Victoria Cage Necromancer: The First Three Books (Victoria Cage Necromancer Omnibus Book 1)

by Eli Constant

  They are bodies never claimed. Burials in unmarked graves. Jane and John Does.

  I don’t like the word ghost. I never have and I rarely use it. There are so many categories of being in the state of the afterlife. A ghost is just one of them. And they happen to be the rarest form. We necromancers have no explanation as to why they exist.

  When you die, there are choices. A- You have no unfinished business and you have no seed of rage within you that can be manipulated. You go into the ether. B- You do have unfinished business and you stick around until it’s resolved. You still have no seed of rage and you eventually go into the ether. C- You have something in your life, something that has happened to you for which you have never found resolution. You died with hate and no forgiveness in your heart. That feeds the anti-ether and you become its creature. You become a wraith. Able to cross sides and enact horrors on the living, when the anti-ether allows. Sometimes, it feels like a shiver. There’s a colloquialism for that—‘someone just walked over my grave’. Not true, of course, but even I say it sometimes.

  And then there are ghosts. Option D. Some have theorized that they died with no sense of who they were, so neither the ether nor the anti-ether could claim them.

  I don’t know what I believe on the matter, but I do believe that this building, this morgue, is a hub for the rarest form of afterlife. And that fact makes me curious.

  I follow Terrance through the double doors, not really paying attention to anything but what I’m feeling within the building, the unseen things. Terrance is talking to Doug already; their conversation is just a buzz in my ear. I reach deeper into the crawlspace below, feeling, and studying. The ghosts are whispers, little things skimming in and out of my mind with ease. They do not hurt; they leave no trace of themselves behind.

  “Tori?”

  I come back to the here and now and it is like pushing through cobwebs. The ghosts, benign though they may be, are still drawn to me. Now that I am moving away from them, leaving them to their activities, they are protesting. I leave them easily though. Wraiths would not give up like that.

  “Tori?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

  “I need you to focus now.” Terrance doesn’t sound happy with me.

  “Okay.” I look at Terrance, catch the suspicion reignited in his eyes. Just wonderful.

  “I’ll leave you to it then. It’s a Sunday and my wife wasn’t pleased that I came into work.”

  “Your job isn’t a weekday gig, Doug. She knows that.”

  “Sure she does. Why don’t you call and remind her? Maybe she’ll be nicer to you than she would be to me.” Doug sounds deflated, definitely tied up in apron strings. He hands Terrance a set of keys and sighs. “Growing up, never thought I’d end up whipped by a woman. Just like my daddy.”

  It’s odd to hear a man with white hair use the word ‘daddy’. Although, I’d never been a girl to call my own dad that and I sure as hell would never call a significant other that. It just sounds so inherently… dirty. Maybe that’s society’s fault.

  “Good thing I’m already married or you’d put me off it.” Terrance pats Doug on the back. “I’ll lock everything up and then you can pick up the keys tomorrow morning on your way in.” One of the perks of a small town with a police station and morgue only a few blocks away.

  “Sounds good.” Doug, shoulders slumped, takes off his lab coat and walks out; the double doors swing behind him. In and out. In and out. Until they finally stop with a little brushing sound that is magnified by the steel surface and depressive emptiness of the room we’re stood in. Maggie’s spiritless bones are poor companionship. And Terrance’s living form even poorer. He’s staring at me, like I’ve got some magic up my sleeve that can tell him something more about the body than I’ve already divulged.

  Oh right… magic.

  Finally, I look at Maggie. Even though there is no spirit connection now, I can feel a latent peace still clinging on. The body’s been rearticulated, every bone accounted for. There’s something though… unnatural. I can’t put my finger on it. I lean closer, really studying.

  It takes me a long time before I finally see what’s bothering me.

  There are tiny holes drilled in all of the bones, but nothing running through them. Just empty tunnels. I hold up a femur, hold it up to the light and see the glow passing through. Someone has drilled through the bones. It’s crude, done with a shaky hand. Some of the bone has been chipped away at the surface of each perforation. This isn’t something I recognize. It’s not something done with any purpose I understand.

  I put the bone back in place, feeling how it likes to be near the others. Again, this has nothing to do with Maggie being here or gone. It just is. I pick up another bone, finding the same holes. This time, the workmanship is cleaner, more studied. There is a progression of confidence that speaks of something at the beginning of its journey, rather than a more advanced stage.

  Thinking of Maggie, I focus on the skull. I see her wonderful eyes in my mind, chocolate brown and so like Mei’s. I remember her speaking. I see the delay from the movement of her mouth to the sound of her words.

  Her mouth. The tightness.

  As if pulled by a string, controlled by some invisible hand. It reminded me of an old ventriloquist doll my grandmother once had. It was lifeless, yet the painted eyes seemed to follow me everywhere. My grandmother had thrown the doll out after I’d started having nightmares.

  I remember the chemical taste in my mouth from when I’d first found the body. I remember how I’d thought that it was not like other bodies I’d worked with, murder victims or not. Before my process, the bodies tasted natural, clean. Regardless how they’d died. But this one…

  “Oh my god. She was embalmed.” My finger goes to lift the skull, to turn it over, to see inside. There is the telltale connection running from the lower jaw up and through the nasal cavities and back down. The suture string I use would have deteriorated over time. This has not. It’s wire, not in the best condition, but still there. And it’s not made for simply clamping the mouth shut.

  I see her spinning in my mind. The twirling as she looked at the sky. The way it was not smooth, as if she did not have full control of her body.

  The holes through her bones. More points of connection. The creepy doll that had once starred in my nightmares flashed before my eyes. A puppet. Someone controlling her. Hanging in the air. Is that why Maggie moved that way?

  Terrance hadn’t responded to my first declaration. He’d already known. Of course he had. “The holes, they don’t serve a purpose, not one that makes sense to a… rational person. This isn’t rational though. The way she moved and her body… Someone strung her up like a marionette, Terrance. They treated her like a damn doll.”

  “Yes. We think they did.”

  I’m startled when Terrance speaks. I shouldn’t be. He’s standing only a few feet away and he’s looking at the same remains I am. “Doug’s already told you this?”

  “Most of it.”

  “Then why am I here, Terrance. Why make me see her again. I don’t want to know what happened to her. My job’s finished.” I realize the skull is still in my hand. I want to drop it, as if it’s made of flame and I’m being burned, but I can’t do that, not to Maggie. So I place it down gently, perfectly repositioned with the body.

  “You said ‘the way she moved’. What did you mean by that?” Terrance is looking at me too intently, but he’s trying to keep his voice neutral.

  “I just mean, the way she would have moved. If someone had wired her up through the holes in her bones.” I don’t sound convincing, not with the stutter marring my words.

  “Then tell me this, Tori.” He pauses, walks away to lean against the row of steel cabinetry lining the wall. “How did you find the body in the first place? How did you know how far we had to dig? You kept telling them to be careful, that they were getting close.”

  “You told me I had a month, Terrance. Why are you grilling me? I d
on’t even know what to say right now. I haven’t decided what to tell you.”

  Terrance doesn’t stay motionless for long. He walks to the furthest end of the room, to another table pushed against the wall that I had not noticed, and he lifts a white sheet. Beneath the white sheet, is another set of bones.

  I follow him so that I can see them better. It takes no more than a glance to see that they have been treated in the same way Maggie’s have. The only difference is that remnants of wires still cling to this body and the drilling seems near-perfect this time. I cannot imagine the difficulty and the patience it must have taken to get the holes in just the right places, to thread them like shoestrings in and out of the skin. It would almost be like sewing, making sure that each appendage was wired beautifully and could be positioned at will. On the surface, it would look like a long seam line. The hem of a dress.

  In some sick portion of my mind, I see it. I rebuild the victim in front of me and I see her seated in a chair, a beautiful meal in front of her, her eyes glued open instead of shut. The dead’s eyes should always be shut. I feel for her, but she’s not anywhere I can connect with her. I can’t ask her questions. Without a spirit connection, I cannot build her exactly in my head though. I cannot see her how she was alive—with a thriving, pumping heart within her chest. My mind goes to the ghosts living in the morgue and I wonder if one of them was her. If she died with so little sense of self that she could not be claimed by either the ether or the anti-ether.

  “You’d have to have something stronger to support the head.” I murmur. “I thought it was… god… I thought they were treated like hanging puppets, but seeing this. It was different. The holes weren’t threaded with strings. They weren’t hoisted and played with. They were… I think they were lived with. Positioned. Brought back to life in a way.” I speak, hovering my fingers over the new set of bones. “He or she or they… whoever did this, Terrance. I think they’re lonely. Socially exiled. They made friends.” I focus on the bones with everything I have to see if I can feel the person that once belonged to them, but no one is there. This spirt has passed over. Into the ether, I hope. “Who is she?”

  “You can tell it’s a woman?” Terrance’s suspicion is growing. I can hear it in his voice.

  “That’s not magic, Terrance.” Sighing, I point. “If she were younger, it would be harder. Pre-adolescents don’t present significant sexual dimorphism. The sub-pubic angle is large, indicative of child-bearing. On top of that, the bones are just smaller than you’d expect in a man. Is that enough? Or do I have to pull out all the stops? Granted, I might need a textbook for more. I don’t remember my forensic anthropology class as well as I should.”

  “No, I get it.” Terrance crosses his arms across his chest; it makes him look larger somehow. And trust me, that’s saying something. “But you can’t explain away the other things with science, Tori.”

  “I know.” It’s my turn to cross my arms, but the effect is quite different. I do it to shield myself, to hold in my thoughts and fear. “So who is she?”

  “Never identified.” He looks at me, his eyes narrowing like he will look into my soul. “Tell me now, Tori. And it stays here in this room.”

  “You can’t promise that when you don’t know what it is.”

  “Yes I can. I am your friend before I’m an officer of the law. Do you know what it means for me to say that?” Terrance still has his arms crossed, but there’s vulnerability there now.

  I did know what it meant and it was a wonderful thing for him to say, but I knew he’d feel differently in about oh… five seconds. If I gave him the honesty he wanted, that is. “You don’t get it, Terr—”

  He cuts me off, holding up a hand. “I care about you, girl. Don’t you get that? You’re like a damn little sister.”

  “Jesus, first Jim and now you.”

  “What?” Terrance looks confused.

  “I’ve gone a long time without people I can count on, Terrance. Once my dad died, that was it. I couldn’t let anyone get too near me. Jim was the closest thing I had to a living parent figure and he and I didn’t really get on with the feelings bit until he was dying on the floor. Now I’ve got an actual female friend—thank god she hasn’t asked me any questions yet—a boyfriend that’s given me an ultimatum or we’ll be breaking up soon and another supposed friend,” I point to Terrance, “who’s given me the same ‘truth or we’re over’ order.” I fight the urge to stamp my foot. “It’s just too damn much for me to handle.”

  “There’s a real easy solution to all this, Tori.” Terrance finally uncrosses his arms and returns to his normal size and shape. He’s no longer a giant lording over me and forcing my truths out into the open. “Trust people. We’re not all bad. We aren’t all going to,” he hesitates, as if debating whether he should say something out loud, “burn you for being what you are.”

  The world comes crashing down on me.

  The energy it contains is a tidal wave pouring into my body and creating such a pressure that I know I will burst at any second. I am overfilled and overwhelmed.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” A whisper with no conviction.

  “You know exactly what I mean. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I should have seen it sooner, but maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t. Now I’ve gotten to know you. I know who you are at the core. And that has both nothing and everything to do with your affliction.”

  “I don’t think of it as a curse, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I feel strength work its way back into my arms and legs. I stand a little straighter and I look at him without shrinking back. “It’s not an affliction. It’s a gift. I help people with it. I help spirits move on. I give living relatives closure. We’re not all bad, Terrance. No more than all humans are bad.”

  “I understand that now.” He adds the ‘now’ almost as if it is an afterthought, but also the most important word he’s said. “If you’d come across my path back at the academy, I would have turned you in, Tori. I would have given you up quicker than you could blink. That’s what happens when you’re inundated with the warnings about what could happen if we let any of you live. The Rising still scares the hell out of folks. It still scares me.”

  “Then why won’t you turn me in now? If I scare you so much, why not just turn me in? You can have a party, watch me burn on national television. Hell, make it a neighborhood barbeque.” I uncross my arms and swipe roughly at the moisture on my face. My voice still sounds firm and steady. Because I’m strong. Sure, I’m strong. I stayed strong for a whole second. Now I’m crying though. WWF candidate right here.

  “I stand by what I said, Tori. This stays here. In this room. It goes no further. You’re still on the books as a consultant for the department. It’s going to stay that way. Hell, it’d make things easier if we made it even more official than that. Get your ass pinned down with a badge. Jesus, we’d solve every case overnight.”

  “I’m not magic.” I hold out my hands to him, trying to force understanding. “I mean, yes, technically I am gifted. I use magic. But it’s not an exact art and every single body and every spirit is different.”

  “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t have to justify mysterious findings anymore. I could just write: “Officer Cage discovered, through judicious and definitely not ludicrous police work, that the woman had a son.”

  “Over my dead body.” I say that way too often.

  “Yeah, you’ve said that before.” Terrance smiles. He actually smiles. And that gesture, more than his promises to not turn me in, makes me believe that I’m safe.

  That someone knows my secret and I’m safe.

  “I’m going to say this once and only once to you. Not because you need to hear it, but because I may as well say the damn thing now. I’m a necromancer. I was born with the gift. I’ve lived with it and hidden it for all these years. I am good. I am a good person who does good things. I’ve only ever used my power to hurt someone once. And that was last year, against the people who took thos
e girls and killed Lilly.” Now that I’m speaking the words, they spill out and I can’t seem to put the dam back in place. “I can’t promise I won’t use my gift to hurt again. If it’s a bad person doing bad things and I can stop it, I’m going to try.”

  “Okay, I hear you.”

  “I just want you to know the whole package. I want to walk out of here and make sure you understand the truth we’re leaving behind in this room.”

  “I understand it.”

  We fall into quietness then. I silently re-cover the second set of bones with the thin sheet and I walk over to spend another moment with Maggie. I mentally say goodbye, even though she cannot hear me. It opens me to the ghosts still sailing about the room, trying to touch me while I’m available. I shut them out again quickly. I do not have the energy to study them more.

  It’s Terrance who breaks the silence as we lock up the morgue and walk towards our respective vehicles. “I have a feeling that we’ll find more bodies like those, Tori.”

  “What makes you say that?” I dig my keys out of my pocket.

  “The killer got better between the first body and the second. If that was the first body and the second, which might not be the case, but my gut says it is. The point is that they practiced. A murderer who treats it like an art form, like a craft to be honed, they’re not going to quit.”

  “More bodies. Fuck.” We’ve never had a serial killer in Bonneau. Never. I’ve not helped on a case like this before. “My gut is telling me you think the ‘they’ is actually a ‘he’.” There was something in the steel of his eyes, and the way he spoke, that made me think he’d already settled on that ‘fact’.

  “Yeah. A guy with very specific tastes.” He leans into his squad car, which is parked only two spaces from mine and he walks over to me standing next to the now-open driver’s door of the Bronco. “Look.”

  He hands me two files, both turned inside out, and there’s a picture paper clipped to each. Two faces stare back at me. Maggie Smythe and a girl that could be her doppelgänger. The second picture was an artist rendering, although stapled under that was a photo of the body when it was first found, fresh and still fleshed-out. Next to the likenesses of both victims are physical specs on the women. Maggie was older than the Jane Doe by ten years, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at them. At least, not according to the drawing versus the photo. Both were petite in size, fair-skinned, brown eyed and had long dark hair. They looked like Mei and I hoped that was only because she and Dean had been on my mind today, wondering how their date went.