Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Erasmus
I’m fine . It was a lie nearly everyone told at least a thousand times in their life, maybe more. Were any of us really fine ? I suppose it depended on your definition. Physically, I was on the mend. I didn’t feel like roadkill today. I also didn’t feel like I wanted to go for a jog or even throw a frisbee back and forth.
But that only accounted for the physical. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. I also knew enough to understand that I was traumatized. I needed deep sleep to recover, and that was something I couldn’t get right now. Nightmares haunted my dreams, waking me with my mouth open and throat raw enough to make me believe I’d been screaming in my sleep.
Setting the phone down on a nearby table, I rested my elbows on my knees and leaned into my cupped palms. Even awake, I could feel Rebecca and Phineas’s souls, their tattered ends like needles piercing my insides. Their rough edges constantly scraped against my soul, the feeling rough and horrendously uncomfortable.
I shouldn’t still be able to feel their souls. I didn’t think they were still with me, but the memory was strong and something my necromancer side couldn’t let go of.
Blowing out a breath, I ran my fingers through my hair, reminding myself I needed a shower.
“Erasmus, is that you out there?”
My head snapped up, my gaze immediately trailing to my neighbor’s yard. I hadn’t even heard Mrs. Hart or her Maltese, Miss Pattycakes, approach.
“Mrs. Hart,” I greeted her warmly while pushing my reluctant body out of my chair. The evening heat wasn’t as oppressive tonight. The earlier breeze we’d enjoyed had stuck around and cleared the air. The grass was cool beneath my bare feet as I crossed my yard, heading for the low fence separating our properties. I was glad the fence wasn’t too tall. It was just high enough to keep Miss Patty’s small body safe and sound while allowing me visual access to Mrs. Hart’s wonderous back yard.
“Good evening to be outside,” Mrs. Hart said while lifting Miss Patty up just high enough for me to reach over and pet her. Miss Patty didn’t allow just any hand to touch her, and Mrs. Hart always beamed when Miss Patty wagged her tail when I gave her attention.
“How are you tonight, Miss Patty?” I asked while scratching her under the chin. Miss Patty stretched out her neck, her tail wagging more vigorously.
“Mr. Hart said you were good people, and Miss Patty has always agreed.”
I’d heard some variant of that for the past four years. Mick and Calista Hart had been in their early seventies when I’d moved in next door. I’d never hid who I was. But I didn’t go around wearing a t-shirt that said Necromancer For Hire either. Eventually, people found out. When that inevitably happened after I moved into the neighborhood, a lot of my neighbors had figuratively pulled up their welcome mats.
Not the Harts.
I’d held Mrs. Hart’s hand when the ambulance came, and then drove her to the hospital the day Mr. Hart had his heart attack. I’d stayed until Mrs. Hart’s family arrived and then left them in peace. She’d never asked me to bring her husband’s soul back, and I never expected her to. They were the kind of people who used their living time well, leaving nothing unsaid by the time Mr. Hart had passed.
“I don’t mean this in an unkind way, Erasmus, but you look a bit tuckered. I may not understand exactly what you do or how, but don’t work too hard. You’ve only got so many trips around the sun. You need to take care of yourself.”
Miss Patty licked my fingers in unspoken agreement. “You won’t hear any disagreement here,” I answered. “But it has been a rough week.”
Setting Miss Patty on the ground, Mrs. Hart leaned against her fence. An arbor covered in sweet-smelling honeysuckle framed her body. “Does it have anything to do with that poor witch they found?”
Mrs. Hart was an avid reader. I should have known she’d been keeping up.
“It does. I’m sorry, I can’t speak about the details.”
She waved me off. “I wasn’t expecting that. Truth be told, what I read in the paper’s enough for me. I’ve never been one who wants the gory nitty-gritty. Mr. Hart didn’t like it either. Just like me, he liked to keep informed, but there’s a line neither of us liked crossing.”
Some days, I wished I didn’t have to cross those lines either.
With a wry grin, she changed the subject. Sort of. “I saw that handsome detective fellow here the other day.”
Against my will, my cheeks flushed. “Detective O’Hare,” I answered.
“Yes, yes. That one. Goodness, how many other handsome detectives do you know?” Mrs. Hart cackled, her comment meant in good humor. “He’s a broad fellow. Looks like he could take care of business if you know what I mean,” Mrs. Hart said with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.
I wasn’t entirely certain I did know. I also wasn’t certain Mrs. Hart understood, but then again, the Harts had always been blissfully accepting of both my species and the fact that I was gay.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. You know I read. I like keeping up with what’s going on, not just the bad stuff. A supportive friend should know these things.”
I blinked. Slowly, my shock morphed into precious warmth. That buffer eased the memory of Rebecca and Phineas’s shredded souls. Was Mrs. Hart a friend? Funny, I’d always thought of her as just my neighbor. But hearing her put our relationship on another level made me realize just how true it was. I did consider Calista Heart a friend.
Miss Patty’s sharp yips interrupted the moment. Mrs. Hart chided her dog. “Calm down, Miss Patty.” Only, Miss Patty didn’t calm down. If anything, her yipping climbed an octave. “For heaven’s sake.” Mrs. Hart took off, heading for the part of her lawn facing the street. “There ain’t nothin’ there to get so upset about.”
Miss Patty was having none of it. Growls now accompanied her ear-shattering yips. I was about to ask if Mrs. Heart needed help when car lights lit up our quiet little street. While we’d been talking, it had gotten dark enough for them to be needed.
Those lights flared to life before a car eased down the street. It wasn’t a car I recognized. Most likely it was someone visiting one of my neighbors—someone Miss Patty didn’t recognize.
Miss Patty watched the car leave, finally quieting when the taillights faded from view.
Waving goodbye in Mrs. Hart’s direction, I walked to the back porch and picked up my phone. I had a new message, the voice and name unwelcome. I’d had threats before. I didn’t always give my clients the news they wanted. I was honest, and sometimes honesty got you into trouble.
In the case of Antony Livingstons’s heirs—particularly, Bart—honesty had opened a hornet’s nest.
“ W hat did your father say?” Franklin asked me. It was odd, sitting in the police station, across from his desk. My complaint wasn’t really his department. No one had been killed. Yet. According to the noxious message Bart Livingston left on my voicemail, he hoped to change that fact.
“I haven’t told him yet,” I answered while tugging an irritatingly loose thread. If I pulled too hard, I’d lose my t-shirt hem.
“Why not?” Franklin sounded more curious than judgmental.
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Because Pops already threatened to hop a plane and head to Mississippi. That was his solution when I said I wouldn’t go to Cali.”
Franklin sat forward, elbows resting on his desk. His broad frame pulled the fabric of his suit jacket. Mrs. Hart was right, Franklin was built. I could thank the Mississippi heat for allowing me a few treasured glimpses of the skin and muscles lying beneath all those layers of cloth.
“Why don’t you want to visit him in California?” Now Franklin sounded genuinely confused.
“He wants me to visit because he thinks I’m in danger.” When Franklin’s eyes widened, I waved a dismissive hand. “I know he’d like to see me too, but cutting and running isn’t my style. Pops knows that. That’s why he offered to come here.” I frowned. “I’d like to see him, but he’s busy and I don’t want to disrupt his life.”
“I may not know your father well, but I hardly believe Warlock Holland would consider protecting his son a disruption .”
“No, no. I know. It’s just…” I blew out a frustrated breath. “He shouldn’t have to do that.”
“On that we can agree. To a point. If you haven’t spoken with your father about Bart Livingston’s recent threat, then what was he concerned about?”
Well, shit . Sometimes my mouth got me into more trouble than my necromantic nature. My fingers abandoned the annoying thread and began tapping a rapid tempo against the wooden armrest. “He’s concerned about what happened with Rebecca and Phineas.”
Franklin’s eyebrows shifted skyward. “That seems reasonable. I don’t like what retrieving their souls has done to you either. I’m not sure how your father plans to help with that, but—” He cut himself off, and I could tell the moment Franklin realized Pops’s true concern. “He thinks you’re in danger.” Franklin pushed back into his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Christ, Boone. Is your father correct?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? We’d have to know who this psycho is first, and right now we don’t even know what species they are.”
“Shit, I should have considered this.” Franklin shook his head while leaning forward again. “You’ve found both bodies and considering where they were, whoever did this didn’t mean for them to be found.”
“That’s about all I’ve been able to do,” I lamented.
“Not necessarily. And besides, if word gets out you’re the one who found them, it’ll place a target on your back.”
I twisted, shifting my weight to my opposite butt cheek. Honestly, you’d think the police department could afford chairs with a little cushion. Next time I’d bring a damn pillow.
“I wish I could do more than find them.” I hated feeling so useless.
“Maybe you have.” Franklin’s lips twisted and his eyes pinched. I’d seen that face many times before.
“What are you thinking?”
“Too many things. Most of them are just thought fragments and not worth getting into yet.” Head tilting, Franklin’s gaze captured mine, holding me still. “While it’s true the souls you’ve brought back haven’t been able to verbally tell us anything, the condition of their souls is a big fucking clue.”
I scoffed. “It’s a clue we don’t know what to do with.”
“Also true, at least for the time being. But this is rare. The list of possibilities is longer than I’d like, but it’s not nearly as wide-reaching as our perpetrator would like.” Franklin pointed at me. “You’ve got connections. Scary as fuck connections, but connections all the same. I can see how that might work for or against you.”
I considered Franklin’s point and said, “It might scare them off—or make them afraid I’ll figure it out.”
“Exactly.” Franklin slapped his palm against his desk, pulling a few gazes our way. Twisting his chair, Franklin’s gaze drifted across the room. “Your house has protections?” Franklin waved a hand in the air. “I’m not sure what to call it. Charms? Wards? Something like that?”
I nodded. “Of course. Momma’s house too. Pops made sure of it. Our security is better than anything human-made.” Electronic security was great when protecting against human threats. It didn’t do jack against other species.
Spinning back around, Franklin asked, “Do you think your father would mind if I had a way to contact him? Just in case?”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “ Just in case? ” I asked, digging out my cell phone and texting Franklin Pops’s number.
Franklin’s phone dinged and I glanced up. That wasn’t the typical text arrival sound. His cheeks flushed slightly but before I could ask, Franklin said, “Thanks. I’ve got a few questions for him and if you don’t think he’d mind, I’ll give Warlock Holland a call. Or would texting be better?”
“I’d try a text first. I’ve told him to be nice to you, but you never know with Pops. Warlocks have a reputation for a reason.” I was under no illusion that the rest of the world got a very different version of Pops than me.
Shifting his phone to the side, Franklin leaned forward and waved his hand, asking for my phone. “Let me get a listen to this message. Bart Livingston sounds like a special kind of idiot if he’s leaving threatening voicemails.”
I grinned. “He’s special, all right.” I pulled up the voicemail and handed it over. Bart’s nasty voice came to life.
“Boone, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? I just got a call from my fiancée. She’s calling off the engagement! What the hell did you tell her? This is none of your fucking business. I was going to let what happened at my grandfather’s gravesite go, but you’ve taken things too far. I will not allow you to fuck up my life, not when I’ve worked this hard. Watch your back, Boone. Accidents happen all the goddamn time and you’re about to have a fatal one. No one gives a shit when a necromancer dies.”
By the time the message was done, Franklin’s neck was flaming red. The color clashed against his strawberry-blond hair. I didn’t care. His fury on my part eased the pressure in my chest.
“Does this asshole know who your father is?” Franklin asked, his hand gripping my phone so hard I was afraid the screen might crack.
“He does. Not that it seems to have done much good.” I wasn’t above using Pops’s reputation now and again. In my humble opinion, it stopped more violence than it started. “I’ve cut off access to two financial windfalls.” At Franklin’s puzzled look, I relayed my latest commission and what it had cost Bart Livingston. “I’m not exactly sure what this guy’s financial straits are, but if it’s bad, then Pops’s threats might not be enough.”
“Greed’s a bitch,” Franklin said in understanding.
“It is. I also get the feeling Bart’s into some shady dealings. It could be that he owes some not-so-friendly people money. If that’s the case…”
“He’s got nothing to lose,” Franklin supplied.
“Possibly. That’s just speculation.”
“It’s good speculation.” Leaning back, Franklin steepled his fingers. “I’ll look into things. I’ve got some colleagues that I think can help too.” The corner of his lip twitched. “My friends aren’t as impressive as yours, but they’ll do in a pinch, especially when human crime is involved.”
I pushed out of my uncomfortable chair and gave Franklin a saucy wink and shit-eating grin. “I knew I came to the right man.”
His cheeks flushed adorably. I didn’t think Detective Franklin O’Hare knew what to do with me half the time. “I need to listen to that recording a few more times.”
“I can forward it to you.”
“That’ll work. In the meantime, you should take out a restraining order.”
I made a disgruntled sound. “I don’t think that will do much.”
“Maybe not, but it will get something legal on the books and give you more power if Bart does something stupid.”
Franklin was right. I was half-human. I suppose I was half-warlock too. My particular combination came out necromancer. I wasn’t fond of human law. It was painfully slow and irritating. Fairy law was swift and deadly—if you fucked up, you paid the price. Often, that price was death. There were grayer zones within the human legal system.
“Okay,” I answered. It was another hoop to jump through.
“Promise you’ll call if anything happens. Anything at all.” Franklin did that thing where his gaze bored into me. My body instantly wanted to fall forward and melt into that protective gaze. It took every ounce of willpower I had to take a step back instead of forward. My heart thundered and my skin was slick with sweat. I had no idea if Franklin felt a similar reaction. The man always appeared so cool, calm, and collected. Between the two of us, he was the stoic mastiff while I was the overeager, hyped-up Jack Russell terrier.
“I promise,” I answered with a soft smile. I even planned on keeping that promise. I’d happily snag any excuse to contact Detective Franklin O’Hare.