Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Erasmus
I drove down the winding road of the Bridger Highlands Cemetery. I wondered at the name. This close to the Gulf of Mexico, we didn’t have a lot of highlands. I supposed it wouldn’t instill a lot of confidence saying the cemetery was located on midlands. At least we weren’t in the lowlands.
Bridger Highlands Cemetery ranked about a level six on my self-composed scale of remnant soul activity. It was noisy, but not enough to give me a headache…at least, not yet. If I spent a lot of time in the area, then all bets were off. Then again, I was kind of starting out in a hole where my physical health was concerned. I felt better than yesterday, but admittedly, that was a low bar.
I followed Tina Waylon’s instructions, twisting down little side roads whose width only allowed for one vehicle at a time. She’d told me I’d need to park and walk to the gravesite. The cemetery personnel had graciously erected a tent for some privacy. It was the same type they used for inclement weather. I could see its green outline in the distance as I pulled my car behind a couple of others. I wasn’t sure if the third car was related to my case, or if they were just there visiting their own loved one.
The cemetery was beautifully kept, and I wondered if they’d hired a nature pixie to tend the grounds. Given the lush landscape and gorgeous trees, I was inclined to think so. No amount of human-made fertilizer could come close to what a nature pixie could do. I could practically feel the love saturating the air.
Getting out, the afternoon heat blasted me and I wavered. The metal of my car was hot but that didn’t stop me from placing my hand on the roof, using it for balance. My head swam. This was beyond stupid. I wasn’t up to the task. I leaned against my car, the heat seeping through my threadbare shorts. I hated to bail on a job, but I was starting to think this was a pipe dream. Even driving here seemed stupid at this point. I should have just asked my ride share to take me the whole way.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I murmured, the word on endless repeat. I remained leaning until my head settled and I felt like I could take a couple of steps without face planting into some poor soul’s headstone. That would be a great obit: Necromancer dies by falling headfirst onto a grave marker.
I quietly chuckled. Morbid humor and I were old friends. Of course, it wouldn’t be so funny if it really happened.
Trying not to make a joke of my imminent death, I carefully pulled out my phone and sent a text to Franklin. I hadn’t planned on filling him in on my questionable plans, but given how woozy I felt… Let’s just say I thought it wise letting someone know where I was in case I really did pass out. I’d deal with Franklin’s justified anger later. As the saying went, it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I took my first wobbly step toward the tent. Sweat trickled down my back. This time of year, everyone had the odor of summer sweat. It was the backdrop scent of summer. For obvious reasons, that one had never made it into a commercial candle set.
The green tent was farther away than it had seemed when I got out of my car. I wasn’t sure if that was true or if my depleted physical reserves made it feel worse than it was. Regardless, after what seemed a small lifetime, I reached the edge of the tent and gripped the edge. Steadying myself, I took a minute. I probably looked like something half-dead and didn’t want to frighten my client any more than necessary.
Gulping a few humidity-laden breaths, I rounded the corner, plastering a smile on my face. “Sorry if I’m a little late, Ms. Waylon, I—” My words faltered as my eyes finally registered who was inside the tent. “Dr. McCallister?” I scanned the darkened interior. The tent was three-sided, shading the interior but allowing the light and miniscule breeze inside. What I presumed to be Tina’s uncle’s coffin was laid out beside a large hole, a mound of dirt off to the side. What I didn’t see was Tina Waylon.
Stepping into the tent, I laid a hand on the coffin, leaning heavily. Confused, I asked, “Are you a relative of Ms. Waylon?” Then I had another thought. “Did something happen? Is there another victim?” Even if I hadn’t been kicked off the case, Franklin probably wouldn’t have called me given the condition I was in.
Dr. Morgan McCallister eased around the casket, head slightly bent. When he lifted his face, his pale-blue eyes shone like chips of ice. “Necromancer Erasmus Boone.” He smiled, but the grin didn’t reach those crisp eyes. “It was nice of you to come. After what happened yesterday in the morgue, I wondered if you’d keep your appointment.” His laughter was soft and barely audible. “Detective O’Hare is very concerned about you.” McCallister tapped his ear. “It’s remarkable. I never realized how good panther hearing is.”
Panther hearing?
“Franklin generally keeps to himself, but he’s been working with Detective Harrison more recently. Mostly they discuss their mutual case, but there’s chitchat too. Seems you were a good little boyfriend and sent Franklin an itinerary of sorts.” McCallister’s finger traced along the dirt-encrusted casket as he made his way completely around, standing a few feet from me.
I took a step back. My heart was pounding so fast my head spun. Then again, it might just be from the exertion of walking from the car to the tent. I blamed my physical exhaustion for my slow brain activity. I’d forgotten I’d sent Franklin the information regarding my upcoming appointments. I’d sent it yesterday morning, before going to the morgue and dealing with Bart Livingston’s horrid soul, before I’d depleted most of my necromancer energy.
Eyes scrunched, I said, “I don’t understand why you’re here.” While that was a true statement, it didn’t begin to sum up my confusion. Gaia, my head hurt. I needed to activate another one of Pops’s pain charms. I’d get on that just as soon as I figured out what in the hell was going on and where my client was. Maybe I’d gotten the gravesite wrong.
“Dr. McCallister, I—”
“You can call me Morgan if you’d like,” he answered, that same disturbing grin stretching his cheeks.
I shook my head, uncomfortable with whatever the hell this was. “I think I’ll stick with Dr. McCallister.”
His head cocked to the side. “If that’s what you prefer. You may change your mind later. I’ll understand if you do.”
“Okaaay.” I took another step back. “Listen, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I came here to meet a client and she’s obviously not here yet, or maybe I’ve got the wrong gravesite.”
“Oh no, you’re in the correct location. I’m afraid Ms. Waylon won’t be meeting you today.”
“She won’t be… What’s going on?” I fingered the charm hanging around my neck. Aurelia and Franklin had their end of the communication charms. Pops had his too, but he was on a plane, flying across the continent on his way to meet me. I didn’t want to scare the shit out of him when he was thousands of feet in the air, especially when I wasn’t certain what was going on. My brain and heart were beginning to click on the same level and that level screamed for me to get the hell out of there.
“Just what I said, Ms. Waylon won’t be coming.”
My heart stuttered and before I could contemplate the words, I asked, “What did you do to her?”
“Me?” Dr. McCallister placed a hand over his heart, eyes wide and innocent looking. “Nothing as nefarious as you believe. I’m not a monster .”
I was beginning to doubt the validity of that statement.
“Ms. Waylon is a simple human. Killing her would be like snuffing out an ant.” With a dramatic sigh, Dr. McCallister leaned his elbow on the casket and crossed his ankles. “Killing Bart Livingston was little more than a necessity.” McCallister held out his hand, flexing his fingers. Claws slowly erupted from their tips. “It was good practice though. There’s no way to get used to your new body like using its upgraded features.”
My eyes felt like they might pop out of my head while my brain scrambled. Facts slotted into place, forming a picture that scared the shit out of me. I was alone in a tent in the middle of a practically deserted cemetery with a serial killer.
The claws disappeared, leaving well-manicured fingertips in their wake. Swallowing thickly, I asked, “What are you?” Necromancers couldn’t tell what others were, not like fairies or brownies could. Even Aurelia seemed to be able to discern another’s species if it wasn’t readily obvious.
McCallister pushed off the coffin and took a step closer. I reflexively took another back. “You know, I’m not really certain.” Waving a dismissive hand in the air, he said, “But we can discuss that later, somewhere a bit more private.”
Oh, hell no. I was not getting in a fucking car with this lunatic. “Yeah, I think I’ll have to pass on that one.” I reached for my communication charm but never got the chance to make contact. McCallister’s hand shot out, painfully gripping my wrist.
“I don’t think so. At least, not yet. There’s a time and place for everything, little necromancer. And I am the one in control here.”
Words of pure fury and rage bubbled up within me. They got caught somewhere between my brain, lips, and the magenta-colored powder McCallister blew into my face.
I sneezed, once, twice, and then…darkness.
S ounds rustled through my nightmares, wiggling their way into my dreams until I realized my nightmare was real. My eyelids were sluggish and heavily weighted. When I finally managed to crack them open, I wished I’d been able to glue them back together.
Inhaling was a mistake. The musty air was laden with a coppery undercurrent. When I tried to rub my nose and eyes, I found my hands bound behind my back. Twisting my wrists I could easily tell they were ropes, not chains. Hell, they could have been made of Jell-O and I probably wouldn’t have been able to get free. I could barely move my body and every breath felt like I had an elephant sitting on my chest.
“Welcome back to the land of the living. For now, at least.”
I twisted my head, following that voice. Blinking back the fog, my eyes focused on a chair set up in the middle of the room. The chair was turned so its back was to me. Dr. McCallister straddled the seat, arms crossed over the backrest. He appeared casually at ease as he sat there, not a stitch of clothing out of place. A couple of stark lightbulbs barely lit the dim room and one of them seemed intent on causing a seizure with the way it flickered.
My mouth was arid and my saliva thick. It was difficult to form words and I had to swallow and cough a couple of times before I managed an embarrassingly weak, “W-where…”
“Where are you?”
I tried to nod but wasn’t sure I pulled it off.
“Somewhere safe. Well, not exactly safe for you, but safe for me,” he answered with a grin. “Privacy is important. We should have that here.”
I blinked, begging my mind to focus. I wish I was being dramatic considering my life depended on it. “Privacy?”
McCallister gave a quick nod. “That, and all my equipment and supplies are here.” He swept a hand through the air, indicating the floor. “The sigils are properly placed. You know how long it took me to get them right?” I had no idea and could care even less. Evidently, McCallister didn’t really care what I thoughand went right on speaking. “Too damn long. I had a couple of failures along the way and they got…messy.” His nose crinkled. “Generally speaking, I don’t like messy, although I will say I enjoyed making a mess of Bart Livingston. That man was a horror.” McCallister said the last as if it were a surprise someone could be so rotten. “The world is far better off without that human.”
Maybe that was true, but I doubted the same philosophy could be used for his other victims. “And what about the others?”
McCallister looked off to the side. “They were necessary.”
“ Necessary? ” I wasn’t sure I completely understood, but I was beginning to form a picture. All this time, the condition of the souls was the answer. I’d explained it to Franklin. I’d had it figured out. I just couldn’t see why or how it was possible. I still wasn’t sure I had the answers to those questions, but answers or not, the man casually sitting in front of me had done those things—and he had the panther claws to prove it.
“Evolution is a messy process. Casualties abound.” He flexed his fingers, claws forming and receding. It was a neat trick, one that still seemed to fascinate McCallister. “I wasn’t sure it would work, and even when I stripped my test subjects, I didn’t know what I’d get out of it.” His twisted smile was fondly amused. “It was a surprise every time.”
“You took their abilities.”
“I did,” McCallister answered proudly. “As I said, I wasn’t sure what I’d get, and I had no idea what my actions did to their souls.” Leaning his head back, McCallister laughed. “You have no idea how scared I was when I learned the witch’s body was found and that you’d been the one to find her. God, I was shaking in my shoes when I drove out to the gravesite. I just knew when you called her soul back that she’d point the finger at me.” This time, McCallister’s smile was wide and far too sincere. “You can’t imagine my relief when all she did was scream.”
Relief? “Her soul was in agony. It’s still in agony.” Tears stung my eyes. “How can you feel any form of relief knowing that? You said you’re not a monster, but that’s the very definition of what a monster is.”
McCallister’s smile disappeared, replaced by thin lips in a grim line. “I’m not the monster. Those who made me are. The warlocks who abandon their children simply because they aren’t born with the same abilities. You don’t get to pick and choose your offspring, discarding the defective ones like yesterday’s trash.”
My harsh swallow was painful. It wasn’t that I disagreed, but this was… “Who’s your father?” I probably wouldn’t recognize the name, but I was curious.
McCallister waved my question away. “Oh, my father wasn’t a warlock. His father wasn’t either.” At my confused stare, McCallister shrugged. “It’s all a bit convoluted.” With a flourished wave down his body, McCallister’s grin was back. “I’m a bit of an anomaly. One of a kind, really. I’ve got a warlock ancestor, several generations removed. It’s so distant that my father didn’t know. His necromancer genes were diluted to the point they didn’t affect him. But they were there.”
My brain fog had trouble with that line of dialogue. “But you’re a necromancer. You have to be.”
McCallister wobbled his hand back and forth. “I’m a little bit of everything at the moment. You see, interesting things happen when history forgets, when lineages are lost, and when the stars align just right. Everyone, including my father, thought he was an ordinary human. That not-so-human human met a witch and they procreated. Amazing what the mixing of their genes did.”
My lip trembled. Witches and warlocks used to mate. Their falling-out over djinn stopped the practice. Had a witch and necromancer ever produced a child together? I didn’t know. Not that I’d heard of. But if my struggling brain was following correctly, the witch who’d procreated with McCallister’s father hadn’t known there were warlock genes lurking below. Well, necromancer genes, but the relation was clear and evidently genetically compatible enough to produce a child.
Having no idea what to say, I sat there mutely, taking in and absorbing the information. When I remained quiet, McCallister said, “I know, it’s a lot. It took me a while to figure it out, to trace back my lineage. I always knew I was a little different , I just wasn’t sure how. Turns out, I got a bit of both witch and necromancer, but horribly diluted.” McCallister frowned and his eyes sparked with annoyance. “I was physically deficient. Small, weak, poor eyesight, acne—I was a mess. But up here”—McCallister tapped his temple—“was a different matter. My body was not a reflection of my genius. I made a vow to change that, and I have.” With a sweeping hand, McCallister motioned around the room.
I could barely move my head, could hardly make out the scrawled markings on the floor. Even if I’d gotten a better look, I wouldn’t be able to interpret them. I wasn’t a witch or warlock. I didn’t manipulate magic that way. I’d seen similar patterns when I’d spent time with Pops, but I only had a cursory understanding of what they meant.
My head pounded in rhythm with my racing heart. “Whatever you’ve gained, it was stolen. It’s not yours.”
“Oh, it’s mine now,” McCallister answered with a sneer. “And with each one, I become a little more powerful. I’m becoming something no one has ever seen.”
McCallister had more than a few screws loose, but knowing that wouldn’t save me or help anyone else. He’d killed a witch, a warlock, and a panther shifter—and those were just the ones I knew of. McCallister indicated there were others, prior failures. He’d also admitted to killing Bart Livingston, a human. I couldn’t see how that figured into his plans and asked, “Why Bart?”
McCallister grunted. “Because he was dead set on destroying you. Bart followed you everywhere. With him on your tail, I’d never be able to get you alone.”
My inhale was choked. “You killed him because he was trying to kill me?” My body froze and a horrid shiver sliced through me. “You’re going to strip my powers?”
McCallister actually appeared horrified. “Good God, no. Why on earth would I want your abilities?” Then he laughed. “My necromancer abilities are paltry at best. They’re enough to take what I want, and believe me, that’s plenty for me. Bringing the dead back…” McCallister shivered. “That’s a nightmare.”
Those who lived in glass houses really shouldn’t throw stones. “Then what the hell am I doing here?” If anything, McCallister should want me dead. He should have allowed Bart Livingston to off me and his problems would be solved. I was a necromancer thorn in his side. So what was his game?
McCallister reached into his pocket and pulled out my communication charm. I’d seen several versions of a smile cross his face. None of them chilled me to the bone like this one. “It’s not you I want, Erasmus. It’s your father.”
My heart thudded before it sank into the dark pit of my belly. “P-Pops? Why? You’ve already taken from a warlock. You—”
“A young, barely capable warlock,” McCallister answered on a huff. “Nothing like Nikodemus Holland.” Leaning over the back of his chair, McCallister’s eyes bored into mine. “I could never hope to get close enough to capture a seasoned, powerful warlock like your father. But everyone has a weakness, and it turns out, you’re his.” Swinging my charm, McCallister said, “This proves it. He’s got the matching twin. I used your finger, your DNA, to activate it while you were sleeping. I imagine he’ll be along shortly. If you’re good, I’ll kill you before you watch me strip your father of his abilities. But only if you’re good. If you cause me trouble, I’ll make sure you hear every scream and watch the light fade from his eyes as his heart finally succumbs to the pain.”
The scratch of McCallister’s chair sounded against the cold brick floor as he stood and left the room, a heavy wooden door closing with finality. I sat there, frozen with terror and numb with grief. Gaia knew how to humble her servants. It wasn’t about me. It had never been about me. I was nothing but bait, and now my stubborn pride would lead to something unspeakable. Unthinkable.
Panic filled me, and yet it did little to galvanize my fading body. I was worn too thin. I’d been an idiot and overdone everything. I’d pushed too hard and now…
“Erasmus.”
My head jerked to the side, lips slipping open to stare open mouthed. “A-Aurelia?” Gaia, she looked like an avenging angel as she slipped from a darkened corner. “H-How long have you—”
“Long enough,” she answered. Her head tilted, cracking her neck. Aurelia’s Caribbean-blue eyes shimmered bright enough to light the room. “That man is difficult to decipher,” Aurelia said while crouching beside me. “I am uncertain what he is, but there is enough of your imprint that I believed caution would be wise.”
I nodded with understanding. “He’s a necromancer. Sort of. I’m not sure if he could hurt you or not.” Even if he couldn’t pull Aurelia’s soul out of her object of attachment and stuff it back into her body, it was possible he could do worse. What if he could trap Aurelia like the others? What if he could strip her abilities? Gaia help us if that were the case.
A tattoo on Aurelia’s left shoulder flared to life as she said, “I cannot transport you out of here. It is one of my restrictions.” She sounded frustrated. “I do not believe you can make it out of here on your own if I free you.” This time, she frowned. “Your captor is heavily warded. I could kill him, eventually, but it will take time that I do not believe you currently have.”
I shook my head while pushing down my disappointment. “It’s okay. I’m not worried about me.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was just that I was much more worried about Pops. “Pops. You heard what he said, what he plans to do. You have to warn him. You have to tell Pops to stay away.”
Aurelia’s head cocked to the side, expression curiously blank. “You are his offspring. Your father will come for you regardless.”
Frustration filled me. “You have to tell him not to. You have to—”
“I have to do nothing,” Aurelia spat. “You are not my master.”
I swallowed down my anger. She was right and I’d just crossed a line I wasn’t sure I could come back from. “I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like a wished order, I just… I’m scared, Aurelia. I don’t want Pops to get hurt, especially because of me. Can you understand that?”
She stood, backing away. “On an intellectual level only,” she answered finally. “I will inform your father of what I heard. That is all. Perhaps your mate will try harder.” Aurelia disappeared, leaving me alone and with a fresh new worry. Franklin. The charm had also alerted him. Was he with Pops? Would he come charging through the door only to end up like Bart Livingston?
Gaia, I felt sick. How had my life gotten so fucked up in such a short amount of time?