Necromancing the Stone (26 page)

Ramon offered to drive, since he wasn’t nearly as worn out as I was. Or as angry. He didn’t have a license yet, but Pello was a poor choice, and I was exhausted. No one asked Nick. I’d have to add sending Ramon to the DMV to my to-do list. As I curled up in the back seat, my brain already going fuzzy with sleep, it occurred to me that if we’d done this hike last year, Ramon would have been as beat as I was. Floating on that thought was the fact that I was probably the only one in the car—besides my uncle, and I was choosing to ignore his presence—who could still be considered human. If I could still be considered that at all. I was still human, wasn’t I? It hurt to think about, and I was too tired, so I stored it for another day. I put it right under the festering guilt that the reason my best friend was probably out of the human category was completely on my head.

My uncle was letting me ignore him, which was difficult since he was sitting right next to me. Ramon had to be in the front to drive, of course, and it was hard for Pello to sit in the back with his goat legs. I had a pretty complicated relationship with my uncle Nick, considering I hadn’t seen him since I was an infant. When I was only a few hours old, my mother and Nick had decided that it would be best if I could remain under Douglas Montgomery’s radar. So out of fear, they bound my powers and didn’t tell me about it until recently. It had made me extremely vulnerable, and though I kept telling myself that they did it out of kindness, I still got mad sometimes.

I know the two aren’t completely analogous, but my binding reminds me of a spiritual chastity belt. You know, the big metal underpants that noblemen used to put on their wives and daughters when they weren’t around to “keep them pure for their own good”? Apparently, their own good meant no physical comfort and the risk of infection, and added a strange hitch to their step. Mine didn’t involve something so humiliating as metal underwear, but spiritually it was the same thing. They cut me off from a natural part of myself, hobbling my growth. Yes, they did it because they thought it was their most viable course of action, but I bet those noblemen thought the same thing. The phrase “for your own good” always makes me hesitate, because sometimes it is, but usually what they actually mean is “for my own good.”

Ramon broke the tense silence. “So where are we taking you?”

I caught Nick glancing at me from the corner of my eye. I didn’t look over.

“Tia’s,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

I felt my jaw tighten involuntarily. Taco, who had been sleeping in my lap, rolled over and growled softly at him.

“You’re angry, and you have every right to be, but we did what we thought was best.”

“I know,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Then I childishly turned away from him, curled up around Taco, and went to sleep.

*   *   *

I was in the basement again. That’s how I knew it was a dream. No way in hell I’d voluntarily be down there hanging out. I was sitting in an old wooden chair, staring at the cage. Douglas was in it. He looked like I’d last seen him—hole in his throat, blood staining his front, but his manner was calm as he stared back at me.

“Let me out,” he said. “I can’t search in here.”

I shook my head. “No way, bucko. You put yourself there, not me.”

“You think this can hold me?” He knocked the cage door open with a shove.

Fear seeped into my core, but I stayed in my chair. “You can’t do that,” I said. “You’re dead.” Douglas laughed his cold, creepy laugh, and we were suddenly in the Tongue & Buckle drinking at the bar. Our pint glasses were filled with blood, and I didn’t want to drink mine.

“You have to,” Douglas said. “It’s part of who you are.”

I shoved the glass away, and it shattered on the floor. Aengus came up carrying a jar of pickled eggs, which I’ve never actually seen in a bar, but for some reason I associate them with bars anyway. He looked down at the spilled blood with a sigh and handed me the jar of pickled eggs. They were a sickly greenish color, and I gagged.

“Don’t just sit there,” he said, tossing a bar rag on the counter. “Come clean up your mess.”

“It’s not my fault,” I said, even though I had shoved the glass.

Aengus shrugged. “Still a mess. Still needs cleaning.” Then he walked away. I tried to get up and walk over to the other side of the bar, but the jar kept getting heavier and heavier. The floorboards cracked and gave way. I was underground, the roots grabbing at me, dirt spilling into my eyes and mouth. I screamed.

Douglas’s face appeared in the hole above my head. I yelled at him to get me out, but he just shook his head.

“Not until you hand it over.”

I didn’t know what he meant, so I just kept screaming. Well, I kept screaming until Pello whacked me with a soda bottle and I jerked up in my seat. Sweaty and shaking, I rolled down the window and gulped at the fresh air.

“You okay?” Ramon asked. Nick stared at me, concerned. I leaned my head against the side of the car, letting the breeze cool me down. I closed my eyes and grabbed the pouch around my neck. The beads bit into my hand—it felt strangely reassuring.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just a bad dream.”

“If you say so,” Ramon said, his voice tinged with worry. I didn’t respond, but kept my eyes closed, allowing the breeze to push the last of my dream away.

I’d become pretty used to nightmares the last few months. You don’t survive getting kidnapped, thrown in a cage, tortured, and then killing a man without experiencing a few restless nights. Unless you’re a sociopath, I guess. But I wasn’t, or at least I was pretty sure I wasn’t, and the dreams had been pretty regular. My mom had a natural sleep aid that she made, and I’d taken to putting a few drops of it in some water before I went to bed every night. It helped me sleep heavily, and I tended to remember my dreams less. It also helped for those times when I didn’t want to spend the whole night chatting with restless spirits.

But the last few nightmares felt different, and I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Something tucked away somewhere in the folds of my brain was nagging me, and I tried to coax it out, but no deal. I put my medicine bag back under my shirt.

“You want to talk about it?” Nick asked softly.

“No, and with you, double no.”

“Okay, but the guys have been filling me in with what’s been happening in town, and it seems like it might be a good idea—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” My brain was still fuzzy with sleep, and I was having a hard time dislodging the nightmare from it.

Nick wearily rubbed his face with his hand. “Look, Murray got me a temporary pass so I could help him out for a few weeks, but I came up here to apply to the Council for a permanent stay.”

“Is that so?” I said softly.

His shoulders slumped slightly in a defeated fashion. “I know you need time to process, but I’m not sure we have that time. So for now, while things are the way they are, do you think we could call a truce? You can hate me all you want, but you might need me.”

“You’re about twenty years too late for that,” I said. “Forced exodus or no.” And that’s when I felt the hurt that had been squatting underneath my anger. And that hurt was telling me that if Nick had just stayed around, even though being that close to Douglas would have been a danger, I could have been trained earlier, properly, and not half-assed. That my situation would be different and I wouldn’t be mired down the way I was now.

“I know,” he said, and I could hear the pain in his voice. Damn it. I was starting to feel sorry for him. The thing was, I knew it wasn’t really his fault. Not really. And he’d done his best, but I could feel the anger boiling inside me where it had been stashed so that I wouldn’t keep letting it out all over my mom. The binding, while well-intentioned, had led to my kidnapping, Ramon’s “life change,” and Brooke’s death. I know there was no way they could have predicted this outcome, but it was still the consequence of their actions. I hadn’t wanted to stay mad at my mom, though, so I’d buried it. Nick was a good, safe outlet. Which meant I wasn’t being fair to him. Double damn it. Sometimes I wished I was more of an asshole. It would make my life so much simpler.

I stuck my hand out at him. “Fine. Truce,” I mumbled.

He grabbed my hand quickly, and I could tell he was trying to get it before I changed my mind, which made me feel worse.

“I’m still mad,” I said.

“I know.”

“Well, as long as we’re clear on that,” I said. We were quiet the rest of the drive, but the tension was gone for now.

I made Nick wait in the car while I ran in and said hi to my mom. I found her in the kitchen, pouring some kind of infused oil into a jar.

“You look very sweaty,” she said.

“Yes, well, I’ve been hiking.” I opened the cookie jar on the counter and looked inside. Peanut butter. Sweet.

“There’s a container in the pantry—better take them all, or Ramon will get pouty.”

Best. Mom. Ever. “Okay, cool.” I grabbed them and set them on the counter, chewing my cookie and trying to decide how to approach our conversation.

My mom glanced out the window. “Speaking of which, why is Ramon still in the car?”

“Ah, well, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Uncle Nick is in the back seat.”

She put her pot back on the stove and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh?”

“That’s it? ‘Oh?’!?”

“What did you expect, dear?” She smiled at me as she put the lid on the jar and twisted.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Something. Anyway, I think he wants to stay here for a while.”

My mom swiped at the jar with a towel, even though I didn’t see any of the oil on the outside. Probably habit. “That might be best, actually.”

I bit into another cookie. “And how might that be best?”

My mom leaned against the counter, finally giving me her full attention. “What with … the incident.” She waved a hand in the direction of Haley’s door so I’d know which particular incident she was referring to. “It might be best to have more people around.”

“I’ll come stay,” I said without thinking.

She smiled and leaned over, swiping some cookie crumbs away from my mouth with her towel. “You’ve got your own house to look after now. I appreciate it, but I think your dance card is quite full.”

I sighed. “Fine. What did James say about the house?”

“He recommended that I redo my wards, especially the one in the chimney, since that was done ages ago.”

“That’s all? Did he say how he thought they got in?”

She shook her head. “No, but he did suggest that making them simply repel those who wished harm was not enough.”

“Oh?” I said, eyebrows raised. “Whom are they supposed to keep out now?”

“Everyone.”

*   *   *

After we dropped off my uncle and Pello, we headed back to the house. A lot of things were whirling around in my head as we drove, and Ramon was kind enough to stay quiet while I tried to figure things out. What I needed was to speak to someone who knew what she was talking about. I pulled out my cell phone and hit June Walker’s listing. I had her on speed dial. As the only other necromancer I actually knew, she definitely warranted it. She answered on the third ring, and before she could finish her hello, I’d unloaded everything on her. I was able to gloss over some of it, thanks to Ashley and Dessa. Apparently, between the two of them, they’d been keeping June abreast of things.

“What do you really want to ask me, Sam?” she asked once I’d finished babbling.

“Is there any chance he could have survived?” Between the dreams and all the weird crap, well, it just kept coming back to Douglas.

I heard the click of her lighter as she lit a cigarette. “I don’t think so. With your power boost, the ritual he tried to inflict on you was obviously completed. That couldn’t be unless he was dead.” She paused to take a drag. “But—”

“Why is there always a but?”

She laughed. “Because it’s Douglas. He complicates things. My suggestion? If you’re worried, seek out evidence. Make your
pukis
show you where he took the body.”

*   *   *

It took some fast talking and a lot of unpleasant wheedling to get James to comply. Finally he agreed to meet us there, and I gave Ramon new directions. We found James standing in front of the crypt, leaning against the side nonchalantly, like it was no big deal—like he hung out in cemeteries every day. Of course, working for Douglas, he probably had.

The inside was cooler than the outside in terms of temperature, but not in terms of aesthetics. Or smell. Even with the door propped open for light, the crypt was quite obviously home to a rotting corpse. Without a word, James escorted me over to the marble slab where what was left of Douglas was waiting for me. Ramon decided to stay outside—something about the smell and sensitive noses.

My necromancer status aside, I hadn’t actually seen a lot of decomposing bodies. They’re just not something you run across a lot of unless you work in a field specifically built around handling rotting flesh. Sure, I’ve been to a few funerals, Haden’s for one, but those bodies had been embalmed.

Douglas had not. I was trying not to let my mind see all of it at once, but my stubborn brain kept thinking words like
maggots
and
goo
, and when I saw a beetle crawl through his empty eye socket, I have to say I backed up a step. Basically, my enemy had been reduced to a sloppy, bug-ridden mess. I choked on the smell and tried to cover my nose with the back of my arm.

James just stood there. Unaffected, merely curious, coolly assessing the cadaver like it was something else—a place setting, maybe, or my dress attire.

“I’m sorry I made you do this,” I said.

James had leaned over the corpse, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze following another beetle as it climbed out of Douglas’s suit jacket. “Why? Didn’t it set you at ease?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, of course.” I gestured with the hand not held under my nose. “I was just apologizing for making you see, um, him … like that.”

James shrugged, eyes still following the beetle as it perched on the edge of Douglas’s shiny black shoe. For a second, I really thought he was going to paw at it like a cat. “No apologies necessary,” he said. “This is only a shell. He’s not in here.”