Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Erasmus
I didn’t know why cemeteries gave humans the heebie-jeebies. It’s not like they could hear the lingering whispers left behind like I could. And here, in one of the oldest cemeteries in southern Mississippi, there was hardly any of that left either. Peace. Blissful peace.
The sun was warm against my bare arms and legs. The damp dew had already burned away in the late morning sun, and the ground was dry beneath my ass. The crumbling headstone at my back was comfortable and cool. Despite its age, this cemetery was well kept, the lawn mowed and the grave sites well tended.
Sliding off my flip-flops, I dug my toes into the soft grass. Leaning my head back, I stared into the blue sky. An errant cloud floated by every now and again, but the sun was determined to shine through. It would be brutally hot later, but there was still enough breeze to make my spot more comfortable than stagnant.
Patting the ground at my right, I said, “You picked a nice spot, Caroline. It’s peaceful and the city hasn’t forgotten about you.” Her gravestone indicated that Caroline Belmont had passed in 1876. She’d been fifty-three, which meant she’d lived through the Civil War. Regardless, Caroline’s remaining energy was soft and quiet. The spot was pleasant and one I repeatedly came back to time and time again.
I wanted that peace and quiet today. My body felt like it had been through a full ten rounds in the ring. I wasn’t Rocky Balboa, and I wasn’t snapping back as quickly as I’d like. I’d nearly used up all of Pops’s pain charms again, and knew he’d be increasingly worried when I called and requested more this soon.
Regardless, I needed to call him, and not just about the charms.
Phone dangling between my fingers, I inhaled deeply and hit the call button. It would be early morning in California. Chances were good I was waking Pops up. That could be good or bad, depending on when he’d crawled into bed.
The phone rang five times, and I was convinced it would go to voicemail when Pops’s deep voice echoed into the quiet daylight. “Erasmus? Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine, Pops,” I sort of lied. I mean, I wasn’t in danger of expiring anytime soon, but I wasn’t truly fine either. I’d pushed too hard yesterday. If I’d been alone, the situation might have turned dire.
Pops huffed. “Then why are you calling at this horrid hour?”
I didn’t think eight a.m. Cali time constituted “horrid,” but then again, I wasn’t a warlock. Pops kept stranger hours than me.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I—”
“You are never a bother,” Pops scolded. “Now, tell me the reason for this unusual call.”
I grasped my t-shirt, balling up the fabric over my heart as I was reminded just how fortunate I was. My frayed nerves and weakened physical condition made me more emotional than normal, and I had to fight the moisture filling my eyes.
Steadying my voice, I managed to say, “Something happened yesterday, something I think you’ll want to know about. Remember the dead witch I found the other day?”
“The one in the graveyard? A body where it should not be?”
“Yeah, that one. The one with the shredded soul I asked you about?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I remember that very well. What does that have to do with yesterday? Did your detective locate her murderer?”
My cheeks heated and I admonished, “He’s not my detective, Pops.”
“Of course he is. Now, how does this relate?”
Pops could be infuriating when he used that arrogant tone. “Franklin’s still working on that case. But it seems like Rebecca Mosely isn’t the only victim.” Franklin might not be certain, but I was. Phineas’s soul was just as badly tortured and torn as Rebecca’s had been. I couldn’t believe two culprits could be out there doing the same hideous deeds independent of each other.
Brief silence met my ears before Pops said, “Explain.”
And so I did. I gave him all the gritty details, leaving out the part where I collapsed, nearly unconscious, into Franklin’s arms. “He was a warlock, Pops. A young one, according to Detective O’Hare. His name was Phineas Noland. Does that name mean anything to you?” While there weren’t a lot of warlocks around, that didn’t mean they automatically knew each other.
Pops’s breathing was measured, but sharp. “No, I am afraid it does not. How young?”
“I didn’t see his body, but Franklin told me he barely had any white at his temples and his fingertips had only hints of black at their ends. Unless his killer stole his charms, he wasn’t wearing a full complement of rings, either.”
“Gaia ease his soul,” Pops prayed. It wasn’t something I heard him do often, but when he did, it was with sincerity. “This situation is most concerning, Erasmus. Perhaps you should come to California for a visit.”
A lazy, pleased smile lifted my lips. “I’m okay, Pops.”
“I hardly believe that is true. There is only one way you would know this soul is in the same condition as the witch’s, and that is if you brought it back. I can only assume doing so had similar results. It is harmful to you and, therefore, not something I’d recommend.”
“Trust me, I know. But if I can help, then—”
“I do not mean this as it will sound, but what help can you offer? From what I understand, these recovered souls are incoherent. They are so damaged as to be completely unhelpful. You are placing yourself in unneeded discomfort and, most likely, in harm’s way. I do not like the implications.”
I didn’t really like them either. What I also didn’t like was just how right Pops was. “Maybe I can’t get a lot of information, but I can at least figure out where their bodies are and their identities.” That was no small bit of information. “What if there are more of them out there? Or more on the way?”
That was what had truly woken me this morning. Phineas’s murder hadn’t occurred that long ago. He’d died after Rebecca. After we’d found Rebecca. If the two victims truly weren’t related, then that meant there was a strong possibility there would be more. It could be just a matter of time.
“Erasmus, there is another possibility I do not believe you have considered.”
I blinked, trying to get out of my own head and focus on what Pops was saying. “What?”
He sighed, long and deep. “First a witch, now a warlock. Whoever is performing these heinous acts, they do not seem attached to a single species. You could be in danger.”
I jerked back so quickly my head smacked into Caroline’s tombstone. “Me? I’m just a necromancer. I’m not anything special or—”
“You are incredibly special, and not just anything, but that is beside the point. Have a care, Erasmus. At this point, we do not know this individual’s motivation. They seem to be going to great lengths to hide their victims—both in death and in the afterlife. You are foiling half those efforts, and it is possible you may be able to unravel what has been done to the deceased’s soul. That is no small thing, and could place a target upon your head. Do you understand what I am saying?”
I did and suddenly felt cold. “Yeah, I get it. But that doesn’t mean I can jump ship and hop the first flight to Cali.”
“I know. You would not be my son if that were the case.”
I didn’t think Pops could take all the credit (or blame) for my personality. Momma had a pretty big hand in how I’d turned out too.
“Should I come to Mississippi?”
“What?” I sat forward. “No. That’s not necessary. You’re busy and I’m—”
“You are my son, Erasmus, and I love you. I will never be too busy for you. Never.”
Forehead in my hand, my body relaxed as all the tension ebbed away. “I love you too, Pops, and I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think you need to upend your life. At least, not yet. I promise I’ll let you know if the situation changes.”
“You had better. Do not hesitate to reach out if you believe there is a way I can assist. I find your recent reports alarming.”
“Okay. Thanks, Pops. Oh”—I’d almost forgotten—“I could use some more pain charms.” My voice weakened as I admitted it.
“ More? ”
I blew out a breath. “It’s been a rough few days.”
Pops’s sigh was lengthy. “I will send them immediately. Take care.”
Pops ended the call, leaving me staring at the phone. When I finally raised my gaze, Aurelia was there, about three headstones away. She wasn’t looking at me. Her attention was on the grave beneath her feet. I couldn’t read her expression, but that wasn’t unusual.
I sat there, waiting silently, unsure if she’d speak. Occasionally, Aurelia would show up and remain silent, as if she simply wanted to check up on me or get out of Peaches’s orchard. I wasn’t sure if she spent her time anywhere else.
“They live such fleeting lives,” Aurelia said finally, her tone remarkably soft but devoid of distress.
“Humans?” I guessed.
Aurelia shrugged. “All species. Except, perhaps, fairies.”
I wasn’t sure if brownies figured in also. Word was they lived just as long, but not everyone was certain. Considering a lot of fairies lived in Fairy and had never been seen, it wasn’t exactly easy to gauge.
Using the ground and Caroline’s headstone as leverage, I pushed my body into a standing position. My muscles were stiff. According to Franklin, my body had gone into some type of rigor during the summoning. There was a reason my muscles were pitching a fit.
“You were once human too,” I reminded Aurelia, leaving out the fact that she could easily become human again. I could do it. I could call Aurelia’s soul back, shove it into her body, and destroy all the magical manipulation in a single power move. It would leave her mortal, without so much as a drop of power and painfully human. But as long as she wasn’t a threat, I had zero intention of doing such a thing unless Aurelia asked me to.
“So you say,” Aurelia commented.
“Janus was human.” No one knew if the witches of old only used humans to create djinn or not. They could have chosen other species also. Aurelia didn’t know, and seemed to care even less. There were no records remaining and no way to tell unless every last object of attachment belonging to a djinn was recovered and the djinn inside awoken. I didn’t think any of us were curious enough to race down that path.
“A very foolish human,” Aurelia agreed begrudgingly.
“You’ll get no argument here.”
I moved closer, stepping up to her side. The grave she seemed so concentrated on had a marker that was no longer legible. Maybe if I did a rubbing, I’d pull off a name. I could also trace their thread back to their soul but didn’t see the need.
“You are fortunate, necromancer,” Aurelia stated. “Your father seems very fond of you.”
I stiffened. “You were listening?”
“Difficult not to.” Aurelia tapped her ear while one of her tattoos flared to life. “I have excellent hearing. My witch creator made certain of that.” Bitterness always laced Aurelia’s voice when she spoke of her creator. I suppose if I’d been made into a slave, I wouldn’t have a lot of warm and fuzzy feelings towards my creator either.
“I have no idea if my biological parents cared for me,” Aurelia continued, staring at the worn marker.
“Does that bother you?” I asked. “Is it something you’ve been thinking about?” Sometimes it was easy to forget the impact meeting me had made on Aurelia. All of a sudden, she’d had a past. There had been someone she’d been before being turned into an all-powerful, yet handcuffed, being.
“It should not,” she answered.
“That’s not what I asked, and I don’t think that’s true anyway. Everyone wants to be loved, to be wanted. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”
Aurelia’s lip twitched. “You have an interesting way of stating things, necromancer.”
“Yeah.” I scratched the back of my neck. “So I’ve been told.”
“It is not a bad thing.”
My grin was genuine and large. “I don’t think so either.”
Aurelia’s grunted agreement was barely audible. Pulling her gaze away, her eyes sharpened. “Am I to understand another body has been located?”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “If you mean to ask if we found another body with a shredded soul, then yes, we’ve got another one.”
“And this time, a warlock?”
“Looks that way.”
Aurelia inhaled. “That is unfortunate. Warlocks are preferable to witches. I do not understand why one would be a target.”
From what I understood, several djinn had warlocks to thank for figuring out ways around their witch creator’s restrictions. It was the core behind the current frosty witch-warlock relations. There’d been some thaw the past hundred or so years between warlocks and witches but that didn’t mean they hung out together and sang odes of adoration.
“I thought Pops might know the warlock we found. He doesn’t. It was a long shot anyway.” I’d still called. I think I’d just needed to hear his voice and let him know one of his own was gone. I had no doubt Pops was currently working on finding out who Phineas Noland had been, and if he had any surviving relatives. Naturally, his warlock network was better than Franklin’s.
“Your father was upset.” I wasn’t certain if Aurelia was asking a question or stating a fact.
“He values his community,” I answered, feeling like that covered the situation.
“He values his son,” Aurelia said. “And I do not believe his concerns are misplaced. You asked me if a djinn could shred a soul. I have pondered this question and the more I consider it, the worse it sounds. Little affects or appalls me. I have lived too long and seen too much for it to do so. However, this is a new level of torment that even I find disgusting. Death should be enough. One should not continue suffering beyond it.”
I could quote a lot of differing religious opinions on the matter but didn’t feel like getting into a theological debate. I was too exhausted to travel down that treacherous path.
“I need to figure out a way to fix them,” I said, more to myself than Aurelia.
“Is that possible?”
I despised my answer. “I don’t know. Considering I’ve never heard of a soul entering the afterlife in this condition… I just don’t know. I’d have to know how it had been done before I could even begin to put them back together.” My brain wouldn’t let the thought rest. It was more than just not liking what had been done to Rebecca’s and Phineas’s souls. It went against every core belief I had. I wasn’t certain if being a necromancer made it worse or not. On some level, it would. The simple fact was no one else truly understood the horror of what had been done. They could appreciate it on an intellectual level, but to have experienced it firsthand… There simply were no words.
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, one of my leather bracelets caught on the pocket’s edge. I stared down on the unknown grave, thankful for the peace the deceased I was surrounded by enjoyed.
Aurelia remained silent. I was beginning to get used to her long stretches of quiet contemplation. Not all silence needed to be filled with words.
My thoughts remained restless, and I finally said, “I don’t think I can do it. Not alone.”
“Repair the souls?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’m of warlock descent. Putting a soul back together sounds more like witch magic.”
Aurelia released a low, rumbling growl.
“Yeah, I get it, but that doesn’t change the facts. Warlocks use magic to destroy connections. Witches use it to—”
“Create,” Aurelia spat. “That does not mean witch magic is superior or more desired. It certainly does not make it more benign.”
Considering what witches of old had done with their magical gift of creation, I understood and agreed with Aurelia’s point.
“You’re right. That doesn’t change current circumstances.”
Aurelia huffed and went silent again. When I tilted my head her direction, she was gone. “We really need to work on your goodbyes,” I said to little more than the soft breeze. Leaning my head back, I stared back up at the sky. It was thickening with clouds, blocking out more of the sun. That didn’t stop the heat from building. If anything, the cloud cover simply kept the humidity locked in place.
“Gaia, I’m tired,” I complained. But I had no idea just much more exhausted I’d become.