by Amir Lane
“I have to finish my Master’s.”
“So finish it. Finish it and leave. Move on from all of this.”
“From you? How am I supposed to move on from you?”
“I don’t know,” Zven admitted. “I can’t leave you. Even if I wanted to, we’re—”
“Bonded. I know.”
“You have your entire life to live. You’re going to live forty, fifty, sixty more years. I don’t want you to spend it alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have you.”
Zven slammed his hand on the table. There was no anger on his face, only pain.
“It’s not the same, and you know it. You’re going to miss having someone hold you at night. And having someone to talk to. Properly talk to. You have to move on.”
“I won’t promise to do that. I can’t promise that.”
“And if you ever have kids,” Zven continued as if Ekkehardt hadn’t spoken, “don’t let them become like you.”
Ekkehardt frowned and leaned back, caught off guard by the words. Didn’t Zven like the way he was? The jackass.
“A Necromancer,” Zven clarified without prompting. “Look at what it’s done to you already. It killed you. Your heart is never going to work the same again. Don’t let it happen to one of your kids. I couldn’t bear it.”
To be fair, Ekkehardt didn’t think he could, either. But he couldn’t imagine having a kid, either. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting anybody other than Zven. Either way, Zven was right. He had forty, fifty, sixty years. As impossible as it seemed… It wasn’t less possible than bringing a spirit back.
“I’ll do my best.”
Zven wrapped his arm around Ekkehardt’s shoulder and pressed their foreheads together.
“Good,” he said. “Now, wake up.”
24
Lorelle, Canada. May 1995.
With time, Ekkehardt found that he could move on. He never stopped loving Zven, and he never stopped being glad that Zven was still at his side, but he did eventually find there was still room in his heart for someone else. It had been twelve years, and though he still felt awkward with his late boyfriend watching him, he had found himself falling in love twice since. The first was a woman who had the same immigration lawyer as him. The second was the man he’d lived with in Ottawa after finally making it into Canada.
Neither had lasted.
He was 32 now, still single, still renting, still a low-level analyst at a pharmaceutical start-up. He was barely more than an intern. His degree, although from a European country, still wasn’t worth as much as a Canadian degree. Ekkehardt hadn’t come to this country to not be worth as much.
Of course, being worth as much meant getting both a PhD and an MBA from the University of Toronto nearly an hour away. It took up the majority of his spare time and left him getting minimal sleep, but he was okay with that. Those few years after bringing Zven back, he had been lucky to get four hours a night. He might not have been as young as he used to be, but he wasn’t that old yet, either. He wasn’t having those chest pains that woke him up in the middle of the night and made it difficult to breathe, so it wasn’t too much.
The shifts at Moment Pharmaceuticals were staggered so that no department was ever empty. What that translated to was that at least one of three people would be at their desks or in the labs. It also meant the lunchroom was usually very empty. Today, though, it was very full. He was sitting at the only unoccupied table, his notes and general accounting textbook almost falling off. It was difficult to focus with all the noise. He wished he’d either gone somewhere else for lunch or at least brought his walkman.
“Excuse me. Do you mind if I sit here?”
Ekkehardt looked up. The woman was familiar, though he couldn’t quite place which office he’d seen her in. He was usually confined to the labs, and while he got along with the other chemists, he hadn’t really gotten to know anyone else in the year that he’d been here. He never had much reason to venture to other departments.
“No, of course not. Please, have a seat. I’m sorry it’s such a mess.”
His English still sounded awkward and clunky to his ears, and he wasn’t sure if he was pronouncing all the letters right or emphasizing the right syllables. His mouth still had trouble with some of the sounds.
He pulled his notes into the seam of the textbook and tucked his pen behind his ear. He was torn between whether or not he wanted to keep it open He didn’t want her to feel unwelcome.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a pretty smile. “There aren’t any other seats.”
Ekkehardt glanced through the lunch room. It was more of a reflex than not believing her.
“Do you know why it’s so busy?”
The woman shrugged, looking over the cafeteria as well. She looked young, younger than him at least. He’d never had much knack for guessing ages, though, especially when makeup was involved. She certainly didn’t look any older than 30.
“I have no idea. I think there are people from another company visiting. I heard something about a merger, but that that’s just a rumour. Who knows?”
The following silence was uncomfortable. Mergers were rarely a good thing in his experience. Her words were a reminder that he was as disposable as anybody else here. Upgrading himself was the only way to have any kind of security in life. He wasn’t sure if she would be offended if he started reading again, or that he didn’t know her name.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I have to ask. Is that a Leipzig accent?”
“It is. That’s very specific. How— How do you know?”
Her cheeks turned pink.
“My grandparents were from Leipzig. Bertholdt and Maria Lindemann.”
“There are a lot of Lindemanns in Leipzig. I might not know them all.”
She laughed. It was bright and loud and enough to turn heads in their direction and bring a smile to his face. He hadn’t heard anyone laugh like that since Zven. And while he’d long since lost the habit of comparing everyone he knew to the spirit hovering over her, it was comforting to know someone else could laugh like that.
“I didn’t think you would.” She held her hand out. “I’m Eva. Well, it’s Ethelinde, actually. It’s a really old name. I kind of like it, but I like really old names. It trips people up, though, so I just go by Eva.”
He took the offered hand, and he realized where he’d seen her. She worked in the finance department. He had only ever seen her once or twice.
“Ekkehardt. I never really thought of shortening it.”
She laughed again in a way that reminded him of wind chimes.
“Now, let me ask you something. Do you understand what—” Ekkehardt glanced down at his textbook. “—adjusting entries is? I think it’s getting lost in translation.”
He wasn’t too proud to ask for help, though he wished it wasn’t because of his English.
Eva pulled the textbook toward her and flipped back to the chapter heading. Her blue eyes scanned over the pages.
“Not only do I understand this, I do it all the time. I could explain it to you, if you want.”
“That would be wonderful.”
He glanced at his watch. He didn’t have long until he had to be back in the lab, though. Eva noticed his train of thought.
“I’ll tell you what. If you don’t have anywhere to be after work, we can get coffee, and I can give you a crash course in the riveting world of accounting.”
Ekkehardt wasn’t familiar with ‘crash course,’ but Canadian coffee was much nicer than the East German coffee. And it would be nice to spend time with someone who knew Leipzig, even if she wasn’t from there herself, even if she’d never so much as set foot in Germany. Lorelle was a small city, and most of the people in his classes were everything but German. More than that, it was just nice to spend time with people. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d socialized outside of work or class. He didn’t care if they were going to be discussing the riveting world of accounting, it was better than
nothing.
“I have no plans,” he said.
“Great. It’s a date.”
Epilogue
Lorelle, Canada. June 1977.
Ekkehardt set his twins down in their respective cribs. It was approaching two in the morning, and it had taken him that long to get them to sleep. Every time Dieter fell asleep, Lindy would start crying and wake him. And then Dieter would start crying, and… It was a whole routine. He had always heard girls were the fussy ones, but he found they both cried just as much. Eva had had a knack for getting them to sleep on the first try. But Eva had died only months after the babies were born — a blood clot in her leg noticed too late — and Ekkehardt was alone. He wasn’t as good with them as she was.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted kids, not after Zven made him promise not to let them become like him. If it was genetic, how could he prevent that? One or both of these tiny, defenceless things were going to grow up to see spirits or futures or both. Their conception had been a surprise, but Eva had been thrilled. She had always wanted children. He would do the best he could with them, even if it wasn’t much.
Making sure they were fast asleep and comfortable, he crept out of the room as slowly and as quietly as physically possible. Lindy had the worst habit of crying the second he stepped out of the room. The little thing had a sense for when he wasn’t near. She was a clingy little girl. He'd slept in the rocking chair beside her crib more than once because of it. But she was finally quiet. Zven stayed behind to watch over them.
At this hour, his bed felt especially warm. He had already changed into sweats and a faded University of Toronto t-shirt. If the kids slept through the night, he would be able to get a solid four or five hours of sleep.
The key word there was ‘if’.
* * *
A sharp pain tearing through the side of his face and neck just as sharp as the shrill screaming from down the hall made him jerk awake. His heart was already pounding. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He kicked off the sheets tangled around his legs and threw himself out of bed. His foot landed on the overturned baby monitor.
“Fuck!”
He didn't waste time checking his foot. It hurt, but it didn't feel like it was bleeding. Even if it was, it wasn't important. He'd never heard either of his children cry like this. This wasn't the usual cries of hunger or loneliness. This was… This was something else entirely.
The twins’ bedroom door was still wide open. The seconds that it saved was a relief. Ekkehardt reached the side of Lindy’s bed. He checked her over carefully before picking her up and holding her against his chest.
“What's wrong?” he asked in slurred English, rubbing her back. “What's wrong with you, kleine?”
He turned to face Dieter’s crib. Moonlight and street lights streamed through a space in the heavy curtains. There was enough light that he could see Zven’s shimmering form hovering over his son. The tightness in his stomach worsened, and he almost doubled over.
Dieter wasn't crying. He wasn't even moving. He should have been wide awake from Lindy’s screaming, but he wasn't.
Ekkehardt kissed the side of Lindy’s head absently and set her back down. She continued screaming, but it sounded far away to Ekkehardt’s ears.
“What did you do?” he whispered.
Zven jerked violently at the accusation. Of course he hadn't done anything. What the hell was Ekkehardt thinking? Zven loved these kids just as much as Ekkehardt did. He would never do anything to hurt them.
Ekkehardt moved his hand in front of Dieter’s tiny face and felt nothing.
“Oh, God… Oh, God…”
He was going to be sick. His spirits, Zven included, raced through the room. The windows rattled. He couldn't think about controlling his emotions. He couldn't even think, period.
The handset of the corded phone on their dresser hit his leg. He grabbed at it frantically and jabbed the buttons on the base. It took him three tries to hit 9-1-1. It only rang once.
“Nine-one-one, what's the nature of your emergency?” a woman asked.
“My son isn't breathing.”
“Sir?”
He wasn't sure if she couldn't hear him over Lindy or couldn't understand him or if she was confused by the ongoing sobbing.
“I have twins. The boy isn't breathing.”
“What's your address?”
His address?
“Three-five-seven Mackenzie. Second house on the left after the intersection.”
“Paramedics are on their way, sir. How old is your son?”
“Nine months. He's very small for his age. They were premature.”
Was that important? She didn't ask, but it seemed important. Them being premature had led to a whole slew of health problems. This certainly might have been one of them.
“I'm going to get you to check for any obstructions in his air way. Make sure he didn't swallow anything.”
There was nothing.
She walked him through giving Dieter CPR. He refused to do it at first. He had CPR training, but not for babies. What if he hurt him? She reminded him, not quite insensitively, that if he wasn't breathing, it would hurt more not to do it. Because, Ekkehardt realized with a choked sob, Dieter was dead.
He used two fingers to compress Dieter’s tiny chest, and gave him the smallest breaths he could manage. He could feel something cracking from the pressure. Oh, God, did he just break his baby’s ribs? He couldn't keep doing this, but he couldn't stop, either.
Lindy’s and his own crying nearly drowned out the pounding at the door. One of his spirits, he didn't care enough to check which, materialized through the walls and opened the door to the paramedics. Whether they wondered who opened it or not didn't matter to Ekkehardt. What mattered was that with no stairs to climb, they were in the room and pushing him away from his boy within seconds.
He couldn't watch as they worked on him. He picked Lindy up again and held her as tightly as he dared. Her cries quieted down to coughed sobs. Her tiny hands curled into his shirt with a force that would have impressed him if he'd been focusing on anything but Dieter. Did she know her brother was dead? They may have been fraternal twins, but his mother had been a fraternal twin, too, and she'd told him once that she always knew when her own brother was hurt.
Seconds ticked by. Ekkehardt knew that the longer the paramedics worked on Dieter, the less likely he was to wake up. Maybe he'd broken something giving CPR. Maybe he'd been dead for hours. He closed his eyes and opened up a part of himself he'd closed off years ago; the part that could find spirits. There was one in the house next door, and two roaming the street outside. One felt like a child, but it was much older than Dieter.
He didn't want to think about what that meant. He couldn't think about what that meant. Not until he knew for sure that—
Dieter coughed. It was a tiny, tiny cough, but still a cough.
Ekkehardt slumped back against the wall with an almost hysterical laugh.
“We're going to have to take him to the hospital,” one of the paramedics told him. “Depending on how long his brain was deprived of oxygen for—”
Ekkehardt nodded. It didn't matter. He was alive. That was all that mattered.
“You can ride with us, or you can meet us at the hospital.”
There was only one in town. If not for the little one falling asleep on his shoulder, it wouldn't have been a question. The nanny wouldn't be in for a few hours — what time was it, anyway? — and he could hardly leave her alone. Maybe a neighbour could watch her, but the thought of her being out of his sight made his heart rate spike. He didn't know how long they would be at the hospital for. He wouldn't leave until Dieter did, work be dammed. But leaving Dieter alone in the hands of strangers was almost worse.
He looked up at Zven following the paramedic holding Dieter. If he followed them, Ekkehardt would be able to see them. They had brought him back. He would be safe with them.
“I will meet you.”
The paramedic nodd
ed. He looked almost relieved.
Ekkehardt was already calling a cab, advising them that he was travelling with a baby, when the door shut. The woman on the other end of the line told him they would send a cab with a seat already installed. One less thing he had to worry about. He grabbed the diaper bag, and the twins’ birth certificates. They had Eva’s last name. He didn't want to have to fight over whether or not he was their father.
Neither he nor the driver spoke. His rudeness was probably forgivable given the circumstances. Lindy fussed, but she didn't cry. It was a bit of a relief. There was enough to worry about right now.
Dieter was stable. His tiny body was hooked up to monitors, and an oxygen tube was hooked up his nose in case he stopped breathing again. It all made him look so much smaller than he was, especially in the large, empty room Ekkehardt’s insurance afforded him.
The nanny came at 6:30 like always and took Lindy home. Two of his spirits followed them. Zven stayed with him.
Ekkehardt slept on and off. Even when the babies didn't wake him up, he couldn't sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. He awoke properly close to noon. Someone — a nurse, probably — had left some Jell-O and a cookie on the small table beside him.
Dieter awoke as he ate. Brilliant blue eyes stared up at Ekkehardt for a moment before he tipped his head up to where Zven was. He stared with an un-childlike intensity and began to wail.
Continue the Story
In Shadow Maker: Morrighan House Witches Book 1
Shadow Maker
Chapter 1
Shadows danced across the walls and ceiling, unattached to anything. Nobody but Dieter seemed to notice them.
Raspy whispers echoed off the walls of the small lecture hall and drowned out the professor’s voice. Diederich Lindemann looked up from his notebook, his mouth twisted in annoyance. ‘Shut up,’ he almost hissed, ‘I’m trying to listen here, you assholes.’ But nobody’s lips were moving. Everyone’s heads were bowed over the long tables, scribbling in notebooks or on tablet screens, or tapping away at keyboards, or dicking around on phones.