Chapter 27
Blast from the Past
Dodger
I slide down the wall of the laundry room, my back against the washing machine.
Rowan’s gone, but his threats echo in my mind.
Melody’s trapped somewhere, and I’m supposed to be his pet necromancer.
I drop my head into my hands, fingers tangling in my hair as I pull it loose from its ponytail.
My powers are stronger than ever, I’m in control of my abilities for the first time in my life, yet I’ve never felt so utterly powerless.
Rowan has me at his mercy. A sob catches in my throat.
I’ve spent my whole life running, and now that I’ve finally found someone worth staying for, I’m trapped and cut off from him.
And it’s my own damn fault. Why didn’t I stay with Harper?
Sitting by his bedside, giving him sips of water and being a supportive boyfriend, something I have zero experience with but would love to learn.
I could have done that and waited for him to heal instead of charging off on my own and making everything a million times worse.
The fluorescent light above me flickers once, twice, then dims. A chill sweeps through the laundry room, and the temperature plummets so suddenly that my breath forms a small cloud in front of my face.
Goosebumps erupt across my skin, and the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands straight up.
This isn’t Rowan. This is something else entirely. A presence. Even muzzled, I’m still a necromancer, and I can sense something. Unseen but there. Here.
“Hello?” I whisper. “Is someone there?”
The words fall flat, canceled by the unnatural silence Rowan’s little gadget created. But the feeling grows stronger, a certainty that I’m not alone.
I concentrate on the feeling, trying to make it stronger. Suddenly, something gives way. The space before me shimmers, particles of light gathering and coalescing into a vague form.
“What the—whoa.” Those words, I hear them. Did this visitor interfere with the sound dampening?
The form takes shape. The details begin to crystallize into someone I recognize, with the same eyes as mine, older than the last time we saw each other, but it’s him, it’s my brother.
“Jonathan?” My voice cracks on his name.
“Hey, little brother.” His voice sounds distant, as if coming through a long tunnel, but it’s his voice. “Been a while, huh?”
My brother stands before me, translucent but unmistakable.
His kind eyes, the same dark hair, even the small scar above his eyebrow from when we were kids.
Jonathan’s form glows with a soft blue light, his edges slightly blurred in this non-corporeal form.
But his smile, it’s as warm and reassuring as ever.
“You’re... you’re really here? I’m not hallucinating?” I ask.
Jonathan laughs, the sound bringing back a flood of memories. “Not unless we’re having the same hallucination. And I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t hallucinate.”
I reach out a trembling hand, but it passes through his form. The contact sends a shiver through me. Of course. Ghosts mean no touching. But he’s still there. He doesn’t disappear. “You’re here.”
“Duh,” he says. “I’ve been with you ever since you first set foot in Brighton.”
“Wow.” I shake my head, hardly able to believe it. Who knew he was that close? “I was searching for what happened to you, and you were next to me the whole time?”
“The best I could do was show you my memories when you asked the spirit world for help.” It was him, not James. “Sorry it took me so long to manifest. Your powers aren’t as attuned to the spirit world.”
“Oh.” I stare down at my hands, feeling foolish. “Guess I still have a lot to learn about necromancy.”
“Not your fault. It’s actually pretty cool. I didn’t get a sweet dog like you.”
Curled up in a defeated ball while the glorious, glowing ghost form of my brother shines above me, it’s not the best way to have a conversation. Jon might be dead, but he still deserves manners. I lever myself up and sit on the washing machine so we can chat face to face.
“When Rowan reached out with questions and wanted to purchase materials, I thought he was a new necromancer,” Jonathan explains. “I traveled to Brighton to teach him. Lessons are easier in person in case things go wrong... and they did.”
Things always go wrong when Rowan’s around.
“From the beginning, nothing he did worked right,” he continues. “No aspect of our craft resonated with him, and it became clear this wasn’t his calling.” He laughs bitterly as he thinks about it. “Rowan wasn’t surprised by this news. Worse, he didn’t care.”
“And he resisted when you tried to stop him.” The vision he showed me told me as much.
He nods, the glow around him dimming for a moment. “He was persistent. My abilities are strongest in communicating with spirits and manipulating life forces, so I didn’t have a partner and there weren’t any other necromancers in the area. I sought help elsewhere.”
“James and Elaine?”
“We were all new to the city and became friends,” he says.
“They didn’t hesitate to help. We planned to talk to Rowan and find some solution to prevent more dangerous behavior, but it was too late.
” His form flickers violently, and for a second I think he’s going to disappear.
When he stabilizes, his expression has hardened.
“Rowan already found a creature, one he could summon but not control. And he just sicced it on us, even though there were people nearby.”
“And that’s how you died,” I whisper. “Trying to stop him.” The temperature dips a few degrees colder. Maybe it’s the ghost or maybe I just feel the chill more after hearing firsthand how my brother died.
“With Rowan causing chaos and a wild dragon, it took everything we had to send the creature back. We succeeded, but it cost us our lives.” Jonathan’s hovering form drifts into the dryer and it’s a strange sight, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t mention it.
I reach out, wishing we could touch. “I’m so sorry.”
His smile is gentle, the same one he used when comforting me after nightmares as a kid. “Don’t be. No one else was killed. None of us regret it. Some things are worth dying for, little brother.”
The words are meant to comfort, but they only twist the knife of guilt deeper. “You stopped Rowan but I failed.” My voice sounds pathetic to my own ears. “He captured me again.”
Jonathan drifts closer, his presence making the hair on my arms stand on end. “Why did you think you could beat him on your own?”
“I wasn’t alone. I had Melody.”
“But not Harper. Your power has never been about controlling death, Dodger. It’s about forming bonds, with creatures, with spirits.” His expression softens. “With Harper.”
I left Harper behind in a hospital bed and charged off on my own. Protecting him. It seemed like the right idea at the time. But now we’re both in trouble and alone. Jonathan and Harper’s family protected innocent people from a dragon, and I put Melody and Harper in harm’s way for nothing.
“I made some mistakes,” I say.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he reminds me gently. “It’s not all up to you. Trust the connections you’ve built.”
I wipe roughly at my eyes. “I don’t know how to fight Rowan. He’s too powerful.”
“No, he’s desperate and selfish.” Jonathan’s voice grows firmer, more substantial. “He has tricks, not power. But you? You’ve built connections that transcend worlds. Harper and Melody are your strengths, not your weakness.”
A warm sensation spreads through my chest, replacing the cold dread that had settled there. For the first time since being trapped, I don’t feel hopeless anymore.
“Don’t give up, little brother,” Jonathan says, his form beginning to fade slightly. “You’ve never been alone, not even when you thought you were.”
I reach out, and my fingers pass through my brother’s shoulder, meeting nothing but cold air. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
Jonathan smiles, the expression so achingly familiar it hurts. “I’m not going anywhere. Not really.” He taps his own chest. “Some bonds can’t be broken. Not by death. Not by Rowan. Not by anything.”