Chapter 9 #2
So did literally everyone else in the room, even Mason.
“Oh, that is fascinating,” the orc breathed as Sylvia reached out again, this time gently stroking her ghostly finger over Victor’s tiny head.
“It’s cuz he’s got a soul,” Archie whispered.
“But we all have souls,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but you ain’t dead, sport,” the necromancer said, not looking at me. He was taking a turn petting Victor, running a translucent finger down the rat’s spine. “He is. So we can touch that part of him, I’m guessin’.”
“This is incredible,” Mason said again, then went to grab his glasses and a notebook, starting to scribble notes.
“You’re seriously taking notes?” Ward asked him, although there seemed to be fondness mixed in with the incredulity.
“None of what Fiona brought Rayn makes any mention of corruption-free necromancy,” Mason argued back. “As far as we know, this is unprecedented magic.”
Ward rolled his eyes. “Or it isn’t, it’s just that people who aren’t power-hungry assholes aren’t writing down all their great exploits in resurrecting the family cat.”
Mason glared at him, but his voice sounded almost affectionate when he spoke. “If nobody’s published on it, it will still break new ground, academically speaking.”
“You would care more about publishing an article than the fact that there’s an undead rat in Alma’s bed.” But Ward sounded amused rather than upset.
“Would anyone care to explain what ‘not having corruption’ means?” I asked, finally, since it didn’t seem like anybody was going to do that.
They all looked at me.
“Well, generally speaking, when the dead are raised with the spirit inside, the spirit is corrupted or damaged,” Mason replied, but he was speaking slowly, the way he did when he was thinking.
“For example, when I raised my dog—also accidentally, by the way—he was… agitated and aggressive.” Mason regarded Victor.
“This rat is very much not—now, he isn’t exactly acting like a normal rat, either,” he continued.
“But I think that your presence or proximity is probably providing the reassurance he needs that he’s safe. ” He shrugged.
“What Archie and I can see,” Ward added.
“Is that there isn’t any darkness in the magic.
With other instances of necromancy—or connected magic—the colors of the magic are literally tainted with black, like ink mixed in with paint.
” He gestured toward Victor. “But the magic that’s wrapped around your little friend here is all red and gold—death magic, and also life magic. ”
“Huh,” Mason said, suddenly.
“What?” Ward asked him.
“I should have thought about that,” Mason replied, a chagrined half-smile on his lips. “I didn’t think about the fact that Rayn might actually be able to weave life magic in with death magic because he isn’t a traditional necromancer, he’s a death witch.”
“And witchcraft is about balance,” I said, softly, repeating something Mason had said to me many times over the past few years.
His smile widened, showing his upper fangs along with the lower ones. “Exactly,” he confirmed. “Which suggests that perhaps necromancers learned from witches, but lacked the ability to weave life-casting in with death magic, and that is why necromancy always results in corrupted souls.”
“Then why didn’t the same thing happen with your dog?” I asked him.
Mason’s smile turned into a grimace. “Because I was grieving and desperate. My energy was negative—yours likely wasn’t.” He suddenly let out a barked laugh. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, then looked at me. “Or you’re not a death witch at all.”
Now everyone—not including Victor—turned to stare at Mason. “What?” Ward was the one who said it.
“What if he’s actually a life-caster, but the conditions of your life, Rayn,” he’d turned to me partway into the sentence, “shifted your magic so that you’re actually using life-casting to manipulate death magic?”
I blinked at him. “I have no idea what that means,” I admitted.
“I’m not sure any of us do, sunshine,” Sylvia said, floating over. Archie stayed near the floor, still gently stroking Victor.
Mason chuckled again. “It means,” he said, “that part of why you’ve been struggling so much with your death magic might be because you’re not a death witch at all.
Death is the opposing force of life-casting, and, given where you…
grew up”—I didn’t miss the pause in that sentence—“your magic ended up being twisted around so that you could defend yourself. You had no need for life-casting in Tranquil Brook, but death magic had potential defensive value. So that’s how it got channeled.
” He looked over at Sylvia. “Kind of like how you always felt sensitive—and how every time something went wrong, it caught on fire—but until you started deliberately playing with fire, you couldn’t manipulate yours. ”
Sylvia and Ward were both nodding. “He’s been trying to train the wrong kind of magic,” Ward said. He offered me a sardonic smile. “Believe me, I know what that’s like and how incredibly frustrating it is.”
“It would also explain,” Mason continued, “why someone so powerful doesn’t seem to be capable of all that much.
” He glanced at me, his expression apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Rayn. I should have noticed earlier.
I suppose I just assumed that you were psychologically blocking yourself, not that you were being taught the wrong kind of magic. ”
I blinked. “I’m not that powerful,” I replied.
Ward let out a loud laugh. “Rayn, believe me, yes, you are.”
Sylvia was nodding. “Sunshine, the reason people are so careful around you is that you have so much magical potential—it’s honestly quite alarming.” She smiled. “It’s a good deal less alarming if it’s life magic, however.”
I frowned down at Victor. “But if I’m a life-caster, then how did I raise a dead rat?”
“Because you’re a life-caster,” Mason replied. “You gave him life again—you didn’t just raise his body and manipulate it. The spirit is the essence of life—and you used life-casting to bind Victor’s spirit back into his body.” He shook his head. “I should have sensed that.”
Ward let out a soft sound. “So you’re saying he did to that rat what you did to me,” he said, looking up at Mason.
Mason looked vaguely horrified.
I don’t think that was quite the right way to put that, Sylvia murmured softly, although only Ward and I could hear her.
Ward grimaced. “That came out wrong, Mace. Sorry.”
Mason shook himself slightly. “It’s… not wrong,” he admitted. “Although I don’t think I want to try it on rats.” He glanced over at Victor. “Or anything else.”
“You’re keeping a dead rat,” Raj repeated, his eyes fixed on Victor the rat, who was sitting in a box I’d put out for him, washing his whiskers.
“He seems happy,” I said. “I felt bad about just… sending him back to being dead.”
“He smells funny,” Raj said, still staring at Victor.
“He’s an undead rat,” I replied. “I’m surprised he doesn’t smell more funny.” It was actually pretty weird how very little Victor smelled.
“That’s why he smells funny,” Raj replied. “He should smell like decay, but he mostly just smells… like mothballs and jerky.”
I blinked. “That’s…”
“What?”
“Oddly specific,” I replied.
Raj shrugged. “It’s what he smells like,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the rat. “What are you going to do with him? Does he need to eat?”
“I don’t know. Keep him until he decides he wants to leave, I guess. And no, at least not according to Mason.”
“And you named him Victor why?”
“Because he reminds me of that clockwork Queen Victoria doll from The Great Mouse Detective, but he’s a boy rat, so…” I shrugged.
“Victor,” Raj said.
I nodded.
“And why did you resurrect him, again?”
“I—it wasn’t on purpose,” I admitted.
Raj drew in a long breath. Let it out. Drew in a second one. “That is not actually reassuring,” he said slowly.
“I know.” I ran a hand through my hair, unconsciously imitating the gesture Raj made often when he was worried or agitated about something.
“Mason says it’s not entirely unheard of for things like that to happen when you’re learning about death magic.
He resurrected his pet dog when he was a kid, although I guess it was much less… pleasant.”
“I’m not sure I would characterize an undead rat as pleasant,” Raj said, his tone mild, although he was still staring at the rat with an expression that I realized was discomfort. He didn’t understand the rat, and therefore didn’t know what to do with it.
What made me uncomfortable was the fact that I recognized the expression because that was how he’d looked at me the first time he’d met me.
And the second. And pretty much every time up until I’d started working on the Gates-Adams case.
I didn’t blame him for not understanding me, but I would have liked to think that I was at least less upsetting and more interesting than an undead rat.
“Does it bother you?” I asked, then winced.
It was an undead rat. Of course it bothered him.
Rats were not supposed to come back from the dead, much less take up residence in a cardboard shipping box lined with felt.
I’d also put a few dishes in there with random food items, just in case, although Victor hadn’t shown any interest in those, although he had drunk some water.
I guess undead rats could still get dehydrated. “I mean—”
“I—” he began, although he cut himself off before finishing whatever he was going to say.
I sighed. “I’ll move him,” I said, taking a step toward Victor’s box.
“You don’t have to do that,” Raj said, one hand snagging my arm. “He’s… fine.”
I gave him a look that I intended to communicate that I didn’t believe him.
His lips twitched. “It’s weird,” he admitted. “And a little creepy.” He glanced over at Victor, who was chewing on the side of the box. “Although he is also weirdly cute… in a creepy way.”
The sound of teeth on cardboard was oddly loud in the small space.
“Is he… in pain?” Raj asked, then.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “He doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of upset.”