The Necromancer's Seduction (2 page)

Kara scares me when she undertakes a mission, more so when her mission involves me.
I’m still bewildered at my friendship with a witch. I used to slip into her cluttered
bookstore and hide between the occult literature aisles searching for books. At first,
I resisted her attempts at conversation, but she persisted and seemed sincere. We
share an odd friendship based more on symbiotic need. Through her I get my morsels
of supernatural life from afar, and she gets her ration of blah when the coven grated
on her nerves. It worked for the most part. Of course, we’ve yet to rake our friendship
over the coals.

“Seriously. You haven’t called me in a few days, although,” she dragged the words
out, “could it be because of Apple Pie?”

“No.”

I knew she wanted all the dirt on Steve. Sadly, there wasn’t much to shovel.

“We’re going on a date Friday night.”

She crossed her arm into mine, and we strolled down a walkway lined with acacia trees,
weaving between students gathered on small clumps of grass or seated around picnic
tables. I noted the occasional side-glance from the male students. I’m sure we painted
an interesting picture in contrasts—her short, black hair and dark brown eyes against
my hazel eyes and shoulder length, copper-auburn mane.

“See, it makes me happy to know you have a date instead of spending another Friday
night at home like an old ninny.”

“I actually believe you worry about my sex life, but I’m convinced you have an ulterior
motive, and I can’t deal right now.”

“What’s up?”

“Supes. They’ve been literally appearing out of thin air and dark alleys since Cora
died. Before I know it, they’ll be slinking out of my TV or toilet.”

“Whoa. What are you talking about?” She stopped, and we stepped off the walkway onto
the grass.

“Supernaturals asking me to raise dead enemies or what have you. I don’t know how
Cora dealt with it.”

“I see.” She tapped her index finger on her chin. “Cora set ground rules. You should
do the same.”

“No. I’m not setting any rules because I’m not going to raise dead Ninjas.”

“Ninjas?”

I shook my head. “What do you need?”

She sighed. “You’re not going to want to hear this.”

I opened my arms out to my sides. “Lay it on me. Can’t be worse than the fae in my
class today.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“No, you’re not.”

She waited for some students to pass us on the walkway. “I need to go talk to one
of our witches.”

“Doesn’t this witch have a phone?”

“I also need to get something from him. Please come with me.”

“Why doesn’t someone from the coven go with you?”

“Adam was, ah, expelled from the coven.” She gave me one of those half guilty smiles.
“You don’t have to do anything. You can hang out and enjoy the scenery.”

“Somehow I’m thinking he doesn’t live beachside.”

“Look, I don’t want to go alone, but bringing another witch might upset him.”

I racked my brain for an excuse. I could always pull the professor card—research,
papers to review.

Her eyes pleaded. Kara never pleaded.

I caved. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

She smiled and grabbed my arm again, propelling me past the buildings to the street
where she’d parked her red Prius.

I got a sinking feeling, like the last time I passed a cop driving seventy-five in
a fifty-five zone. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Kara laughed. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”

I responded with a snort. “You really want me to answer that?”

Chapter Two

I followed Kara up the narrow stairs lit by one light that flickered on and off, casting
our bodies as misshapen shadows on the walls. Adam lived in a small studio above a
convenience store in the part of the Haight that hadn’t quite succumbed to trendy
boutiques and expensive restaurants. The occasional smell of greasy noodles traveled
up the stairwell from the Chinese takeout joint next door.

“He’s not going to hit us with a horrible spell that turns us into Bridezillas, is
he?” I asked.

She sputtered a laugh. “I can almost see him doing something like that.”

“Why was he expelled from the coven?”

“I can’t tell you.” She halted in front of a faded yellow door, paint peeling around
the edges. Her mouth moved, forming the words of a spell. She frowned. “He didn’t
finish casting his protection spells.”

I couldn’t help peeking down the stairway. “Now might be a good time to bring in another
witch.”

“No, let’s go inside and check things out,” she said, her tone insistent. The same
tone mothers use to herd their three-year-olds out of the candy store.

She resumed her spell casting, touching a small, silver Japanese Geisha charm attached
to a silver chain hanging around her neck. Witches draw their power from earth elements,
needing a proper balance of at least two elements to complete a spell. Elemental power
emanates from a range of things in the natural environment—hot or cold air, the soil
in a potted plant, salt from the ocean. If a witch attempts a spell and can’t find
enough elements around her, she can extract extra power from the charm she previously
loaded up.

The door swung open. When I didn’t follow her into the apartment, she turned to me.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said. I refrained from voicing the more significant
reason for keeping my feet planted in place.

She got it.

She took a moment to respond, and I saw the internal debate in her pursed lips. When
she spoke, she used a level tone instead of her usual fuck-you-I’m-right. “I never
ask you to help me with any of the supernatural stuff. All I want is your company,
all right? We’ll leave the apartment, and then you can return to your closet at the
university.”

I stood next to the staircase a moment longer, irritated. I have an office at the
university and have taught countless introductory anthropology classes to earn it.
With an exaggerated sigh for her benefit, I stepped into the apartment. She shut the
door behind me.

Kara planted her hands on her hips while surveying the apartment. “Did he have monkeys
for roommates?”

I smiled and took in the clothes, magazines, and books scattered about the apartment
in uneven piles. A desk occupied one corner with a computer monitor peeking out of
the paper stacked on top and overflowing onto a frayed thrift store couch.

She walked around the room with her hands up, casting more spells. “I don’t want any
surprises while we look around. So where would a messy guy keep his spell journal?”

“Buried in one of the piles. Why are you looking for his spell journal?”

She answered me with another “none-of-your-business” stares.

“Right, more top secret coven stuff. Should we be poking around his apartment? Aren’t
we violating his privacy?”

Kara crossed her arms. “He never turned over his spell book when the coven requested
it.”

I rolled my eyes. Supernaturals eschewed silly things like propriety and other societal
norms, stretching out the moral gray areas to their benefit—one of the many supe quirks
that set my teeth on edge. In the witches’ eyes, they were justified in rummaging
through Adam’s place in his absence.

“I’ll go search upstairs. No wait, I’ll go check out the scenery,” I said in a dry
tone.

I knew in coming here I wouldn’t be sitting around twiddling my thumbs, no matter
what Kara said, but she was right. She never involved me in supe affairs, respecting
the boundaries I’d set. Maybe that’s why I’d agreed to come.

The upstairs loft contained just enough space for a bed and an antique rosewood armoire.
The slanted walls created a tent-like room illuminated by a small window. I was surprised
at the made up bed and lack of piles given the riot downstairs. I ran my hand along
the silk sheets. A small metal picture frame sat alone on his bedside table.

I picked up the cold metal and studied the four-by-six of a sun-bleached blond man
in a wet suit holding a surfboard. His arm circled a petite woman wearing what amounted
to dental floss. His stance mirrored his lazy smile. Adam, I presumed. I sat on the
bed and stared at the picture of this handsome surfer. I refused to rifle through
his armoire for the spellbook. I peeked out the window at the adjoining rooftops.
San Francisco has some of the best sights in the country. This was not one of them.

“Find anything?” Kara’s voice greeted me when I returned to the bottom floor.

“Nope.” I decided to keep the surfing to myself. “Where’s Adam from?”

“Santa Cruz.”

“Why did he come to San Francisco?”

“To join the coven. His power outgrew the one in Santa Cruz.”

“I don’t understand why someone needs to join such an organized, stifling group.”

She flicked her gaze upward. “Yeah, we all know about your so-called independence.
Belonging to a group has its advantages. You might want to give it a try.”

“I belong to a group. They’re called humans. I may be supernatural—” I paused, the
words leaving an acrid aftertaste. “—but I’m from here, not some other realm like
the demons. Why do you distance yourself from people?”

Her lips twisted in a sardonic grin. “I find that funny coming from you.”

“You’re avoiding the question. What’s your beef with normal folk?”

She picked through a pile of books in the corner of the room, lifting one and flipping
through the pages. “I’ll have to ask Adam if I can borrow this one—good spells.” She
chucked it on the couch next to her purse and turned back to the pile. I threw my
hands up, resigned, when her voiced piped up. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe
the normal folk have a beef with me?”

I studied her back as she sifted through rumpled clothes stacked in one corner, lifting
each article with her candy-red fingernails lest she contaminate herself. I was about
to ask her to elaborate when she swung around, the lines in her face tight. “Someone’s
outside.”

Neither of us moved. We stunted our breaths, straining to hear any sounds from the
other side of the closed door.

“Maybe it’s Adam or a neighbor?” I whispered. “What if they call the police?” Last
thing I needed was a police record for breaking and entering. I’m sure the Dean would
look favorably upon that during my tenure review. Shit.

She flapped her palm to shoosh me and tiptoed to the door, whispering more spells.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked under rapid footsteps.

“Crap.” She gestured to me. “Open the door.”

She stood to my side, hand clasped around the Geisha, spell ready to cast at whatever
threatened on the other side. I gripped the doorknob, my pulse picking up speed. I
flung open the door. Nothing but empty hallway.

We peeked around the doorjamb. Kara crept into the hall first, spells poised on the
tip of her tongue. I wrinkled my nose at the reek of something dank, as if someone
had left wet clothes in the hallway—for weeks. The odor tickled my brain, but I couldn’t
quite pinpoint where I’d smelled it before. “Do you smell anything?”

She shook her head, mouth still occupied with spell casting.

“What are you doing now?” I whispered.

“A tracking spell.”

“We should leave. I’m not interested in playing detective.”

“Ruby, please.” She walked down the hall.

I groaned and followed her, knowing with each step I was crawling deeper into the
rabbit hole. I could turn around and walk down those stairs, but I didn’t want to
let Kara follow the unknown visitor alone.

“This way.” She clutched my arm and turned the corner of the hall, finding the door
that led to the roof.

“Can you tell who you’re tracking from the spell?”

“No.” A small line formed between her eyebrows. “The tracks are strange. Not like
the ones I’ve seen before with this spell.”

“You can see tracks?”

“Figure of speech. It’s more like following a trail of mist.”

We emerged on the roof. Kara ran to look over the edge at the rooftop below. “The
trail dissipated.” She perched on the ledge, disappointment etched on her brow.

Relief flowed through me. I wasn’t comfortable with snooping around someone’s place,
and the smell from the hallway, stronger now, was nagging me. What was it?

“How did you know it wasn’t Adam?” I said.

“The protection spell I set at the door would have told me if it was a witch.”

It hit me. The smell. Like rotting fish.

“Help me look around the rooftop,” I said.

“For what?”

“You’ll know when you see it.” I was afraid to voice my suspicion. I hoped I was wrong.

Old crates littered the rooftop. A couple of beach chairs sat next to a long abandoned
garden overrun with weeds and rosemary. I stepped between the rosemary bushes, keeping
my eyes trained on the dirt. I pushed one bush aside.

The bush slipped from my shaking hand and smacked against my leg. I called Kara over
and sat on a crate, no longer able to support my heavy limbs.

Kara was quiet, her eyes fixed on Adam’s body. “How?” her voice broke. She took a
few breaths. “Necromancer sixth sense?”

I nodded. The last time I smelled death through a necromancer’s senses, I was a teenager
helping my grandmother reanimate a corpse. I should be more jaded, stoic at the sight
of dead bodies, but I’m not. I know the trauma, the angst, a corpse clings to. My
breath shook.

“He didn’t deserve this,” Kara said.

“Does anyone?”