by Kaje Harper
Silas laid a hand against Darien’s cheek, staring at the mess of blood on his neck. “With a stop in the washroom. I want a good look at that cut of yours.”
Luckily the heartstopping crusts and trickles of blood turned out to be from a shallow cut less than two inches long. Silas traced the line of artery and vein under Darien’s skin, a lifesaving fraction away, before sponging off the last of the blood. The cut opened and oozed under his ministrations, and he found gauze and tape behind the vanity mirror, covering the damage with more layers than it probably needed.
Darien caught his hand eventually. “It’s fine. Put that tape away.”
“I just don’t want the bandage to fall off.”
“It’s probably on there till Christmas. Let’s go eat.”
“Of course. You’re hungry. I’m sorry.” Here he was fussing, soothing his own need when Darien was tapped out and exhausted—
“You are too.” Darien nudged him, hip and thigh against his in the narrow confines at the sink. “Food, necromancer mine. It’s a thing.”
“Right.” He realized his brain was fuzzy. Food would probably be smart. At least his hands were clean now, although he swore he had sand down the neck of his shirt. How odd. He swiped a finger over his neck, a bit of his fatigue pushed aside by curiosity. “What do you see there?” He held his hand out.
Darien peered at it. “Sand?”
“Yes. But nothing crosses back from the Otherworlds, without a complex portal spell. It’s only our energy, our spirits that cross, formed into the precise shapes we left behind. But when we come back, we return to ourselves in the circle—”
“And I still have my dry shoes. Or my pants, that first time. Although my neck’s still bleeding.” He touched the tape.
“Injuries, yes. What happens to your spirit body over there is reflected in your body here. If you die there, you’ll be dead here. But your clothes are a construct, not spirit. If I rip your shirt there, it’s still intact here—”
“I like the sound of shirt ripping,” Darien murmured. “If I wasn’t so damned tired.”
“Raincheck.” For a moment he was distracted at the thought of Darien, shirt torn open to bare his chest… What were we talking about?
“So the sand is weird, right?”
Oh yes, sand.
“Should we… collect it? If it’s from the River’s other shore, it’s something no one’s ever seen, right?” A hint of animation came into Darien’s tone.
“I suppose so.” He reached for a clean washcloth. Maybe something he could give Locke, to make up for the sorcerer missing all the excitement.
“I bet Jasper will be fascinated.”
Or Jasper. Dammit. He owed the man everything, but he wished Darien didn’t seem quite so enthused. “Yes, of course. We’ll give it to Jasper.”
He used the clean cloth to dust the fine golden grains off his skin. They glittered on the cloth, but only with reflected light, like mica and quartz. Nothing unusual. Tiny, tiny rocks. He swayed as Darien lifted the cloth from his hands and folded it carefully. “You need food. Come on.”
Stop fretting. Darien’s safe, we’re home. He followed Darien to the kitchen in a muzzy haze, where the sight of both familiars crouched over a heaping plate warmed his heart. Didn’t clear his head. So damned tired.
A tall glass of water helped. So did thick slices of bread and butter. Jasper said, “I could make eggs,” but he sat sprawled in a chair, long legs sticking out, and Silas figured they were lucky he’d bothered with the butter. “This is fine.” He watched covertly to make sure Darien was eating too. If his neck’s too sore… Darien caught his eye and made a production of biting off a big chunk of bread. I guess he’s okay.
After two refills of water, and three slices of bread, he was able to focus enough to say, “We have something for you.”
“What?” Jasper raised an eyebrow.
“Sand. From the River’s other shore. It came back on my skin.”
Darien pushed the folded washcloth over to Jasper. “In there.”
Jasper’s eyes widened, as he reached for it. “Came back! Four papers. How— no, we need rest first. Be at our best. Finish the immediate details and sleep.”
“Speaking of immediate details,” Silas said. “Phone?”
“Over there.” Jasper gestured by the doorway.
But I have to get up to use it. Silas squashed his inner whine and pushed to his feet.
Clarice answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Silas Thornwood.”
“Silas! Thank goodness. We were worried. How are you? And Darien and Jasper? Did you see the ghoul? Is everything all right?”
“We’re fine,” he said when he could get a word in edgewise. “But I’m afraid that we saw both Pasternak and his wife down by the River, across the veil, and I don’t think either one made it back.”
“Both? But he’s not sick, is he? I know she’s been on death’s door, seems like forever.”
“We were hoping you could go check on him. Just to make sure. If she died he might have done something… unwise.” Like turn her into a ghoul. He bit his lip.
“Well, sure, I can go by. You don’t think he… hurt himself, do you?”
“I don’t know what you’ll find. We’d go ourselves, but we’re all tapped out. It may not be a good sight for a lady, though.”
“Silas Thornwood! As if half the Healers in the Guild aren’t women, working on the most unpleasant sights.”
“Yes. True. My apologies.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sure you can handle it. We’ll come and search the house in the morning. There may be dangerous items in his study or workroom.”
“Like what?”
“Scrolls, books, devices?” he said generally. “I don’t think anyone’s likely to come looking before we do, but keep your eyes open. We had indications of dark practice.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“A lot,” he said. “A whole adventure. For which I have neither time nor breath right now.”
“Well, you’re not off the hook, but you sound tired. Where are you calling from?”
“Jasper’s house.”
“I’ll call you back when I’ve checked on the Pasternaks.”
“Thank you.”
He hung up the phone and leaned on the counter, because it seemed easier than sitting down. In the corner, both familiars were eating out of the big dish. As he watched, Pip backed off, let Grim nose around and drag out a bit to gnaw on, then took his turn with a couple of quick snaps. Silas raised an eyebrow at Jasper. “What did you find for the familiars to eat?”
“Irish stew. Luckily they didn’t want it reheated.”
Grim raised his head, licking his lips. “Warm would be good, but this mutton has excellent flavor even cold. My compliments to your cook.”
Jasper’s lips curved slightly. “I made it. Cooking is just following a recipe, after all, like science.”
Grim fetched another bite from the bowl. As near as Silas could tell, he was taking the meat and leaving the vegetables for Pip. Grim licked a bit of gravy off, then said, “Perhaps you could teach Silas. No, on second thought, if he hasn’t learned in ten years on his own, he’s not going to. Teach Darien.”
Traitor. I can bake bread. Though his stew was no better than ordinary. “I don’t think Darien’s interested in cooking.”
“I might be,” Darien said. “It’s never come up. With Jasper to help, it might be great.”
Silas wasn’t sure if that was genuine or if Darien had noticed Silas was all weird in his head about Jasper and was jerking his chain. Don’t be an idiot. “Back to essentials,” he said, “before we all pass out. Pasternak said something about a book. We’ll need to find it.”
“I think it was one of mine,” Jasper said slowly. “We were friendly a few years ago, before he became such a recluse, and he used to borrow things from my library. I bought a collection from the heirs of a necromancer, some very old, that I b
arely skimmed through. That one mention of a ghoul I couldn’t find was among them. Maybe Pasternak had it.”
“Either way, we’ll want to make sure it’s burned.”
“Burned?” Jasper stared at him like he’d proposed sacrificing a baby. “Dear gods, no. No book burning! Knowledge must not be destroyed.”
“That’s dangerous knowledge.” He didn’t want to have this argument with an academic.
“It can be kept safe, now we know it’s there.”
Darien suggested, “We could hide it among the thousands of moldering volumes in your house, Silas. Like The Purloined Letter.”
“Moldering volumes?” Despite the lines in his face and circles under his eyes, Jasper perked up at the words. “Really old books?”
“You have no idea.” Darien slumped in his chair and waved a hand. “Shelves of them. It’s a disaster. And who does he get to bring order to the chaos? Me. The guy who can’t tell the rune for salt from the one for butterflies.”
“Is that what you’re doing with him? Working on his books?”
Silas bit his tongue hard to avoid saying And sleeping with me. Being my partner. Too soon, too public, too risky. Instead he said, “I can’t think about books tonight. As soon as we hear from Clarice, I’m going to fall into a bed— except no, I should shower.” Between the sand that lingered, and the River water, he really ought to get clean. He closed his eyes, leaning back harder. Walking to the bedroom will be difficult enough. He wanted to sit down, but was pretty sure he wouldn’t get back up.
“Sheets wash.” Jasper sounded as tired as he felt. “I’ll be lucky if I get my shoes off before I hit the bed.”
“Sounds good to me,” Darien said.
They lapsed into an exhausted silence broken only by the munching of the familiars. It felt companionable, even safe. Silas thought he should reinforce Jasper’s wards, but didn’t have a smidgen of energy or will to do so. He drifted behind closed lids, satisfied that Darien sat nearby, whole and unharmed.
The phone ringing by his shoulder jolted him hard enough he bumped his head on the wall and swore. Jasper waved a hand. “Get that, would you?”
“Jasper—” He stuttered, realizing he didn’t remember the last name of the man who’d helped save him. “Jasper’s residence.”
“It’s Clarice. You were right. The wards on the door were down. Mrs. Pasternak passed away in her bed. Pasternak is in his work room, dead on the floor. I erased the circle. Shall I call the police in?”
Silas realized he perhaps should have asked her to photograph the circle runes. Too late now. “Do you have a good reason to be visiting this late?”
“I can invent one.”
“No,” he decided. “Make sure you left no fingerprints, in case they decide his death is suspicious, and go home. Tomorrow, Jasper will decide he needs back a book Pasternak borrowed, and he can find the bodies then.”
“I don’t mind.”
“There may be other things we need to conceal.” His brain was too fuzzy to think clearly. “It’ll do no harm. Their spirits went to the River, both of them. The bodies can lie where they are.”
“Very well. I won’t mind getting home to my warm bed. Are all of you all right?”
“We’re fine. Thanks for checking on them, Clarice.”
“You’re welcome.”
He replaced the receiver on the cradle, and in case it hadn’t been obvious, said, “She found him and his wife, both dead.”
Jasper dragged his hands down his face. “Well. I can’t say he was a friend, but he was a neighbor. When I see what love can make a man do, I’m almost glad I’ve never found it.”
“Love got that crazy bridge across the River too,” Darien objected. Then his whole face flushed.
Silas quickly tried to deflect. “Love binds soldiers together in battle—”
Jasper held up a hand. “Before you twist in knots trying to hide it, I am aware you two are together. That way. I’m not blind, and I went to boarding school. Where I discovered I also appreciate the male form. You don’t need to hide around me.”
Ah. Good. Some of Silas’s worry receded. Bad. Because Darien had one hell of a male form. I’m too punch-drunk to do this. He pushed away from the wall. “Bed. Now.”
Jasper eased his chair back and stood, gripping the edge of the table. “Yours is third door down the hall, other side of the bathroom. Up the damned stairs.”
Darien surged to his feet. “You two old guys can come at your own pace.” He spoiled the effect by tripping over his feet as he left the kitchen, and laughing like a loon. But Silas did hear his steps ascending the stairs at a decent clip.
Jasper looked at Silas. “How old did you say he is, really?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Ah. I remember those days.” He waved. “After you.”
Silas’s ego made him straighten and stride out, or at least not stumble and meander. The staircase had a rail, and he was glad of it. When he reached the top, Pip scampered up past him, followed by Grim at a more dignified pace. He made a brief stop in the bathroom, and when he made it to the bedroom, the familiars were curled on a crumpled blanket on the foot of the bed, and Darien lay face down across it, his feet hanging off the edge.
Silas bent to tug off Darien’s socks and swing his legs onto the mattress. He toed off his own shoes, not caring if he ruined the heels, turned off the light, and collapsed next to Darien. Darien rolled over and nuzzled hard against his throat. “There you are. Thought I’d lost you.”
And I was terrified he’d kill you. He eased them both further onto the narrow bed, arms tight around Darien. “You can’t lose me. Though I may fall out on my rump if you don’t slide over.”
Darien chuckled sleepily. “Can’t have that. Love that ass.” He hesitated, then added more clearly. “Love you. In case you were wondering.”
That needed a kiss. Silas fumbled across Darien’s cheek and found his mouth. Darien’s lips were chapped and his mouth tasted of butter, but it was the sweetest kiss Silas could remember. “I love you too, crazy man. Your courage and your intelligence and your determination and your power and your humor.”
“And my ass?” Darien murmured against his lips. “Even if it is older now.”
Silas slid a hand lower to cup said ass and pull Darien’s body tighter against his own. “And your ass. Definitely. Perfect for me.”
“Flattery. Gets you in anywhere.” But Darien’s voice was light and drifting, and Silas had no ambition for anything but sleep.
“Stay with me.” He meant forever, but Darien could think he just meant tonight. Tonight was necessary, to have his arms around Darien if either of them dreamed of that moment on the sands and a silver blade reflecting the water, trickled with red. Or the dark shape descending, and the River closing over his head. He shuddered and hugged Darien hard. “Be here with me.”
Fatigue was descending on him like a muffling blanket, so it was probably wishful thinking that Darien’s murmur sounded like, “Always,” as Silas fell asleep.
***
Darien stood back and kept silent as the burly police officer squinted at Jasper, then glanced at Pasternak’s still body on the floor. “He was dead when you got here, though?”
“Yes,” Jasper said patiently, for the third time. “We found him like that.”
“And the door was open?”
“He usually didn’t lock it in the daytime.”
“What book was it you said you came for?”
“That one.” Jasper pointed at a thick volume on nineteenth century history. He’d written his name on the flyleaf and returned it to the shelf, after choosing it as an innocuous excuse. They’d moved a box full of far less harmless books into the trunk of the car before he called the police.
“And these gentlemen came with you?”
“Because I promised to loan Silas that book. It’s an interest of his.” Jasper eased forward, slid the book out, and opened the cover. “See? This is one of mine.”
&n
bsp; The policeman took it back and stuffed it onto the shelf. “Nothing leaves this house until the chief gives his okay.”
Jasper held his hands up. “I completely understand. This is a shock to all of us.”
“Well, the chief will be here soon.”
The other policeman came into the study. “Found her in her bed. Dead as a doornail.” He gave Jasper a quick look. “Begging your pardon, sir.”
“Well, in her case it was hardly unexpected.” Jasper sighed, a nicely done mix of sadness and resignation. “The doctors were shocked she made it this far. Poor Pasternak though. He was so devoted. He must have felt he couldn’t live without her.”
“You think it’s suicide, then?” the first officer asked.
“I suppose his heart might’ve given out in his grief,” Jasper said.
“And there’s nothing… uncanny?” The policeman glanced between them, then lowered his voice. “He was one of those necromancers, you know.”
A wail of sirens outside saved them from having to answer that question. The man who strode in a moment later was middle-aged and balding, his uniform pants slung low under an ample belly. He glanced around the room, then snapped, “Perkins, you want to tell me what we have here?”
The first officer went through their story. When he was done, the chief eyed them. “And you just walked in when he didn’t answer?”
“When no one answered,” Jasper said. “Yes, sir. He never left his wife alone. There was always someone here with her. I was worried perhaps he’d fallen or become ill, and she couldn’t call for help.”
“And you found him here, dead.”
“We did.”
The Chief looked them over. “Who are these gentlemen?”
“These are friends of mine. We spent the evening talking, and it got so late they stayed the night with me.”
Alibi for all of us. Darien tried to look casually sad or whatever a stranger might feel about the dead body of someone he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what he did feel, seeing the body of the man who’d held a knife to his throat, and leaped in the River. So weird, that we can be in two places at the same time. Body and mind disconnected somehow. If he’d been killed here, would he have died there? He made a mental note to ask Silas later.