by Harper, Lou
Denton is a necromancer and his boyfriend Bran is a witch. It's not as exciting as it sounds. They don't even get to dress the part, unless it's New Year's Eve and they've been invited to a costume party. Denton is happy to let his hair down, but coaxing the reclusive Bran out of his shell is hard enough without a demonic spirit crashing the party.
Convincing the spirit to return whence it came from will call on Denton's special skills, but not in necromancy.
License Notes
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dead Man and the Lustful Spirit
Denton Mills, aka Dead Man, the mightiest—and likely only—necromancer of the Chicago tri-state area, handed his puffy coat to the coat check girl. He tucked his and Bran's tickets both into the back pocket of his pants, since the long black mage robe Bran wore didn't provide easy access to pockets. On the other hand, it did a good job making Bran look even more alluring than usual. Quite an achievement, in the opinion of Denton, who'd had the hots for Bran from the first time they'd met. Hard to believe it had only been a few months ago.
"What? You're staring. Something wrong with my costume?" Bran asked and brushed his hand over the burgundy trim of the robe.
Denton gave Bran an exaggerated once-over. "Not a thing. I was admiring the view. You should wear a robe every day. Or a kilt."
Bran's olive skin hid any hint of a blush, but his eyelids fluttered. He didn't know how to take compliments or flirt. But he tried. "You look very, uhm, nice too."
"I know! If seeing ghosts makes me a necromancer, I may dress as one, right?" Denton kept chatting as he and Bran moved out of the way of newly arriving guests, and toward the double doors leading to the ballroom.
"From a videogame?" Bran sounded baffled. He wasn't a gamer.
Bran shrugged his skull-adorned shoulder. "Sure, why not? Fantasy is more picturesque than reality. You won't see anyone dressed as a plumber. Unless it's from a video game," he added. The reality was, very few people even knew about Denton's talents, and while it was an occasional source of extra income for him, he made his living as a web programmer. A damn good one too.
"Ah."
Denton went on. "I know what you're thinking—I made you wear a mage's robe, and you're really a witch. But Swords and Magic of Calingor doesn't have a witch class, and honestly, most people can't tell one caster from another. And no wonder—they all either cast fire or ice spells. But you always know who the necromancer is from the cool skeletons and zombies following him around."
"I wasn't thinking that at all," Bran said, his bafflement still in place. Bran had inherited the witch business from his mother, but preferred to think of himself as an herbalists. He'd even written a book on herbs.
A couple of burly security guards, cleverly disguised as a couple of burly security guards, checked their passes at the door and let them in.
Big O's New Year's Eve Costume Party Extravaganza took up the entire top floor of a swanky downtown hotel. An expanse of glass walls gave a sparkling view of the city and the lake. The interior swallowed up the few hundred revelers with room for dancing at one end and for quiet conversations at another. Strategically placed bar islands and food service tables broke up the space in-between. Muted lighting bathed everything in a copper glow, making the costumes seem more rich.
Bran wasn't impressed. "Remind me why I let you talk me into this?"
"Because it might be fun? Not to mention, it would've been rude to refuse the invitations. This is like the fanciest shindig in Chicago tonight. There are people who'd give their left nuts to be here."
"Hmm." Bran took a look at the multitudes of people and frowned. He was no party animal. More like a stay home and fuss with his herbs kinda guy. And Denton was totally down with that, but it was New Years Eve, and even introverts could let their hair down from time to time. In theory, anyway. "Look! An empty table." Denton pointed off into a dark corner. "Go grab it while I get us drinks."
Bran nodded and took off in the indicated direction and Denton bee-lined it to the bar. Since the night was still young, one of the bartenders took his order right away. Two women in shiny dresses were sitting next to Denton. He gave them a casual smile, but the wall behind the bar drew his attention. It seemed to be made of some sort of polished metal, possibly silver. Its blotchy surface rendered a blurry and distorted reflection of the world. Denton could've sworn he saw a man in a suit but with the head of a frog coming up behind him, but when he swiveled the figure resolved to be a guy in a Spiderman costume.
Spiderman leaned onto the bar between Denton and the women. "Hey, my man! Another margarita and whatever these lovely ladies are drinking," he bellowed toward the closest bartender, who kept up the mask of politeness and reached for the tequila.
Denton stepped aside for a quick view and decided the guy's Spiderman outfit had been a mistake. The guy had an average body, and in all likelihood looked fine in regular clothes or even dapper in a tailored suit, but skin-tight lycra had been invented for people with zero body fat and exceptional genes. It made average bodies seem lumpy. The way Spiderman leered at the women didn't do much for his image either. One of the women whispered something to the other, whose gaze dropped to Spiderman's crotch. They giggled. From his vantage point Denton couldn't see the source of their glee, but he could imagine. Lumps.
Unfazed, Spiderman wheeled around and fixed his beady eyes on Denton. His lips curved into what he must've thought was his most seductive smile. Instead of the full mask he wore one covering only the upper half of his face, and the overall effect was disturbing. Teddy bear with a strap-on disturbing. "Have I seen you somewhere before?" he asked.
Fuel-grade alcohol fumes smacked Denton in the nose. "I doubt it," he replied.
"Yeah, you're prolly right. I'd remember," Spiderman slurred. He made no secret of checking Denton out, top to bottom. "Like your coshtume. What are you?"
Denton shot a look past Spiderman, in search of his bartender, but the guy was busy flirting with Storm from X-men. "Necromancer," Denton said.
"I see. Very mmm…lush," Spiderman said, his lustful gaze still roving all over Denton.
Denton had a skinny body, but he didn't try to hide the fact. Instead he showcased it by wearing black skinny jeans, pimped out with studded belt, skull-shaped buckle, and a few chains—all of it from his existing wardrobe. The sleeveless black kaftan he wore without a shirt was a new addition, a loaner from a friend of a friend. It clasped at the waist, leaving a V-shaped display of Denton's narrow chest. The left shoulder sported a plastic half-skull he'd found in a party supply store. White makeup had made his already pale complexion outright ghoulish, especially with the dark shades applied around his eyes. Yellow contact lenses added an extra touch of drama. Overall, Denton thought he looked wickedly cool, but lush? No, definitely not.
Spiderman pushed into Denton's personal space. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"Thanks, I'm set," Denton replied. With uncanny timing the bartender appeared next to them, placing Denton's order on the bar. Denton paid, seized the drinks, and gave Spiderman a parting glance before dashing off to find Bran.
Bran sat on a tall chair, next to a tall table the size of a large dinner plate, t
alking to a man in a pirate hat. Or rather, the pirate was talking, while Bran nodded and stared gloomily in Denton's direction.
Denton recognized the pirate as their client, Mr. Wexler. He hurried up and pushed the gin and tonic into Bran's hand, who immediately used it as an excuse to end any pretense of social interactions. His gaze tracked something or someone off in the distance.
Denton knew he'd better take over. "Mr. Wexler, whassup?" He lifted his glass in salute. "Captain Jack Sparrow, am I right?" William Wexler was a man in his late forties-early or fifties and a true alpha dog—the kind of person who exhibited authority without waving his dick around, unlike some boss types Denton had met. Denton appreciated the man's style.
Wexler pushed his hat back. "Would you believe Johnny Depp's only two years younger than me?"
Denton leaned forward an inch and said in an exaggerated whisper, "I have it on good authority he sold his soul to the Devil."
Wexler laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised. And you should know. You are…" he contemplated Denton's outfit with an expression of uncertainty.
"A necromancer. From Swords and Magic of Calingor," Denton said to clarify. "I have a whole skeleton army but had to leave them at home—they didn't have tickets."
"Oh yeah, my youngest plays it. Or something similar. She keeps telling me about her toon, as she calls it, but it's over my head. All I know is she keeps sneaking around with daggers."
"Probably a rogue or an assassin," Denton replied. He suspected the subject of computer games wouldn't take them far, so he asked, "So, how's the office? Any lingering bad vibes?"
Wexler was the freshly-minted CEO of Pharm…something, and as the first order of business he had Bran smudge an entire floor of the company's headquarters, including his own office and the executive board room. Right before Christmas. Denton had been there as Bran's assistant. The two of them had started working together even before they'd started dating.
Wexler bobbed his head. "The atmosphere is much improved. Although it might have something to do with the Christmas bonuses too. Not to disparage the work you did. You have my gratitude," he added with a jovial smile.
Denton flicked his hand. "Any time. Thanks for the invitations, by the way. This is a great party."
"Don't mention it. I'll have my secretary call you next week to set up a date to do the same with the Human Resources floor. I suspect the place badly needs to be purged of negative energies."
"I bet!" Denton agreed, and took a swig of his drink.
It was Bran's turn to take over and talk business, but he kept mum—still too sober to be sociable with people he didn't know well.
Fortunately, a bright-eyed blonde came to the rescue. "There you are, Bill. I was looking for you everywhere." She also wore a pirate-themed costume and Wexler introduced her as his wife. She greeted them with a practiced smile but then tugged her husband's arm. "Bill, there's someone I want you to meet. Forgive us," she added, flashing another Colgate smile at Bran and Denton and dragged her husband away.
"Phew. I thought he'd never leave," said Bran.
Denton clambered up onto the other stool. "He's an okay guy for a suit. And he paid well for a straightforward cleansing."
"I wish my mother took her old clients with her when she moved to California," Bran grumbled. Bran's mother was a witch too, although a much more outgoing one than Bran. When she blew town for warmer climates, she left many of her former clients to her unenthusiastic son, who preferred herbs to witchcraft.
"It's not a bad way to earn a living," Denton pointed out.
"The work I don't mind. I wish that's all I had to do, but there's always so much fuss. I think you already know I'm not so great with people. Not like you."
Denton smirked. "No! Really? I wouldn't have guessed."
Ice clinked and clattered as Bran lifted the G&T to his lips. He took a swig and his eyes shone differently when he put the glass down. He tilted his head and the cubes rattled some more as he sipped the liquid from under them. "You and that guy at the bar hit it off. I saw you flirting."
"Who? Spiderman? He was the only one flirting, trust me." Denton shuddered. "I wouldn't touch a sleazeball like him with a pool cue. And anyway, my heart and body belongs to a handsome male witch." Denton winked. Despite his good looks, Bran had insecurities going deep, and Denton aimed to stamp them out by paying Bran compliments as often and as lewdly as he could. It came easy.
Bran played with his glass. "It must be pretty boring for you to be with someone as antisocial as me."
"You kidding me? You're probably the most interesting person I've ever met. Dark, mysterious, and dead sexy. What more could a skinny boy wish for? Okay, so you're a little…uhm…reserved, but it ain't so bad. You just need practice. Remember, last time we went out like this was at Halloween and all the costume you were willing to put on was a devil-horn headband. And look at you now—all kitted out. I'll get you into those assless chaps one of these days." Denton waggled one of his eyebrows—the studded one—knowing from practicing the move in the mirror how lewd and rude it came across.
Bran spit a mouthful of G&T across the table and began to cough. "You're a choking hazard," he said once his airway cleared.
"What did I do?" Denton tried to look innocent, but wasn't sure it was possible.
Bran wiped his chin with a napkin. "First of all you can't say something like that in public. Secondly, the thing you do with your brow—it is spooky with this makeup."
"Is it, really?" Denton whipped his head around, searching for a reflective surface.
"Yes, it is. Trust me."
Denton wanted to see it for himself but another sight caught his eye: Lumpy Spiderman waddling by, balancing not one but two plates piled precariously high with finger foods. "I'm hungry," Denton announced.
***
The food tables were loaded with tiny sandwiches, cheeses, miniature meatballs, skewers, fruit, cheese, and stuff Denton couldn't identify by visuals alone. To be on the safe side, he took at least one of everything. It took him two trips but he prided himself on being thorough. On his second trip he bumped into Lumpy Spiderman again.
"Some people have no self-control," he said as he made it back to Bran's side.
Bran pointedly glared at Denton's crowded plate. "You don't say."
"It's my metabolism, I need fuel to burn," Denton retorted. "I'm talking about him." He pointed a chicken wing at the direction of Lumpy Spiderman, who at the moment was talking with his mouth full to a group of people who tried to ignore him politely. He seemed unsteady on his feet as he clumsily inched toward the woman on his left. When she turned and left, he switched direction and began to inch toward the guy on his right.
Denton chuckled. "Oh man, Spiderman is wasted."
"Yes. He is," Bran agreed in a prickly tone.
***
One of Bran's many endearing qualities was the way his inhibitions thawed under the influence of alcohol. He was a cheap date too—halfway through his second G&T he willingly gave a lecture on the difference between thyme and oregano to a complete stranger. Two complete strangers. The conversation started when a woman in a Dalek dress asked Denton if she could place her plate on their table for a moment. Denton of course said yes and complimented her on her costume. When her girlfriend showed up in a blue dress—unmistakably inspired by a certain police box—the conversation easily flowed onto everything Doctor Who and Matt Smith. The subject of herbs came up in connection of the canapés they were all nibbling on.
Bran motioned toward the one in Dalek's grasp. "You can probably find the recipe or something like it online if you search for roasted grapes crostini."
"Are you a chef or something?" she asked impressed.
"Herbalist," Bran said. After a moment of hesitation he went on. "According to Greek mythology thyme originates from the tears of Helen of Troy. Certain magic users believe that bathing in water infused with the fresh herb makes a person irresistible."
She had a bubbly laugh. "Irresistibl
e, huh? I'll have to give it a try." She winked at her friend who smiled back.
"I don't think you need it," Police Box said with an adoring smile. She turned to Denton and pointed at his exposed chest. "I've seen you earlier. At the bar."
Denton now recalled them too. "Oh yeah. Did Spiderman give you much trouble?"
She and her friend rolled their eyes. "We lost him easy. We saw him later putting the moves on Catwoman. He didn't have a chance in hell," Police Box said.
Dalek nodded vigorously. "Seriously, what's he thinking? Nobody sane comes to a thing like this to hook up. The crappiest thing in the world is to be single at New Year's Eve party. You'd be better off curling up with a tub of ice cream at home. It's all couples here, am I right?"
"Totally," Denton agreed.
Bran nodded. "Very true."
After a few more minutes of small talk the girls dashed off to dance.
"See? It wasn't so bad." Denton said.
Bran pushed his empty glass to the side. "I need to take a trip to the restroom." He glanced down at his long robe. It went down almost to his ankles and had multiple layers. "This will be interesting."
"I'll help," Denton said grinning.
"Fine, but no funny business."
"Me? Never."
"Right."
***
Gold-veined dark marble covered every wall from floor to ceiling in the men's room. The teardrop-shaped urinals seemed too pretty to piss into, not that it stopped anyone. Bran rolled up his robe and gathered it around his waist. Denton held it from the back.
Denton tactfully cast his eyes at the floor, because of the unwritten no-eye-contact rule of restrooms, but couldn't keep his trap shut. "You know, they never tell you this on those costume idea web sites—the most important part is access. No matter what you're dressed you'll need to be able to piss and drink without much trouble. Or the other way around."
The sound of loud retching from one of the cubicles punctuated his words.
