Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Franklin
“Did you see the news?” Becks asked. Not waiting for my answer, she pushed me out of the way, closed out what I was working on on my computer, and pulled up the internet. She turned up the sound loud enough for me to hear, not that I wanted to.
Breaking news of a shootout in Albany, New York. The sound filtered through my ears as the headlines flashed across the bottom of the screen. Necromancer shot and killed… Police claim he drew a weapon… No weapon was found on the body. He did, however, have a bottled drink in his coat pocket and was acting erratically. Local business owners say the necromancer was screaming at the air and flailing his arms. They feared for their lives and the local police were called to the scene. The necromancer was ordered to raise his hands and drop to his knees, but he did not comply. When the necromancer placed his hand into his pocket, on the suspicious object bulging there, the police opened fire and… The rest played out like a Hollywood script. The film footage on the internet was graphic. It looked like the entire police force opened fire at the same time. The poor necromancer’s body was riddled with bullets. I could only hope and pray the first one was the kill shot.
Nausea swept through me. Pushing away from my desk, I hung my head and breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I became vaguely aware of the hand making soothing circles along my upper back.
“I’m so sorry, Franklin.” Officer Ebony Becks’s voice was whisper quiet. “I should have given you some type of warning before I played the footage. I just saw it myself and I thought of Erasmus and was afraid he’d seen it… And if so, then he’d be upset and you’d want to be there for him, so I—”
“It’s okay,” I finally managed while fighting down the acidic bile creeping up my throat. “I don’t think Boone knows about this. He’s working a case today in Louisiana.” I checked my watch. I knew he was contracted for an hour, but that could easily go longer depending on what happened with the soul he’d been contracted to bring back. If it were an hour or two, Boone should be on his way back to Mississippi by now. I checked my phone, and so far, there weren’t any text messages. Boone had promised to call or text when he was on his way back.
Becks leaned over and closed out the video feed. “I don’t know anything more than what you just saw. Do you want me to look into it some more?” Becks was our resident computer whiz. I didn’t think this fit into her general purview but was grateful for the offer.
“Only if you’re not busy working on something else.”
Becks squeezed my shoulder. “Nothing that can’t wait an hour or so. I’ll see what I can dig up.” With a final squeeze, Becks headed back to her workstation.
Leaning my elbows on my desk, I cradled my face in my palms and inhaled deeply. I didn’t want Boone to see this, but he’d want to know. I needed to be there with him when he found out. While neither one of us knew this now deceased necromancer, it would still hurt. It was also another horrid example of why Boone wanted to find his fellow necromancers.
I forced myself to watch the video again, this time paying attention to what was said along with the scroll across the bottom. My disgust and rage grew. The necromancer’s name was never given. He was simply referred to by his species. It was a way to dehumanize the man. Not that he was human, but the word still fit. Sympathy was clearly on the side of the responding officers and not on the necromancer who’d been needlessly shot down. The guy hadn’t even had a weapon on him. Christ, what was the world coming to? The sad fact was there would barely be an investigation and no disciplinary action would be taken. Had it been practically anyone but a necromancer who’d died, the shit would already be hitting the fan. As it was, this dustup would simply be swept under the rug. Many would think the officers did the world a favor.
Captain Cicely walked out of her office and made her way to me. A ring on each finger, necklaces draped around her neck, and more than a few charms hidden in her pockets, Captain Cicely looked every bit the powerful witch she was. As far as I was concerned, we were damn lucky to have a capable witch as our captain. A lot of other humans might not feel that way, but I wasn’t one of them.
“You okay, O’Hare?” Captain Cicely asked. “I felt…” She shook her head. “I’m not exactly sure, but the emotion was strong and unpleasant.” Not all witches could do that and while I knew Captain Cicely was capable, she rarely called anyone out on their emotions. The fact she came to me indicated just how powerful a reaction I’d had.
“Sorry, Captain,” I answered.
“Don’t apologize for a feeling, O’Hare. They are hardly easily controlled. I was simply concerned.”
I nodded and clicked on the minimized report. “Just a warning, it’s graphic and hard to watch.”
Captain Cicely leaned over my chair, staring at the screen. I couldn’t watch a third time. While I couldn’t feel her emotions the way she did mine, Captain Cicely’s harsh intakes of breath and wide eyes let me know she was just as disturbed. “May Gaia have mercy,” Captain Cicely said as the report ended and I minimized it again.
“Yeah.” It was all I could come up with. Gaia wasn’t my religion, but I wouldn’t turn her mercy away.
“Does Boone know?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know of. The time stamp indicates this truly is breaking news and he’s either at a cemetery in Louisiana or on the road back.” Boone did listen to the radio but since this took place in New York, I doubted it would make it to local radio.
Similar to Becks, Captain Cicely placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Let me know if you need some extra time off to deal with the fallout. Necromancer Boone is important to this precinct. He’s also important to you, and besides, I like him. Take care of the home front, O’Hare.” With a final pat, Captain Cicely walked away.
As if he knew I was now alone, my phone buzzed with a text from Boone. On the road. Back in two to three hours. It was followed by a heart emoji.
I sat there, staring at my phone before finally typing back, Be careful. See you soon. Love you.
I got another heart emoji in response.
Leaning heavily back into my chair, I scrubbed my face before running my fingers over my short ginger hair. My earlier lunch sat heavy in my stomach as I contemplated the conversation Boone and I needed to have tonight.
“Fuck,” I murmured, the bullpen too loud for anyone to hear or maybe care. That’s the way police precincts were. No matter what your problem, someone else had it worse.
B oone looked like shit. His eyes were red rimmed, and I could tell he’d been crying. What in the hell happened? I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell him what occurred earlier in New York. For a hot minute, I thought he’d already heard.
“I heard from Pops today,” Boone said as he opened the lid of the pizza I’d picked up on the way over. I needed to start making healthier takeout choices. Either that or one of us needed to learn to cook better. While I loved Momma Boone, she wasn’t much help in that area. Lydia Boone made excellent sweet tea, but when it came to the stove or the oven, she gracefully bowed out.
I wasn’t sure how much pizza I’d be able to eat. Bringing up Warlock Holland’s name didn’t make me any hungrier. Somewhat reluctantly, I asked, “Anything wrong?” And that’s when Boone related the fact that the Warlock Council had decided to sit on their damn hands and not release the names of recent necromancer mothers. At least that would have given us a starting point trying to track down the necromancers that were out there and currently off the grid.
“No point,” Boone scoffed. “Can you believe that shit?” He shook his head while viciously biting into a pizza slice. Boone rarely spoke disparagingly of the general way warlock fathers abandoned their necromancer sons. He’d often said he wasn’t in a position to judge. While I begged to differ, I also understood that, as a human, this wasn’t my culture. There were a lot of bat-shit crazy things humans did that the other species looked upon and simply turned a confused, blind eye to. Most of our nuances were benign but not all of them.
I let Boone vent and if he didn’t notice how little pizza I ate, all the better. It had taken Boone and me a couple of weeks to fall in love with pizza again after hearing that Aurelia killed one of her previous masters by smothering him in the warm, gooey joy of pizza.
My ears perked up when Boone hesitantly said, “I asked Pops about contacting Tenzen Huxley.”
“The Magical Usage Council guy?” I asked. “The one that called and you said gave you a creepy feeling?” I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s the one,” Boone confirmed.
“What did Warlock Holland have to say?” I was genuinely curious.
Boone swallowed hard and took a drink of sweet tea before he answered. “I think Tenzen gives Pops the willies too.”
I paused, slice of pizza halfway to my lips before setting it down on my plate. “That doesn’t do my sense of calm a lot of good.”
“Nor mine,” Boone agreed while chewing on his bottom lip. “I can’t say that I’m eager to open that door. I’m just not sure what else to do.”
The sound coming out of my throat was more groan than sigh. Shifting my chair, I came to Boone’s side and reached for his hands. His fingers were smaller and far slenderer than mine. His milk-pale skin practically glowed next to my rougher, ruddier hue. I traced patterns along the back of his hand with my thumbs while quietly mulling over what I knew needed said.
“Franklin, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. There was too much that was wrong to put into words. “Something happened today.”
“At the precinct?”
“No. At least not where I work.” My gut twisted, the one and a half slices of pizza I’d managed to eat threatening return. “This is going to be tough to hear, so I’m just gonna say it, rip the bandage off.”
Boone didn’t verbally answer; he simply nodded. That was my cue, and I did exactly what I promised. I spilled the whole shitty story, or at least what I knew of it. Despite Becks’s digging, she hadn’t been able to pull up more details, not even the necromancer’s name. Maybe they didn’t know it. Maybe it simply wasn’t important.
Boone’s fingers tightened in mine before going disturbingly lax. They also went cold. I rubbed harder, attempting to instill more warmth. Boone was shaking by the time I was done.
“They just shot him?” Boone asked, his voice small and whisper soft.
“They did, although there were mitigating circumstances.” I winced. I didn’t want to defend the officers’ actions. If they’d truly felt threatened, that was one thing. But there was absolutely no reason for the obvious overkill that happened. The necromancer hadn’t simply been shot. He’d been massacred.
“Gaia,” Boone prayed. “How can…” Boone trailed off. “Why?”
I shook my head again. I’d been asking myself that all afternoon. “Ignorance. Fear. Stupidity. Pick a shitty reason and go with it.” Personally, I was leaning toward a combination of all three and then some. Fear was a powerful motivator. And, as sad as it was, necromancers were often shuffled into this purgatory zone. They were the minuscule community that everyone threw their distrust toward. In many ways, necromancers had become the scapegoats of modern society. Fear of necromancers was one thing nearly every species could agree upon. It was a horrid common denominator.
Boone leaned back in his chair, his hands slipping free of mine. I could have held on, but I let him go. Eyes distant, Boone stared over my shoulder, gaze unfocused.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. Those words were never enough. You’d think by now humanity could have come up with something more meaningful, something that managed to encompass the breadth of feeling those words typically attempted to harness.
Boone’s slow blink sent more tears cascading down his cheeks. He let them fall, not even attempting to brush them away. With a mirthless chuckle, Boone said, “I’ll bet it didn’t even make national news.”
Boone was right; the shooting and subsequent death hadn’t made it into the national media. At least, not yet. I doubted it would. There were too many other stories that pulled in viewers. Sadly, a shot-up necromancer wouldn’t gain a lot of traction. Becks came across the news story because she’d been in the middle of an internet search for another case.
Voice soft, Boone asked, “Is this my fault?”
I jerked back, eyes wide. “How would this be your fault?”
Boone shrugged. “I could have started looking sooner. I should have started looking sooner. These are my people, Franklin. They weren’t as fortunate as me. I—”
“Stop.” I jolted forward and grabbed Boone’s shoulders, shaking him slightly to get his attention. “This is not your fault. You are not even fault adjacent. There’s plenty of blame to go around, but none of it lands at your feet. Do you hear me, Erasmus? None of it.”
Boone’s head turned down as he stared at his clasped hands. I thought he was listening to me, but I didn’t think he was hearing me. With a heavy sigh, I grabbed his shoulders and tugged him out of his chair. Wrapping my arms around him, I felt Boone sink into my embrace. Dipping my hands lower, I cupped his ass and picked him up, carrying him to the couch. I wouldn’t say our landing on the cushions was graceful, but neither of us got hurt and Boone was still plastered against my chest, so I took it as a win.
My fingers carded through Boone’s hair. I loved its silky feel and length. With his cheek pressed against my neck, I felt the warm puffs of Boone’s breath and leaned into the comfort of the couch. Inhaling deeply, I decided to try again. “You’re too close to this right now, so listen to someone who’s a bit more objective. I get what you’re saying, and I even understand a little why you feel the way you do. You got lucky. Your pops is a card-carrying asshole but I don’t give a damn about that. I respect the hell out of Holland because he stayed, because he didn’t abandon you. Did his presence stabilize your necromancer abilities? I have no idea and neither does he. I’d wager you would have been more capable than most even if Holland hadn’t stuck around. But that’s not something we’ll ever know, and I’m okay with that.
“You are not responsible for every necromancer, just as I’m not responsible for every human, and thank God for that small mercy.” I did not want to even contemplate holding that type of responsibility. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that life hasn’t been easy for you either, Boone.” Lydia Boone had originally placed her son in public school only to be told he wasn’t welcome. It was a playbook Boone’s momma had learned to play by, instilling that knowledge into her son. Lydia Boone was a strong woman—smart too. Boone’s momma was the kind of woman who knew when to fight in public and when to move that fight to the privacy of the home. Sometimes the cost of winning was too high. It was a lesson most took a lifetime to learn. It was a lesson Lydia Boone had thankfully learned earlier than most.
As expected, Boone scoffed and attempted to argue. “What I’ve been through is nothing compared to—”
“And how do you know that? Our problem is that we don’t know many other necromancers. Hell, beyond Navarre, we don’t know any. That’s a pretty broad sweeping statement given the circumstances.”
Boone’s huff was warm against my chest. “I think it’s a fair assumption.”
“Yeah, we can debate that, but I don’t really feel like arguing right now.” I really didn’t. I wanted to hold the man in my arms until the sun broke the morning sky.
Quiet filled the room and ever so slowly, Boone’s stiff muscles relaxed as he sank further into my body. “I don’t either,” he whispered. “I’m too tired to fight. Plus, fighting with you isn’t any fun.”
My chuckle shifted Boone’s body. “Agreed. There are a hell of a lot of other things I’d rather do with you than fight.”
“No argument here,” Boone answered on a yawn. “Gaia, I’m tired. I shouldn’t be this wiped after returning a single soul.”
I didn’t think Boone’s exhaustion was work related. It was the emotional kind and that was always worse than physical exhaustion. “I think we could both use a nap,” I said while I continued stroking his hair.
“Hmm…maybe just a small one.”
“Go to sleep. I’ve got you.” I held on just a little bit tighter. If it were up to me, I’d never let Erasmus Boone go. Life would have other ideas. I’d just need to figure out how to manipulate Life into allowing more moments like these.