by Amir Lane
Okay, that made no sense. Bad Omen wasn’t a him, and Bad Omen was definitely not dead. Bad Omen was very much alive. Bad Omen was sitting in a call centre talking to a homicidal dick on the phone. But clearly, the caller had no idea that he was talking to Bad Omen. He had no idea that Lindy was Bad Omen.
“He’s dead, Dietelinde. I just shot him.”
She shouldn’t have wanted to laugh. This guy had no idea who she was. Even if he knew where she worked, even if he knew she was a Seer, he didn’t know who she was. And if he had no idea that she was Bad Omen then he probably didn’t know that Dieter was the Shadow Maker. And if he didn’t know any of that, then he probably didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.
And yet, she still couldn’t fucking see him.
“Where are you?”
“You’re smart, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Before she could ask anything else, the line clicked dead. She groaned, pushing her hands through her hair. The heels of her hands rubbed over her eyes, smudging her eyeliner everywhere. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. And then her stomach sank further when she realized that a man was dead. A man that her potential serial killer thought was her –– or at least was her handle — was dead. Which somehow made this her fault.
“Oh, balls,” she mumbled.
She pulled her hair elastic out of her bun, letting her hair fall over her shoulders before tying it up again. She needed a minute to think, to decide what to do about this. Either a witch was offing other witches, or a Normal had gotten a hold of their names. She wasn’t sure which was worse. She had to tell someone about this, but she didn’t want to take this to Mohr’s Circle yet. Mohr’s Circle regulated local witch activity. They weren’t an investigative unit. They were more like lawyers than cops. She still wasn’t sure that he’d killed anyone the first time or, even if he did, if the victim had been a witch. Doing something was the cops’ job right now.
The phone rang again. Lindy bit back a pained groan. Not even three seconds to process.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“The neighbour’s kids keep coming onto my property!”
4
It wasn't often that Lindy had the house to herself in the evening. Dieter was out with his coworkers and Lenna had a date, so it was just her
The lights were off, and she was navigating the kitchen almost entirely on memory alone. The migraines were getting more frequent and more painful. She felt better now than she had when she woke up, at least, courtesy of enough painkillers to knock anyone else her size out. Her head had ached so bad, she thought her skull must have caved in. Anything was an improvement. Still, the light stayed off. Her hand found the bottles of antidepressants and anti-anxiety pills in the cupboard above the microwave. She couldn’t read the labels in the dark, but the screen of her out of date cell phone was enough to see her name on them.
Most everyone she worked with was on some kind of antidepressant. They talked about it the same way they did food. It should have bothered her, but the normality of it was comforting. They had a brutal job. Most people didn't last more than a few months. Some barely even lasted days. The more senior operators transferred to quieter shifts. Lindy wasn't quite there yet, but she would be soon. She'd been there since she finished high school. It was only a few years but felt like a lifetime.
The pills were chalky on her tongue. She washed them down with some tea that did little to mask the texture. With her phone back in her pocket, the only light came from the solitary candle on the kitchen table. There wasn't a whole lot in the way of the dining room. Really, it was the far extension of the kitchen. The house was old, with odd architecture, and only just big enough for three people and a jaguar, but the rotating schedules meant that there is usually only two people here at a time. They managed.
She dragged the chair back from the table. The leg scraped against the laminate flooring. It was originally hardwood, but it had all been overturned in renovations before they’d moved in. There wasn’t much but the layout of the house and the sign out front that remained from the original house, built in 18-something by the three Morrighan sisters. The place had been redone so many times, Lindy didn't know why it had never just been torn down and rebuilt from scratch.
Lindy shuffled the deck of tarot cards that she could barely see without her glasses, with or without the lights on, and set the cards down on the table in a 3x3 grid and looked them over. The cards furthest from the candle may as well not have even been there. The ones closer were blurred smudges of colour.
Her visions — for lack of better term — worked on a sort of trigger system. It was like hearing one word and suddenly remembering the rest of a song. Tarot cards all meant something but the pictures were more important to her than the names. If her sight was going, she was going to need a new system.
There was something in the blurs of what she thought might have been the Emperor that was trying to get her attention. She could remember the tune, but not the words. She tapped her finger against it. The blue colours weren't enough. But the Emperor was part of the Major Arcana. It made him an important card.
She tried to make out the other cards on the table before she started overlapping more on top. It wasn’t even worth the effort.
A forceful rap of the front door nearly made her knock the candle over. Shit, that was close.
At first, Lindy ignored it. She wasn't expecting anybody. But it came again, louder and more insistent this time. Maybe Lenna was locked out without her phone again. Lindy moved the candle closer to the centre of the table and went to answer the door.
It wasn't Lenna.
Ekkehardt Schneider let out a choked sigh and pulled Lindy into the tightest hug she'd ever remembered receiving from him. Her hands flew to his arms.
What—What?
"I heard you were dead," he choked out.
His accent was so thick, she could barely understand him. And then his words hit her.
Shit.
"I'm fine," she assured.
Had she ever seen her father this distraught before? Yeah, he'd gotten pretty messed up every time Dieter had to be hospitalized, but he'd never been this worked up over her. It wasn’t like she had never been rushed to the ER herself, mostly for stitches, though. Ekkehardt never worried after her the way he did with Dieter. Maybe he didn't need to. She did usually foresee any danger coming — usually — and Dieter was literally haunted.
He was clearly worried now.
"Why didn't you just get one of your spirits —" She waved her hand to where they might have been. "— to check on me?"
"I did. But I had to see for myself that you're not hurt."
He stepped back and looked her over in the dark. She couldn’t see his face or the left side of the room. Well, that was probably where his spirits were.
"I was gonna make some more tea. If you want some."
"Yes, that would be nice."
Lindy couldn't remember the last time she had felt this awkward. He'd never been here before, at least not that she knew. Even though she invited him, it still felt like an intrusion. Probably something like inviting a vampire in. She turned a hall light on so he could see and slipped on her sunglasses on her way to the kitchen.
"Are your eyes hurting you?" Ekkehardt asked.
"On and off. The light’s just bothering me today."
"And your… visions?"
He'd only ever asked about them after Dieter had become a Necromancer. Before that, magic was an off-limits topic. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t something he would have in his house. He had made a point to ignore any of her precognitions. But now he cared.
"I tried to watch a movie with Lenna yesterday, saw the whole thing before the opening credits ended. And the Leafs are going to the semifinals this year, but they’ll lose to Montréal. And I know all the results of the next Olympics. We’re going to bring home a few golds in the summer."
"We Canada or we Germany?"
"
Both."
He laughed softly. Sports were the only thing they had in common. She wasn't sure he'd ever quite forgiven her for quitting soccer. But, hey, Dieter still ran, so there was that. And she kick-boxed. Used to kick-box. She really needed to get back to that. She’d gained weight last winter, and it was making her dread shorts shopping.
The kettle finished boiling. Lindy poured two mugs and fumbled through the tea boxes that filled the shelf. She couldn't tell which was which but she found one that smelled like mint.
"How is Diederich?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself? He's fine. Just busy with work and shit."
Ekkehardt sighed into his tea.
"I mean, how is he with his… Shadows."
"Everything is under control as far as I know."
She couldn't help but wonder, cynically, if this was why he was really here, what he was really interested in knowing about. But that wasn't fair. Dieter was a train wreck, and Necromancy was a hell of a hobby.
She had to wonder… She always had to wonder—
"What makes a person decide to get into Necromancy? I mean, how do you— Why?"
The shadows that fell across his face from the candle and the hall light made his scowl look harder than it really was. She didn't think he was going to answer. For a long, quiet minute, he didn't. Then, he let out a long sigh and set his mug down.
"All people have their own reasons."
"What was yours?"
It was the most personal question she’d never asked. The more she thought about it, the less she realized she knew about him. She didn't know when he came from Germany, how and when he met Eva Lindemann. She didn’t know anything about either of their families. If he didn't have his Bachelor’s from Leipzig, his Master’s from Berlin, and his MBA from Toronto on his office wall, she wouldn’t even know where he studied. She couldn’t even be sure that either of those German cities were where he was born.
Ekkehardt sipped his tea and looked anywhere but at her.
"I lost someone very close. I was young, about your age. I didn't know what was going to happen. I believed I could…"
"Cheat death?"
The smile was tight and painful.
"Something like that."
"So what happened?”
She wasn't sure she wanted an answer.
"It wasn't him. Not the way it was supposed to be."
There was a hell of a lot more to that story, but there was pain in his voice, and she didn't have the heart to press. It didn't matter, not really. Her curiosity wasn't worth opening old wounds that obviously still hurt. Not that she wasn't going to spend the rest of her life wondering. That also didn't mean there weren't other parts of the story she couldn't ask about.
"So how do you actually become a— How does that work?"
It had been an accident for Dieter, orchestrated by Alistair Cudmore. She had to assume Alistair had become one on purpose, but if Dieter knew how, he never told her.
"There are lots of ways. Different places have different methods. Most of Europe does the way I know."
Which was…? She wanted to hurry him along to the good part.
"You have to drink Necromancer blood. I did not know any Necromancers. My late aunt was one. I used my own blood with the hope that being her blood would be enough. If you are someone who can become one, your body rejects it at first. Your blood burns and your body starts to fall apart. I didn't know if I would live through it. Some do not."
"But you did."
Obviously.
He nodded.
"It was only worth it because I had you and your brother." He hesitated. "I wasn't there for you the way I should have been. If I had been better to you, maybe you would have a better life, and Diederich…"
"My life is fine."
"Your job—"
"I like my job. I'm good at it. I'm helping people. You should be proud—!"
Tears prickled behind her glasses. Not this again!
"I am. I'm always so proud of both of you."
Took him long enough to say it. All these years and all he did was criticize and hassle Lindy about her life choices. Even if he meant well, he didn't have to be such a dick about it.
Her tea was cold by now. She would have to microwave it to a drinkable temperature.
"Lenna's on her way back,” she croaked.
Ekkehardt nodded again. He fished a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. Guilt welled in Lindy's stomach.
He hugged her again and asked her to have Dieter call him when he got home.
Lenna pulled into the driveway as Ekkehardt pulled out. Her eyes glowed yellow to see in the dark. She didn’t ask any questions, only reheated her tea and let Lindy lean against her chest on the couch.
"Why do Necromancers have to be so dramatic?"
"Because otherwise, no reasonable person would pay them any attention."
Lindy snorted.
"So how was your date?” she asked.
"It was really nice. Her brother works with me. That's how we know each other. They, uhm, make fire."
"Pyromancers?"
"Yeah. She…" Lenna let out a dreamy sigh. It said more than her words could. "She has a nice a laugh."
Lindy smiled. At least someone was having a good night.
5
Cliché as it was, if someone were to run a blood test on her, Lindy was pretty sure that they would find more coffee than blood. She pretty much lived off the crap. She couldn’t even begin to think about what all the caffeine was doing to her poor heart. Right now, it wasn’t just coffee that she needed, but information. Tasseomancy, the diviner-owned coffee shop not far from the University of Lorelle, was the perfect place for both.
A bell rang overhead as she walked in through the door. The café was almost empty, with a few people seated at tables and only one person in line.
“Lindy? Lindy!”
Lindy barely had time to brace herself before she was tackled into a tight hug, which she returned.
“How are you, honey?” she asked.
“Me? How are you? People are still saying Bad Omen was shot.”
“That’s actually what I’m here to talk to you about. You have a minute?”
Cari motioned for Lindy to sit down in one of the booths and said something to the barista in Turkish, something that Lindy assumed was a request to take over. Not that Cari needed to be behind the counter anyway. The place was always dead at this hour, just after the morning rush. And if she was needed, she was right here. The barista brought over two mugs of coffee as Lindy shrugged off her spring jacket and settled in the seat.
“So what happened?” Cari asked.
Lindy gave a dry laugh and pushed her hair from her face. Where to start?
“I don’t really know. This guy’s called my work twice now. Once was right after this lady got shot. I don’t know for sure yet if it’s related. But then he called me the other day and said that he just killed Bad Omen.”
“But you’re Bad Omen.”
“I know that. You know that. But I don’t think this guy knows that.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t making a threat?”
Lindy let out a slow exhale, shaking her head.
“No. I’m not sure. The thing is, I don’t— I don’t get anything off the guy. It’s like something’s blocking me from seeing him. I keep getting nothing.” She pushed her bangs back out of her face. “I’m considering scrying.”
Cari’s dark eyebrows rose.
“Maybe he’s just Sensitive or Necromancer,” she suggested.
“No, it’s– It’s definitely not that. With them, it’s like trying to look into a black hole. It’s like they don’t exist, and there’s a big, empty space where they should be.”
“I don’t think that’s what black hole does. Your brother is physicist, you should ask him.”
“Not the point. With this guy, it’s like there’s something… in front of him. Like trying to look through frosted glass or a thick fog.�
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Lindy rubbed the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t tell if the permanent headache developing behind her eyes was from stress, caffeine, or just eye strain. There was really only one of those she could do much about, but giving up caffeine when she had a large mug of Turkish coffee in her hands was just unthinkable.
“Do you think he’s a sihirbaz?” Cari asked.
A witch.
“I can’t think of any other way that he would know that name.”
She sighed again, exhaling over the rim of the white mug. She kept her eyes up to avoid getting pulled into the ripples that formed. Now was so not the time for accidental scrying.
“Do we take this to Mohr’s Circle?”
The suggestion made her grimace. She’d been wrestling with that question for days. Regardless of whether or not her caller was a witch, it was the proper course of action.
Like engineers and realtors, witches were self-regulating. Mohr’s Circle dealt with any abuse of power, everything from cheating at the lottery to straight-up murder. Or at least, they were supposed to. They didn’t always do such a great job, but when they did, it was a group that no-one wanted to come face-to-face with, especially not with Ekkehardt Schneider running it. He was fair – or so Lindy had heard – but he had a glare that could freeze over Hell. Lindy had been on the receiving end of it on a fairly regular basis, back in high school when she’d taken to sneaking out to parties and crawling back in through the window at fuck o’clock in the morning. More than once, she’d wondered if it was possible to get frostbite from a look.
No, Lindy was content to let them find out about it on their own. She found it hard to believe they didn’t know already. But, again, they were more like lawyers than cops. They wouldn’t do anything without a case handed to them on a plate. The less work they had to do, the better.
“If it turns out this guy is a witch, maybe,” she said. “But if he’s a Normal, then this is a matter for the cops.”
Cari snorted and muttered something in Turkish. It didn’t sound particularly flattering. Most of them felt the same way about cops. Most of them had been on the receiving end of some less than fair treatment. It was bullshit, but now wasn’t the time to think about it.