The Nerdy Necromancer (The Deadicated Matchmaker Book 1)

by S. E. Babin

So maybe it was something else. But what? It wasn’t unheard of to be watched in this town. There was too much magic for surveillance to be hard. We had too many shape shifters, too many witches, too many ways for it to be easily done. Right now the raven sitting on the tree limb outside of my room could be a spy.

  I gave myself the shudders, kicked off my blankets and went to close the curtains and shut the offending possible raven spy out. Margo grunted at me as I got back into the bed and adjusted the covers.

  Stupid Hank. He was making my head spin with all of those outlandish possibilities and I already had enough to worry about. A woman had died at my house yesterday. A woman I really liked. I was still too exhausted to attempt to raise her, but I knew I would try in the next couple of days. I had to know if she’d died of natural causes. Since the medics thought she had, there would be no autopsy. But that was the thing about my talent. I could just ask her.

  The feeling of Anthony’s words crept down my spine and I stared at the ceiling trying to curb my terror. They were innocently spoken, but the tone in his voice. So chilling. To know I’d tried to do a favor for Dolores only for her to receive someone back who wasn’t truly her son would haunt me for a very long time. Maybe forever.

  I vowed to never raise someone who had been that far gone ever again. I was just really glad Hank had been there to help me.

  Handsome Hank with his dirty hands and strong shoulders and those eyes a girl could drown in. Not to mention that smile.

  I squirmed around waking Margo up. She gave me an annoyed huff and I stilled, but it took me a long time to go to sleep that night.

  The next morning the doorbell rang bright and early. I opened with a chipper smile and an extra cup of coffee only to realize it wasn’t Hank.

  “Oh.” My hand holding the mug out lowered slightly.

  A vampire was standing in front of me. A really, really pretty one. When humans thought of vampires in the beginning they usually put them square into the slicked back hair and pale skin category. I preferred to think vampires really got hot when Anne Rice took them on, but most of the world would disagree with me. Twilight seemed to be the story that brought them into the mainstream. Even though they sparkled.

  The one standing in front of me was a cross between the Anne Rice books and someone straight out of my shower fantasies. Ebony hair a touch too long curled at the collar of his crisp, blue shirt. Vivid blue eyes stared at me in rapt fascination though I was careful not to meet his gaze straight on. I’d never tested whether I had any power over vamps and I certainly didn’t want to find out by accident so I always tried to look right in the middle of their faces when I encountered one. But it was hard to miss those eyes. A straight, patrician nose yet full lips took his face from too elegant to holy hotness.

  “Is that for me?” the vamp asked glancing at the cup of coffee I was holding.

  “Uh.” I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at him for too long. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Sorry to disappoint. But since you already poured the coffee, I’d love to have it. Waste not, want not, right?”

  I handed over the mug. “Guess so. Can I help you?”

  He sent a megawatt smile my way. “Lucien Nightingale,” he said and extended his other hand to me.

  I shook it, marveling at the warmth of it. “Helen Reaper.”

  “Yes, I know. You’re quite famous with the vampires here, Helen. They are all fascinated with the woman who can control the dead.”

  My brow wrinkled. “I don’t really control them.”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “Of course,” he said too quickly.

  “Can I help you with something?” My gaze searched the driveway. “I have an appointment in just a little while.” I was sort of lying, but it was truthful enough to bypass their freakish ability to scent lies out.

  “Yes, sorry. I was sent here by the Midnight Cove Realtor’s Association. We are interested in purchasing your property and wondered if by chance you were entertaining offers.”

  “Excuse me?” I studied the handsome vamp a little closer. “You’re asking me for a number to get me to walk away?”

  The vamp huffed out a surprised laugh. “Ah, I was unprepared for such directness. My apologies, Ms. Reaper. I was sent to see if you had a number in mind, so yes, I suppose that is what I’m asking. I’m a trained realtor. I’m not used to such frank speak.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “Have I ever reached out to any realtors in Midnight Cove other than the one I used to purchase this property?”

  Lucien’s eyes widened. “Errm, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to know that.”

  “No. I have not. Have I ever mentioned to anyone in this town I was interested in selling?”

  Lucien took a step back. “Errrm. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to know that either.”

  “You know it by doing due diligence, Mr. Nightingale. I’m not sure what peons are running the show at your company, but you don’t come to a woman’s house this early in the morning and accost her with something like this. Not only was this poorly done, but if I had considered selling it certainly wouldn’t be to you!” The sound of Hank’s truck was coming up the drive.

  Lucien’s hand was still holding the rapidly cooling mug of coffee. There was a...look in his eyes I didn’t like. It was frank, appraising, and honestly he looked like he wanted to unwrap me like a tootsie roll pop and find out what was in the center.

  “Are we quite finished here, Mr. Nightingale?”

  A sheepish smile peeked out and dear lord, heaven help us, he had a dimple. A perfect one.

  “Quite,” he said. He gave a smart little bow, managing not to spill a drop of coffee. “My apologies, Ms. Reaper. You are quite right. I came here unprepared for you.” Lucien took a step toward me. “After all, how can someone like me expect for someone utterly ravishing, witty, and intelligent to open the door, give me free coffee, and a well deserved tongue lashing all within the first forty-five seconds of meeting them?”

  My mouth gaped open. A man - a super handsome one - admitting I was right and calling me pretty, no ravishing, at eight in the morning? Were the skies going to open up and rain kittens?

  Lucien gave me another utterly devastating smile. “I apologize for wasting your time, Ms. Reaper. I assure you that when we meet again I will come not only prepared, I will dazzle you.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode away.

  “You still have my mug!” I yelled at his back.

  “Consider it a prisoner of war,” he called back as he walked to his sleek Mercedes and slid in.

  Huh. I had definitely not seen the last of Lucien Nightingale and part of me was happy to realize that.

  Hank’s head swiveled to watch Lucien drive away. I stood on the porch and waited for him.

  “What was all that about?” he asked me as he climbed up the stairs. He was looking extra rumpled and handsome today. A light blue t-shirt was half tucked into a pair of well worn loose fitting blue jeans. He was wearing those hideous yellow boots again. A pen was tucked behind his ear and he held his clipboard.

  “A vamp,” I said dismissively. “Interested in buying my land.”

  Hank started and looked back over his shoulder just as Lucien’s car drove out of seeing distance. “And you told him?”

  I held open the door. “I told him to stuff it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, then he stole my favorite coffee mug.”

  Hank snorted in amusement. “Can you get another one?”

  I shrugged. “I think I’ll see Lucien again. I bought my mug on Etsy. It said ‘I’m Ravenclawesome’.”

  Hank let out a sigh. “Let me guess. Ravenclaw?”

  I gave him a little bow and headed back to my coffee pot. The mug I’d left on my counter had since grown cold. “You know it. How about you?”

  “How about me what?” Hank tossed his clipboard on the counter and put his backpack on the floor.

  “Your house?”

  �
��What house? You’ve never been to my house.”

  “Your Hogwarts house.” I busied myself making both of us a cup of coffee.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Everyone has one. You need to take the Sorting Hat quiz.”

  “No,” Hank said abruptly. “Could you be any slower with that coffee?”

  “Yes,” I said. “So I’d watch your manners, sir.”

  A smile peeked out from the corner of his mouth. He took a sheath of papers from his clipboard. “Please?”

  “That’s much better.” I handed him his mug first since he was a savage and took it black. I stirred a lot of cream and sugar in mine and joined him at the counter. “Is that my quote?”

  I reached over and grabbed my reading glasses. Hank really needed to use bigger font on his documents. “Am I going to be able to retire when you’re done with me?”

  Hank shook his head. “Depends on your definition of retirement. If it’s in Tahiti with cabana boys, I’m sorry to say no. But if it’s here with ramen on the menu? Maybe.”

  I grinned as Hank slid over the docs. I skimmed over it and went straight to the total. I slid my glasses off my face and speared him with a look. “No.”

  Hank paused in mid-coffee sip. “No?”

  “I don’t know a ton about landscaping, but I have received a few quotes on just the front. That quote was way more than this one. Redo it.”

  Hank set his mug down. “Absolutely not. This is my first real for-hire project. It needs to be on the lower side.”

  “You didn’t account for the labor for the people you have to hire, nor did you account for the majority of plants you planned to use.” I speared a finger at the paper. “You lowballed labor for yourself and the cost of clearing out that land is next to nothing.”

  Hank steepled his fingers together like he was about to give me a lecture. “This quote is the one I want to use. I have everything under control. I’ve had my nursery long enough that I don’t need to purchase plants. I grow them by the seeds I’ve taken from prior plants. If I want something new, I purchase it and learn either how to propagate it or grow it by seed. So that wipes out your complaint about the costs of the plants. It’s minimal. I planned to ask my friend, who happens to be an air witch, for assistance in clearing. He owes me a favor. So that one negates your complaint about the land clearing. As far as me lowballing myself, I have reasons for that as well, but I don’t wish to discuss them.”

  I shifted in my seats. “Add two grand to this quote or it’s a no go.” He’d quoted the entire project for $5,000. Unheard of for what he was trying to do. The last company I had out here wanted four grand just to redo the front beds with throw away plants.

  “500,” Hank countered.

  “1500,” I retorted.

  Hank fell silent for a moment. “$750.”

  “No,” I snapped. “$1250 and that’s final. I’m walking away if you don’t agree.”

  Amusement spread across his face. “You know that negotiations usually go the other way, right?”

  “You short changed yourself and your talent.” I crossed my arms against my chest. “I don’t even consider this to be fair.”

  Hank drained the rest of his coffee. “It is fair.” He reached down and grabbed his pack and pulled out a sheath of papers. “This is the contract. It lays out what we plan to do. What happens during rain delays, timelines etcetera.”

  I took the papers from him. “What’s the timeline on this?”

  “Right now I have it at two full months. It’s a lot of work to do. This, provided the weather stays good. As long as there are no unforeseen circumstances, we should be able to finish pretty quickly.”

  I took a few minutes to read over all the documents, signed, and put my pen down. “You’re a Hufflepuff, aren’t you?”

  Hank laughed, took the paperwork from me, and packed everything up. “I’ll call you later in the week so we can get start dates worked out. You’re starting work again Monday?”

  “Yep. I had to shift all my appointments, but I haven’t confirmed them all yet. I’ll be busy, but we should still be able to work it out.” I did not tell him I had plans to raise Dolores this weekend.

  “Good,” Hank said as I walked him to the door. “Make sure you rest.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  He jogged down the steps. “No overexertion!”

  “Total Hufflepuff,” I murmured as I shut the door.

  The rest of the day was spent cleaning up the place and catching up on the paperback I hadn’t had time to read. When dusk finally hit and I’d made a quick chicken salad for dinner, I headed down to the lab. It had been awhile since I’d worked in here, but after the incident with Dolores, I wanted to find out what, if anything, I had done wrong.

  I moved the rug in the kitchen out of the way to expose a small knick in the wood that also acted as a hand hold. I lifted it up not without a small amount of effort, to expose the rickety wooden stairs. When I’d gone down a few, I reached over and clicked on the light. The air was musty with disuse, but I could still make out the smell of the honeysuckle candle I usually used while I worked. I reached the bottom of the stairs, my heart beating a little faster than normal. I always felt like I was going to break my neck every time I came down here. On one end of the wall, numerous bookshelves stood, crammed to the brim with hundreds of books. I read through about sixty percent of them. The rest I’d picked up on a whim meaning to get to them. But as a bookworm, it was in my blood to have an overflowing TBR pile.

  I was proudly embracing my heritage. But now, with everything going on, I felt like I needed to make a bit more effort to get through it. I’d researched quite a bit before I accepted Dolores’ case, but I wondered if I had missed something or if maybe I didn’t fully understand the ramifications of pulling someone back through the veil who had been gone for that long.

  One the other side of the room stood my slab. It was gray steel and was custom made with slots to hold the candles I needed. I was a stickler about making sure all of my ritual tools were pristine, but now there was a thin layer of dust over everything. I reached below into the cabinet and pulled out a roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray cleaner. Once I had tidied up, I tackled the bookshelves.

  Some people color coded their books. Some people alphabetized them. I fell squarely in the category of organization by subject. This made it a little more difficult because all of the books were about necromancy or death in general, but I was able to narrow them down by their subcategories. There were books about funeral rites in different cultures, books about the history of necromancy, even more books about mortuary practices...basically anything about death was located right here in my underground shop. I carefully laid out the books I wanted to try to get through as I was organizing them.

  Scratching on the wood upstairs alerted me to the presence of Margo. I’d left her sleeping on the couch, but it seemed like she was either getting lonely or had to go out. I picked my stack of books up and sat them on the table beside my comfortable reading chair and slowly climbed the stairs.

  Margo stood at the top sticking her nose into the hole created by the opening.

  “Need to go out?”

  She licked her lips and wiggled her butt.

  I sighed and finished climbing the rest of the way out. I needed to get a dog door.

  I let Margo out to do her business and headed back downstairs with a canvas bag so I could gather up the rest of the books. Just as I was heading back up, Margo started to bark.

  I’ve never heard her bark like that since I had her. I rushed upstairs, dropped my bag on the floor, flipped the wooden hatch down and used my foot to shove the rug back over the space.

  “Margo?”

  The sounds of growling made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The wards alerted me to someone’s presence. I pulled open the back door and saw my adorable little puppy guarding my back door. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl at the person standing on the back deck.
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br />   Fear and confusion fought in my belly. “Lucien?”

  The vampire was staring at my dog with fear. He didn’t look away from her even as he was poised to run. “Helen, thank goodness.”

  I wasn’t so prone to relief. Nor did I call my vicious little adorable dog off. “Care to explain why you’re on my back deck?”

  Lucien finally looked at me. “Uh, I was bringing your mug back.”

  I looked at his hands. They were empty. One of my eyebrows rose. “Would you like to try again?”

  Lucien shoved his hands in his pockets and made a frustrated noise. Margo took a step closer to him and growled again. “Fine! Fine. Can you call off your dog, please?”

  “Nope.” I gave him a fierce smile.

  “Ms. Reaper. I’m only here because my boss made me come back out. He’s interested in something on the back of your property.”

  My stomach dropped like a stone. “So your job involves trespassing?”

  Lucien blew out a breath. “Can we just talk, please? I know this looks bad.”

  I let out a surprised laugh. “This looks terrible. Not bad. And I think my dog hates you. That’s good enough for me.” I was about to call Margo and go back inside to call the police when he called my name.

  “Helen! Please. Just give me five minutes of your time.”

  My shoulders slumped. Margo gave a low snarl and turned back to look at me as if to ask want me to bite him?

  I put a hand on the top of her head. “Cease, Margo.” I gave Lucien a long look. “I suggest if you don’t want to understand the extent of my control with the dead, you behave once I allow you inside.”

  Lucien swallowed hard. I shooed Margo inside.

  “Lucien Nightingale, you are invited into my home. Should you harm anyone or anything,” I added with a pointed look at Margo’s retreating back, “the hospitality laws of Midnight Cove will no longer apply. Do you agree to those terms?” It was the same phrase said to anyone or any stranger who showed up to your door. Although it wasn’t used as often anymore because a lot of people here knew each other.

  Lucien straightened. “I accept,” he said.