by Lish McBride
“You made me miss Sunday,” he said, not looking up from the paper.
“Excuse me?” I coughed. He handed me a plastic mug of water with a bendy straw, still not looking up.
“Sunday’s comics,” he said. “So now I have to catch up.” He tossed the paper onto the floor. “I miss Calvin and Hobbes.”
“Don’t we all.”
We stared at each other for what felt like five extremely long seconds. The window was open, and a soft spring breeze drifted in. “So you’re the guy who did the no-no cha-cha with my baby sister.”
My stomach twisted. Was he pretending to be nice to cover the fact that he wanted to eat my face? If I ever ran into a guy who’d even touched Haley, I knew I’d want to smack him around. I closed my eyes, ready to accept whatever action this guy felt he had to dish out. “I’m in hell, aren’t I? You’re the devil, and I died in Douglas’s basement.”
He cocked his head. “You always this high-strung?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so,” I grunted as I tried to sit up, which turned out to be much harder than I thought. The guy hopped out of his chair to help me. With a little finagling, we managed a position that didn’t make me want to vomit from the pain. He even slipped another pillow behind my back so I could rest comfortably. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Bad week.”
“So we’ve been told.” He eased back down in the chair.
“Is that how you knew? You know, that Brid, um…” I’d never had to talk to someone about sleeping with his sister. The experience was just as awkward as I would have imagined. The guy jumped in, saving me from my embarrassment.
“Calm down, captain. Brid and I are close, but we don’t talk about everything.” He scratched his chin. “At least, I don’t think we do. Either way, she didn’t say anything to me. But let me tell ya,” he said, tapping his nose, “this thing isn’t just for ornament.”
“I don’t even want to think about what you’re implying. Can we change the subject, please?”
He crossed his feet and rested them on the edge of my bed. “Humans, always so uptight. Fine. You hungry?”
My stomach practically sat up and begged. “I know that look,” he said with a laugh. “What do you want?”
“Anything?”
He nodded. “You’ve reached semihero status right now,” he said, standing up and stretching. “I’d take advantage of it.”
I’d hit that level of hungry where anything sounded good. I’d chew on a block of wood if they brought it to me right now. But as I thought, a promise came to mind.
“Do you have waffles?”
His mouth twitched after I’d said it.
I felt a stab of annoyance. What was wrong with waffles? I never thought I’d have to get defensive over a breakfast food but—“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You almost died, and you want waffles.” He slapped my shoulder, which hurt. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
He ambled toward the door. “Anything else?”
“If it’s not too much to ask, could I have fresh strawberries and whipped cream, too? No compote. I’m, uh, allergic. And two plates, please.”
If he thought the request odd, he didn’t say so. “Right,” he said, ticking the list off on his fingers. “Waffles, strawberries, whipped cream, two plates, no compote.”
“And maple syrup.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks.” I realized I didn’t actually know his name so I tacked on a lame “you.”
“You’re welcome,” he shouted from the hallway, “and it’s Sean.”
“Oh,” Ashley groaned, eyes rolling dramatically. “This is awesome.” She dug into her second helping with as much gusto as the first. Once Sean had seen Ashley eat, he’d quickly called down to the kitchens for more waffles. Then he crouched in the easy chair, chin in hands, taking in the spectacle.
“She’s like a machine,” he said, voice awed. “You sure you’re not a werewolf?”
Ashley shook her head while she scooped up a blob of whipped cream with her fork. “Why?” she asked. “Do you eat a lot of waffles?”
“We eat a lot of everything,” he said.
“Why is that?” she asked. I stabbed a strawberry with my fork.
“Higher metabolism.” His eyes stayed riveted on Ashley. “Dude, your stomach is like one of those giant sinkholes in Venezuela.”
Ashley examined her now-empty plate with a look of regret on her face.
“Don’t lick the plate,” I said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Yes, you were.” I handed her the rest of my waffle and turned to Sean. “So you’re like Brid, a hybrid?”
“Yeah,” he said, sneaking a strawberry from Ashley’s plate. She reached out to smack his hand but stopped when I looked at her. Sean popped the strawberry into his mouth, unconcerned.
He stopped chewing when an older man entered the room. Sinewy and lean as the older man was, I’d seen a lot bigger than him lately. But appearances, I’d learned, were deceiving. He held himself with authority, and from the way Sean suddenly grew quiet, I was willing to bet the man had power coming out the wazoo.
He sat down on the edge of my bed. “My name,” he said, “is Brannoc Blackthorn. I’m Bridin’s father.” The subtext being that he was also the head of Brid’s pack, which meant, as all things werewolf went, Brannoc was the toughest badass in the city. Just telling me he was Brid’s father was enough to get my adrenaline going. I hated meeting parents.
“Sam,” I said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for the cavalry.”
He squinted, just a slight tension around the eyes, and I felt like he was sizing me up. I didn’t know what he was comparing me to. Other boys Brid had brought home? Other necromancers? I hoped I passed inspection. Brannoc was the kind of guy I wanted in my corner, not against me.
“You’re welcome, though you understand we were mostly there for my daughter.”
“Of course.” I wished he’d get on with it. I didn’t think he was going to hurt me, but he was still an imposing man, and I would feel better if he was elsewhere.
“I wanted to thank you, Sam, for helping her stay safe.”
“You’re welcome.”
He had stubble on his chin, and he looked tired. From the lines around his eyes and mouth, it looked like he spent a lot of his time smiling. He didn’t smile now. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a hard week.
“Where exactly am I?” I asked. “I need to call my family, let them know I’m okay.”
“Your mom knows where you are. We sent her and your sister home for a shower and some sleep.” His mouth twitched, and I could tell he was trying not to smile. In that moment, I could see hints of Sean in his face. I bet on a normal day, a day when he wasn’t totally bogged down with worry, Brannoc would be a lot of fun. “It took some convincing,” he said. “I don’t think your mom trusts us entirely.” He waved me off before I could say anything. “Which is exactly what I would be thinking in her place. They’ll be back in a bit.”
He got up from the bed. “This is our own private clinic, Sam. You can stay here until our doctor says you’re okay to go.”
“I don’t have insurance.”
“I’m your insurance,” he said. He turned to Sean. “When he’s well enough, he can visit his friend.” Then he left before I could ask what that meant. When I bugged Sean, all he would tell me was that Ramon had a room down the hall and that he was fine. Then he quickly changed the subject.
My mom kept squeezing me until Sean told her she might pop my stitches. She hadn’t hesitated at all when she did it. Besides the finally healing wounds on my back, I had some nice patchwork on my arm. I’d barely even have a scar. Well, on my arm. My back was going to look pretty freaky once it healed. Ashley reminded me that chicks dig scars, and at least I wasn’t dead. Not much for sympathy, our Ashley.
Haley came with my mom and Mrs. W. My mom looked worried and kept adjusting my blanket and my pillow, like she couldn’t figure ou
t what to do with her hands. Haley looked excited to see me, and Mrs. W looked like she always did. I guess it takes a lot to impress Mrs. W.
My mom explained, somewhat sheepishly, that she’d arranged for Mrs. W to get an apartment next to mine in order to keep an eye on me. I’d like to say I was surprised, but I think I’d run all out of that. Mom waited for me to get angry, but I told her I understood. It’d been a good choice, really. In all the time that she’d lived next door to me, she hadn’t missed a thing. Mrs. W handed me a package of those deli-made chocolate chip and M&M cookies.
“So is your name even Mrs. W, or should I call you Special Agent something or other?”
“I’m not a secret agent, Sam. I never lied to you about anything, I just didn’t tell you everything. Big difference.”
“I see.”
“Don’t take it too hard,” Mrs. W said. “It turns out I liked you anyway.” She opened the package and took a bite out of one of the cookies. “Besides,” she said, wiggling her hips, “there was a dance studio right down the street. Because of you, I learned how to salsa.” I tried not to picture Mrs. W doing any of the forbidden dances.
Once Haley got Mom to settle down, mostly by grabbing Mom’s hands and telling her to cut it out, she went through her part of the story. Apparently, I had passed out again. Haley had unhooked me from the table and dragged all 150 pounds of me the whole way to the car. And I could tell by the look on her face, she’d be cashing in on that for a long time.
Halfway through Mrs. W’s reenactment of her speeding car chase, complete with vroom noises, a man knocked on the door frame.
“Excuse me,” he said, entering the room without waiting for a response. He held a briefcase almost as shiny as his shoes, and he opened it on the table.
The way everyone stopped and stared, I could tell they didn’t know him. I didn’t recognize him either. He had close-cropped dark hair and a nice suit, nice enough that I knew he’d probably had it tailored.
He handed me a very large stack of papers.
“What’s this?”
He glanced up from another file that he’d pulled out of his briefcase. “You’re one Samhain Corvus LaCroix, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Then I need you to sign all the orange-highlighted spots, as well as to initial all the pink-highlighted areas.”
I’m not sure what I expected him to do, but asking me to sign on the highlights wasn’t it. I leaned into my pillow and stared at him, trying to read the guy. Nothing but a stern, yet somehow blank, face.
“And why would I do that?” I asked carefully.
The man put down the file. “So I can do my job and transfer the estate to you.”
“The what?”
The man sighed. “Did you or did you not kill one Douglas Montgomery?”
“I’m not answering that without a lawyer.” It seemed like the right thing to say. That’s what they always said on TV, anyway.
“I am your lawyer.” The man looked at me dryly and handed me a business card that informed me that he was Mr. Paul Mankin, Esq.
“I’m pretty sure I’d remember hiring a lawyer.” From the firm set of his jaw, I think he wanted to kill me. That seemed to be a fairly popular choice lately.
He pointed at the stack in my hand. “Those papers state that you, Samhain LaCroix, did kill one Douglas Montgomery in what the Council deems a sanctioned fight to the death. When such an event occurs, the Council appoints an attorney”—he jabbed his finger into his own chest—“me, to represent you and take care of all the details. You survived. Douglas didn’t. Therefore, in accordance with Council law, you inherit his position on the Council, at least temporarily, as well as all his worldly goods and possessions.”
I stared at him, stunned. Did he just say what I thought he said?
“I get all his stuff?” I said slowly. “Including his house?” The house I’d been trapped in for days. A chill went down my spine as I thought about it. I had no desire to set foot in it ever again.
“Yes.” The lawyer handed me a pen. “And a temporary Council seat until you can be voted in properly or until we find a more suitable candidate.”
I took it, but I didn’t sign. I looked at the group around me, none of them giving me any hint as to what to do. “Is this standard?” I asked.
A lot of shrugs and a few blank looks. Ashley was the only one who nodded.
“The Council frowns on dueling, but according to the witnesses, Douglas didn’t give you much choice, so you should be free and clear.” Mankin stared at me patiently, waiting for me to get on with it. He must have gotten paid by the hour.
“So it’s all legit?”
He nodded.
I started skimming the pages. I knew I was supposed to read them, but I really didn’t care at that moment. “Why not just sell the house? Or give it to one of his descendants?”
“Douglas had no descendants,” the lawyer said, “and we can’t just sell the house. The Council has deemed it too…dangerous to hand off to ordinary humans.”
“Great, so I won the creepy death house.”
“Yes,” the lawyer said, either missing the joke or not thinking it was funny. I was betting on the latter. As much as I hated the idea of owning my prison, he had a point. Not that it would be much better in my ignorant hands. Still, I’d rather risk myself than some innocent newlyweds or something. Maybe I could bulldoze the house and burn the rubble. Then I could bury the ashes and start over.
I finished flipping through the pages and began to sign on the highlighted marks. I barely even read parts of it. One chunk did catch my eye.
“It says I have to take care of the funeral arrangements according to the deceased’s wishes.”
The lawyer nodded. “Again, standard. It’s to keep the victor from desecrating the corpse. Dignity is very important to the Council. In this particular case, though, it will be unnecessary.”
“Why?” Sean asked. “Didn’t Douglas have dignity?”
“No corpse,” the lawyer answered.
I froze. No corpse? Not good. No corpse meant he could still be around. Anyone who has ever watched a soap opera or a slasher flick knows that.
“What—” I had to lick my lips and start again. “What do you mean, no corpse?”
For the first time, the lawyer seemed to look at me as a real person. He fidgeted with his tie and then awkwardly patted me on the hand. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. From what I’ve heard, the boost in your power base alone is proof that he is truly dead. The spell he used would only have transferred his powers to you if he died.”
“He’s right,” Ashley chimed in. She gave me a reassuring smile.
“Besides,” the lawyer continued, “from Douglas’s paperwork, it is my understanding that he had a rare pukis.” At our collectively puzzled looks he said, “It’s a creature that originates from the area around the Baltic states—a house spirit, if you will.”
An image of Douglas’s talking cat came to mind. The lawyer kept speaking as I wondered if the pet store carried pukis food. Did they eat Friskies? Was that beneath them? I was quickly getting out of my depth.
“It wouldn’t have been out of character for it to steal the body and hide it away,” the lawyer explained. “Either for burial or…hoarding purposes.”
“This just keeps getting better,” I said, going back to the form. “My killer death house might also have a rotting body hoarded in it and something called a pukis. Just great.” I wondered how much renting a bulldozer cost. And would I have to get a license in order to drive it myself? It was worth looking into.
After the lawyer left, happily clutching his paperwork, Ashley shooed everyone out except for my mother and Sean. He’d pulled guard duty, I guess. He didn’t tell me why I needed a guard, only that it might look bad if I died in their care. I hoped he was joking. My mom sat quietly in the corner, staring at her hands as if willing them to stay still.
“Since you’ve leapt from Plumpy�
�s employee of the month to fancy necromancer—” Ashley said.
“Hey!” I pointed an indignant finger at her. “I was never employee of the month.”
Ashley flashed her dimples at my outburst. It worked, too. I instantly forgave her.
“You warrant a few personal spirits.” She checked her appearance in a mirror on the wall. She frowned, apparently not liking what she saw. She scrunched up her nose, and her outfit changed into a different blouse and skirt. She nodded at that, satisfied.
“Show-off.”
Ashley smoothed her skirt, making a point of ignoring me.
“These will act as guides, go-betweens to the land of the dead. I’ve decided to be one of yours.”
I grunted, twisting a little to adjust my pillow. “What, did I lose a coin toss?”
“A Harbinger as a guide is nothing to scoff at,” she said, scolding. Her tone would have sounded ridiculous on any other young girl, but Ashley managed it well. “You should be grateful.”
“Thank you.”
She ignored any sarcasm in my voice and told me that I was quite welcome. After pointedly looking at me and my mom, she left. I got the feeling that Ashley would not be a quiet guide.
Sean got the idea, too, but he only went as far as the outside of the door, which he explained merely gave the illusion of privacy.
He pointed to his ears. “These aren’t for ornament, either.” My mom and I sat in silence for a time. She pulled the chair up next to my bed and held my hand. Her skin looked pale, her eyes bloodshot.
“Tired?” I asked her.
She squeezed my hand. “I’m supposed to be worrying about you,” she said.
“I think you’ve met the quota on that this week.” We fell silent again. I let the minutes stretch as I happily sat there with my mom. There’d been a time when I’d thought I might not see her again.
“Sam—” Her tone was soft, like she was about to launch into another round of apologies. She started crying again. Though we had a lot to work through, I didn’t want to deal with it then. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stand the tight look of worry on my mom’s face, or to see any more crying.
“No, Mom, it’s okay.” I gave her a faint smile and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and handed it to her. “We’re going to start over. What’s done is done.” I stared at the bruised area around the stitching on my arm. “And we’re both going to have to live with that.”