Necromancing the Stone (13 page)

She leaned in and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I needed to get it cut soon, but then again, if I did that, she couldn’t brush it out of my eyes. Maybe that comes off as mushy, but I don’t care. I will stoop to mushiness if it means I get to hang out with girls half as awesome as Brid, so there.

“We have to stop seeing each other.”

Some statements come from so far out of left field that they poleax you. This was one of those statements.

“I’m sorry, but I think I misheard you. Did you just break up with me?”

“Not really, I mean, it’s not like we were actually boyfriend-girlfriend, right?”

It was like snakes had shot out of her ears and she’d started drooling cotton candy. Who was this person?

“Yes, I guess I do think of you as my girlfriend.”

She looked uncomfortable now. “Well, I mean, we never discussed it. You know, officially.”

“Were you seeing anyone else?”

“No.”

“And we were going out on dates and whatnot? Hanging out all the time?”

“Yes.” Brid was practically squirming now.

“And it was you I was sleeping with? Not some evil doppelganger?”

She nodded glumly.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t pin you or buy you a ‘Sam’s property’ T-shirt, but unless I completely misunderstand how things work, that kind of means you’re my girlfriend.” I was having a hard time keeping the anger out of my voice.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She picked up a fragment of shell and examined it. “I guess I thought this would be easier if I downplayed what we had.”

“If by easier you meant to have me question every moment we’ve spent together, then yes, that’s much easier.” I was biting off words now, sarcastic and intended to hurt. It wouldn’t alter anything, and it wouldn’t endear me to her and make her change her mind, but sometimes you can’t help saying stupid things. “Why?” I asked.

She had tears in her eyes now, and she was shaking her head. Brid wasn’t one of those girls who turned into a faucet at the slightest provocation. So when she cried, you knew she was really upset. I was kind of glad, since I didn’t want to be the only one hurting here, but it wasn’t fun to watch her cry, either.

“I just can’t do this right now.”

Okay. What did that mean? “Am I taking up too much of your time? Is it because of your dad? Do you just need some space or something?”

She rubbed one of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “No, it’s just—” She waffled for a minute, thinking. “You know how my parents had to get married? Because it was a good choice for the pack? I mean, it worked out great because they loved each other, but it was still a gamble.”

“We need to get married?” I wasn’t really following where she was going, and I was smacked upside the head with the realization that, should she prefer it, I would marry Brid without a second thought. That shook me to the core. I was too young. We were too young. Marriages at our age don’t generally last. All the commonsense arguments, arguments I usually believed, began to stack up in an instant.

But.

I would ignore them if that was what she needed. Why? Because I was ridiculous for this girl, it was as simple as that. Willing-to-crawl-through-broken-glass-clucking-like-a-chicken level of ridiculous.

“No,” she said with a laugh. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes I have to make choices with the pack in mind and not myself.”

“And the pack wants to eat my face.”

“Sam, do you know why we burn our dead?”

I shook my head. I knew precious little about her pack, even though I’d been trying so hard to learn. It seemed like, no matter what, I was always going to be behind the learning curve.

“Because of … your kind.” It was hard for her to say it. Probably almost as hard as it was for me to hear it.

“Ex–fry cooks?” Lame joke, but I needed something to buffer what was going on. I got a little half smile for my trouble.

“Can you imagine what someone with your powers could do if they got ahold of one of us?”

Unfortunately, I could.

“So we build pyres and burn our dead—we have for centuries. Hundreds of years, Sam. You can’t just overcome that kind of thing overnight, you know?” She tossed the shell fragment into the waves. “For the most part, they’re coming around, but I can’t push them right now. And like it or not, you’re, you know, you. The pack had a hard enough time accepting my father, and fey hounds are a lot closer to werewolves than you are.”

Oh, joy. Nothing like being discriminated against for something you can’t change. “Like you said, they’ll come around, right? Can’t we just lay low until then?” There was a pathetic wheedling tone to my question.

“Maybe they will, but I don’t know. It’s hard to argue with them and tell them necromancers aren’t evil after … what Douglas did to me.” She swiped at her cheek. “I just took over, and I don’t have the clout to rock the boat yet, Sam. The pack still needs stability. My father did a great job pulling it together, but the work’s not all done yet. That’s why Bran stepped down, and it’s why I have to do this now.”

I brushed my thumb along the lifeline on her palm. “What does Bran have to do with it?”

She made a face. “You’ve never wondered why he’s not
taoiseach
instead of me?”

I shrugged. I’d always figured either her father had a good reason or it was some mystical werewolf crap I didn’t know about.

“Bran and I, we’re pretty evenly matched. In fact, he’s got a bit more experience just because he’s older, but, well, he’s never hidden his preferences from the pack.”

Preferences? It finally clicked. “Bran’s gay?”

“You really didn’t know?”

I shook my head. “Is your pack that homophobic?”

“They would have accepted him as
taoiseach
, no problem. He’d be a good leader, but he wouldn’t produce any heirs, and that would invite trouble.”

“You’d have another dynastic squabble. I get it.” I was still tracing her lifeline, doing my best to avoid her eyes.

“Bran chose to step down because he cared about the pack.” She lifted my chin with her other hand. Hazel eyes searched mine, and my heart broke. I understood her logic, but I’d be damned if I liked it. “I can’t sacrifice any less than he has.”

“You’re worried that if we kept dating, it would cause the same kind of problem.”

“Anyone I date right now, the pack will have to seriously consider. And you’re powerful, yes, but I have to think about offspring. At some point, I have to provide an appropriate heir. Please don’t see that as me being baby crazy or anything like that.”

I smiled at her to let her know that wasn’t how I saw her. I understood. I hated it, but I understood. “Any children we would have could end up like me.” And if Brid and her siblings caused an uproar, I could only imagine what fey-were-necromancer children would do. Talk about diversity.

I pulled her to me, her back against my chest, my chin on her shoulder, her hands on mine as my arms went around her. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“You realize that saying that at this moment makes you a sadistic asshole, right?”

“Indeed I do.”

“You’re such a jerk,” she said, but she pulled me closer when she said it.

We didn’t talk much after that. I think too much had been said already. So we watched the waves crash, and the sun move, and held on to each other, knowing we might not get to do it again. Brid stayed until her legs fell asleep. Then she got up to leave.

I would have stayed until my legs fell off and the vultures came.

Despite the heart-deadening pain of it, I walked her to her car. “For the record, even though I understand your logic and want to make this easier on you, I think this is completely stupid.” I opened her door for her. “For the record.”

She hugged me good-bye, one of those long, painful squeezes of farewell.

“And in the spirit of honesty, I think it’s only fair to let you know that I’m going to do my best to thwart your plan.”

“I know,” she said. Then she kissed me and left. I watched her drive away, moving only long after her taillights disappeared.

I’m not sure when Frank, Ramon, and Brooke joined me. All of a sudden, they were just there. I have the best damn friends in the world.

Brooke suddenly attached herself to my back, her arms wrapping around me. “Cuddle shark!” she yelled, snuggling in closer to me. I laughed, a broken sound that hurt coming out. I covered her arms with one of mine and squeezed back.

“Cuddle shark?”

“Yes,” she said. “Very dangerous. You might, in fact, need to get a bigger boat.” Then Ramon started humming the theme from
Jaws.

“I love you guys,” I said.

12

NO MORE MR. NICE GUY

Douglas shook. How long had it been since he’d felt something like this? A mixture of relief and elation so strong his whole body quaked with it? Not since his teens, surely. He twisted the key, popping the lock and stumbling into the room of his bungalow. Over the years, he’d purchased a few safe houses, places to lie low, should he need to. He’d just never needed them before.

The room was spotless, thanks to a cleaning service, but no amount of dusting and vacuuming can cover the smell a house gains when no one lives there. Musty like a decaying shell, that was what it reminded him of, that was what was left in a house without life to fill it up. And now with him staying here, he wondered if that would change. Would his half-life suffice?

Giddy, he turned the locks and rested his head against the door. It had been so easy. Too easy? No, those were just idle doubts. Sneaky things, plaguing him since he’d woken up. He’d never had them before Sam, and he didn’t want them now.

He ordered Minion to start the fire, which the wooden-faced zombie did without too many mistakes. Douglas stood by the fireplace until the flames licked the edges of the wood, biting the smaller pieces first. Once it was big enough, he slipped off his bloody jacket and tossed it in. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and did the same. After those were gone, he tossed in his pants, socks, and underwear. Blood might not be on them, but better safe than sorry. The last thing he needed was to smell like Brannoc. It was easier to burn away any chance of scent than to risk it. When everything was burned down to ash, he took a long shower. He cleaned every little bit of skin, scrubbed it until he was sure the blood was all gone. Once he was dry, he put on a fresh suit. It was like nothing had ever happened.

A good suit is like that sometimes.

The fire had died down and Minion had fallen asleep curled up on the rug. Douglas kicked the man awake and sent him to do a perimeter check, even though it was unlikely anyone had tracked him here, or even knew he was around at all. Mostly, he wanted time to himself.

He found a few scraps of unburned cloth around the edges of the coals. He pushed them back in and built the fire up. That done, he settled into a musty chair and played the evening back in his head.

How many nights had he waited for Brannoc to walk the grounds alone? Tonight he’d gone out and … what? Sensed that something was off? Animals a little too quiet? Douglas wasn’t sure what had raised the fey’s suspicions, but the result was the same. Brannoc had gone out to investigate. And Douglas had made just the right snap of twig, just enough rustle of branches, until the man had followed him to the clearing. The best part about being dead? He had no scent. The coin had granted him a solid form, but it lacked that particular detail. It had freaked James out at first. That’s the thing about creatures that rely on their superior sense of smell—trick the nose, and they’re no longer superior.

Despite his nervousness, Douglas had drawn it out. Watching from the shadows as Brannoc stood in the middle of the moonlit grass twisting and turning, trying to figure out what was amiss. It must have driven him crazy, knowing something was wrong, hearing the very forest cry out against it, but not being able to understand.

Brannoc had never relaxed or let down his guard. No, not him. In the end, though, it didn’t matter. Douglas had stepped from the shadows and sliced his throat before he could even blink an eye. It had all happened so fast. So much buildup and then suddenly it was over. Almost anticlimactic, really.

He’d stood over the corpse then, watched as the blood drained out. He was careful not to step into Brannoc’s line of sight, tempting as it was. After all, what’s the point of winning if you can’t tell the loser who beat him? No glory. But caution won out. Douglas knew that death might not keep Brannoc from talking. He knew that better than anyone.

He cleaned his knife while he waited. It was weird. Brannoc had always seemed invincible. So big in the mind’s eye. It must be much like the day when a child turns around to see that his parents, the people who towered over him for years, are really just … people. Weak and frail, and not as tall as he remembered. That’s how Douglas thought it might be, anyway. He’d never had that opportunity. He hadn’t seen his parents since they’d handed him over to his aunt.

But when it came down to it, Brannoc was still flesh and blood. And fey. Douglas had held up his knife. Cold iron—just a fancy way of saying iron that had been forged and purified away from its usual raw state. Faeries hated it. Ironically, if he’d stabbed any of the actual weres in the Blackthorn pack, they would have been able to heal it. One of the advantages of being a werewolf, he supposed.

Once he’d been sure that Brannoc was dead, he’d walked away. Slowly and quietly picking his way through the forest. No need to hurry, really. But he had to move before the temptation to wait, to stay and see the pack mourn their loss, overtook him. He had trekked the two miles back to his car—his shoes would be absolutely ruined—before he heard the first howl. First one, then many more. It covered the small sounds of his car as he slipped in and let Minion drive it back to the cabin. He was glad he had a getaway driver. The adrenaline coursing through his veins would have made it difficult to concentrate on the road.

Douglas threw another log on the fire, using the poker to prod the flames to greater heights. He’d sift through the ashes in the morning to make sure nothing was left. He’d have to dispose of the shoes some other way. Bury them? Throw them in the ocean? Give them to a drifter or a hobo? He would bag them and decide after a good night’s rest.