Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Erasmus
I yawned, wide enough to crack my jaw. Slumped within Franklin’s front seat, I breathed in the fresh scent of his body wash and hoped it was enough to counteract my dubious stench. I’d stayed up too late the night before and was still deep in sleep when he called late this morning. There hadn’t been time to shower before he pulled up in front of my house. There’d barely been enough time to scarf down a Pop-Tart and chug a glass of OJ. I ran my hand through my hair, frowning at its untamed tangle.
“I swear, I brushed my hair this morning,” I said while tugging my fingers through a thick section.
Franklin had the audacity to chuckle. “I believe you. I also believe your hair has a mind of its own.”
I blew a raspberry. “This coming from the man who keeps his head shorn so tight a sheep farmer would be jealous. Maybe I should just whack it all off. It would be a hell of a lot simpler and—”
“Don’t.”
I glanced at Franklin, surprised to see his neck lighting up a fiery crimson.
“I’m just saying that you have nice hair. That’s all.” Franklin shifted and tugged at his seatbelt.
My mouth parted. Dammit, words . I needed to use my words, and yet none came. No, that’s not true. I thought too many came, all of them crowding and vying for attention, drowning each other out and hiding the important ones.
When I didn’t say anything, Franklin gripped the steering wheel tight enough to whiten his knuckles. “We should be there in another forty to forty-five minutes. I spoke to a Mrs. Gladys Campion on the phone. She seems to think there might be more records about Lorelai Winston. She also said they haven’t had the funds to digitalize most of the records, so it will be a bit of an Easter egg hunt. Sorry to drag you out of bed for something so tedious—and most likely boring.”
This time, my words came quickly. “I don’t mind,” I rushed to say. “I want to help and since my usual MO isn’t currently very advantageous, then this will have to do.”
“It’s not your fault. You know that, right?” Franklin shot me a quick glance before his eyes landed back on the road.
“I know. That doesn’t make it much better. I still feel useless.” Typically when I was called in, the information I gained from the deceased soul either solved the case or went a long way towards solving it. This time was grossly different.”
“You’re hardly useless, Boone. Trust me, I’ve met useless and that’s not you. Not by a long shot. Without you, we wouldn’t know we didn’t know something.” Franklin scratched the side of his cheek. “I promise, that made more sense in my head.”
My laughter filled the car. “Thanks. I think. I get what you’re saying but it’s still frustrating and…sad.” It was a hell of a lot more than just sad, but it was the only word I could think of. “I want to figure out a way to repair their souls, but I’m not sure it’s possible.” All my earlier laughter disappeared.
“As in, you don’t think it’s possible for you to do, or not possible at all?”
“Both,” I answered after some thought. “I know for certain it’s not something I could do, but I don’t know that anyone can. I can’t get the feel of their souls out of my mind. Sometimes, I can almost feel the rough edges pushing at my insides. It’s uncomfortable.”
“Sounds a hell of a lot more than just uncomfortable ,” Franklin said with a hint of disbelief.
“I won’t argue that. But the point is that in a way, I feel like they’re still with me. They aren’t,” I hastened to clarify. “It’s the memory I can’t let go of. It sucks, but it’s also allowed me more time to analyze what Rebecca and Phineas’s souls truly felt like.” I shook my head. “They’re more than torn. It’s like pieces of them are missing. If those pieces still exist, I should be able to find them. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Franklin was momentarily quiet before he answered, “You think those missing pieces don’t exist any longer. That they’ve been destroyed somehow.”
I nodded. “And if that’s the case, then there simply isn’t anything to repair. It would be like having a unique piece of cloth with holes cut out. If someone burned those removed pieces, then the pattern can never be remade.”
“Shit,” Franklin said, whisper quiet. “I’m sorry, Boone.”
“Yeah.” I sank further into my seat. “So am I. I don’t know what to do. Leaving their souls like that—in so much pain and agony—isn’t right. To spend an eternity like that…” I shivered, and Franklin eased off on the air-conditioning. It was a nice gesture, but I didn’t think the cool air was the cause of my chill. “I can’t allow that, Franklin. I don’t think I can live with myself.”
Releasing his right hand from the steering wheel, Franklin reached over, palm up and welcoming. After a second of hesitation, I gripped his offered hand and released a heavy sigh when Franklin entwined our fingers.
“I’m sorry, Erasmus. Those words seem wholly insufficient, but they’re all I’ve got.”
I gripped Franklin’s hand tighter, using it like a lifeline. “Right now, it’s all any of us have.” And wasn’t that the sad, shitty truth.
G ladys Campion was an elderly woman, although I’d never refer to her that way to her face. Slightly hunched, I figured she’d been about my height before age pulled her down. Those same years hadn’t diminished her spunk, though. The Ocean Spring’s Historical Society had definitely found a champion when they’d hired Gladys. Despite her age, the woman had enough energy to fuel half the city. She managed two flights of stairs better than humans half her age and knew every square inch of the modern building holding the past’s lost treasures.
“The city moved us into better quarters after Hurricane Katrina,” Glady’s explained as she turned on an overhead light. “New Orleans wasn’t the only city affected. Ocean Springs fared better, but we still suffered a lot of damage. We’ve had some losses, so I hope we still have what you need, but I can’t guarantee it. Before Katrina knocked on our door, I would have felt more confident.”
I marveled at the shelves lining the air-conditioned room. The humidity was low, conducive to preserving paper artifacts. I wasn’t sure what the previous building was like, but figured this was an improvement.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, or at least until closing,” Gladys added with a smile. “If you boys need any refreshments, just let me know. We’ve got some nice restaurants and cafés nearby. I can also head over to the local convenience store if needed.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Franklin said. He’d developed a slight Southern accent over the past few years. To us, he’d always sound like a Northerner, but I’d bet money his Illinois relatives thought his accent had changed.
“You’re welcome. Please be careful and respectful of the material,” Gladys admonished before she left us alone.
“I wouldn’t want to cross that one,” I said while hooking a thumb in Gladys’s exiting direction.
“Nor I,” Franklin agreed. “I suspect Mrs. Campion and my nana would have a lot in common.” Franklin sounded uncomfortable with the idea of the two ladies joining forces.
“Get into some trouble with your nana when you were younger?” I teased.
“I’m still getting into trouble with her,” Franklin lamented as his gaze swept the room. “Looks like the shelves are numbered.” He walked toward the closest row and tapped a piece of paper with dates written on it. “Looks like this row contains information from before 1700.”
I moved to the next row. “This one is 1700 to 1750.” I shifted another row. “And this one is from 1750 to 1800. I’m sensing a pattern.” That was true until I got later into the 1800s. “Civil War,” I stated while tapping the piece of paper. “The next two rows are dedicated to 1860 to 1870.” I peeked down the dimly lit row littered with binders, boxes, books, and other artifacts.
“We may need that section eventually. According to her obit, Lorelai Winston died in 1832. Let’s start looking in the 1800 to 1850 row. We might need to backtrack to when she was born, but I suspect starting at her death will prove more fruitful.”
I gave a two-fingered salute before heading down the aisle. Franklin took the right side and I grabbed the left. “Any idea what I’m looking for exactly?” Honestly, the old books and binders appeared a bit overwhelming.
“Looks like there’s more specific dates on the shelving, at least on my side.”
Taking a closer glance, I saw Franklin was correct. “I see that.”
“Winston’s obit was short, perfunctory, and to the point. I’m hoping there’s more written in a local paper,” Franklin said, his voice muffled as he began rooting around.
“Got it,” I answered, getting busy. “I’m honestly surprised any of this survived given how many wars have been fought since Lorelai died.”
Franklin grunted. “No argument here.”
I began leafing through binders of old papers. The room smelled like old, rotting paper. While I understood funding issues, what I also realized was that if these ancient papers weren’t digitized soon, there wouldn’t be anything left to salvage. Years of humidity hadn’t done them any favors, and moving everything to a better, environmentally-controlled building was most likely too little, too late.
Still, the effort was impressive. Humans were unique in that they documented and kept their histories much better than other species. Pops speculated it was because humans had such short lives that they wanted to make certain they were remembered. I didn’t know if he was right or wrong, but figured it was a good guess.
Placing a group of old newspapers back on the shelf, I said, “I bet a witch could craft a charm that would search out what we want and we’d have the information in no time.” I snapped my fingers, placing an auditory punctuation mark on my idea. I didn’t know if Franklin’s grunt was agreement or not, but now that my mind conjured one idea, it was off and running. “Or maybe brownies.” I nodded even though Franklin couldn’t see it past the books on his side. “That’s a very good idea. I’ll bet a brownie would be better. They’ve probably got some kind of magical sixth sense.” I wiggled my fingers at the stacks of papers for effect. “All they’d need to do is think about what they wanted to find and voila!”
I picked up another stack of newspapers, revealing Franklin’s curious, bemused gaze.
“What?” I asked. “You think I’m wrong?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve got jack shit when it comes to how brownie magic works.”
I shrugged. “Neither do I. Fairies probably don’t know either. They just like to pretend like they’ve got it all figured out.”
Franklin’s eyebrow rose. “I wouldn’t tell a fairy that.”
“Obviously,” I answered with an eye roll. “I don’t have a death wish.”
Franklin’s deep chuckle made my stomach swoop. “No, I’ve never gotten that vibe from you. Good thing too.”
Lucky thing too , I thought. Not all necromancers were so fortunate. In fact, as far as I knew, I was sort of the mentally sane unicorn of the necromancer world.
Franklin and I continued searching in near silence. A song took up residence in my brain and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t evict it. Humming quietly, I figured I’d gone over the chorus at least seventy times when Franklin’s satisfied, “I’ve got something,” broke through my mental musical monotony.
Quickly setting my stack back on the shelf, I scurried to the other side and asked, “What did you find?”
Much like my side, Franklin’s had bound stacks of newspapers. Their edges were worn and some of the pages had chunks missing. Thankfully, the article Franklin’s finger traced seemed intact.
“It’s a longer version of Lorelai Winston’s obituary. Give me a minute,” Franklin said while his index finger sped along the page. Hurried, mumbled words slipped through his lips as he quietly whispered the article aloud. His eyes widened and his finger backtracked. “This is it.”
“ It what?” I tried looking over his shoulder, but Franklin’s height made it impossible for me to see clearly enough to read the small, faded print.
“Children. Or more to the point, child.”
“Singular?” I frowned. “That seems odd, given the times.” Families were larger back in the day. Children surviving wasn’t a given today, but the odds were a hell of a lot better than they’d been in the 1800’s. People back then tended to have a lot of eggs in different baskets, but it sounded like Lorelai had just laid the one.
“Agreed,” Franklin said. “If there were any other children, this article doesn’t mention them.”
“Male or female?” If it was a daughter, then the search was over. Procreating with a warlock only led to male offspring.
“Male.” Franklin grinned suddenly. “Telane Winston.”
“ Telane? That’s an odd name, even for a warlock.” I scratched my head, my tangled hair reminding me that I should have made time for a shower after Franklin had called.
“I’ll take your word on that. You’ve got way more experience with that kind of thing than me, but what I can tell you is that the article describes Telane in some…interesting ways.”
“Huh?” I blamed my ongoing exhaustion for my less-than-stellar word choice.
“It’s a little cryptic. The article mentions Telane’s profession.”
“It says he was a necromancer?” I found that exceedingly odd, especially given the era. That kind of thing would have been viewed as heresy back then. Claiming to raise the dead was an ability that would have easily gotten Telane burned at the stake.
“No. The article describes Telane as a private investigator of sorts. It claims Telane had a knack for finding missing heirlooms, often discovering objects that only the deceased would know about.”
My grin was wide and proud. “I’ll be damned. Sounds like Telane and I have a bit in common.” If Franklin was correct and the reason behind Telane’s success was a little midnight interrogation of the dead, then he’d found a clever way to make a living while sliding under the radar.
Franklin kept skimming the article. A hushed, “I’ll be damned,” slipped into the air-conditioned atmosphere.
“Hopefully not, but why do you think so?” I teased.
Franklin gave me a side eye before directing his attention back to the moldering newspaper. “Telane married. Lorelai Winston was survived by two grandchildren—a boy and girl.”
I blinked, my eyes suddenly dry. “Telane had kids?” I tried to think of another necromancer I’d heard of having children. It wasn’t that we couldn’t procreate. It was more a matter of finding a necromancer of procreative age who was sane enough to engage in a relationship. Factor in humanity’s general distaste for necromancers and their even more pronounced issues around physical contact and…yeah. Those two issues didn’t typically result in offspring.
“Does it give their names?” I asked.
Franklin gave a solemn nod. “Leo and Catlin. Twins. And that was just at the time of Lorelai’s death. Sounds like the twins were just babies when their grandmother passed.”
I swallowed hard. “There could be more?”
“Very possibly.”
Suddenly, Franklin’s Hail Mary pass didn’t sound nearly so unlikely. I still had no idea if this information would hold any significance regarding Phineas’s murder. Regardless, it held plenty of significance to me. I’d never really considered being a father. If there was ever a time when I didn’t know I was gay, I couldn’t remember it. Not that I understood at the time what it meant to be gay. I only knew my emotions placed girls strictly in the friend category. Given my sexual orientation, combined with my species, I hadn’t given kids a lot of thought.
I did now.
I must have been staring into space a little too long. Either that or Franklin had been talking and I’d zoned out. My mind snapped back into focus when Franklin waved his hand in front of my face.
“Hey, you okay in there?” Franklin tapped his finger in the center of my forehead. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it meant the world to me. Franklin had seen me at one of my lowest points. He’d also seen me in full necromancer mode. The man knew what I was and didn’t shy away. He reached out and made contact as if I were an ordinary human. Pops would have considered it an insult to be thought of as human. I found it soul-soothing.
“S-sorry,” I managed to stutter. “I think I spaced out there for a second or two.”
Franklin’s lips twisted into a frown and his eyebrows pinched. “Do you need to sit down for a few minutes? Is this too much right now? I know you’re still recovering from what happened with Mosley and Nolan’s souls.”
I wrapped my hand around Franklin’s finger, pulling it down and away from my face. I could have easily released my grip. I didn’t. Franklin didn’t act like he wanted to part either.
“No. I’m fine. I just…” I pointed toward the article. “He was married. And he had kids. I don’t think you realize how rare that is.”
Franklin’s eyes pinched further. “Do necromancers not typically get married and have children?”
My hair haphazardly flopped as I shook my head and answered with a clipped, “No.”
Eyes widening, Franklin asked, “Have you ever thought of having children?”
“I…” My eyes tingled with unshed tears, and I had no idea where the sudden emotion sprang from. “No. Not really.”
“But you’re thinking about it now,” Franklin guessed correctly.
“Yeah, I suppose I am. I mean, not seriously, or not immediately, just…maybe in the future. If Telane managed it, then perhaps it’s more possible than I thought.” I considered what that might mean, not only for me, but for my parents. Momma would love a grandchild to spoil and Pops… Maybe that would soften the blow my death would inevitably cause. There was a reason warlocks abandoned their necromancer children. Pops hadn’t said it in so many words, but it was emotional self-preservation. The loss of that child, knowing the clock was ticking and wouldn’t be kind, was too much for them to bear. Pops chose a different path—one that would eventually lead to heartache and heartbreak. Would my loss be lessened if there were little mini-me’s running around? Would it be a legacy, a family, that Pops could continue watching over, loving, and caring for?
I didn’t know. I’d never truly considered it. Maybe that was why the tears came. It was the lack of consideration and the sudden realization that came with knowing Telane walked that line, that he’d found a way to integrate into human society.
Turning my back on Franklin, I furiously wiped the wetness from my eyelashes while forcing my runaway emotions back into their locked closets.
“Boone, are you—”
“We need to expand our search. We need to find out what happened to Leo and Catlin. Like you said, there might be more than just them. There are a lot of documents and since I don’t see a brownie around or have a fancy witch charm, it looks like we’re down to good old-fashioned grunt work. Come on, O’Hare. Let’s get busy.”
I didn’t wait for Franklin to answer. Instead, I quick stepped to another aisle and began shuffling through documents. Twenty minutes later, my brain caught up to my actions and created a better plan than random questing. Franklin was way ahead of me. He was also silent. We worked quietly for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon. By the time the Ocean Spring’s Historical Society closed, our fingers were tired and stank like moldering paper.