Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Franklin
Christ, this was another clusterfuck . I wiped my forehead with an already-damp handkerchief. I still wasn’t sure why I’d moved to Mississippi. My sister was even more perplexed, and my brother had written the move off as a slip of sanity. One that continued seven years later.
The summer heat and humidity were brutal, but the winters weren’t. It was a trade-off. Considering I hated the cold more than the heat, I’d deal with the current conditions and keep my complaints trapped inside my mental walls.
Walking away from Erasmus Boone was far more difficult than it should be. Every time I saw him, turning away became increasingly difficult. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. The necromancer was a menace. Not really, but for a homicide detective, Erasmus Boone was the town crier…only instead of a bell, he had a cell phone.
Hitching up my pants, I squatted at the edge of the far-too-fresh grave. Floodlights lit up the area, heating the air even more.
“What have we got, Johns?” Albert Johns was a competent officer, if not a little young and green.
Straightening, Johns placed his shovel to the side and leaned against the side of the grave he was standing in. The man stank of sweat and soil. It was damn near impossible for anyone to smell like roses in this type of weather and situation.
“Not certain yet. Female with long red hair. She’s decked out in jewelry— lots of jewelry.”
I stopped writing and looked up from my notebook. “Witch?”
“That would be my bet,” Johns agreed. “Some human women wear this much, but I’d bet money she’s a witch. I suppose we’ll know soon enough.” Johns looked past me and in Boone’s direction. “You get anything from the necromancer?”
The hairs on my neck stood up. I hated it when others called Boone by his species, not his name. “Boone had some information, but nothing overly helpful. Seems our victim’s lingering juju isn’t making much sense.”
I wasn’t entirely clear how Boone’s abilities worked. He’d tried explaining it to me and I thought I understood well enough to do my job. Most souls moved on, but part of their aura lingered, and that’s what Boone generally picked up on. He couldn’t speak or interact with those lingering auras and needed to bring back the full soul, the complete essence, from wherever it wound up in order to interrogate someone. I’d already left a message with Captain Cicely asking for permission to use Boone’s services. It would be the quickest way to get answers. It also cost money the department didn’t always have—not that Boone charged a lot. I knew for a fact he’d billed the department a whole dollar for a case three years ago.
Despite the heat, Johns shivered. “I’m glad it’s you that’s gotta talk to the necromancer. That guy gives me the creeps.”
I found that thought amusing considering Officer Johns was currently standing in a hole with a corpse.
“He is what he is,” I stated, holding in my burning ire. Boone was only the second necromancer I’d met. The first one hadn’t been very talkative considering he’d been lying on a cold slab in the morgue. The poor bastard had committed suicide. Like most necromancers, his warlock father abandoned him at birth. He’d been one of the unlucky ones, born with the ability to hear the dearly departed but unable to communicate with them. All those voices had driven the necromancer insane.
I glanced at Boone. I might be scared shitless of Nikodemus Holland, but I was grateful he’d stepped up and taken an active role in his son’s life. I wasn’t sure if that was why Boone was so sane and at ease with his lot in life, or not. Whatever the reason, seeing his casual posture put me at ease. I didn’t like the thought of him being tormented by spirits the rest of us couldn’t see or hear.
“Detective O’Hare, I had a feeling it would be you out here tonight.” Dr. Morgan McCallister walked up to the grave’s opposite edge.
I stood, staring at him across the gaping hole. “I’d shake your hand, but…” I glanced down at the space between us. “I’m not sure I fancy falling in and keeping Johns here company.”
Dr. McCallister was an uptight, middle-aged man. Thin to the point of frailty, his sparse, wispy blond hair clung to his skin with the tenacity of a lemon peel. The scars littering his face pointed to a teenage battle with acne. Given the divots, I didn’t think he’d come out on the winning side. Fingers tight on his bag’s handle, Dr. McCallister looked from the hole to me. His pale blue eyes were his most striking feature and nearly glowed under the fluorescent lights.
“No need to go that far,” Dr. McCallister said, barely a tremble to his words. He was nearly as skittish as a rabbit, and I always made it my mission to try and put him at ease as much as possible.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you on this one,” Johns said. “Whoever shoved her in this hole didn’t do much but throw the body in. She’s not even wrapped in a sheet.” Johns shook his head as if our victim’s lack of covering was more offensive than the fact she’d presumably been murdered.
“Shows a lack of care,” I said, talking to myself more than anyone else. “Whoever did this didn’t care about our victim.” Killers that knew their victims, or that felt some level of remorse, often covered the body.
“Certainly,” McCallister agreed. Typically, he’d be pushing up his glasses by now, but I noticed he wasn’t wearing them.
“No glasses?” I asked, and McCallister flushed.
“Lasik,” he answered without further explanation.
“My cousin had that done,” Johns said, reaching for a nearby rag. “Said it was the best thing she’s ever done.” Wiping his hands, Johns only managed to smear the dirt around. “Jesus, I need a shower. Maybe two or three.” Pulling his t-shirt away from his body and taking a sniff, Johns’s nose scrunched. “I bet I smell worse than I look.”
Kneeling, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting.”
“No problem,” Johns answered easily, despite the fact I knew it was difficult work.
Across the gravesite, McCallister stiffened. “I was unaware Necromancer Erasmus Boone was here.”
Craning my neck, I followed McCallister’s line of sight. Boone was no longer sitting on the tombstone. He was walking through the tall weeds, kicking his feet here and there. Hands stuffed into his shorts pockets, Boone made a path around two headstones, creating an infinity loop as he walked.
“He was the one that found the body.” I frowned and rethought my words. “Maybe heard the body would be a better way to phrase it.”
“Oh, what did he hear?” McCallister asked.
“Not much. Or at least nothing understandable. I gather our victim is very loud, but not very coherent.” Reluctantly pulling my attention away from Boone, I glanced up at McCallister. “I’m waiting to hear back from the captain, but I can’t believe she’ll decline my request. As soon as you deem it okay, I’ll get Boone over here and see about putting our victim’s soul back into her body. Maybe she’ll make more sense then.”
McCallister swallowed hard. “We can only hope.”
I nodded, unsure what to say.
“You need some help getting down here, doc?” Johns asked, already holding up his free hand.
McCallister batted the appendage away. “I’m perfectly capable.”
Johns pulled his hand back and frowned. “I wasn’t saying you’re not. Just offering to help.” Johns shot me a questioning glance, and I shook my head. McCallister was touchy. Given his size and acne scars, I figured he’d been teased in school. Or at least that’s the way he often acted.
“Hell, if I’m not needed, I’m gonna head back to my car and grab some water,” Johns said.
I held out my hand and Johns easily grasped it. I hauled him to his feet and he staggered off, slapping the seat of his pants in an effort to get the caked mud off.
McCallister didn’t say anything. His flushed cheeks spoke to his probable embarrassment, but that was it. Squatting, the man managed to crawl into our victim’s makeshift grave. It might not have been graceful, and McCallister landed rougher than looked comfortable, but he managed it on his own.
My phone rang, Captain Cecily’s ringtone filling the night. “It’s the captain,” I said. “If you’re good, I’ll get this.”
“I’m fine.” McCallister waved me off, not bothering to glance up as he did so.
Turning, I answered, “O’Hare.”
“What are we looking at?” Captain Cicely got straight to the point.
“Dr. McCallister’s in the grave with the victim right now. Early report is that it’s a red-haired white woman suspected of being a witch.”
I heard the barest inhale across the phone. “Witch? Any ID?”
“None that’s been found yet. Johns dug down to the body and like I said, Dr. McCallister’s in there with her now. Forensics is here too.” When I looked back, they were working with Dr. McCallister. “I’m not sure how long they’ll be, but Boone is also here.” I’d left that information on the message, so it wasn’t news. “Boone can’t give us much on the preliminary. With your permission, I want him to bring the victim back. Will her coven object?”
“All covens are different, but if it really looks like murder, I don’t think they’ll mind as long as we’re respectful. You’ve worked with Boone the most.”
“He’s respectful,” I answered easily. I’d learned that during the Jane Doe catastrophe. Despite forceful requests to the contrary, he sent the victim’s soul back as soon as he realized how distressed she was. Solving cases and bringing the guilty to justice were important. So was not victimizing someone twice.
“Understood. As soon as Dr. McCallister gives you the all-clear, let Erasmus do his thing. Once you’ve got the victim’s name, let me know and I’ll contact their coven.”
“Could she be—”
“Not one of mine,” Captain Cicely answered. “The only Caucasian coven member we have is Samantha, and she’s blond. Assuming you’re correct and our victim’s a witch, she’s not one of mine.” Relief filled Captain Cicely’s voice. “Thank you for worrying. I won’t lie and say I’m not relieved she’s not one of mine, but I feel for whoever she’s left behind.”
“Of course, Captain.”
“Tell Erasmus we can pay his usual fee.”
I had no idea what the usual was. “I’ll let him know.”
“Take care, Detective.” Captain Cicely ended the call and my attention returned to the gravesite.
“I don’t think Joseph thought to expect company.” At some point, Boone had snuck up beside me. Hands shoved into his back pockets, he leaned into his heels. “The old guy might have freshened the place up if he’d known.”
I blinked, trying to make sense of what Boone said. When I remained clueless, I said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Boone pointed at the tilted headstone. “Joseph Johnson. 1823-1901. Long life for the times,” Boone said. “If he had a wife, she’s not buried nearby. No children either.” Boone shrugged. “I suppose that’s neither here nor there. Unless I bring Joseph back, he doesn’t even know he’s currently got company. He’s a very content soul. Not much background noise from him. Probably someone I’d enjoy talking with.”
Speaking with Boone was always a bit of a mindfuck. The conversations didn’t weird me out like they did a lot of my colleagues. Boone was different, but it wasn’t the bad kind. His world was different than mine. Death—that all-important equalizer—didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did to me and most of the rest of the world. For Boone, death wasn’t the end of the conversation; it was the beginning.
“Freshened the place up?” I questioned, finally cottoning onto what Boone had said.
He gave me an impish grin. “A little necromancer humor. Cut me some slack, I don’t have a lot of material to work with.”
It was more difficult than it should be to suppress a laugh. The smile twisting my lips was impossible to deny. I started to comment, but McCallister poked his head out of the hole and said, “I think I’ve got what I need. I assume you want to utilize Mr. Boone’s…services before the autopsy.”
“Righto,” Boone responded before I got a chance. “Any idea how she died?” he asked, beating me to the question.
McCallister shot a glance my direction and waited for my okay before he unhelpfully answered, “Unknown at this point. Nothing obvious. An autopsy will definitely be necessary.”
“Any identification?” I asked.
Again, McCallister shook his head. “None that we’ve found. The gravesite is very clean.”
Not offering to help McCallister out of the hole went against my upbringing, but the gesture wouldn’t be welcome, despite how much it was needed. It was painful watching him try and get out on his own. After a couple of minutes, one of the forensic techs reached in and, without asking, grabbed McCallister’s wrist, hauling him up and out.
For a minute, I thought he’d scold the woman who’d helped. In the end, McCallister turned his cherry-red cheeks in the other direction. I couldn’t hear his mumbled words to know if he had actually thanked her or not. No matter the words, I didn’t think there was a lot of appreciation to back them up.
“Right then, let’s get this show on the road so we can all go home and self-medicate in our own desired fashion.” Interlocking his fingers, Boone twisted them, bending them back and cracking his knuckles. “I’ll have a name for you in just a minute.”
Crouching beside the grave, Boone closed his eyes. I’d seen him do this before. It typically didn’t take him long to find who he was searching for. According to Boone, every body had a tether—a thin, invisible string linking their physical form to their soul. He simply had to find it and follow it. It sounded simple enough, but I doubted it was as easy as he said.
“Ah, there you are.” Boone’s eyebrows lifted and when his eyes opened, they glowed soft and green. “Rebecca Ann Mosely.”
I scribbled down the name.
“Time to return.”
The loose ground below shifted, pieces of dirt falling to the side as the corpse moved. It was always a grisly scene. Rebecca’s corpse was at least a week old, maybe more. It was hard to tell. She hadn’t been out in the Mississippi heat, but rotting in the ground hadn’t improved her physical appearance.
“Stand,” Boone ordered, giving weight to that single word.
Rebecca’s corpse did as ordered. She stood, legs shaky, head barely peeking out from above the edge of her makeshift grave.
She blinked, and more dirt fell. I had no idea what Rebecca’s eye color had been. Her sockets held shriveled, cloudy gray orbs.
Boone started to speak, probably to ask her what had happened. He didn’t get the chance. Rebecca’s mouth opened and she screamed. The sound tore through the night, silencing the surrounding creatures. Dropping my notebook, I slapped my hands over my ears, but the pain continued.
Boone jerked back, nearly tripping over the nearby weeds. He tried speaking over her, but I couldn’t hear what he said. Rebecca couldn’t either.
Grabbing at her hair, she tugged mercilessly, ripping out great handfuls. She twisted and turned before she did something even more horrific and slammed her head into the nearby dirt wall. All the while, her screams carried on, drowning out all other thought.
Boone’s voice rose to a shout. “Enough. Release!”
Rebecca’s body crumpled back into her grave. Ears still ringing, I crept to the edge, looking over at the still corpse lying below.
“What happened?” I asked before I heard another body hit the ground. Twirling, I was met with sight of Boone, body slumped on hands and knees, panting hard.
“Boone?” I knelt at his side, resting my hand between his shoulder blades. The man was so slender my hand looked monstrously massive. “Boone, talk to me. What happened?”
I was beginning to worry. That worry ratcheted up when he didn’t answer. “Johns, bring me some water,” I yelled, and soon a water bottle appeared in my vision.
“Drink this,” I ordered.
“C-candy,” Boone managed before his shaking hands grabbed the bottle.
“Candy?” I twisted the word before understanding dawned. “Sugar?” Boone nodded. “Anyone got anything sweet?” I asked.
“I have some M&M’s,” one of the forensic techs answered.
“Get them.” I rubbed Boone’s back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His shaking increased and he felt cold and clammy. It was boiling hot out and I found it ridiculous that Boone might need added heat. That didn’t stop me from slipping out of my suit jacket and draping it over his shoulders. His slender hands grasped the fabric edges and pulled them tight.
“Thanks.” That singular word was barely above a whisper.
“Here.” The tech shoved a Halloween-sized package of M&M’s into my hand. Opening the package, I dumped the shiny candy into Boone’s shivering hand. He forced them into his mouth, only dropping a couple into the weeds.
I sat there, my thighs cramping as I waited for Boone to steady. It took five, maybe ten minutes, but he finally settled, the shivering easing into occasional quakes. When I thought he was ready, I asked again, “What happened?”
He swallowed more water before shaking his head. “I don’t know. No, that’s not right. I do know, sort of. That was Rebecca’s soul, but it…it wasn’t right. I didn’t fully realize that until it was back in her body. I knew it felt… Gaia, I’m not sure how to explain it. Thin. Not wholly there? Rough around the edges, almost like it was frayed. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Boone shivered visibly. “Gaia, it felt horrible. I can’t even imagine what Rebecca feels like.”
If the screaming still ringing in my ears was any indication, it was beyond bad. Swallowing that disturbing thought, I asked, “Any idea what caused it?”
Slipping to the side, Boone went from his hands and knees to sitting on his ass, knees still bent and head resting on his crossed arms. “Not a fucking clue. I didn’t even know that was possible.” Boone’s body tensed before he amended, “Actually, that’s not true either.” Clearing his throat, Boone twisted his head, cheek now resting on his arms and a singular eye peeking out from behind his long bangs. “I could do it.”
I jerked, my fingers tightening into fists before I ordered, “Explain.”
“I’m not saying I have done it, only that it’s theoretically possible. When I bring a soul back, it’s completely under my control. I… It’s a fragile thing, the soul. You have to handle them carefully. If I wanted—and mind you, I’ve threatened to do it less than a handful of times—I could shred a soul until there’s nothing left. I could utterly destroy it.”
Well, shit. I crouched beside Boone, unsure what to say, my throat drier than the desert.
Boone lifted his head and a sad, twisted kind of smile tweaked his lips. Turning, he stared off into the distance. Shoulders hunched, Boone looked smaller than usual, all the quirky life zapped out of him.
“In all the years we’ve known each other, that’s the first time I’ve seen that look on your face.”
“What look?” I asked.
“The one I hate the most. Fear.”
I wanted to tell Boone he was full of shit, that he was reading me wrong. There was just one problem. Boone was right. I wasn’t afraid he could hurt me—not while I was alive, anyway. But unless a vamp turned you, every human died. Humans had a final page to their stories. We just didn’t know how many pages made up our individual books. One day, I’d be a corpse, and if Boone outlived me, he’d have unholy power over my soul. The necromancer sitting beside me could shred my soul until nothing was left, and if Rebecca Mosely’s reaction was anything to go by, it’d hurt like hell.
Was I frightened by Erasmus Boone? By this unassuming man sitting on his ass in the middle of a patch of weeds while battling low blood sugar? Damn straight I was. Only an ignorant fool wouldn’t be afraid.