Grave Magic (How To Be A Necromancer Book 4)

by D. D. Miers

  "Is that good?" I asked, uncertain.

  "No. The patient ones are definitely the worst. But the other two probably would have just killed me outright, so it balances out, I guess. The other difference between demons and Fae is that if you're polite and keep your word with Fae, you'll generally be okay. If you're polite and honest with demons, they'll tear you apart. They lie and they cheat. The trick is to prepare well ahead of time, get them angry enough that they can't manipulate you and don't have anything to lose."

  "How'd that work out for you?" I asked, pretty sure the answer was not very well.

  "I'm still alive," Cole said, trying to be casual, the look in his eyes a bitter emptiness. "It could have been worse."

  "I've been laying in the dark for a subjectively infinite amount of time pretty much just thinking about fates worse than death," I replied. "I don't think alive is such a great marker for things having worked out well."

  "Well, then, you're smarter than I was when I started this," Cole said with a sigh. "I'm just saying, if I show you some of my earlier memories of learning necromancy, there's going to be demons there. Be ready for them."

  He started to take my hand, then paused.

  "Try not to look at any of them too long," he said. "Or look directly in their eyes. Even if it's a memory, that kind of thing can get their attention."

  "Well that's pretty unnerving," I said, suddenly not so sure I wanted to do this.

  "You'll be fine," Cole said.

  I took his hand and tried not to flinch as the memory pulled me under.

  Chapter 9

  Sitting naked in a dark pine forest, Cole is maybe fourteen, with pine needles jabbing into his bare skin. Through his eyes, the forest is so dark that I can barely see the trees beyond the little circle of light produced by the candle in front of him. He is afraid and doing his best not to show it. He squashes it under anger. He's always angry lately. At his parents, at himself, at his school and the world. But not at the thing sitting across from him in the dark.

  Gaap is more terrifying than the scrubby pine woods behind his parent's house. I remembered Cole's warning not to look directly at the demon for too long. He was too much to take in all at once. He wasn't like the King of the Dwarves, who was a thousand different things at once, or Titania, who was a thin veneer of human over flickering insect wings and glowing furnace heat. He's solid, stable . . . too much.

  My attention slipped from one tiny part of him to another: a black claw, a single scale, and a glittering eye, one among thousands hidden in the evershifting impossible geometry of his unnumbered wings. Yet I was certain, or Cole was certain, that he was beautiful. Cole, in a trembling, nascent way, loved him. In the way a moth loves the moon and seeing it in the flames, heedlessly hurls itself into it. In the way an ant drowning in spilled soda loves sweetness. In the way we love anything that consumes us, and which we know will inevitably destroy us. Cole was more afraid of the feeling than he was of the darkness around him, and in my opinion, that made him already a lot smarter than most fourteen-year-olds I'd ever met.

  "Necromancy has three purposes," Gaap spoke, and Cole hung on his every word, forgetting his discomfort, his anger, his fear, and even his love. All that mattered was absorbing as much knowledge as possible. "To divine the future, to know the hidden past, and to raise the dead. The necromancers of this age have forgotten the first two thirds of this and attempt the third only in halting half measures. I will not teach you the first because it is a waste. The dead know the future no more than the living. I should not teach you the second, or you may call up some ghost to teach you rather than me—"

  "Never," Cole said at once, and I winced under a wave of the kind of crippling embarrassment only a fourteen can feel. "I mean, I've already paid you. Why waste it?"

  "And what a bargain you made," Gaap replied, a smile in his voice that sent a shiver up my spine. "Of the third purpose, I will teach you as much as I am able, and this will put you in a league ahead of any necromancer in the last hundred years. But of the pinnacle, True Resurrection, I can teach you nothing, for that knowledge is forbidden even to one such as me."

  "I want to learn all three," Cole insisted. "I don't care if the first is useless, you've already got what you wanted from me so there's no point in avoiding the second, and as for the third just tell me whatever you can. I'll figure out the rest on my own."

  "I am certain you will," Gaap said, and began to teach.

  It was hard to explain later exactly how he taught. I'd been in lecture courses before and they'd never really worked for me. I've always been more of a hands-on learner. But though all Gaap did was speak, I understood him completely, the concepts taking root in my mind without a hint of confusion and without any need to struggle remembering. Gaap taught Cole until the sun began to rise, and then the memory jumped to another night and continued. I rode Cole's mind through every moonless night for a year as Gaap instructed him in the summoning of the spirits of the dead—something I hadn't even known we could do— and in how to revive and manipulate lifeless bodies. Until finally, on the same new moon they had begun a year before, he was finished.

  "And that is the last of what I have to teach you," Gaap said, folding a pair of bone-colored hands before him. "I can say without doubt that your understanding of the basics of necromancy is flawless."

  "But there's more, isn't there?" Cole asked, and his heartbreak echoed mine. He'd only fallen further in love with Gaap over the year, his fear growing to match it. "I know you know more!"

  "There are advanced techniques," Gaap said with a shrug. "New applications. Ways of melding necromancy with other magic. But they are not what we dealt for. All that was paid for has been taught. If you wish to learn more, you must give me more."

  Cole bit his tongue, and I knew the words he was holding back stuck in his throat. How easy it would be to offer Gaap everything, anything he wanted, if only he would stay. But Cole was not stupid. As soon as he'd learned how to summon the spirits of the dead, he'd conjure a score of demonologists and occultists to teach him the best ways of dealing with demons. They'd agreed on almost nothing except that dealing with demons was never, ever worth it. No deal a demon agreed to was ever fair but always, without exception, weighed heavily in their favor.

  Feathers brushed Cole's thigh and he tensed but didn't flinch as Gaap loomed over him.

  "You're strong, Cole," Gaap said. "And wise beyond your years. You have a talent that could rival the most powerful necromancers this world has ever seen. You could learn so much more."

  Cool fingers grazed Cole's shoulders and his heart raced with fear. His love, a child's foolish half-love, cringed so easily into dismay and unease. His self-indulgent fantasies did not resemble the pit in his stomach at Gaap's breath on his neck. This was wrong.

  "I would not ask for much, my student, for the privilege of continuing to teach you. It is a cost I think you would enjoy paying."

  For a moment, Cole had a rush of reckless desire to throw caution to the wind and accept, to bear whatever terrible consequences came for the sake of something that might be, at least, a distorted shadow of what he'd dreamed of. He opened his mouth to reply, and all at once that recklessness vanished, snuffed out like a candle. He blinked, feeling like he'd woken from a dream. He'd never been drunk yet, but later he would compare it to becoming suddenly, shockingly sober when a moment before you were dizzy, stumbling drunk. The recklessness seemed out of place, alien and unsettling, because, he realized with cold horror, it had been placed in his mind by someone else.

  Gaap retreated in a rush of feathers.

  "Perhaps it is better we end our relationship here after all," the demon said.

  "Why?" Cole asked, many questions tangled in a single word.

  "There is someone behind you," Gaap replied, and vanished.

  Cole looked behind him, but there was no one there. He scrambled for his clothing and hurried home, feeling shaken, dirty, and afraid. He kept looking over his shoulder, cert
ain he could feel eyes on his back, but there was never anyone there.

  The memory faded and I blinked, woozy, as I came out of it. It had been so intense and lasted for so long, one flowing into the other seamlessly, I'd almost forgotten I was watching them and not living them. As Cole came around, his corona of shame grew. He’d been lost in it as well. He hadn't meant to show me the end of that. I didn't blame him. If I'd been more aware, I would have pulled away myself, and not only because it was an intensely private memory. Not just seeing but feeling that thing oozing over a kid, over a fucking fifteen-year-old. I felt nauseous.

  "Stop it," Cole said sharply. He still held my hand, thus still sharing my thoughts, but he dropped it. "Stop thinking about it. It's over. It was ten years ago. It doesn't matter!"

  I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or himself. He was still scarred by that moment and others like it, both magical and mundane. Scars on top of scars till it twisted the shape of him.

  "It's not who I am," Cole said, jerking me out of my thoughts. "Got it? I'm not that kid. I'm not that. So stop thinking about it because knowing that doesn't tell you a goddamn thing about me, understand?"

  "Yes," I said, a little startled by his vehemence and still a bit dazed from the memories. But I couldn't dismiss the sick feeling in my stomach remembering. "I . . . Once, when I was a kid—"

  "I don't care," Cole said, his jaw tight and his stare intense. "It didn't make you a different person. It's not the most important thing that ever happened to you. It's not who you are, and it's not who I am. Don't bring it up again."

  "Ok," I said, trying not to let his anger bother me. I'd accidentally seen him in one of the most vulnerable moments of his life. He'd had to live through it again in perfect detail when, in a just universe, he should never have had to go through it the first time.

  "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I should have stopped the memory. If I hadn't let myself zone out—"

  "It's not your fault," Cole said. He turned away from me, facing the dark. I watched the complicated flicker of emotions across his profile, so much harder to read than when our minds overlapped. "Neither one of us has done this before. I was as zoned out as you were. Next time we'll stop between memories to make sure we stay alert."

  I nodded, and we were quiet for a moment, the memory hanging awkwardly between us. I wanted to touch him, to comfort myself as much as him, but I was afraid he would push me away. Or worse, he wouldn't, and he would feel my pity and I would feel his anger and the space between us would only get larger.

  "What did you give him?" I asked at last. "Last question about him, I promise. But, to teach you necromancy, what was the deal you made?"

  "Why do you want to know?" Cole asked, suspicious.

  Mostly because I was worried about him, but I wasn't going to say that.

  "Seems like the kind of thing that might come up to bite us in the ass," I said. "If you've got some kind of demon debt hanging around . . ."

  Cole waved the rest of the statement off. "The ass biting has already occurred. I don't owe anything else to Gaap. And after him, I learned the importance of never dealing in intangibles. I never offered another demon something I couldn't physically hand over in fairly short order. You don't have to worry about any demon bargains causing problems."

  "Intangibles?" I repeated, curious. Cole grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

  "Seven moments of intemperance," he said. "That's what I promised him. That seven times when I should have held myself back, I would do the stupid impulsive thing instead. Any seven times that I was conflicted about something, he could reach into my head and make sure I made the wrong decision. That's what I gave him."

  "That's what we were feeling when he tried to convince you to make another deal with him," I said, suddenly understanding and horrified by it. "He was trying to force you to take the deal."

  "Yeah," Cole said bitterly. "In my defense, I was fourteen and he sold it really well. Made it sound like he'd be doing me a favor, helping me overcome my inhibitions and doubts. Instead it was just . . ."

  He trailed off and shook his head.

  "Why didn't it work?" I asked. "He should have had you dead to rights."

  "Beats me," Cole said with a shrug. "I tried to figure it out for a while and got nowhere. Best that I can figure is something had a claim on me that Gaap wasn't strong enough to beat."

  "That doesn't sound good," I said, unease twisting my already knotted stomach.

  "Like I said. I don't have any outstanding debts to demons. And if it was something that wanted to deal with me, it hasn't made itself known yet."

  "Scary stuff," I said, hugging Mort for comfort. The dog yawned and leaned on me, comfortingly heavy and stable.

  "Don't worry about it," Cole said. "I can handle it. I'm better at handling demons than I am people, honestly. Like I said, the trick is just not to have anything to lose."

  He gave me a gallows grin, like that was funny. I didn't smile back.

  "You know you're not alone anymore, right?" I said quietly. "You've got me and Ethan now. My aunt and Julius, too. Even Gwydion has gone out of his way to keep you from dying a couple of times, which is a pretty big deal for him!"

  "I'm just in this for the candle," Cole said, frowning. "As soon as I get what I want, I'm gone."

  "You're full of shit," I said flatly. "You really think I believe that? That me and Ethan mean nothing to you?"

  I reached for his hand instinctively and felt the flicker of his guarded longing, his wary uncertainty, the shape of the scars of past disappointments like braille under my fingers. And a glimpse of a memory—a quiet conversation, words indistinct, sitting at my bedside. Ethan's hand warm in his. Dropped as soon as someone else entered the room. But for a moment—

  It was just a glimpse, which Cole dismissed quickly.

  "I don't care," Cole said, unable to look at me. "I'm not interested in being a third wheel. I've got my own life to get back to. I'm better off on my own."

  But he didn't take his hand away from mine, and it was easier to be honest in thoughts than words.

  "Getting attached just makes it worse when it ends," he thought, soft and tentative as a whisper. "And it always ends."

  "Everything ends," I thought, squeezing his hand and letting him feel how much I cared, how much I wanted him to stay here with the both of us. "That's life. Let me love you as much as I can for as long as it lasts."

  I leaned closer, pressed my forehead to his temple, my chest to his arm, knowing that the closer we were, the more he'd be able to feel what I felt for him. Yeah, there was pity there, but so much pride, too! I didn't care about him because I felt bad for him. I cared about him because he was brave and clever and kind, no matter how much he tried to hide it. His quick thinking in the Undercity, the casual confidence with which he'd dismantled Gwydion's facade, keeping his cool in Tir Na Nog, laughing over the dumb movies we both liked, inhaling pancakes in my aunt's kitchen, and every single time he smiled . . . those were the moments that made me fall in love.

  He shivered, like it was too much for him, like the force of how much I cared was enough to break him to pieces. And then he turned his head and kissed me.

  Our minds crashed and overflowed, and he wasn't holding back now. His lips fizzed like champagne against mine and made my head spin. His tongue was sweet electricity. I sensed how much he'd been holding back, fighting with himself. I saw myself through his eyes the first time he saw me, beautiful but in the way. And that night at the drive-in, sitting between me and Ethan, watching the silver glow of the screen light up our faces and imagining what might have been and could never be. Laughing in the grass of my aunt's backyard, funny and powerful and interested, she really is, she isn't just pretending. The moment he'd first set eyes on me in Tir Na Nog, drunk on power that made everything seem golden and beautiful and overflowing with importance, and thought that I was the most magical thing there. That was when he'd known he was in trouble, and when I'd kissed him he was certain
he'd already lost.

  In the Undercity, when he'd stopped trying to convince himself that it had just been Tir Na Nog messing with his mind. It was real, and he couldn't stop it, and that was more terrifying than anything the Undercity could throw at him. He was so afraid of letting himself want something, but he did. He wanted me so much, it was blinding. It hit me like a wave, knocked me over and dragged me out into a sea of his desperate longing. It had been so long since he'd been stupid enough to fall in love, and he needed it like breathing. It left him shaking.

  I felt him feeling my love, the way it broke him, like a man dying of thirst suddenly drowning. There was no room for his doubts here. The absolute certainty of my feelings washed them away like a river. There could be no suspicion of ulterior motives or of dishonesty. We were in each other's heads, as exposed as we could be. He didn't need to take my word for it. My feelings, my memories, they were all right there.

  He leaned over me and I lowered myself down onto my back without breaking our breathless, desperate kiss. His hands slid under my dress, over the tops of my thighs and I gasped into the kiss at the humming electric sensation and the strange, echoed loop of shared feeling. His hands on my skin, its mirror twin in his mind, everything doubled and then doubled again as we shared, building exponentially to an intensity I'd never imagined I could feel from a kiss.

  My fingers ran through his hair and the graze of my nails against his scalp sent shivers through both of us. He moaned, soft and low against my lips, and it sent a pulse of heat through me, which I couldn't hide. It echoed in him and clung to his shoulders as arousal grew like a wave between us till the intensity was almost unbearable, aching like a bruise and throbbing in my fingertips. We pulled at each other's clothing with lust-blind desperation. I dragged his shirt off over his head and he pushed my dress up above my waist.