Chapter 1
Chapter
One
Erasmus
Migraines sucked. Mine weren’t as debilitating as some people’s were, but they weren’t fun either. The pain made it difficult to think clearly. All I wanted to do was go home, choke down a half-dozen pain pills, and pass out on the couch. The fresh corpse Detective Franklin O’Hare was currently digging up had different ideas.
“The detective does not appear pleased,” Aurelia stated, absolutely zero inflection in her voice. I’d kind of gotten used to my djinn companion’s emotionless comments. I’d yet to determine if she truly had no opinion on matters, or if Aurelia had learned to school her emotions as a way of self-preservation.
“No, I don’t imagine he is.” I rubbed my right temple. I wasn’t too pleased either. The scathing looks Franklin kept sending my way didn’t help my throbbing brain. Inhaling deeply, my eyes slipping closed, I released my breath by slow degrees and attempted to count backward from ten. What I wouldn’t give for one of Pops’s pain charms right about now. Powerful warlocks weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. Pops happened to be one of those lucky few. Choosing to stick around and help raise his necromancer son placed him in an even smaller minority.
I’d already searched my cargo shorts and vest pockets to no avail. I’d evidently failed to notice I’d used up all my pain charms. It was kind of like running out of your meds and realizing the pharmacy was closed for the next twenty-four hours.
Slipping my phone from my pocket, I sent a quick text to Pops, asking if he could overnight the charms. Pops was hundreds of miles away in California. I’d made my home in Mississippi, close to my human mother. Pops never made me feel like he begrudged my decision to live so far away. He also made it well known that I was welcome in his home, in his life, any time. Warlock Nikodemus Holland had a reputation for being an overbearing ass. That reputation was well earned, but to me, he was simply Pops.
“The displeased human is heading this direction,” Aurelia stated. When I opened my eyes and glanced over my shoulder, she was gone.
“Typical,” I mumbled a moment before Detective O’Hare was within hearing range. Most likely he hadn’t even seen her. Aurelia had a way of doing that, of only showing herself to those she wished to see her. Let me tell you, that had been an embarrassing learning curve.
“Detective.” Though it pained me, I managed a smile.
“Boone.” I’d like to think of the annoyance lacing Franklin’s voice as akin to fond irritation, and experience told me Detective O’Hare preferred using last names. Most days I was relieved I’d been given my mother’s instead of my father’s. The Holland surname carried far more weight than I wanted to be saddled with.
“We need to stop meeting like this.” I batted my eyelashes, pleased when Franklin’s fair complexion dusted pink. The color clashed with his strawberry-blond hair but did little to take away from his good looks. Even in the wee hours of the morning, Detective Franklin O’Hare looked good. Sweat beaded on his brow, his suit jacket too much for the humid Mississippi heat. Three a.m. hadn’t lessened that heat by much, if anything. It simmered, not even a hint of breeze.
Craning my neck, I looked around Franklin’s large form. The rest of the police officers milling about wore sensible short sleeves. Detective O’Hare hailed from northern Illinois and despite living in the Deep South for well over seven years, the man still insisted on dressing for the job, not the weather.
Wearing little more than a thin t-shirt, vest, cargo shorts, and flip-flops, I was a hell of a lot more comfortable.
Instead of lightening the mood, my casual statement turned Franklin’s thin lips into a frown. “If my captain weren’t a witch, I’d be a hell of a lot more suspicious.”
In other words, Detective O’Hare had taken his suspicions to his boss and she’d set him straight regarding necromancers. I couldn’t say I blamed Franklin. The man was human, after all. Considering I was just as mortal as Franklin O’Hare, I didn’t really hold his humanity against him. Ignorance was a different matter, but I had to give credit where credit was due. Franklin might have shown up as na?ve as a newborn, but he’d made an effort to learn and accept. Not everyone could say that, no matter their species.
My grin grew. “Sounds like I need to send Captain Cicely a fruit basket. Does she like fruit?” I asked. “Not everyone does.” I shrugged while considering an appropriate gift basket option. “Maybe she’d like one of those spa bath baskets.” I cupped my hands, imitating a small basket. “Something with bath bombs, bubbles, and—”
“Christ, Boone. I have no idea what the captain likes.” Franklin rubbed his temples, wiping away the sweat. It looked like I wasn’t the only one sporting a headache. Placing his fisted hands on his hips, Franklin leaned his head back and stared at the star-filled night. “Fruit,” he finally relented. “She seems to like strawberries. Grapes too.” Lowering his head, Franklin stared at the ground.
“Fruit. Got it.” I gave a cheeky salute that Franklin couldn’t see, given he was still staring at the ground.
Unbuttoning his jacket, Franklin inhaled deeply before raising his head. Shoulders rounded, he stared down at me. Considering I was at least six inches shorter, I didn’t take offense. Detective Franklin O’Hare never made me feel like he was looking down his nose at me. Eye contact was important to him, and I’d found it far too easy to fall into his hazel gaze.
“So tell me what happened this time.” Poor Franklin, he sounded one part curious and two parts exasperated. Homicide detectives were far busier than they should be, and I had no idea what his previous day had been like, when he’d finally gone to bed, or the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep.
Hands stuffed in my pockets, I ignored the chime of an incoming text. Most likely it was Pops wondering why I’d run through all my pain charms already. Pops could wait. Detective Franklin O’Hare couldn’t.
Experience told me Franklin would want the whole story, from the very beginning. “I had a job earlier tonight.” As I began, Franklin took out a spiral notebook and began taking notes. “It was a shit job.” I rolled my eyes as I relayed the greedy grandchildren all vying for their grandfather’s wealth. “Let me tell you, if they’d gotten their grubby little hands on that money, nothing good would have come of it.” I shook my head vehemently. Unlike Franklin’s close-cropped hair, my floppy dark-brown locks drifted haphazardly around my face. “Antony Livingston definitely did the right thing when he took his wealth with him to the grave.”
Franklin’s frown turned thoughtful. “Anyone I need to investigate?” he asked, holding his pen at the ready.
I shrugged. “Probably, although I’m not sure you’ll find much. Antony told me a lot, but I’d imagine it’s all hearsay.” Courts didn’t really like that, even when it came straight from the dead person’s mouth. Necromantic testimony still wasn’t allowed in court, probably because there weren’t a lot of necromancers out there, and even fewer who were willing to help the police. Most of us simply wanted to be left alone. Besides, not all necromancers were created equal. While I could pull a soul back from across the veil, others could not. Some necromancers simply felt and heard the echoes of lingering spiritual trauma. Some were plagued by the dead seeking them out. Some just got a bit of a chill. I was the whole package. Pops said I was unique, but I wasn’t sure if that was true or not. It’s not like there was a necromancer registry out there.
Franklin nodded with grim understanding, jotting down Antony Livingston’s name. I knew he’d look into Antony’s heirs. Detective Franklin O’Hare was that kind of man.
“And after you completed your work, you decided to come here?” Franklin raised a light ginger eyebrow.
I shrugged, spreading my hands wide. “I don’t find graveyards creepy, but some of them are overwhelming.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “There aren’t a lot of happy souls in the graveyard Antony Livingston’s buried in. I needed something more soothing. Trinity’s Holy Cross is like a warm bubble bath to me. Or, at least, it should be.”
My gaze traveled to the hole not far away. They’d found the body at least fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago, and were being a lot more careful now with the recovery. The coroner’s van eased down a winding road, rumbling toward a grave that was far fresher than it should be.
“I heard her,” I said, voice softer now. “I… She wasn’t very coherent. Still isn’t.” I grimaced.
“You can still hear her?” Franklin asked.
I gave a slow nod. “It’s quieter now that I’m farther away and I’ve got my mental shields up. Given where I was, I’d kind of relaxed them earlier. My mistake.” I grimaced again, remembering her shrill voice hitting my brain like a hammer.
“Can you make anything out?” Franklin asked.
I gave it some thought and finally shook my head. “No. Nothing sane anyway. It’s all kind of gibberish and that’s…odd.” It was more than odd. “Maybe she’ll make more sense when I pull her soul back.” I looked up at Franklin. “I’m assuming you’ll want me to do that.”
“I’ll need to get the okay from Captain Cicely, but I think it’s fair to assume she’ll be on board. Forensics will want to do their thing first. You can bring the victim back when they’re done, but before the autopsy. We don’t want another Jane Doe experience.” Franklin winced at the memory.
“Not particularly,” I agreed easily. I’d been called in on a rather nasty murder case. The victim was a Jane Doe. Her autopsy was complete by the time I called her soul back. The poor woman had been so shell shocked by what had been done to her body postmortem that questioning her had proved fruitless. She’d been too traumatized for us to get anything coherent. I’d finally let her soul go. It seemed cruel to do otherwise.
My phone beeped again with a fresh text message. Pops was probably worried I hadn’t responded yet.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “But I should probably respond before Pops gets too worried.”
Franklin paled. “By all means.” He waved a hand at the pocket my phone sounded from. “I wouldn’t want Warlock Holland upset.”
Quickly typing in my PIN code, I opened my texts and found four from Pops. Typing out a quick response, I said to Franklin, “He’s really not that bad.”
Franklin grunted while flipping his notebook closed. “Says the warlock’s beloved son. You’ll pardon me if I don’t believe Nikodemus Holland would be so forgiving to those not related by blood.”
I shrugged. “I suppose that depends on who.”
“Lovely,” Franklin murmured before huffing. “Do me a favor and stick around for a bit.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Detective Franklin O’Hare gave a sharp smile—all teeth and little lip. “Fair’s fair, Boone. If I’ve gotta be up and here, then so do you.”
Considering I wasn’t a homicide detective, I really wasn’t sure how he reasoned that out. Regardless, I didn’t argue. Instead, I found a headstone I thought might hold my weight without tipping over and eased my ass onto it. I wished Aurelia had stuck around. Maybe she could have gotten me some ibuprofen and a bottle of water. Then again, even if she’d been present, I doubted she would have complied. I wasn’t her master and Aurelia was, at best, unpredictable. I hated to think what she could be at her worst.