Hold Me Closer, Necromancer

by Lish McBride

  And naked. No way. I had to still be unconscious. “This is my favorite dream.”

  She laughed one of those laughs that made you feel lighter inside, like you had to join in. Infectious.

  I felt my face burn. “I’m not asleep, am I?”

  She shook her head, still laughing. Her auburn hair swayed with the movement. She’d cut it short in the back, letting it hang down to her chin in the front. Strips of green and purple intertwined with the red, a curtain she hid behind when she stopped shaking her head. But I didn’t get the idea that she was shy or nervous. It made me think of a lion or some other predator peeking out through the bushes. Looking at her hazel eyes made me feel like a bunny.

  I needed to say something cool. If I could be smooth now, then the stupid thing I’d just said might be forgotten. “Come here oft en?” Ouch. Maybe I could blame that on the head injury?

  “Every third Wednesday. How do you feel?” Her mouth still twitched from laughing.

  “Like an idiot.”

  “I meant physically.”

  “Like an abused idiot. My head hurts, and I think the cuts on my back reopened.” I pushed my tongue out of my mouth a few times. “And my mouth tastes like a grease trap.”

  Her brow knitted into a tiny V. The effect was devastating. “Grease trap?”

  “It’s the thing that catches the fat, grease, and whatever’s left over on a grill. I always thought it smelled like someone puked in a bag full of pennies. All rotting fat and blood.”

  She nodded slightly, thankfully not grossed out at all by what I’d just said. “I see.” She leaned back, palms on the floor, ankles crossed, completely unconcerned with her nakedness. She caught me staring, and I quickly looked away. And smacked my forehead right into a metal bar.

  She laughed again. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re very entertaining.”

  “Thanks,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I aim to please.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s not nice to laugh at a stranger’s pain.”

  “So, if they’re not strangers, they’re fair game in your eyes?”

  “Of course. What good are friends if you can’t be honest with them? Pain can be funny. Those home video shows on TV make millions off it.” She leaned forward and dusted off her hands. “Sit up. I’ll look at your back.”

  I sat up and ignored my head. I held my back straight and waited. Her fingers were soft as they traced the long lines of scab from my shoulder down. She poked when she needed to without apologizing. When she paused, I thought she was done examining, but then she slid her fingers down the marks again, each tip caressing a separate wound at the same time.

  “Who did this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice held true regret. I’d just met her, but she was taking responsibility for my injury. Strange.

  “You didn’t do it.” I stared at my socks, wondering why they’d taken my shoes. Were shoes somehow dangerous?

  “No, but I know what did.” She moved in front of me, pulling my chin up with her hand. I noticed how tiny her hands were, and how her lips, when closed, made a firm little bow. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Sam,” I whispered. Between my dry mouth and her soft hands, that was the best I could do.

  “Brid,” she said, and she smiled. It sounded like “Bridge” when she said it.

  “Is that short for Bridget?” My brain clacked like a broken hamster wheel, and my breaths were too short and shallow.

  “Bridin,” she said, “tánaiste of the Blackthorn pack.”

  “I wish I knew what that meant.” Then I let my eyes relax so I could take in the real Bridin. She glowed like copper wire wrapped around an emerald core. It was like her soul was on fire.

  I swallowed, hard.

  “It means that I am next in line to rule my pack,” she said, very matter-of-fact.

  “Pack of what?” Few good things come in packs, except inanimate objects, like a pack of cards or a six-pack. Brid was far from inanimate.

  “Wolves and hounds, mostly,” she said with a shrug, like it was no big deal. She could just as easily have been talking about the weather.

  I stared, and I breathed, and it was all too much. “Look, Bridin, you’re probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and between that and what you’ve just said, I think I’ve blown a circuit.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “On top of all that, you’re naked. And while I’m going to hate myself for this later, could you put on some clothes? At least just for a little while, so I can think. Then you can go right back to being naked. All the time. With my full blessing.”

  She gestured around with her free hand. “And what, exactly, would you like me to wear?”

  I looked around. Bookshelves crammed with old books, walls of solid concrete, a single expensive-looking wooden chair in the middle of the floor, torture devices, beakers, and a table with restraints that I didn’t like the look of. The floor itself held an unpleasant stain that I didn’t care to think about. The whole thing had the effect of a tidy little dungeon. And the cage we were in was totally empty. “Ah, hell.”

  Bridin ended up in my T-shirt and boxers. It seemed only fair since she couldn’t get into my pants. I mean, fit into my pants. Whatever. When I’d taken off my shirt, I noticed something else was missing. I checked my pockets just in case, but there was no sign of my pouch. I hoped they hadn’t thrown it away.

  “So,” she said, pushing her bangs behind her ear, “I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.”

  “If you wanted to see that, you should have peeked when I was undressing, like any normal person.”

  “Of course I peeked. That’s not what I meant.”

  “You lost me, then.”

  She placed her hand over her heart. “Were-hound.” She gestured toward me.

  I almost said “human.” But then I realized that wasn’t the right answer. Not anymore. My hand felt cold as I mimicked her movement and placed it over my heart. “Necromancer. Or at least that’s what people keep telling me. I don’t seem very good at it.” I stretched and looked around the room, pretending I wasn’t trying to get a better look at her legs. She had cute knees. Can people have cute knees? “I feel kind of stupid saying necromancer.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m just not used to it, or if the term seems too Dungeons & Dragons.” I slid my hands along the bars. I don’t know what I was looking for. I’m not MacGyver. I can’t break out of a steel cage using bubblegum and a shoelace. Not that I had any bubblegum in the first place. Or a shoelace. A cold spot under my palm made me jerk my hand back. It felt like dry ice.

  Brid sprawled on the floor. “And what else would you call yourself? Ghost master? Dead-wrangler? Mayor of Zombieville?”

  “You might have a point. Dead-wrangler isn’t half bad, though, and I’ve always wanted to be the mayor of something. Or maybe el Presidente for life.” I held my hand over the cold spot and closed my eyes. I saw a symbol traced on the back of my eyelids, like when I used to draw something with a sparkler over and over and then shut my eyes. I didn’t recognize the symbols. I hadn’t expected to. “Do you know what these symbols mean?” I asked.

  “No, but I get their intention.”

  I opened my eyes; nothing could be gained by keeping them shut. I pulled my hand back into the cage and rubbed it on my jeans. When Brid didn’t follow up, I asked her what she meant.

  “This cage is built out of iron. Cold iron inhibits any fey, and I’m half fey.” At my blank look, Brid grimaced. “Fairy,” she explained.

  “Then why not just say, ‘I’m half fairy’?”

  “Because,” Brid said dryly, “most Americans picture Tinker Bell when they hear fairy. I am not Tinker Bell.” She leveled a glare at me until I held up my hands in surrender. Once I had gotten her point, she continued.

  “The cold iron wouldn’t be a problem, but the runes a
re done in silver. Weres have an allergy to silver.”

  I thought back to what all those werewolf movies I’d seen said about silver bullets. “So this cage is killing you?”

  One of Brid’s eyebrows quirked up in an amused fashion. “Do I look like I’m dying?”

  “Touché.”

  “The iron means no magic, and it gives me a bit of a rash. The silver runes keep me from bending the iron.” She made a face. “And healing.”

  I tapped my finger between two bars, back and forth. “So they’ve been planning on getting you for some time.” At least long enough to build a cage. I had no idea how long that took. “I’m probably just here as an afterthought.”

  “I don’t know about that. Your back doesn’t look like an afterthought.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Some kind of were did your back. I can’t tell you which one exactly, though I can make an educated guess. I do know it wasn’t one of my pack.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. And there aren’t a lot of rogues in this area. Besides, you must be worth something; otherwise, they’d have killed you already.”

  “Anyone ever told you that you’re a very reassuring and positive person?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “I can see why.” I paced along the corner of the cage. “Earlier you said ‘were-hound.’ What does that mean exactly?” I paused midstep. “If you don’t mind. I have no idea if that’s a rude thing to ask, but I’m tired of not knowing anything.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I’m a directness kind of gal. It means that I’m a hybrid.”

  Since we had nothing but time, Brid filled me in. Her mother was a werewolf, her father some sort of fey hound. I still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I didn’t want to interrupt her story with a ton of questions. I guess her pack had been falling apart. The marriage between her parents had been somewhat politically motivated. Her father had the numbers to strengthen the pack. Most had been grateful. Others, Brid informed me, were less than thrilled about the idea of blending the two different races.

  “Racist werewolves. Great.”

  “They saw it as a weakening of the species,” she said.

  “But, biologically speaking, the more varied a gene pool, the stronger the species. Hybrids are usually genetically superior.”

  “I knew I’d like you.”

  I quit my pacing and sat down across from her. “So, what happened?”

  She hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. “Eventually the pack came around.” She grinned. “Babies tend to have that effect, and my mom had plenty of babies.”

  “How many?”

  “I have four older brothers.”

  “Wow. And you’re next in line?”

  “Turns out I’m the most qualified candidate,” she said. “Not that I mind, but it’s a lot, you know?” Brid sighed. “Anyway, once the pack saw that the children were healthy, more of the wolves married hounds. Especially when they saw the benefits as the children grew older.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her and waited.

  “When a werewolf changes, it takes some time. How much depends on the wolf. It also hurts. A lot. For fey hounds, however, the change is instantaneous; it’s also painless. There’s other stuff too. I have a partial immunity to silver, for example. But, of course, there are drawbacks.” She patted the floor with one hand. “I can’t change in here. A wolf would be able to, no problem. It was those kinds of things that the remaining hold-outs latched on to.” She tightened her grip on her knees. As I watched, her hazel eyes became dim and shadowed. “My grandfather’s brother, the one who wanted to be next in line, was one of them.”

  I didn’t like to see that shadow. If I’d known her longer, I’d have put my arm around her or something. Brid continued to give me a brief sketch of what had happened, mostly involving her great-uncle’s failed coup.

  “It cost us,” she said. “A few died, including my mother.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Brid hid behind her bangs. “It’s okay.”

  “What happened to the rebels?”

  “Their leader was executed. The rest…” She pushed her bangs back, tired of hiding. “My father took pity. I think he’d decided enough wolves had died. He shipped them off to other packs if he thought they were able to be rehabilitated. Some of the children were allowed to stay if they chose.”

  “You look like you don’t agree.”

  When Brid looked at me, the shadow had passed from her eyes. A small fire burned there instead. “I understand his choice. Some of it I even agree with. But since one of them now has us in a cage, I can’t say I’d do it again.”

  “What, you’d kill ’em all?” I phrased it like a joke, but Brid didn’t answer it as one.

  “I would do what it took to keep my pack safe. If that meant killing, then yes, I would.”

  Brid went quiet. I guessed she was all talked out. Which was okay. I’d already heard enough to know that, while I was probably safe right now, I didn’t want to endanger Brid’s people. She’d meant it when she said she’d kill them all. Duty wasn’t a word I heard much, but I could tell that was the way Brid looked at it. And with a bit of a shock, I realized that I understood how she felt. Douglas had come into my world, endangered my family and my friends, and taken someone close to me. Would I be able to kill him if it meant ensuring the safety of my people? The answer came a little too quickly. Yes. Absolutely. The fact that I didn’t have to even think about it scared me. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe something truly dark and scary lived inside me.

  I glanced at Brid. I tried to imagine her turning into something large and bloodthirsty. Did she morph into the Hollywood wolfman or something else? I tried to picture her out of control, killing everyone in her way. If I didn’t look at her eyes, it was hard. She appeared so tiny, so gentle. But when she looked at me, I could see the monster surface. I could see steel and determination. Did I look the same way—a wrapping of scrawny muscle and innocence covering an inner core of evil and violence? I didn’t want to think about it anymore. Unfortunately, I was in the wrong venue for that. Stuck in this cage, all I could do was think.

  I nudged Brid with my toe. “Maybe you should go back to being naked.”

  Brid did not go back to being naked, not because of modesty, but because the temperature in the basement plummeted. God, if there was one, hated me.

  No one came down to give us blankets. As it got colder, I pulled Brid into my arms without asking. Her body went stiff at first. When I didn’t try anything, she relaxed into me. I don’t know how long she’d been stuck in the cage, but from the way she nestled into my chest, I think it had been a few days. Despite our talk earlier, I still didn’t know that much about her kind. If they were anything like real wolves, though, she had to feel starved for affection. Wolves are pack animals, and Brid was probably missing her companions. I put my chin on her head and rubbed her back absently with one hand. She shook a little, like she was either trying not to cry or trying to keep me from noticing. I ignored it. Brid just needed to let go for a moment. I’d had a bad couple of days. I could feel everything roiling inside of me, and I’d have given a lot to have someone tell me it was okay and to just let it all out. Brid’s week had probably been worse. She got to fall apart first.

  We must have fallen asleep like that, despite the dim basement light. All I know is that I woke up when locks clicked open on the basement door. Brid woke up too and pulled back from me enough so that she could look up.

  Douglas walked down the wooden steps, heels making hollow sounds on the boards.

  “Sam,” he said, “how pleasant to see you again.” He got a curious look on his face as he took in Brid and me. “And I see you’ve met Ms. Blackthorn.”

  “I thought you were going to give me a week.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t like the look of things. You did not, to paraphrase Dylan Thomas, seem like you were going to go gentle into
that good night.”

  I stared at him blankly.

  He sighed theatrically as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, slowly and methodically, keeping an even cuff. “Let me see if I can find terminology more suited to your understanding. I didn’t think you were going to come over to the dark side. And don’t insult me by lying that you were.”

  “You’ve been keeping an eye on me.”

  “Of course not. I’m much too busy for that. I’ve had others keeping an eye on you for me.” His expression became rueful. “You are not the axis around which my world turns, Sam.”

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel important.”

  “I try.” He eyed me quizzically. “You didn’t think I’d let you go with no leash at all?” He pulled the chair near the cage back against the wall, baring the stained floor.

  “I guess I did.”

  Douglas got out a few odds and ends from a box I hadn’t seen on the bookshelf. He selected a large piece of chalk and stood before me like a professor. Just another day in the office for Douglas.

  “I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “Become my apprentice.”

  “Or?”

  He shrugged. “Or I can kill you now.”

  I mulled over that little offer of joy. “What if it doesn’t work? What if you try to teach me and I fail?”

  “I can just as easily kill you then. I believe in motivating my pupils.”

  “Right. Apprenticing sounds fantastic.”

  Douglas walked forward, muttering, reaching for the cage door. He gave Brid a meaningful stare. “No funny business now.”

  Brid held up her hands. I got up and walked toward the door. Douglas mumbled something else, and I felt the power of the cage shut off. It was sort of like the low-level whine of a stereo when it isn’t playing—you never realize until you shut it off that it’d been emitting a small amount of noise the whole time.

  Douglas handed me the chalk. “Draw a circle.”

  I looked around for a second before Douglas pointed downward.

  Ah.