Touch

by Michelle Sagara

  No one but Ernest, Eric, and Emma.

  * * *

  Ernest didn’t particularly care if the young people caged in his living room considered him sane or not. “It was not uncalled for,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You’ve clearly chosen your usual brand of selective eavesdropping.”

  Margaret was not Amy, but in her own way, she was intimidating. She was also, judging by the tightening of an already unimpressed expression, ill pleased.

  “Ernest,” Emma said, her voice much softer than either the living Amy’s or the dead Margaret’s, “stop digging.”

  Chase laughed. He was the only person in the room who did.

  “More dead people?” Amy all but demanded.

  “Margaret Henney,” Emma replied. “She was there when we rescued Andrew Copis, but I don’t know if you saw her directly. She’s less than impressed with Ernest’s response.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “At least three,” Allison said.

  Emma said, quietly, “Margaret?” She held out a hand.

  Margaret shook her head. “I don’t need to hold hands to make myself visible. I need your permission, Emma. You hold me.” Before Emma could reply, Margaret added, “and I won’t ask that permission, now. I’ve told you before: It takes power. You won’t use ours. You might not even understand how. But if you won’t, you’re using your own life to sustain our appearance, and you can’t afford that at the moment.”

  “Margaret—how is Longland alive?”

  “He isn’t. Not in the sense that you or your friends are.”

  “But he’s—”

  “Yes. He is walking among the living as if he were actually alive. There are differences, but they’ll be noted only as time passes. For one, he will not age.”

  “Will he bleed?”

  “Yes. He will also feel pain. He is a threat to you for precisely the reasons your Amy states: He can interact with the real world. He can find information that would not otherwise be immediately found. He can kill you—but he will have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “Meaning the way Chase killed him the first time.”

  “Meaning exactly that, yes.”

  “That means he’s not a Necromancer anymore?”

  “It means, more precisely, that he doesn’t have Necromantic powers or abilities any more. He’s dead. The dead don’t.”

  “How can he be—”

  “He is not alive, Emma,” was her much gentler reply.

  “Is the Queen of the Dead alive?”

  Silence.

  * * *

  Allison was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly and quietly; unlike Amy, she didn’t use breathing as an act of aggression. She glanced at Chase and was surprised to see that he was watching her.

  She could only hear Emma’s half of the conversation. But ever since Emma had asked the question, it hung in the air like a nuclear cloud. How is Longland alive? Allison had no idea if Nathan was in the room; she had no idea if Nathan had followed them to Eric’s. She guessed that he hadn’t, because Emma’s glance hadn’t strayed to him.

  But her thoughts had, even if she wasn’t immediately aware of it.

  Because if Merrick Longland had died a horrible death—and he had—so had Nathan. If Merrick Longland was, to all intents and purposes, alive, it didn’t matter that Ernest said he was dead. What had happened to Merrick Longland could happen to Nathan.

  * * *

  It was Ernest, not Margaret, who chose to answer the question. “Yes. The Queen of the Dead is demonstrably among the living: she is a Necromancer.”

  “But—but—”

  “Yes?”

  “How old is she? You’ve been fighting Necromancers your whole life!”

  “Not my whole life; I did, in the age of the dinosaurs, have a childhood.”

  Emma frowned. “I saw her. I don’t—I don’t mean to be offensive, but . . . she looked a lot younger than you do.”

  His smile was dry enough to catch fire. “She is much older than I am.”

  Amy, lips pursed, forehead momentarily lined, said, “So you’re saying Necromancers are effectively immortal? Merrick Longland could be my grandfather’s age?”

  “Merrick Longland, as you’ve so bluntly pointed out, is dead. Before his death, yes, it’s possible that he could have been as old as your grandfather. Or great-grandfather. It may come as a surprise to you, but we do not have an FBI style of dossier collection. Age is not necessarily an indicator of power.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, Amy said, “You’re lying.”

  Margaret turned to Emma, “Dear,” she said, which Emma was willing to tolerate given Margaret’s age, “your friend—”

  “Yes, she is my friend, and yes, she’s very blunt.”

  Ernest met—and held—Amy’s glare. Chase and Eric, who’d killed at least four people that Emma knew about, were looking anywhere else. “I am not lying; we do not have the resources to track every known Necromancer. But,” he added, lifting a hand before Amy could break in, “Necromancers with Emma’s knowledge—not her innate natural ability, but her actual, practical knowledge—will age at the expected rate. Lack of visible age is not a natural occurrence for Necromancers; it is a skill that can be learned with time. It requires an ability to harness the power of the dead on a continuous, low-level basis.

  “It is a gift of knowledge that the Queen grants those in her Court who have done her service.”

  “You know this how?” Amy demanded.

  Emma swallowed. “Some of the dead are Necromancers,” she replied, aware that Margaret couldn’t speak for herself. “When you’re dead, it doesn’t matter.”

  “That is not entirely true,” Margaret replied softly. “If you have died in the line of duty—where by duty one refers to the demands of the Queen—you are elevated in her eyes. Should that be the case, you are declared off-limits for harvesting.”

  “Would most Necromancers care?”

  Margaret’s smile was all edge. “There have been breaches of the Queen’s law in the past. There have also been challengers. Unless one wishes to join the dead, one does not break the Queen’s law; it is absolute. In the mildest cases, she can refuse to teach you the arts of self-preservation—what you would call immortality. In the more extreme cases, she makes you an example—both at the end of your life and the eternity that follows.”

  “You betrayed her.”

  Margaret glanced at Ernest. “Yes.”

  “Did you attempt to kill her?”

  “That’s a rather personal question, but I’ll answer you. No. I was not—I was never—a Necromancer with the raw power the Queen of the Dead possesses. I have only met one other who might rival her, in time. My treachery, such as it was, was simply to choose life.

  “But it was a crime, and it was met with the inevitable penalty. I was caught, trapped, and given in service to Merrick Longland—a knight of the Queen’s Court.” When Margaret used the word “knight” it didn’t sound inherently ridiculous. “I was rescued by you. I want to say unintentionally, but—on a visceral level, you knew what you were doing.

  “Merrick Longland must have risen high in the Queen’s esteem. She has cloaked him in flesh and form and sent him, once again, into the world. He serves her, and he will now do so until her death.”

  “He knows what I did.”

  “Yes. And if he knows, the Queen will know. It cannot be a coincidence that he has been sent here; this is the place where failure cost him his life. He lives, now, at the whim of the Queen—and if she so chooses, he will return to the ranks of the truly dead.”

  Amy said, “Em, you’re talking to air here. Enlighten the rest of us.” It wasn’t a request, but Amy didn’t do requests.

  Emma obliged, haltingly repeati
ng Margaret’s words as if by doing so, she could understand them better.

  “I think it best, until Longland is effectively neutralized, that alternate living arrangements be made,” Ernest said quietly.

  Emma stiffened.

  “You said he’s not a Necromancer now, right? He can’t use his power to talk idiots into flying home on a whim without warning?” Amy demanded.

  “Correct. But he is unlikely to be here alone. There is almost certainly at least one Necromancer in the field.”

  “Longland will report to him?”

  “Longland will report directly to the Queen of the Dead,” Eric said, speaking for the first time. “The dead communicate in ways the living can’t trace. He’ll need to use phones or computers to communicate with the Necromancer in the field—but we haven’t found him yet. Or her.

  “While the Necromancer’s at large, any information Longland feeds him is possibly deadly—for the three of you.”

  “For two of you,” Chase cut in. “Allison and Michael.”

  “And I’m chopped liver?” Amy demanded.

  “You’re a force of nature,” Chase replied. “I wouldn’t bet money on a Necromancer faced with you.”

  Emma smiled.

  “You realize making your ‘alternate arrangements’ is going to be a huge problem if we can’t tell our parents what’s happening, right?” Amy said.

  “If you tell your parents, they will in all likelihood die,” Ernest replied. He fished about in his jacket pocket for a pipe. Amy gave it the dirtiest look in her arsenal, but didn’t come out and forbid it; it wasn’t her house after all. In Amy’s house you were allowed to smoke only if you were actually on fire—and even then, it was dicey.

  “And the Necromancers won’t assume they already know?”

  “Unclear. In their position, I wouldn’t make that assumption. Understand that they are accustomed to secrecy and isolation. They believe, on a visceral level, that they are the misunderstood and the despised; they believe they’ll be hunted with figurative pitchforks by angry mobs that will then burn them at the figurative stake. They trust the Queen if they trust at all—but in general, they don’t. They trust their power. They work to amass a power base, and it’s a power that’s built on the dead.

  “Not all of the dead have significant amounts of that power. Young lady, I am trying to explain, as quickly and clearly as possible, to those of you who have short attention spans. I would appreciate a little consideration.”

  Since Amy had not interrupted him, Emma felt Ernest was getting what he said he’d appreciate. Amy was, however, tapping her left foot, and her lips were one thin, white line. She said nothing, and after a pause, he exhaled and continued.

  “Your young Andrew Copis had a considerable amount of power. If Emma understood how to bind him, she would have access to power that would immediately place her in the upper echelons of the Necromantic society, such as it is. But very few of the dead are Andrew Copis.”

  “Do Necromancers have more potential—as dead people—than the rest of us?”

  “Not to my knowledge. There is a large line that divides the living from the dead. In the ideal universe, the dead would be free to leave the world the living inhabit. I am not a particularly religious man,” he added, in case this was relevant, “so I have no opinion whatsoever on where they might ultimately arrive.

  “Even absent Necromancers, the world would not be ideal. Your young ghost would have been trapped in the remnants of his burned-out building long after the building itself had been demolished and new homes built on the lots. Some of the dead get stuck this way.

  “Only those who are Necromancers notice.”

  “And most don’t care,” was Amy’s flat reply.

  “I would not say that; most, however, are aware that there’s a risk in such an approach. No one would have tried to harvest Andrew Copis in his current state; I am not even certain the Queen of the Dead would have taken that risk.”

  “But she could?”

  Ernest glanced at Margaret.

  Margaret, however, was watching Emma. “Emma could,” she finally said.

  “He almost killed Emma,” Amy pointed out, although she hadn’t heard Margaret’s words.

  “Not intentionally. But, yes, the fire was strong, and Emma is alive. There is a reason the divide between the living and the dead is so extreme. It was never meant to be crossed.”

  “Emma didn’t bind him,” Allison said, a slow heat in the words. “That’s not why she—”

  “We’re aware that she didn’t approach the child with the aim of adding to her power. It’s almost a certainty that Longland did. Emma had effectively stripped him of his power; he had nothing to lose. I don’t believe he expected Emma to be present; I do believe that when he discovered that she was, he chose to act. If she succeeded in binding Andrew Copis, she would have been a significant power—and he would have been much diminished. He knew that she had taken five of the dead from his grasp.”

  “That doesn’t happen often?”

  “No,” Ernest replied. He eyed Amy as if she were a feral dog. Or a rabid one. Amy didn’t particularly care, and if Amy wasn’t going to take offense, it was never smart to take offense on her behalf.

  “It shouldn’t happen at all,” Margaret said quietly.

  Emma frowned. “Why?”

  “It takes power to bind the dead. I know I’ve mentioned this before,” she added, in a more severe tone.

  “In theory, I have power,” Emma said. “If it takes power to make the binding, it makes sense it would take power to break it.”

  Margaret was silent for a long moment. “Understand that I was rescued by the Queen of the Dead. I would have died—just as you should have—otherwise. Everything I know about my former power, I know through her teaching. She was not a particularly kind woman, as you might suspect. But in her fashion, she considers the Necromancers her only family.

  “I don’t know how she sees the dead. I know how I saw them, before Ernest. I didn’t speak with them, Emma. I certainly did not stoop to rescue them. Had I known of Andrew Copis, I might have waited, watching the situation over the passage of a few decades. He would have been a coup. You couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see the power inherent in his condition, and even if you had, you wouldn’t have kept him here.

  “You set him free. You set all possible sources of power within the area free, as well. It is the one saving grace you will have should you choose to remain in your home—very, very few dead remain here. If you can break the bindings that give the Necromancers their power over the dead, they will be forced to retreat. They will, in all likelihood, be forced to flee using the normal methods of transportation available to the living.”

  “Merrick Longland—”

  “Is no longer concerned with sources of power. He serves the Queen directly.”

  “Why did she send him?”

  Margaret frowned. “I don’t know. What will you do now?”

  Emma exhaled. “Amy.”

  Amy nodded, although her glare didn’t falter.

  “If we can find the Necromancer, and we can free the sources of his power, Margaret thinks we’ll be safe. She considers Toronto—or at least our parts of it—a wasteland as far as Necromancers and power are concerned.”

  “Allison?” Amy asked, still glaring at Ernest.

  “I don’t want my family hurt,” Allison replied, after a long pause. “But I don’t want to have to explain this to them. They’ll think we’re crazy. At best. If we prove we’re not, they’ll be terrified, and they’ll call the police at the very least.”

  “Michael?”

  Michael was silent for longer. “Emma,” he finally said, “can you do it?”

  She swallowed. Like Allison, she was afraid of the truth. Using it had costs. Hiding
it had costs. “If Chase and Eric can tell us where—and who—the Necromancers are, I can break their power.” But she turned once again to Margaret, who was silent and watchful.

  “You’re dead,” she said, voice low. “And you were part of Merrick Longland’s power base. If you didn’t know—as a Necromancer—what it was like for the dead, you do know, now. What I did—what I shouldn’t have been able to do, according to your teaching—why did it work?”

  “You saw us as people,” Margaret replied.

  Eric rose. He was silent as he headed out of the room.

  “What did she say?” Amy demanded.

  “She said—she said I saw them as people.”

  “Well, duh.”

  “I’m not entirely certain your Amy is not like our Chase,” Margaret said.

  “She’s scarier. Margaret—what do you mean?”

  “You knew we needed help. You never doubted you could. Do you understand that most people would not be in a desperate rush to risk their lives just to save a child who was already dead?”

  “He didn’t know he was dead.”

  “No, but, Emma—you did. You knew that nothing you could do could change that.”

  Emma said nothing.

  “What I did not realize as a Necromancer is that the dead still have some choice. It is slender, and against the brute force of Necromantic bindings, it is insignificant. But it was not absent. I was not aware of you until you touched what you describe as golden chains. When you did, Emma, I saw you. I understood in that moment that you saw me. I knew where I was; I knew that I was dead. But I felt as if you had finally found me.”

  Emma blinked; Margaret looked slightly embarrassed. “I know that sounds odd, dear. I didn’t have a sense of who you actually were; I felt relief and warmth. The dead seldom feel warmth. I felt as if I had been offered a hand out of a very dark hole, and I took that hand and emerged.

  “It’s not a perfect analogy; there are some things you would have to be dead to experience. I could not have escaped Merrick Longland without your intervention, but you gave me the choice. I believe you did the same when you met Merrick Longland a second time.