by Dodge, Lola
How did I tempt the death magic back?
If my magic flames were acting up, I’d just have to tend my mental hearth a little. Clear out the ashes and prep the new kindling.
So the necromancy equivalent would be…
Sweeping off the graves and inviting the skeletons to party?
I quieted my mind. Not just stilling it, but imagining the solemn, musty peace inside a sealed tomb. The subtle scent of dirt. A sense of darkness and of rest.
I called to the stray bits of my magic. Come back to me.
The green power slowed its rush to wreck Agatha’s sage bushes.
Come back to me. I filled my head with thoughts of funeral prayers and dried white bone. Burial shrouds and weathered stone.
The magic flowed my way, absorbing back into my inner well of power. I tried to memorize the sensation so it wouldn’t sneak up on me again. It was subtle as a whisper against my skin—maybe too subtle when I was used to roaring flames—so I’d have to learn to be more sensitive.
I let out the biggest breath. “I’ve got it now.”
Wynn moved down the path with an arm outstretched, testing the air. “I don’t feel anything coming off you.”
“It’s okay. For now.” But for how long? “You should stay away from me unt—”
“Not in the job description.”
Right. Mr. stubborn and dutiful. “I’m serious, Wynn. I’m killing plants. If I start killing people, you’re the one who’s having the first funeral.”
“You’ll control it before then.” He gave a casual shrug. “And I can protect myself.”
“Sure.” Fine. Whatever, Wynn.
Ignoring my bodyguard and the dead, blackened bushes at the corners of my vision, I headed into the house. I’d been planning on weighing the treasure, counting the pieces of gold and silver, and figuring out if any of the gems had magical properties that upped their value.
Instead, I tossed the bundle onto my bed like a bag of stinky laundry.
My fingertips felt numb as I dialed Blair.
“Hello?”
“Blair? I killed a bunch of bushes. I think the death magic’s getting stronger. It’s never slipped out before. I wasn’t even casting, it just—”
“Whoa. Calm down.” Blair’s steady, even voice helped me take a few deep breaths.
I was still shaking.
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Just Agatha’s sage.” Guilt snuck into the words.
“Who cares about plants? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Not even tired. Just freaked out how easy it was to kill without thinking about it. If Wynn had been standing closer—”
“Let me stop you there. You couldn’t have killed Mr. Muscles even if you were trying.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You think I’ve never lost it and murdered a flower arrangement? Plants can’t fight necromancy. People fight back. Not even I can accidentally kill someone on the spot. All Wynn had to do was punch you in the face. Problem solved.”
That didn’t sound like problem solved, but I flopped onto my bed, my biggest fear relieved. “So that was normal?”
“Normal-ish? Power leaks are part of the drill for baby necromancers. Once you learn control, they stop happening. For you, hopefully, it means the death magic is bleeding off?”
I jerked upright. “You think?”
“Did you not want it to fade?” A note of suspicion crept into Blair’s voice.
“No. I do. It’s just, the timing…” If I lost my window to bake for Girrar, I lost my best chance at buying Wynn’s freedom. No one was going to pay me buckets of doubloons to bake my usual menu.
“Necromancy is the same as any other kind of witchcraft. Your intentions play a role. If you don’t want it gone, it’s probably going to stick around longer.”
I did want it gone. Just not tonight. Or maybe at least until the end of the week?
“Ugh.” No wonder I was leaking death. My signals were more mixed than a meringue.
“Call me if it gets worse. I can be there in two minutes.”
“Thanks, Blair.”
When I hung up, I thought about peeking into the hall to tell Wynn what to do if the death magic flared up again…
But did he really need more motivation to punch me in the face?
I was about to dump the treasure out onto my quilt when footsteps echoed in the hallway. They stopped in front of my door.
“You don’t block me, boyo. Not in this house.” Agatha’s voice was muffled for a second before the door flew open.
Fondant darted in first, tail puffed up. She leaped onto my bed with one of those hearing-ruining hisses. I covered my ears and hopped toward the bathroom door, hoping I could duck inside.
“Not so fast.” Agatha’s voice froze me in place like a rose vine sinking thorns into my ankle flesh. “You killed my sage bushes.”
I flinched. “I didn’t mean to.”
“If you’d meant to kill them, I could’ve forgiven you.”
“That’s—huh?”
“What happened?” Agatha folded her arms across her bodice and directed her glare into the hallway.
Wynn pushed past Agatha and moved to stand in front of me, blocking me from her and Fondant. I managed to keep my jaw shut, but I couldn’t help staring at Wynn’s back. I was definitely in trouble, but Agatha wasn’t a threat.
Did he really think I needed protecting in my own bedroom?
“Blair says I’m not a danger to anyone.”
“What about my cakes?” She waved a hand in dismissal as if baked goods were so much more important than the customers.
A messed-up logic, but Agatha was weird like that and I couldn’t argue. “I don’t know what happened.” And I couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again.
Wynn’s left shoulder twitched, but I wasn’t in any position to analyze him while Agatha and Fondant were both staring me down. I tried to keep my head held high but somehow ended up staring at the carpet.
“You have to leave until you’re stable.”
“Leave?” My heart slouched down toward my toes.
“Not forever.” Agatha’s voice softened. “Just until you’re not a risk to the shop.”
Who knew how long that would be?
My heart slunched. “Where should I go?”
“I’ll have Lonnie book you a hotel.”
A hotel? I couldn’t bake at a hotel. “Never mind. I’ll ask…” The Wus were my first thought, but their kitchen was all cold and contemporary, and I was pretty sure they didn’t have a stand mixer.
Most importantly, it was attached to the funeral parlor. Not a great place to bop around leaking death. That left me one choice. “I’ll ask Gabi if I can stay at her place.”
“Good.” Agatha made a come here gesture and Fondant darted back to her side. “Pack yourself up ASAP.”
“I will.”
Agatha shut the door behind her and I wilted, leaning back against the wall.
Wynn shook his head.
“What?”
“You let her chase you out.”
“Because Agatha’s right. I don’t want to be the reason she has to close the shop again.”
Wynn kept staring, and something about the set of his jaw told me exactly how stupid he thought I was. I made a frustrated noise at the back of my throat. Maybe he would’ve stood his ground or dueled Fondant to get his way, but unlike him, I wasn’t looking for a fight. And I wasn’t going to argue with him.
I grabbed my phone and texted Gabi. Do you have an outbuilding I could borrow for a few nights? Need a place to stay.
Her reply vibrated while I was stuffing clothes into my backpack. Of course! Is everything okay?
Sort of? I messaged a quick explanation so I wouldn’t blindside her and she could still back out if my death magic was going to upset her creatures.
You can have the casita for as long as you need. I’ll run out and put in fresh towels for you and Wynn.
&n
bsp; I really hoped this casita had two bedrooms, but there was only one thing I could be choosy about right now. Is there a kitchen?
A kitchenette. Mom says you’re welcome in the main house if you want to do any baking.
Thanks. Be there in a few. I hurried down to the kitchen to grab the utensils I’d need for my recipe. Agatha had left her jar of grave dirt on the table, so I sealed it up in a baggie before jamming it into the backpack. I’d need it more than she would these next few days, and with my magic, heading to the cemetery with a shovel sounded like the worst.
I was almost ready to go when I realized Wynn had been shadowing me around the house this whole time. “We might be gone a few days. Don’t you want to pack a bag?”
“Have a bag.”
“A bag of clothes?” I’d bet my entire foil ball of treasure that he was talking about his duffel of swords and rifles.
His stare answered my question.
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t Wynn’s babysitter, but I would have to smell him if he didn’t bring a single clean outfit. I stomped back up to his room and picked my way over the floor-swords. The weapon duffle took up most of the narrow aisle of floor space. I nudged it with a toe and it made a heavy clang that said there were zero pieces of clothing in there. “You can pack now.”
Wynn avoided the scattered swords more gracefully than I had, moving to the little footlocker at the end of his bed. In one fluid movement, he scooped out the entire two piles of clothes and jammed them into the duffel.
“All packed.” Smug as anything, he made eye contact as he zipped the bag.
“I’m driving.” I headed out while he dealt with his monstrosity of a duffel.
He made more noise than usual following me, his weapons shifting and clanking. I skipped down the stairs with just my little backpack and beat him to the garage by a few steps.
Now who was smug?
I glanced over my shoulder.
My smile withered.
I’d cut through the grass after passing the dead sage bushes. Browned footsteps made a straight line across the lawn. Footsteps just my size that ended just where I stood.
I swallowed a lump of taffy-hard dread.
How could I learn to control a living death wish?
Thirteen
We were halfway to Gabi’s when I realized we needed to make an ingredient run.
“Where are you going?” Wynn shifted when I threw a U-turn.
“Grocery store.”
He relaxed as much as Wynn could relax, but his wariness ratcheted right back up when I pulled into the parking lot of the town’s fancy organic grocery place.
“Don’t park next to that van.” He was already scanning the cars like we were here to buy plutonium instead of powdered sugar.
“Fine.” I drove to the emptiest corner and parked straight under a light post, even though it wasn’t all-the-way dark yet. “How’s this?”
“It’ll work. Let’s make this quick.”
“Somewhere to be?”
He was too busy glaring at the parking lot to turn my way, but thorns cut through his tone. “Someone to keep out of trouble.”
I would’ve asked what kind of trouble I could possibly find at the grocery store, but after the past few weeks, I just unbuckled my seatbelt. “I’ll hurry.”
We were late enough only a few other people were meandering around. I grabbed a cart and worked straight down the ingredient list.
Eggs. Almond flour. Powdered sugar. It took me a little longer than planned to find everything because I’d never been here before, but I’d guessed the specialty store was my best bet at finding almond flour.
This place had it in bulk.
Along with every other bougie ingredient I could imagine, including some I’d never heard of. The fancy labels and big price tags made my palms sweat while I pushed my cart.
The cashier was a bored-looking teen with a pizza face like ninety percent of the staff at every grocery store I’d ever worked.
One of my people.
He rang me up, then squinted at the total. “It’s one-oh-eight-fifty.”
I handed over my shiny new credit card with the vague sensation that my fingertips were smoking.
Agatha wouldn’t mind buying me baking supplies. Agatha wouldn’t mind me buying a convertible as long as it was purple.
But even if Agatha wouldn’t mind?
Some part of me felt like I was spending money I didn’t deserve.
Bags loaded into the cart, I took the long way around to the exit so I could avoid the flower section. I’d faint if I killed all those bouquets and had to charge them.
It was full dark by the time we rumbled down the road to Gabi’s. The main cottage was all lit up and so were a dozen of the outbuildings.
Tarps spread over the barn door the battle crow had busted. I parked in front of the house with a wince. It was a miracle Gabi’s family letting me on their property, let alone giving me a room.
I was only halfway out of the car when Gabi darted off the porch to scoop me into a hug. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” But I definitely squeezed her back. “Thanks for letting us stay.”
“You’re always welcome.” She followed me to the trunk and grabbed a few grocery bags before nodding to one of the paths. “The casita’s over here.”
I was careful not to step off the step stones. Even clenching back the death magic as best I could, I wasn’t confident I could stop myself from leaving black footprints on her grass.
I relaxed when we reached the little house backed up to the edge of the property. “It’s perfect.” Far away from the main house and all the barns where I couldn’t hurt anything but pine trees.
“You haven’t even seen the inside yet.” Gabi set down the grocery bags to hold open the door.
I dropped my stuff and quickly peered around. It was a cute little adobe with a small kitchen and a seating area in front of the fireplace. Two doors led off the main room and I said a prayer, hoping they were both bedrooms, but one was a teensy powder room.
I really hoped I could convince Wynn to sleep on the living room couch.
I’d sleep on the couch. I just didn’t want to share a room with him.
“Is it okay?” Gabi’s voice lifted.
“It’s perfect. Thank you again.”
“I’ll let you guys get settled.” Her warm smile spread to include Wynn. “Message me if you need anything but come use the kitchen whenever.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Have to separate eggs.”
“Eggs?” Her voice sharpened. “Can you give me a ten-minute head start to put away the fanged rooster? He’ll get triggered if he sees egg cartons.”
“Take all the time you need.” My voice sounded faint. I did not need a triggered rooster on my plate, let alone one with any kind of fangs.
I parked on a barstool while Wynn bent to rummage in his sack. He set a sleeve of tiny knives on the tiled floor and started tucking them into his clothes.
I’d lost the ability to feel surprise at this point, but I still had to ask. “What are those for?”
“Chickens.”
Great.
Just grand.
I tipped back my head and closed my eyes. Rooster calls echoed down from the house. I waited for the pained noises to stop and then waited for another solid fifteen minutes to be safe. When the darkness was finally silent, I hopped up and grabbed my grocery bags.
The main house was empty, so I assumed everyone was outside busy dealing with one deranged cryptid or another. I worked fast, wanting to get in and out without leaking any death magic. I separated the eggs, then set my covered bowl of whites and ingredient stash on the empty sliver of counter next to the toaster.
Tomorrow, I’d do the actual baking. And then hopefully a batch a day until Girrar ran out of gold or I ran out of magic.
I made it all the way back to the casita without blackening the lawn, so I was calling this night a victory.
&nb
sp; Time for sleep.
My backpack was heavy, weighed down by the bundle of treasure. I hoisted it over my shoulder with two hands but didn’t head into the bedroom.
I was not looking forward to this one-sided argument about the sleeping arrangements. “I’m going to sleep on the couch. You take the bed.”
“If you take the couch, I take the floor in front of the couch.”
“So if I take the bed…?”
“I’ll take the floor in the bedroom.”
“What if I slept in the bathtub?” Surely, Wynn wouldn’t cram himself into the bathroom with me…
Right?
“Then I’ll take the floor outside and you’ll be sleeping in a bathtub.”
“Never mind.” I rubbed my forehead, too tired to deal with him. “I’m taking the bed. Just give me a few minutes to change before you invade.”
I threw on my pajamas and snuggled under the covers. It wasn’t too late to call Mom, but as much as I wanted to talk to her, I didn’t want Wynn listening in.
After waiting more minutes than anyone but a princess would’ve needed to get changed, Wynn knocked softly. “May I?”
“Just come in.” I rolled onto my back so I could stare up instead of watching him settle.
Changing towns and apartments so often with Mom, I’d stared at a lot of unfamiliar ceilings over the years. This ceiling wasn’t cracked and it didn’t have bare bulbs or black mold like some of the worst places we’d lived, but it wasn’t home.
Somehow, home had turned into the gathered purple curtains of a canopy bed. Waking up long before dawn to measure buckets and buckets of flour. The smells of fresh bread and donut glaze creeping through the hallways at all hours.
I didn’t mean to sigh, but a heavy breath slipped out.
I already missed the bakery.
“I’ll go outside if you can’t sleep.”
Wynn’s voice made me jerk the covers tighter. “I actually forgot you were there.”
Which was probably bad? I shouldn’t forget about the guy sleeping in my room if only so I wouldn’t step on him in the morning.
I rolled onto my side. He lay on his back on the floor. No blanket. No pillow. “At least bring in the couch cushions. Don’t sleep on the tile.”
“It’s heated tile.”
“A warm hard floor is still a hard floor.”