Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Erasmus
I wasn’t used to waking up in the hospital. I wasn’t sure anyone was, and if they were, then maybe they needed to reevaluate their life choices.
The back of my hand was taped, an IV nestled below the adhesive. The lighting was low and the hum of my IV pump whirled in the background. Little beeps that were thankfully consistent sounded from the monitor attached to my finger and the leads stuck to my chest. A thin line of tubing tickled my nose and delivered oxygen.
Despite the low lights, I still blinked against the assault. Momma’s head blocked out the light as she leaned over my bed, her worried, strained face filling my vision.
“M-Momma,” I managed, my throat arid.
“Hi, honey.” Momma’s smile was watery and a tear fell from her eye, dripping onto my cheek and rolling across my skin. “Sorry,” she foolishly apologized.
“’S okay,” I managed on a yawn. I wanted to paw at the tube irritating my nose, but Momma’s halting hand stopped me.
“Leave it be, Erasmus. I’ll get the nurse and see if we can take it out or not.” She squeezed my hand and wiped more tears from her eyes. “I’ll be right back. That will give you some time to speak with your father.” She leaned over and pressed her lips against my forehead. Typically that would leave a lipstick impression, but Momma wasn’t all dolled up today. She appeared worn thin and barely put together. She’d never looked more beautiful to me.
She disappeared from my sight and Pops took her place. Where Momma had looked worn thin, Pops looked like he’d gone ten rounds and wound up in a tie.
“How are you feeling?” Pops asked, his voice low and gravelly.
“I think I should ask you that,” I countered. My hand rose sluggishly enough for me to cup Pops’s rough cheek. He leaned into the touch and his eyes slid closed. “I’m so sorry,” I said, finally able to convey what I’d been feeling. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I—”
“Hush. You didn’t hurt me, Erasmus. Never think that.” Pops gripped my hand and pulled it away. “I’ll heal.”
Relief washed through me but was quickly replaced by my last memory. “Franklin!” I tried sitting up, determined to physically get out of this bed and find him myself.
Pops smirked. “Your human detective is alive and on the mend. It is fortunate his superior is a witch with proper healing capabilities. She did her best with you but could not correct your dangerously low blood glucose levels. I’m afraid the hospital was necessary.”
I stared at the IV in my hand. I couldn’t get a good look at the fluid bag but figured it had dextrose in it. Settling back, I asked, “Franklin’s really okay?”
“Really,” Pops reassured.
I blew out a relieved breath before confusion set in. “What happened? Last I remember, somehow McCallister threw Franklin against the wall and he—”
“And he managed to survive.” Pops pulled a chair close and sat down beside my bed. “Are you up to hearing the whole story?”
Whether I was or not, I didn’t think I could properly rest until I knew all the details. “Tell me everything.” And so, for the next ten minutes, Pops did. Momma came back and sat on the edge of my bed. She listened with sad resignation. Her lack of surprise let me know she’d already heard the story at least once. Her death grip on my hand said she wouldn’t get over it soon.
Absorbing the information, I blankly stared at the ceiling. “McCallister’s dead?”
“Very,” Pops answered. “And it was a pleasure to do so.”
Momma didn’t so much as flinch.
“Your detective was saddened that I did not allow him the opportunity to contribute to McCallister’s death. However, I believe his aid was already sufficient.”
I barked out a laugh. “Sounds to me like Franklin saved both our asses.”
Pops stared at his blackened fingertips and shrugged, unwilling to admit a human was crucial to our survival.
“I texted Franklin to let him know you’re awake,” Momma said, brushing my hair from my forehead. “He said he’ll be here when he can. As you can imagine, he’s been very busy tying off all the loose ends. I’m afraid the situation has already hit the local press. It’s not every day the county coroner goes on a killing spree.” Momma attempted a bit of levity but then her face fell. “I’m afraid the headlines are a bit misleading.”
Pops growled. “ Misleading ? Try dead wrong.”
I glanced from one to the other and asked, “How so?”
Momma looked down while Pops appeared unusually apologetic. “They’re calling McCallister a necromancer.”
My blink was slow. “Well, I suppose he was. In a way. He was a lot of other things too.”
“Yes, but that is the angle the press is focusing on,” Pops said. “As they typically do.”
I considered that and wasn’t as upset as Momma and Pops, mostly because I knew McCallister would hate being labeled a necromancer if he were still alive.
Blowing out a breath, I said, “I suppose it is what it is.”
Pops opened his mouth, ready to argue but Momma held up a finger and shushed him. I think my momma was the only being on the planet that could silence my father with a single look and raised finger.
I yawned again, my exhaustion pulling at me. Thankfully, I wasn’t in any pain. I’d been physically healed. Spiritually was a different matter. My necromancer abilities felt like a leaden weight, pulling the rest of me down with them. I needed sleep, food, and sugar. Food would come later. Right now, sleep called to me.
“Rest up, honey,” Momma said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
I thought I smiled. I hoped I smiled. Regardless, I remembered whispering, “Love you, Momma. You too, Pops.”
They probably said it back to me. If they didn’t, I would’ve happily imagined hearing it.
When I woke again, Momma and Pops were gone but Franklin was there. He’d pulled a chair up close to my bed, his feet propped on the foot of my mattress and his head tilted back, mouth open and soft, snores puffing out now and again. He shouldn’t look so damn beautiful.
I lay there, staring, drinking him in. Franklin O’Hare had come for me. He’d risked his life to save me, and in the process, he’d wound up rescuing me and Pops.
Minutes ticked by and I continued staring until Franklin stirred. He jerked awake and his feet slipped from my bed, landing on the floor with a less-than-graceful thud.
It took him a couple of blinks and a wide yawn before Franklin realized I was awake. His whole face lit up when he stared into my eyes. Shifting forward, Franklin scooted his chair until it was snugged up against my bed.
“Hey you,” he softly said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been held hostage and haven’t eaten in a decade. How about you?”
Franklin grinned. “About the same, minus the hostage bit. Oh, and I did eat a big, juicy burger a couple of hours ago.”
I groaned. “You’re killing me here.”
“Hope not. I went through a lot of trouble keeping you alive. I’d hate to off you with the mere mention of food.”
My lips twisted into a soft smile. “You came for me. You shouldn’t have, but you did.”
Franklin’s thick fingers danced along my hair line, pushing the strands away. “Yeah, about that, you’re kind of stuck with me now. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least.”
“That’s good, because I’d hate to see what your father would do to me if I tried sticking around where I wasn’t wanted.” Franklin did a dramatic, whole-body shiver. “Talk about difficult in-laws…”
My laughter felt lighter than it had in days. Maybe weeks. It took me a few seconds to settle and when I did, I said, “Pops told me that Aurelia found you.”
“That she did. We need to have a discussion about your friendship choices.”
My laughter returned. “She’s not so bad.”
Franklin blew out a breath. “You won’t be saying that when she kills your father. Trust me when I say I think it best we try keeping the two of them apart.”
I sensed a story Pops had failed to relate but thought it could wait until later. “Have you seen Aurelia since then?”
Franklin shook his head. “I haven’t. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t been around.”
“No. She might not want to reveal herself.”
“I try not to think on it too hard,” Franklin admitted. “Aurelia isn’t something I have any control over, so I’m going to let that one go.”
“A wise decision,” I easily agreed.
“Speaking of wise and unwise decisions… When you’re feeling better, you and I need to have a discussion about your serious lack of self-preservation skills.”
My eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know about McCallister, I—”
“I’m not talking about that psychotic jackass. I’m talking about driving yourself out to a job that you were in no shape to attempt. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe Tina Waylon’s uncle is long dead. His soul and corpse could have waited another day or two.”
I sucked on my bottom lip and gave a reluctant nod. “You’re right. I just hated to disappoint her.”
“I know and I get it. I just don’t want you placing yourself in an early grave trying to please everyone. Rest assured, that will not please me .”
My heart felt light as it fluttered wildly in my chest. “And what would please you, Detective O’Hare?”
Franklin’s lips twitched. “I’ve got a few ideas, but for now, let’s start with this.” He stood and leaned over my body, face hovering above me. I’d recovered enough to lift my head, meeting him halfway. Franklin’s lips were rough, chapped, and dry. He needed a shave and probably a shower. None of those things mattered. I savored the feel of his lips against mine, the way he moved them, the way he made me understand that I was his and that he’d move heaven, hell, or a twisted serial killer to get to me.
I stared at McCallister’s body. Pops had made good on his word. Little pieces of McCallister’s flesh were missing, exposing bloody swaths of nerve and muscle tissue. Five days and an autopsy later made McCallister’s corpse all the grislier.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Franklin asked, hand pressed into the small of my back. “We can wait another day or two.”
I contemplated that but shook my head. My body felt recovered enough and I didn’t want to wait any longer. Ever since this idea took root in my brain, it wouldn’t allow me to rest.
“No, I want to do it now. I’ll be fine.” I wasn’t completely certain that was true, but I was about 75 percent there. That was good enough for me.
I’d been lying in my bed at home, thinking how unfair it was that McCallister’s soul was still intact while his victims would languish. I was contemplating bringing back the souls he’d damaged and ripping them completely apart. At least then they’d be at peace.
And that’s when it occurred to me. McCallister was dead. I could bring his soul back. But that wasn’t the epiphany. That came later when I considered the condition of McCallister’s soul. If stealing his victim’s abilities had torn out sections of their souls, it only made sense that they would have been added to McCallister’s. As long as they hadn’t fallen by the wayside when he died, then I might be able to bring McCallister’s soul back, along with the bits and pieces he’d stolen. If I could do that, it would be a simple matter of stripping them off and fitting them back into their original host.
I’d told Franklin it would be simple. That wasn’t completely true. I didn’t know if it was untrue either. Considering I’d never tried something like this before, I wasn’t certain. Theoretically it should be simple. I didn’t even have to shove McCallister’s soul back into his body to do it.
“You ready?” Captain Cicely asked. I had quite the crowd. Captain Cicely, Detective Harrison, Franklin, Pops holding up a nearby wall, and four corpses—Rebecca Ann Mosely, Phineas Noland, Linus Remington, and Morgan McCallister. Detective Harrison had her tablet out, ready to hit record.
“Ready,” I said, shaking out my arms. I didn’t need to be loose to do this, but the tension was starting to strain my neck. Staring at the litany of sweets and juice lined up on a nearby table did more to ease my muscles than any flexing. Franklin came in extra prepared today.
Closing my eyes, I focused on Rebecca Ann Mosely first. I was used to stuffing souls back into bodies. Today’s trick would be bringing them back without allowing them back inside. At least, not at first.
I’d considered who to bring back first. I didn’t want to call for the souls of McCallister’s victims until I knew if their bits of soul were clinging to McCallister’s, and if I could remove them. With that thought in mind, I said, “Morgan Ellis McCallister, I call on you to return.”
My necromancer abilities tugged on that thread connecting McCallister’s soul to his body. The soul came willingly enough. I hadn’t admitted this to anyone, but I’d never tried calling back a necromancer’s soul. Necromancy wasn’t McCallister’s primary ability, but there was enough of it there to do a lot of damage. Thankfully, his soul headed my call just like every other one.
It came flying toward me, toward McCallister’s body. I stopped it just in time, allowing the soul to hover just beyond the flesh it sought.
The room was quiet, Franklin’s hand on the small of my back a constant, reassuring weight. I knew Detective Harrison was recording the scene, not that it would visually pick up what I was doing unless I shoved the soul back into McCallister’s body and made him speak. I’d contemplated doing that. Revenge was a heady drug, and I wasn’t immune to its call. I wanted to make him suffer. I wanted Morgan McCallister to know that he’d lost and we’d won, that I was going to strip him of all his ill-gotten gains.
Although it would be satisfying, it was also petty. There was the added benefit of never having to hear McCallister’s voice again.
Concentrating, I delved deeper into McCallister’s soul. It was easier than I’d thought it would be to pick out the pieces that didn’t belong. With a simple nudge, I teased a section away. It was as if that piece of soul knew it didn’t belong and desperately wanted release. I was more than happy to give it the added push it needed.
“You’re smiling. Is that a good sign?” Franklin asked.
“It’s a very good sign,” I happily answered. “I think this is going to work.”
“Glad to hear it,” Captain Cicely said.
“Glad to say it,” I countered before turning my attention to our first known victim. “Rebecca Ann Mosely, I call your soul back.” My smile turned into a grimace when I became reacquainted with the wrongness of her soul. Its prickly, torn edges were horribly uncomfortable and floated just beyond her body. Now that I had the two souls close to each other, it was easy to see what parts were Rebecca’s. Close proximity made those missing pieces of soul reach out, yearning to be reunited. Again, a gentle push was all it took.
Rebecca’s soul knitted back together, leaving small, barely-there scars as lingering evidence. I could still tell something had happened to her, but her soul was whole again and no longer hurt to hold onto.
Soul whole, I reunited it with her body one last time. This was the final step, the reason why Detective Harrison stood there, recording everything. While we had plenty of evidence against Dr. McCallister for his deeds against me and Pops, a little finger pointing from his other victims would go a long way to neatly closing the case.
Rebecca’s dead eyes blinked, her mouth closed, no scream forthcoming. Her corpse sat up and looked around the room. I could feel her confusion and hastened to ease her discomfort.
“Rebecca Ann Mosely, I’m sorry to bring you back, but I’m afraid the police need to know what happened to you.”
I never truly knew what a soul’s reaction would be. Rebecca wasn’t upset, and she wasn’t angry—at least not at me. What I got from her was a sense of overwhelming relief.
“You found me,” Rebecca said. “I was so afraid that no one would, and I hurt so badly. I…” Fear and anger took the place of relief. “That man took me. He blew sleeping dust into my face and when I woke up, I was underground and in a circle. He hurt me.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sincerely said. “I know this will be difficult, but the detectives have some questions they need to ask you.”
Rebecca’s soul flinched but solidified with determination. “I will answer what I can. That man must pay for what he did.”
Pops chuckled, low and deep. “Oh, he paid. Trust me, little witch. He paid dearly.”
I stepped back while Franklin moved forward. Rebecca took the time to answer their questions. While that was going on, I took the opportunity to partake in the sugar-laden smorgasbord Franklin had set up earlier. Pops scooted closer as I sucked on a piece of hard candy.
“He’s not terrible, for a human,” Pops begrudgingly admitted.
I smiled. “He’s not terrible in the least—human or not.”
Pops grunted. “He’s terribly fragile, more so than you. I worry.”
“I worry too, but I can’t allow that worry to interfere with living. Worry too much and you forget to enjoy what you have and the time you’ve got it.” I finished my candy and gave Pops my full attention. “I hate what loving me will cost you, Pops. The grief of knowing that—”
“Hush, Erasmus. None of that.” Pops cupped my chin within his large hands. “As you said, we need to cherish the time we have. I refuse to grieve a loss that hasn’t happened yet. There will time enough for that later. Gaia blessed me with you, and I am not so foolish as to disrespect her will. Not a day has gone by that I have not been grateful for your birth, and not a day will pass in the future where I do not feel the same.”
My eyes watered and my body felt noodle-limp. “I love you, Pops.”
“I love you too.” Dropping my face, Pops took a step back and gave a nod in Franklin’s direction. “I think they’re about done with the witch.”
Not a minute later, Franklin called me over. Rebecca had given them all she could. It was time to give her peace. “Rebecca Ann Mosely, I release you. Go in peace.”
The smile faded from Rebecca’s face as her corpse fell back on the gurney gracelessly. Rebecca was gone. It was time to move on to Phineas.
“You ready for the next one?” Franklin asked.
“More than ready.”
The following hour passed quickly. I repaired Phineas and Linus’s souls the same way as Rebecca’s. By the time we were done, they’d been laid to rest. There was no helping Bart Livingston’s soul. McCallister hadn’t taken anything from it, he’d simply destroyed it so when found, Bart couldn’t point the finger McCallister’s direction.
It was a good day. A tiring day, but productive.
Each species reacted differently to necromancers. Some were outright hostile. Some thought we were abominations of nature. All were wary. But I didn’t care about the masses. I cared about the individuals closer to home. I was a necromancer and I’d just done something that no other soul could possibly do. I’d given three victims peace. I’d repaired what was stolen and sent them on their way to their eternal slumber. I’d taken away their pain as no other could. All in all, it was a good day’s work. Not all days were like this, and like I’d told Pops, I planned on savoring all the good I could. The bad would inevitably find its way back in, and I’d deal with it then. There was no need to hasten its arrival.