Hold Me Closer, Necromancer

by Lish McBride

  “I’m going back to bed.” She slipped away from me. I heard the blanket slide across the metal as she settled in. I wanted to join her, but waiting and doing nothing was driving me crazy.

  I gripped the bars, feeling the cold on my hands and letting the symbols crystallize in my head. I knew I wouldn’t be able to break whatever Douglas had done, but I could at least try and muddle my way through it. Learn the symbols, something.

  There was no way for me to keep track of time, so I don’t know how long I sat there holding the bars. My hands felt frozen stiff when I pried them off, and my shoulders hurt. I guess I’d been tensing them the whole time. I hadn’t learned much, but I had found what seemed like a weakness around the door. If I had infinite time or a gigantic boost of power, I might be able to spring the door open.

  Since I didn’t have either, I crawled back under the blanket with Brid. It felt like hours before my hands warmed up enough for me to fall asleep.

  22

  Easy Like Sunday Morning

  Ramon scooted into one of Plumpy’s plastic booths across from Detective Dunaway. He took a sip from his soda.

  “I appreciate you meeting with me,” Dunaway said. “I’m sorry to take you away from your work.”

  “I only work here because of Brooke and Sammy.” Ramon picked at the edges of a rogue ketchup packet. “Now…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Sam was gone, and Brooke wouldn’t be back at work ever. He wouldn’t have been here, either, except he thought his absence would look suspicious. Besides, what would he do if he wasn’t here? Sit around the apartment going crazy? He shoved the ketchup packet away in frustration.

  Ramon had caught a bus out to Sam’s mom’s house earlier and dropped Brooke off. Haley had graciously agreed to head-sit. Ramon could have left Brooke at the apartment, but he’d been afraid that the cops might want to look through it while he was at work. Brooke wanted to go, anyway. She thought she’d make a good distraction for Sam’s family. Ramon had agreed, especially after he’d seen Mrs. L’s face. Normally, she glowed with a gentle inner light. But when he’d dropped Brooke off that morning, her radiance was all but gone. Mrs. LaCroix was taking Sam’s absence pretty hard. Not that Ramon could see any other way to take it.

  “You still haven’t heard from him?” Dunaway pulled out his notebook.

  Ramon shook his head. “Negative.” He hadn’t wanted to call in the cops before, but when Sam didn’t come back, he couldn’t see an alternative. In the wake of Brooke’s murder, Sam’s disappearance would be noticed. If Ramon or Frank didn’t call Dunaway, they’d look really fishy, so Ramon decided to head it off at the pass. Besides, some cops were tools, but Dunaway seemed okay, like he would listen, even though Ramon hadn’t been able to tell him much.

  “Do you mind if we go over it again?”

  “Sammy came home from visiting scenic Kitsap County Friday afternoon.”

  “Who did he go there to see?”

  “His douche-bag father.”

  Detective Dunaway looked up from his notebook.

  “I’m sorry—his estranged father,” Ramon said, “who is a douche bag.”

  Dunaway laughed, turning it into a discreet cough at the end. He flipped back to another page in the notebook.

  “You said he went out there trying to locate his uncle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Sammy’s gotten really into his roots lately.” Not exactly a lie. Mama didn’t have any patience for liars, but Ramon felt comfortable dealing the occasional half truth.

  “Then what?”

  “Not much. We hung out with Frank and Brooke.” He stopped himself and stared at the floor, trying to look sad.

  “Sorry, I guess I’m not used to it. I meant we hung out and talked about Brooke.”

  Dunaway nodded sympathetically. He waited patiently for Ramon to continue. Ramon felt sure that Dunaway could wait for a very long time.

  “After that, he took his board and left.”

  “Did he mention where he was going?” Dunaway tapped his pen against the pad. “Maybe when he’d be back?”

  “Nope.” Ramon got up and refilled his soda from the fountain machine. Technically, employees only got one meal per eight-hour shift. Not that he’d ever paid attention to the rules. One of the kids behind the counter opened his mouth to say something. Ramon stared at him until he shut his mouth and looked away. Plumpy’s owed him many things. Free soda was numero uno on that list.

  Ramon tapped the cup and waited for the foam to settle. “I offered to go with him.” He finished filling it and popped the top back on. “Said he wanted some alone time.” Ramon slid back into the booth. “I should have gone with him.”

  Dunaway rubbed absently at his neck. He looked tired. “You don’t know if that would have helped. That might have made you a missing person, too.”

  Ramon shrugged. Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

  “Anything else?”

  “He talked on the phone for a bit before he left,” Ramon said, “but I don’t know who with.”

  Dunaway asked him more questions, none of which he could answer. After a while, the detective closed his notebook and looked out the window. He tapped his pen against the cover slowly, and Ramon could almost see the thoughts circling above his head. Finally, the pen stopped.

  “You know, we found some video of the attack on Sam.” Ramon stared at his soda.

  “From the night Brooke was killed.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he pushed away his drink. “Yeah?”

  Dunaway stared him right in the eye. “I’ve looked at those tapes over and over.” He paused to see if Ramon would respond. When he didn’t, the detective continued. “Some weird things on those tapes. Weird things all over this case.”

  Ramon looked down at his hands. “Tapes?”

  “A few of the local shops had surveillance cameras set up. Some of the footage is grainy, but most isn’t too bad. Good enough for me to see a guy stopping a car with his fist.” As if to illustrate this, Dunaway held up his own fist, staring at the knuckles.

  Ramon felt his mouth go dry. “Drugs?”

  “Drugs don’t help you stop cars,” the detective said softly, almost to himself. He put his fist down. “Then there’s Sam’s injury. I’ve slowed the tape, zoomed in, run it through filters. Never see a weapon. Just the guy’s hand.”

  “Huh.”

  “Strange things are piling up: the murder, the attack, and now Sam’s disappearance. And you know what?”

  Ramon shook his head. He didn’t want to know what.

  “All those strange things keep coming back to you three.”

  When Ramon didn’t respond, the detective got up to leave, leaning over the plastic table and offering his hand. Ramon hesitated out of surprise. No cop had ever offered him a handshake. He took the officer’s hand and shook it.

  “I don’t know what trouble you boys are in or what’s going on yet, but I’m going to find out. Just be careful, all right?”

  Ramon nodded.

  Dunaway released his hand. “I’ll try to keep you in the loop if I can.”

  Ramon nodded again, grateful.

  Dunaway slipped his notebook into his pocket and headed for the parking lot.

  Dread settled in Ramon’s stomach as he watched the detective drive away. For the hundredth time, he wished he knew what to do. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought. He didn’t know what had happened to Sam, but he didn’t think he was dead. No, Douglas seemed like the kind of guy to leave the body as a message. But Ramon couldn’t hang around anymore, waiting for things to work out. He had to find a way to do something. He drank his soda, ignored the ending of his break time, and furiously sifted for ideas. He needed a plan. A fragment of his conversation with Dunaway floated to the top. Sam had talked on the phone.

  Bingo.

  Ramon threw away his cup and went into the back. He pulled on his zip-up hoodie and reached for his spare board, since h
is usual ride was sitting in an evidence locker somewhere, after its debut as a weapon. He missed that board. If anything, he had to find Sammy so he could buy Ramon a new ride.

  “Where are you going?” A touch of panic lit Frank’s face.

  Ramon grabbed Frank’s shoulders. “I gotta go.”

  “But it’s the middle of your shift,” he said. “You have seniority. You can’t just go.” Frank began to look a little wild around the eyes.

  Ramon picked up his spatula and handed it over to Frank. “It’s time, man.”

  Frank stared at the shiny metal spatula in his hand. “I haven’t been trained.”

  “Frank, a drunk monkey could do this job.” He clapped him on the arm. “You’re ready.”

  “No! I can’t!”

  Someday, when Ramon had the time, he was going to find out where Frank got his lack of confidence from, if only so he could help raise the boy right. For now, all he could do was make sure his faith in Frank’s ability to manage this dumb-ass job showed in his eyes.

  Frank calmed and gathered himself, standing up straight and tall, shoulders squared. “I won’t let you down.”

  “That’s my boy.” He saluted Frank and snagged his board.

  “What do I do if the manager shows up?”

  “Tell him I had a family emergency.”

  Frank nodded, and Ramon shot out the door. Wheels hit pavement with a soft whir as he steered his board away from Plumpy’s. The weight in his stomach lightened. It felt good to be taking action. And he hadn’t even had to make Frank lie for him. If Sammy wasn’t a family emergency, he didn’t know what was.

  Ramon tossed his board against the wall of the apartment. He went to Sam’s phone and started scrolling through the caller ID for names he didn’t recognize. June Walker. Had to be. Out of the few he didn’t know, she was the only one who’d called even close to the right time. He dialed, his heart skipping in anticipation. A woman answered. Her voice reminded him of Dessa’s: intelligent, warm, with a hint of sarcasm. Dessa’s usually had more than a hint.

  “June Walker?”

  “Depends on who’s asking.” She sounded amused.

  “Do you know a Sam LaCroix?”

  “Who is this?” All amusement evaporated.

  “This is his friend Ramon.” He paced, too jittery to sit down. “I know you called him. What did you talk about?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Because I haven’t seen him since Friday.” The line got quiet. He could hear a few birds and June’s breath, but nothing else. Then he heard some mumbled curses and the clattering of what sounded like a bowl.

  “Ramon, right?”

  He nodded, realized she couldn’t see him, and then told her yes.

  “Let me call you back, Ramon.” She hung up before he could respond.

  Twenty minutes and half a bag of Cheetos later, June called back.

  “Sorry,” she said, “but Sam’s messenger got lost.” June’s voice quieted like she was talking away from the mouthpiece. “Yes, I know you have other things to do, but really—would you get away from my waffle maker?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean you. Look, Ramon, do you know Sam’s mom?”

  “Since sixth grade.”

  “Good. Get ahold of her. Tell her she needs to try and break her binding on Sam.”

  “I thought we needed Sam’s uncle for that.”

  “For one of them. It’s a long story.”

  “You think she’ll be able to do it?” He wiped some left over powdered cheese on Sam’s couch. Sam could yell at him when he got back. He had decided that if he did enough stuff to piss Sam off, then Sam would have to stay alive if only so he could yell at Ramon. So far he had messed up Sam’s CD collection and eaten his junk food. It was a good start.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure. But she needs to try. Douglas has him.”

  Ramon heard the click of a lighter as June lit a cigarette. He assumed it was a cigarette. If it was a bong, they were doomed.

  “And Ramon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need you to do one more thing.”

  Ramon used his own cell phone to call the other number, just like June had instructed. At first, no one answered. After a few rings, a very chipper male voice came on.

  “Hey, you’ve reached the den, home of many. Leave a message, and we might get back to you. Don’t hang up, don’t talk too long, and don’t expect us to remember your number.” There was a smacking sound in the background and a pause in the message. “Ow! You want to do this? Didn’t think so. Right. Leave it at the beep, people.”

  Ramon felt like smiling, despite the situation. The guy’s cheerfulness was infectious, even over the phone. The machine beeped.

  “Hey,” he said, “my name is Ramon. You don’t know me, but my buddy is stuck somewhere with…I don’t know. Her name is Brid, that’s all I know.” Ramon couldn’t think of what else to say, so he just left his number and hung up.

  He didn’t know how he was going to get to Sam’s mom’s, but he didn’t feel like riding the bus again. This time of day it would take too long, and he already felt antsy. Frank was at work. He could take Sam’s car, but he didn’t have a license. A cab would be too expensive. He picked up his spare board and locked the front door.

  Maybe he could call Sam’s mom? No, he didn’t want to ask for another favor, not after having her Brooke-sit. Besides, he didn’t think she’d like what he had to say to begin with.

  Ramon walked over to the door next to Sam’s and knocked. Mrs. Winalski answered immediately. The bright pink of her sweats almost blinded him. “Sorry, Mrs. W. Bad time?”

  “No,” she said, slightly winded, “just doing my yoga. At my age, you have to work to stay flexible, if you know what I mean.”

  Ramon tried his best to not know what she meant.

  “Any news from Sam?”

  Ramon thrust his hands into his pockets. Mrs. W always made him feel like he was under inspection. “Sort of,” he said. “That’s why I knocked.”

  “Stop fidgeting,” she said. “I won’t bite. Now, out with it.” He straightened up. “Do you think you could give me a ride out to Sam’s mom’s house?”

  She nodded and held up a hand, telling him to wait, before he could explain or even offer her gas money. Two minutes later, she popped out in jeans and a bright purple V-neck sweater.

  “Wow. You’re fast.”

  “Time waits for no one, Ramon, not even me. C’mon.”

  Ramon hugged his skateboard to his chest with one arm and half jogged to catch up with her.

  Mrs. Winalski owned a candy-apple-red 1965 Mustang GT convertible, and she drove it like she could die at any minute and needed to get five things done before that happened. With an immaculate interior and a wax job that would do any car wash proud, the car was clearly Mrs. W’s baby. That didn’t bring him any comfort as he shut his eyes, gripped the door, and tried to remember the names of all the saints.

  He didn’t crack his lids until he felt the car slow to a stop. He was surprised that Mrs. W hadn’t needed directions. Not that he’d been in a state to give them.

  “We’re here,” she said, climbing out of the car.

  “Did you go up on two wheels there for a while?”

  She laughed. “I could grow to like you, Ramon.”

  Ramon didn’t respond to that. He concentrated on getting his legs to stop shaking instead. Then he followed her up the walkway.

  “Sammy bring you here before?”

  Mrs. Winalski shook her head. She jabbed the doorbell with her finger. Haley opened it and immediately burst into a grin.

  “Hey, Mom, Mrs. W’s here!”

  Sam’s mom peered around Haley before welcoming them in. Tia hugged them both, a strained smile on her face.

  “You said you’d never been here.” Ramon gave Mrs. W his best accusing stare while he placed his skateboard carefully next to the door.

 
“No,” she said, following Haley into the kitchen. “You asked if Sam had ever brought me here.”

  Tia shut the door behind them and ushered Ramon into the kitchen.

  “Libby is an old friend,” she said. “I asked her to keep an eye on Sam for me.”

  “Is she—” He made wavy gestures with his hands, though he wasn’t sure what that might indicate.

  “She’s a witch, Ramon, like me.”

  “Okay, then.” He took a seat at the table and tried to remember a time in his life when Tia’s statement would have sounded odd.

  While Tia assembled a platter of sandwich stuff, Ramon filled them in on what he knew. Once he’d finished, he gave Sam’s mom a moment to digest it all. He piled cheese onto some bread, hoping to eat in the meantime.

  Mrs. W, however, did not screw around. “You’ve got to remove the binding now, Tia.”

  Tia clasped her hands and stared at her white knuckles. “I don’t know if I can. He’s so far away.” Her voice cracked, and she trailed off. Haley reached over and covered her mother’s hands with hers.

  “You did what you thought was best, Mom,” Haley said.

  “Not perfect, no. But it helped. You did good.”

  Tia looked up, grateful. “But now we need to try something else,” Haley said. “If Sam doesn’t have his powers, he won’t stand a chance against Douglas.”

  Ramon wasn’t sure if Sam stood a chance even with the binding removed, but he didn’t want to say that. Saying it might make it true.

  Libby agreed with Haley, and they both kept on her until Tia finally said, “Okay.”

  Ramon held on to Brooke’s bag and sat back, watching. He didn’t know what to expect, exactly. So far they’d brewed some kind of green liquid with a lot of plants he couldn’t identify and mumbled a lot of things he couldn’t understand. There’d been some candle lighting and the general kinds of things one would expect from witches. He was glad that they didn’t kill anything, that he hadn’t seen any eye of newt or tongue of whatever, and that they hadn’t danced naked around the room. Ramon didn’t really need that kind of thing right now.

  “It looks like they’re cooking,” he whispered to Brooke.