by Jana Oliver
When he’d finished his spiel, she shook her head.
Mortimer took the rejection graciously. “Well, thank you for your time,” he said, placing his business card in front of the circle like the night before.
“So do you work for debt collectors?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“No,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “I won’t reanimate for anyone but the deceased’s family.”
A necro with conscience. Now that was refreshing.
“I think I’m starting to like you, Mortimer,” she said.
He looked embarrassed. “Be careful, will you? Don’t trust any of us.”
“Not even you?”
“I have scruples,” he replied proudly. “As I see it, I am treading far enough off the path by summoning the dead.”
“Then why do you … summon the dead?”
“It’s pretty much the only thing I’m good at.” Another tip of the hat and he left her alone inside the ring of candles.
“If all the summoners were like you this would be easy.”
Riley knew better. This was the second time Mortimer had warned her about the others.
Maybe it wasn’t so smart being out here on her own.
FOURTEEN
A sharp, sparking noise caused Riley to sit bolt upright in the sleeping bag, her heart hammering. For a second she thought it’d been a dream, but the candles told her otherwise. The flames were higher now, some twenty feet off the ground, like a force field that had repelled something nasty. Slowly the light dimmed to its usual level.
Probably a leaf. But there was no wind. Riley dug for her cell phone, then shook her head. Even if she called someone it would take too long for them to get here. This was her vigil and she had to brave it out.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw the figure. It was just outside the circle, clad in a long black cloak like you’d expect a wizard to wear.
He’s just trying to scare me.
“Cool cloak,” she said, pumping confidence into her voice though there was none. “Is there like a Necromancers‘R’Us shop or something?”
A weird laugh came from behind the hood. It reminded her of one of those wraiths in The Lord of the Rings. She couldn’t see the figure’s face, but the ice that ran down her spine told her this one wasn’t anything like Mortimer.
“Paul Blackthorne’s daughter,” the voice said. “Break the circle. Do it now.”
“No.”
“Break the circle,” he repeated, this time with more intensity.
Her mind began to whisper that she should do it. What would be the harm? After all, her dad was dead. He wouldn’t care. She would be able to sleep in her own bed every night. No one would fault her for wanting that.
“That’s right,” the dry voice soothed. “You keep the money for yourself.”
“How much?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Five thousand dollars. That will be a comfort to you, wouldn’t it?”
Five … thousand. That was a lot of cash. She could live on that for a long time.
“Your father would want this. Drop the circle and everything will be good again. You know you want to.”
Without realizing what she was doing, she opened the locket her father had given her. Inside was a picture of her mom and dad in Lincoln Park. It was summer, and sitting between them was Riley, still a baby.
Their loving faces cleared her mind instantly.
“Not happening,” she said. “Back off.”
“You will break the circle,” the necromancer commanded.
“You’re wasting your time. Dad stays put.” She snapped the locket closed, clutching it tightly in the hope her parents’ memories were stronger than the summoner’s persuasive magic.
“You are not listening to me,” the voice said, deeper now. “That’s a mistake.”
“Not my first.”
If that circle doesn’t hold, he’s going to toast me.
The figure cocked its head, like he was weighing a number of extremely unpleasant options. “Perhaps blood magic will do the trick.” He reached inside his cloak and pulled out something small. Something that hissed and wriggled.
It was a kitten, all cute and cream colored with black splotches.
“Get real. I’m not into bribes,” she replied. “Just go away so I can get some sleep.”
There was a glint of a blade, though there was no moon. It seemed to generate it own light. It wasn’t like one of those you find in a kitchen drawer. This was a ritual knife, the kind in horror movies. The kind of blade used for serious magic.
He wouldn’t.…
The necromancer poised the blade an inch from the kitten’s neck.
Riley leapt to her feet. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Break the circle or I cut its little throat. Your choice. Your father is too valuable to leave in the ground, child.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Of course I can.”
The kitten cried piteously, twisting in vain to sink a claw in its captor’s hand.
Dad for a cat? He didn’t even like them that much.
She couldn’t let him hurt it. Could she? If he killed the poor creature, what would he do next? Kill her?
When Riley didn’t move, the knife shifted closer.
“Last chance. Break the circle or it dies. You wouldn’t want its blood on your hands, would you?”
“You bastard!” she shouted. He responded with that creepy laugh, like it was a compliment.
Riley’s toe scraped across the ground, then stopped the moment before it reached the circle. She looked over her shoulder at her father’s grave and then back again. Clenching her fists, she teetered on the edge. The kitten looked up at her, helpless. Only she could save it.
There was a flash of green fire in its eyes.
“No.” Then she jammed her own eyes closed, feeling like a monster. There was a hissing snarl followed by a shrill screech of pain.
“Heartless bitch,” the necro called out. It sounded like praise. “I’m impressed.”
Riley pried open her eyes in time to see him toss the kitten on the ground in front of the circle. It was still alive.
She heaved a thick sigh of relief.
“Your dad’s corpse is mine, child. It’s only a matter of time.” With a swirl of the cloak worthy of any movie villain, he strode away. Partway up the path he disappeared into a whirl of dried leaves.
Oh, now that’s just creepy.
The kitten trembled at the edge of the circle and began to keen.
“Ah, you poor thing,” she said, stepping closer. Maybe she’d been wrong about its eyes. A trick of the light, not that there was much tonight. “It’s okay. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.” All it needed was cuddling. She could do that at least. It’d be nice to have the company so she wouldn’t feel so alone.
Simon’s voice filled her mind. They’ll do anything to get to your father.
Something felt wrong. The kitten should have taken off the moment it was dropped, found somewhere to hide. Instead it was outside the circle, like it was waiting.
Waiting for me. Those eyes again. Now they were fiery blue, glowing in the night. Riley took slow steps backward. “I don’t think so.”
The beast hissed at a volume ten times its size and shot a claw at the nearest candle. The circle responded instantly, leaping dozens of feet into the air, glowing brilliant white. The kitten yelped and disappeared in a resounding snap of energy. The wind grew, slinging branches and leaves against the barrier. Then it grew deathly still. The candles returned to the usual height.
“Nice try, jerk!” she shouted, retreating to her sleeping bag. The shakes caught up with her almost immediately, and she hugged herself to try to stop them. That hadn’t been some foul-mouthed dude trying to talk her into some stupid deal for her dad’s corpse. That had been dark magic.
And I almost fell for it.
* * *
By four
in the morning she’d had the same number of visitations as Scrooge on Christmas Eve, if you counted Beck in the total. He moved slowly, deliberately, like he’d exceeded tired and moved right on to totally wiped. As usual, he was toting his duffel bag.
Probably sleeps with the thing.
Wary of necro games she watched him approach, fearing this was yet another trick.
“Riley,” he said. When she didn’t answer, he added, “How bad has it been?”
“Just fabulous. The demonic kitten really made my night.”
He didn’t act surprised. She intoned the invitation and he marched through the circle without effort. His timing was excellent. A pee break was seriously needed.
“I’ll be back,” she said, heading toward the candles.
“Ya got something with ya? A weapon?”
“No. Just going to the bathroom.”
He dug into his duffel bag and handed her the steel pipe. “Take this.”
Riley rolled her eyes but took it nonetheless. As she hurried off into the darkness, she heard him flop down on the sleeping bag and yawn. Now he’d spooked her about taking a pee.
Thanks a lot for that.
Clicking on the light in the bathroom, she checked both stalls before finding relief. When she stepped outside, a moth streaked by her face causing her to execute a squeak of panic. Then she felt dumb. Luckily Beck couldn’t see her or she’d never hear the end of it.
Beck wasn’t alone now. A heavyset man stood a respectful distance from the circle. He was dressed rather flashy for a graveyard—blue suit, pink shirt, and a glittering phalanx of rings. More like a pimp than a necro.
Riley scooted to the other side of the circle and waited until Beck invited her in. The moment she crossed the line of candles she felt it flash behind her, shoving her inside.
“Lenny,” Beck scolded. Apparently the necro had tried to cross over the circle at the same time, but had failed the “no harm” test.
The necro shrugged. “Had to try.”
“Yeah, right.” Beck retrieved his pipe and dropped it near his pack.
“You two know each other?” she asked, surprised.
“Sure,” Beck responded, like she was being silly. “We play pool together at the Armageddon Lounge. Lenny’s pretty good.”
The necromancer beamed. “Thanks. That’s a compliment coming from you.” He turned toward her, polishing the glittering rings on his right hand against a coat sleeve. “I was explaining to Beck that your father needs to earn his keep. Best way to do that is aboveground. So how about it?”
“Nope.”
“Pity. A few more nights in the cold and you’ll see things in a different light.” He looked over at her companion. “Later, guy.”
“See ya, Lenny.”
Riley settled on the sleeping bag as far away from Beck as she could. He may have been her dad’s favorite trapping partner, but something about him made her uncomfortable. Not creepy uncomfortable, like he’d jump her or anything. More like she never knew where his mind was at any given moment.
“You hang with necros?” she asked. “They’re like … pond scum.”
“Some folks think the same of trappers.” He lowered himself onto the blanket. “So what happened tonight?”
She ignored him, digging out a bottle of water and taking a long swig.
“Come on, I’m not the enemy. I know ya have a problem with me, but I owe it to yer daddy to look after ya.”
“Don’t need you helping me,” she shot back. “I’m fine.”
“Right, kid,” he said.
She glared at him. “Why do you always call me that?”
“What?”
“Kid. I’m not twelve.”
“I know. It’s just easier,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” That didn’t make much sense.
A frown flitted across his face. “Ya remember when I first got back from over there, how goofy ya got?”
Goofy? Riley’s temper stirred. “I wasn’t like that.”
“Well, ya had yer eyes on me, that’s for sure.”
She gave him stony silence, because he was right. His time in the Army had left him tanned, muscled, and way cuter than when he’d left. A total hunk, and she’d fallen hard.
Then you shot me down like I was nothing.
“So why the kid thing?” she asked, still savoring the anger.
He glowered at her. “Ya know I couldn’t go there, not with yer daddy and me workin’ together and ya only bein’ fifteen and lookin’ so fine and…” He faded out, his eyes riveted on the ground.
Riley hid the grin. She’d managed to push one of his buttons, or that explanation wouldn’t have been so long.
“Okay, I got it,” she said. If he acted like she was a kid he didn’t have to work through all the emotional stuff, which suited her just fine. The idea he thought she was fine wasn’t something she could handle right now. “Just don’t call me kid anymore, okay?”
“Or?” he challenged, back in control in a heartbeat.
“I’ll go all goofy on you again, whatever that means.”
Beck seemed to weigh the option and then muttered, “Deal.”
He dug a bottle out of his duffel bag. The label said Johnnie Walker. After a long swig, he smacked his lips.
“What’re you doing?” she demanded. “You keep it up and you’ll be a drunk like your mom.”
He snarled at her and her blood ran cold. The flames were taller now, maybe a foot off the ground, registering his anger. Was that even possible?
Suddenly it didn’t seem so safe with him inside.
“Ya leave that … her out of it,” he spouted, jamming the bottle into his bag. “That’s none of yer damned business.”
Riley curled up in the sleeping bag, feeling sick to her stomach. She shouldn’t have said that to him. He couldn’t help what his mom was like.
Just apologize. “Beck…”
“What?” he said, his voice muffled. Even in the dark she could see the lines etched into his face. They made him look so much older, like he’d experienced everything bad the world could throw at him.
“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “It wasn’t right for me to say that.”
His shoulders twitched for a second. “Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Riley tugged the blanket around her.
“Just because she’s a drunk doesn’t mean I am,” he growled.
“Got it. Won’t make that mistake again.”
He turned toward her. “It’s an energy drink,” he explained. A long yawn followed. “Supposed to keep me goin’ when I don’t have time to sleep. It’s not workin’.”
Now she really felt like a dork. “Why put it in a whiskey bottle?”
“Just do.”
It wasn’t that simple and they both knew it.
“What’s it taste like?” she asked. He handed it over and Riley took a tentative gulp … and nearly gagged. The stuff was a blend of super strong coffee laced with raw kerosene. “Yuck.”
“Ya get used to it.”
“Not me. When was the last time you slept?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Tired trapper equals demon bait. Dad told me that.”
Beck looked over at her. “Told me the same.”
“Then get some sleep, will you?” she urged.
“Ya need it more than I do.” He took another swig. “I sold yer demons, the ones in the cupboard. The money’s under the microwave. Just forgot to tell ya.”
“Thanks,” she said grudgingly. She’d miss the Magpie, but the money was vital. “Who’s going to take over my training now?”
“Don’t know yet.” He yawned again. “I’ll try to help ya when I can, but I have to trap or I can’t pay my own bills. We need to figure out where ya can live.”
“What?” she said, caught off guard.
“Ya can’t stay on yer own, and ya sure as hell can’t move in with me.”
Got that right. She could imagine what his house
was like—probably ankle deep in grubby old pizza boxes and empty beer bottles.
Then the first part of his statement caught up with her.
“I’m not moving. That’s my home,” she protested. It wasn’t much, but she couldn’t lose the last connection with her dad.
“It’ll take time for the Guild to pay the life insurance, and I can’t afford to cover both places. Call yer aunt, see if she’ll take ya in for a while.”
Crap. He’d overheard her talking to Peter. “I’m not moving,” she repeated, stronger this time.
Beck kept rambling, caught in his own personal minefield about how she’d need clothes and food and how she had to keep going to school.
You’re not listening, Backwoods Boy. I belong here.
The power struggle had begun.
FIFTEEN
Morning brought Max to Riley’s door and more bills in the mailbox. She welcomed the cat but not the stack of windowed envelopes. At least none of them was marked “Overdue.”
Not yet.
Max promptly sprawled on the couch, licked a paw, and then tucked himself into a massive ball like a furry armadillo. He acted like sleep was the answer to all the world’s problems.
Only if you don’t dream.
Riley grimly studied the pile of envelopes on the kitchen table.
“Welcome to your new life.” From what she could see it was way worse than the old one. At least her old life had a parent in it. Now there was no dad, no dad income. The first hurt really bad. The second just amped up the heartache.
Max made a snorking noise in his sleep and twitched. At least one of them was happy. In the background the television droned on. It was one of those local talk shows discussing the rise in teen suicides, how the economy was causing kids to hit the wall. Most didn’t survive the impact.
Riley had hit the wall and bounced so many times she didn’t know any other way. Her mother’s death, then the condo fire. Now her dad.
With a tortured sigh, she started with the first bill—the rent. That wasn’t optional unless she wanted to move into a drafty refrigerator box under one of the city’s leaky bridges. It went into the life-really-sucks-if-this-isn’t-paid pile. Electric, gas, and water. Ditto.