But I wasn’t going to just hang here and die in the parking lot of Plumpy’s.

  I yelled in his face with all the air I could get and grabbed tighter onto his wrists, kicking whatever was in reach.

  He laughed, but I kept kicking.

  Then I heard Ramon yell, “Duck!” I did my best, but with his meaty paws around my throat, it was more of a leaning motion.

  There was an unholy cracking noise as Ramon whacked him in the head with a skateboard, breaking it in two. The guy’s hold loosened as he turned to evaluate the new threat, and I pushed away from him with all I had. For the second
time in as many minutes, I hit pavement.

  I heard a car engine and turned to see Frank backing up his beat-up Jetta and coming right at us. I rolled out of the way. The man didn’t move as Frank drove at him, just cocked back his fist and punched the rear of the car. With his freaking fist. And he stopped the Jetta cold. While he turned his scary grin on Frank, I got to my feet and grabbed for the door. I slid in at the same time as Ramon.

  Frank froze, staring at the back of his car.

  Ramon slapped him to get his attention. “Drive!”

  Frank slammed his foot down on the pedal. There was a screech and a jerk, but then we were driving over a small concrete divider and pulling onto the empty street. I kept my eyes on the man who now held Frank’s rusty bumper in his hands as we drove away. I watched him toss it over his shoulder like it was made of paper.

  “Seat belts!” Frank’s voice held an edge of hysteria.

  I stopped watching the man and curled into my seat, grabbing the seat belt and slipping it on. The motion made damn near every muscle and joint in my body scream, and I had to arch so my back wouldn’t touch the seat.

  Ramon turned as he clicked his own belt and eyed me. “You okay, Sammy?”

  “What the hell is going on, Ramon? Did someone paint a target on me at work?”

  “Right now I’m kind of worried about that freaked-out dude back there. You think he was all jacked up on PCP or something? I mean, he tore off Frank’s damn bumper!”

  “Rust problem? Adrenaline rush?” I threw out the ideas, though I didn’t really believe any of them. That didn’t keep my brain from searching for some kind of explanation.

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s over.”

  “Me either.” I closed my eyes and tried to find a somewhat comfortable position to hold myself in, only to realize that there wasn’t one. Frank would need a new bumper and Ramon a new skateboard. I’d have to assess my damages when I got home. At least Brooke had left before anything had happened to her.