The Enterprise of Death (52 page)

“That’s it.” Carandini burped and the bottle floated from the table to his hand. He refilled his glass. “But shouldn’t we be worrying about you, Lady Awa? Why the curiosity about us?”

“Chloé,” said Awa, more than a little disturbed and doubtful he would help her if he did not have to. “She—”

“She’s one of us now,” said Carandini. “You were heard when you told me in the lab what you’d really come here for, and Breanne’s taken care of it.”

“What?!” Awa stood up. “When, and how—”

“They’ve been listening in, of course, and the little death you gave the girl was easily undone. You did arrive just in time, it sounds like she was almost gone. Why you would prefer her to be one of us instead of simply restored to health is a question I wouldn’t mind answered, in light of how ignorant you seem to be of us.”

“Wait … what?” Awa looked around the dimly lit room, wondering just how many ears were listening in. “I didn’t want her to die, and since she was hurt beyond repair—”

“Beyond whose repair?” Carandini was on glass number three. “I could have restored it, your Chloé, to full wellness in the time it took us to walk downstairs. Hemorrhaged brain, broken bones, ruptured organs? Child’s play.”

“I … I didn’t know,” Awa murmured, wondering for the first time how well Chloé would take the news that she was now a supernatural creature that must occasionally consume human
blood. Not very well, she expected. “I thought it was the only way.”

“It wasn’t.” Carandini chuckled. “She’s one of us now.”

“You said that,” snapped Awa. “Are you going to keep her hostage or will you let her go?”

“She can do whatever she wishes,” said Carandini. “We don’t bestow our boon lightly, but I gather Breanne took a shine to her. Still, Breanne can’t very well hurt you, so she was probably just setting things in place for the girl to have somewhere to go after the inevitable transpires.”

“You mean after I die? Some place for Chloé to go after my tutor finds and destroys me?”

“Yes.” Carandini nodded. “Exactly. You’re getting smarter, see?”

“I want to go.” Awa stood, no longer sure she appreciated the increased intellect that made it so difficult to draw absolute differences between herself and her ghoulish host. “I’ve had enough of this, this nastiness. Living underground, eating people you don’t have to, plotting to steal my girlfriend—what’s wrong with you things?!”

“We’re just practical is all.” Carandini shrugged. “Anyway, you can’t go yet.”

“Why not!?”

“Dunno. Compulsions. Can’t let you out until you’ve come up with something feasible, I gather. So think, Awa, think!” Carandini had stopped using the glass and drank directly from the bottle.

Awa sulked. She could not stop worrying about Chloé—was she awake? How much had they told her about Awa? She had been waiting for the right time to tell Chloé everything, but somehow it was never the right time to tell your lover that you are actually a necromancer afflicted with a terrible curse.

The longer Awa stewed, however, the easier it became to think past her immediate concerns, her emotional concerns, and slowly a smile started to spread across her face. It was so simple, so obvious, that she could not believe it had not occurred to her before. She knew how to find a way to defeat the necromancer.

Carandini had crawled into bed and lay moaning, clutching his scalp. Awa let herself out and closed the iron door behind her, bedding down in the empty laboratory so that her host could gather his wits. Then she fell immediately asleep, exhaustion keeping her pinned to the floor until nearly a full day and night had passed.

Her host was sitting on a bench watching her as Awa awoke and groggily made her way to the bowl she had found on a table and used as a chamber pot. She noticed he now wore a crown of iron but otherwise remained nude. She turned away from him and pissed, wishing he would stop staring at her.

“Time to go, then,” Carandini said after she finished, and he escorted her back to the surface. In the little iron room the mindless corpses of Merritt and Kahlert waited, the bloody sack that had housed Chloé draped limply over Merritt’s arm. “I gather your, ah, girlfriend is waiting outside.”

“Wait,” said Awa. “Please.”

“You are quite welcome,” said Carandini.

“No, not that,” said Awa. “I want to show this one. He deserves it. Will you wait? Please?”

“You
are
a strange one,” said Carandini, but he obliged her.

Awa called Kahlert’s spirit back to his body, the suddenly sentient corpse backing into a corner and crying, “Stay away!”

“Ash,” said Awa patiently. “We are a day’s march from your home, and here we find a nest of undead sorcerers with more power than even I can conceive.”

“Sorcerers?” Carandini snorted. “We’re scholars, philosophers, alchemists.”

“Can you control animals with your mind?” said Awa, annoyed with the bastard. “Can you bring the dead back to life?”

“Of course.”

“Ahhhh”—Kahlert’s head snapped back and forth between the two on its fractured neck, his mind now remembering everything his body had experienced since his death—“aahhh!”

“A day from your house, Inquisitor, a single day out. They’ve been down here for who knows how long and you didn’t suspect a thing!” Awa smiled and shook her head. “And when you took a witch-hunting holiday in Spain you were just down the road from a necromancer, did you know that? So close he hid his mystical treasures in your library—last place a witch would look, but the last place a witch hunter would look as well, apparently. So your house is on top of a warren of bloodthirsty monsters, your summer home is next door to a warlock, and to top it all off you’ve been letting your undead witch girlfriend call the shots. You’re a credit to your profession.”

“Help!” Kahlert closed his eyes. “Please, God—”

“Just thought you should know,” said Awa, and dispelled his spirit.

“That was perfectly charming,” said Carandini. “If you are quite finished I will ask you to leave. Don’t come back.”

The iron portal rang out as Carandini disappeared back down his hole, and Awa sighed, staring at the little red door. What would Chloé have to say? Would they have told her that apparently Awa could have simply asked for them to heal her instead of transforming her into whatever she now was, another Bastard
of the Schwarzwald? Nothing for it but to find out, and Awa swung open the door.

Chloé was waiting in a pool of moonlight on the edge of the forest, more beautiful and alive than Awa had ever seen her. Her skin shone, as did the iron circlet crowning her pale brow, dark hair falling over her shoulders and breasts like night falling over snowy hillocks, and Awa nervously went toward her, keenly aware she had not so much as washed her face since spending a week shoved in a witch hunter’s sack, her clothes soiled, her hair a lumpy mass jutting out from her skull. She paused in front of Chloé, rubbing her hands together, nearly crying at her lover’s unbroken jaw, her unbruised skin, her sharp teeth.

“Were you ever going to tell me you were a witch?” asked Chloé, her tone less severe than Awa had feared but nowhere near so warm as she might have hoped.

“Would you have come with me if you had known?” Awa smiled, weak but hopeful.

“No,” said Chloé, and flinched. “I mean, I don’t think so. Maybe? I was superstitious.”

“Oh,” said Awa, confused. Remembering Chloé could not lie, she focused on something that had been bothering her for a long time. “Why did you insist Merritt come with us? You had a new excuse every time I asked, and you knew how much I hated him.”

“I … I liked him,” said Chloé uneasily. “I know he wasn’t as funny as he thought he was, but he was alright enough. I know what you did to him, incidentally.”

“Oh,” said Awa, no more comfortable with the conversation than Chloé. “Liked him like you liked me?”

“Not quite,” said Chloé, “but close? He was just as lost as the rest of us, run out of his birth home after some business with their Henry getting a whim and putting the spurs to honest men. So down he came to Paris, and he was a good enough sort. Kind
of an asshole about foreigners, but I was working on him about that. Nobody ever had their mind changed about blackamoors, or witches, for that matter, by being killed by one.”

“Why come with me at all, then, if you liked him
close
to how you liked me?” said Awa bitterly. Why the fuck were they talking about that asshole anyway? “Thought there was more fortune to be made tagging along with me, is that it? After all the clothes I bought you, the books you never had time to study, thought you’d make money and keep your boyfriend in the bargain and—”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Chloé said, crossing her arms, and even if the girl had not been dead Awa would have known she was telling the truth. “Taking to the road’s the most dangerous thing in the world. You really think I’d abandon a comfortable position in the best brothel I’ve come across because I thought there was more to be made risking my neck on the open road with you? And so what if I was confused, if I liked the fellow who drank too much and was a cunt to people he didn’t understand almost as much as I liked my girl who drank too much and was a cunt to people she didn’t understand? I should’ve been more honest with you, about my feelings for him, but I never loved you any less for it, and you weren’t exactly upfront with me, either.”

“I only ever loved you,” said Awa. “I was scared I would lose you if, if you knew about me, about what I am. No one understands —”

“No one understands if you don’t give them the chance,” said Chloé.

The two women were quiet for a long time, the silent corpse of Merritt looming behind Awa. Finally Awa could bear it no longer and blurted out, “So what about us? I saved you, and I made some mistakes, sure, but—”

“You killed him!” Chloé’s voice cracked. “You killed him, Awa, and for what? Because he was scared of you? Because he
tried to run away instead of doing what you said? God’s fucking wounds, Awa, you murdered him like I’d swat a flea, and even hearing what he meant to me you’ve got no more remorse!”

“He was an asshole, he was always—”

“No,” said Chloé firmly. “I can’t. It’s over.”

“What?” Awa could hardly believe it. “Because I killed that piece of shit you’re leaving me?”

“Yes!” Chloé cried. “Yes! I love you, I do, and we both know I mean it. But I can’t be with someone who could do that to another person, just, just end them like that, and not even say you’re sorry! You’re not, are you?! You’re not sorry at all!”

“No.” Awa felt cold and sick.

“He was—” “He was alive, and you killed him because he pissed you off. How can I know you won’t do the same thing to me?”

“I wouldn’t!” Awa cried. “Never! I brought you back, I had them bring you back!”

“And that’s something I’ll have to work out on my own,” said Chloé. “I didn’t bring it up, I, I knew you’d be hurt enough, but really, Awa, what the fuck? I’m a monster! They, they say I need to drink blood, to hide underground, to hide from the sun! What the fuck, Awa? You didn’t give him a choice, and you didn’t give me one, either.”

“If you don’t like it dying’s easy enough for all of us,” said Awa, and instantly wished she had not.

“I forgot, didn’t I? Life and death’s like hooding a lantern to you.” Chloé was crying. “I don’t want to see you anymore, Awa. I want you to leave me alone.”

“You’re fucking welcome!” Awa almost screamed at her. “For everything! Sorry I took a fucking interest!”

“I’m not,” Chloé sniffled. “Even now, I’m not. I love you, Awa, and I always will. But not like before. Never like that. Before, if I were still … alive, I might be able to convince myself, you might be able to convince me … but no. I’m wiser now, much wiser
from what they did to me, somehow, and I’m smart enough to see now that I would never be able to trust you again, to really forgive you. I can’t lie to myself any more than I can lie to you—we’re over.”

Awa was trembling and took a step toward Chloé. The girl took a step back. Then it finally sank in—Chloé was genuinely afraid of her. Awa crumbled, and then Chloé did go to her, and held her, and they talked in quiet voices until just before dawn. Then Chloé kissed Awa’s cheek and, with the wisdom of the dead, left her to sort through her pain alone.