The Necromancer's Seduction

by Mimi Sebastian

  He raised his eyebrows at my obvious dismissal. “I don’t really like pinball.” He angled his body toward the exit. “See you in class.”

  I shook my head to chase the encounter with Brad from my mind. I had more pressing issues weighing it down.

  Greg leaned against the railing, hands shoved in the pockets of his gray coat, and watched me approach. Greg is the detective the city calls on to investigate the high profile cases, but he dresses more like a low rent city cop. I smiled in my thoughts and wondered what pheromone had attracted my mom to him. He didn’t have the killer looks of her other boyfriends, and he was human, but the lines on his face carved a rugged charm, and even through the rumpled clothes, I made out the outline of his toned muscles.

  His eyes were trained on the spot where I’d spoken to Brad, his detective eyes passing judgment. “A friend?”

  “No. He’s one of my students.”

  “Is he stalking you?”

  I laughed. “I doubt it. Brad’s a little off kilter, but harmless. You watch too many cop shows.”

  He didn’t laugh at my attempt at humor or ignored it, working a toothpick between his teeth, rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. “Cop shows don’t come close to the shit I see.” He continued to observe Brad. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble.”

  A warm blanket covered me, easing the chill of the past few days. Is this what it’s like to have a dad? My mom had never enlightened me about my own father.

  I stole a glance at his deep brown hair tinged with gray and the gentle creases around his eyes. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  He returned his attention to me, his brown eyes meeting mine. “You understand why I didn’t want to meet at the station. I thought it better here—” He paused. “—considering.”

  Considering I bring the dead back to life. Yeah, I got it.

  My mom had told Greg about her, about us. At first he thought she was crazy, but his raging hormones had overlooked the minor detail. One night, she reanimated an animal to prove her sanity. I think he’d preferred crazy.

  She’d risked exposure and ridicule by telling him. She must have, at one time, thought seriously about a committed relationship with him. She’d never admit it, but I bet Greg was the stable surface she’d never had with past boyfriends or with life or with me. And he’d broken up with her. I’m not sure he could compete with the necromancy. I’m not sure anyone could. It was too bad, because he was the only one of my mom’s many boyfriends that I liked. They’d maintained an interesting and, I’m convinced, not entirely platonic friendship until she died.

  “I haven’t been here in forever,” I said.

  “Neither have I.” His eyes moved to stare past me. “You had some questions about your grandmother’s car accident? I told you everything the New York cops gave me.”

  “I know.” The clouds shrouded the setting sun, leaving a hazy orange glow on their puffy fringes.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Anything unusual about the accident that jumped out at you?”

  “No sign of foul play. Hell, wasn’t much sign of anything.” He stopped chewing on the toothpick. “You think her death wasn’t an accident. That it’s related to the supernatural.”

  “I pretty much know.”

  “Shit.” He took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it into the trash can. The lap of the water against the walkway broke up the tourist chatter behind us.

  “Did you ever meet a Malthus Green? He was my grandmother’s friend.”

  He thought for a moment. “Attorney, expensive suits. I remember talking to him.”

  “When Cora died?”

  He frowned, his look quizzical. “No, your mother’s death.”

  He registered the shock that flickered across my face. “Your grandmother called me after she found . . . when I arrived at your house, he was there, helping Cora. They seemed pretty close.”

  I lost my focus, unable to stop the torrent swirling in my mind. I don’t remember much about that day except for one vivid image imprinted on my mind forever. Malthus? I don’t remember him being at the house.

  “Ruby, what’s going on? Was he involved with Cora’s death?”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking. Look, it’s no big deal.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He clenched his jaw and forced a breath, two breaths. “I hate this supernatural shit. I wish your mom hadn’t told me, then maybe I’d know what to do in these situations.”

  “It’s okay. We’re handling things. I shouldn’t have asked you to meet me.”

  “So now you’re involved?” he asked, drawing his eyebrows together.

  I answered him with silence.

  He grasped the railing with both hands and leaned toward the water. He pushed off the rail and turned to me. “I know I dropped out of your lives after your mom’s death, but if you ever need anything, call me.”

  The man was going to make me cry. I swallowed to release my tightened throat. “That means a lot, thanks. I won’t keep you anymore. Take care.”

  “I’ll make another call to New York.”

  I nodded and turned to go, but his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “You couldn’t have saved them.”

  I stumbled back a couple of steps, his words stabbing at my core.

  His eyes reached out to me, serious, but pleading. “It’s taken me a long time to accept it myself—that I didn’t save your mom.”

  I yearned to crumple against him, bury my face in his coat, but I nodded, a wobbly bobble-head nod, and trudged back into the museum. I turned my head for one last look at Greg, but he was gone.

  On the way out of the museum, I halted in front of a wooden animatronic diorama made during the turn of the nineteenth century. Brad’s weird comment popped into my head as I fed my token into the slot and watched the door of a castle open to reveal a small wooden guillotine. A toy for a playhouse only Wednesday Addams would own. A little wooden figure’s neck was wedged into the platform of the guillotine. I pushed the button and watched the blade creep down at an agonizing pace, then stop halfway. Music played, and the door closed. I left, cheated out of a token and an execution.

  Maybe I’ll get some satisfaction from the witches when I visit the coven tomorrow . . . with Ewan.

  Chapter Seven

  One of my students sat across the desk from me, explaining her thesis topic while I mentally picked through my closet trying to decide on an outfit to wear to the coven . . . with Ewan. I sighed. My wardrobe consisted of the practical and dull.

  She paused and bit her lip. “Is my take on African mask symbolism going to work?”

  Uh, is that what she was talking about? “You know, Sarah, let me review your outline, and we can talk some more. I think you have a good start here.”

  She seemed to brighten. She stood and squeezed past the chair and my bookshelf cluttered with stacks of journals and papers. A picture of Cora and me in Paris topped one stack, and my framed degree leaned against another, still waiting to be hung after two years. Someday I’ll get organized.

  I took her outline and added it to another stack. When she left, I checked my e-mail and moaned at the message from the Dean confirming our appointment next week to review progress on my tenure research. I slumped over my desk, using it to rest my arms and head. I really, really needed to get a grip on my life.

  After a couple of quick phone calls, I left the office, rushed home, and dissolved into the soft cushion of the couch in my front living room, letting my head hit the pillow. I groaned at the sound of the doorbell and got up. A look through the peephole revealed Kara. I stared at my hand on the doorknob. We hadn’t spoken since our spat after the demon meeting.

  “Hi,” she said when I opened the door, her voice neutral, normal. She made her way into the front room where I fell back on the couch and watched her finger one of the multiple drawers of an old Chinese herb cabinet. One of the many antiques Cora had picked up during her travels. I loved thi
s room. A large window open to the street created a vibrant connection to the outside world, letting in the sound of cars, footsteps, and sidewalk conversations. I lounged in here when I felt lonely.

  Kara opened one of the drawers and sniffed, scrunching her nose. “Wow, this smells like belladonna. I wonder if Cora got this from a Chinese witch?”

  “That’s entirely possible.”

  She closed the drawer. “I’m sorry for the things I said. While I stand by some of my words, I was harsh.”

  “Yeah, me too. Sorry for dumping on you like that.”

  “Good. Now that we’ve cleared the air, tell me about the Frerac attack. Jax told me.”

  “I’ll never watch a dog play Frisbee in the same way again. In fact, I need to find my Frisbee and toss it. In the garbage, I mean,” I said, explaining away her look of confusion.

  “So it knew what you were?”

  I nodded repeatedly, as if my head had absorbed an aftershock from the attack. “Malthus blew it off. I don’t know what’s going on with the demons and the portal breach, but it seems suspicious that the deaths are happening at the same time.”

  She crossed her arms and looked to the side. “Let’s trust the demons to deal with their business.”

  I frowned and questioned her with my raised eyebrows.

  “Yeah, don’t give me the can’t-trust-demons look. I repeat, let the demons do their thing while we concentrate on finding this killer. You coming to the coven later?”

  “That’s the plan. Ewan is supposed to pick me up at three thirty and take me over there.”

  She slanted a look at me. “Oh, I see. How do you feel about that?”

  My face heated. Same way I feel about jumping into a lava pit.

  When I didn’t speak, she said, “I’m very disappointed I missed Ewan’s fight with the Frerac. How often do you see real medieval sword and sorcery action?”

  “It was lovely, all the blood and guts flying around. Demon creature trying to eat everyone.” My mind knew better than to romanticize the attack. My stomach and heart remembered the fear, but another less obvious part of me shared her excitement.

  “Exactly. I’ll see you at the coven.”

  I walked her to the door. Before stepping outside, she turned to me, and we hugged. But not like before. Not like the firm hand-pat-in-the-middle-of-the-back hugs of before. The touch of her hand on my arm was a touch too careful. My head didn’t extend fully past her shoulder, held back by fear perhaps, fear of whether our friendship would survive.

  * * * *

  It was three o’clock, and at least four outfits lay strewn on my bed. I stood in my only pair of black lace bra and panties and cursed Ewan March, telling myself that I don’t care what he thinks. I poked farther into my closet and found an old black dress with a plunging vee neck. I pulled it on, liking the way the fabric swayed with my body.

  Maybe I do care.

  I zipped on my black wedge boots, threw on my silver necklace, and left the room so I wouldn’t try on another outfit.

  I sat outside on my front steps to wait for Ewan and watched a man on the sidewalk across the street stop, look around, walk, and scratch at the brick wall next to him as if he were looking for something wedged in the mortar. I loved the city. Never a dull moment.

  A black Land Rover pulled up alongside the curb, blocking my entertainment. The door opened, and Ewan emerged.

  I stood and breathed to diffuse the current that hit every nerve at once. He wore dark jeans and a white shirt, loose with the top buttons undone. His casual attire only heightened the strength hidden beneath. I don’t know how demon power works, but every time Ewan is close, his power sends static electricity skittering over my skin.

  I walked over to the passenger door he held open, stopped next to him, and suddenly found it hard to breathe. Close proximity to Ewan was doing me no small favors, neither was his broad smile that enhanced the smooth planes of his face. He smelled like spice and musk. His eyes locked onto mine, holding me, daring me to move. I slipped inside the car, seeking to bury myself in the leather seats. A moment later he settled into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. For a large SUV, the vehicle felt too small. I glanced at Ewan, noting his profile, his hands, his arms. I peered at the arm injured by the Frerac. I couldn’t see a bandage or anything to indicate he’d suffered an injury.

  “How are you feeling? Your ankle okay?” he asked.

  I couldn’t help the twist I gave my ankle in response to his question. It felt tender but fine, as did the rest of my body, no worse for the Frerac’s toxin. At the moment I felt more threatened by Ewan’s gaze—a gaze that contained a faint trace of that primal force he’d released to defeat the Frerac. This was stupid. I could brush off flirting students with ease, but I was tongue-tied with the demon. Not knowing what else to do, I slid into my professor’s skin, and my tongue loosened. “I’m fine. Do you normally look so human, or did you adopt a façade for our realm?”

  A small smile played on his lips. “I like when you switch to academic mode. Maybe I should sign up for one of your classes.”

  And maybe I should scratch my eyes out. What a disaster. I’d never get over staring at him long enough to start a lecture, much less finish one.

  He chuckled, a deep sound from his throat that made my toes curl. “In answer to your question, our appearance depends on the type of demon. We transform when we enter this realm, catalyzed by the passage through the portal. The result is based off the demon’s specific type. Some of the lesser demons, the creatures, retain their demon form.”

  “So what do you look like as a demon?” I had to ask even though I worried he’d reveal he was green with scales.

  “Ummm, well, you’ve seen the movie Hellboy?”

  Horror must have twisted my features despite my best effort to hide it. His eyes twinkled. I hated being teased. I folded my arms across my chest and stared out the side window.

  “Admit it, you were thinking horns at least,” he said.

  “Actually, I was thinking a tail.”

  He laughed. “Nah, tails are for the Freracs of our realm. I look pretty much the same in the demon realm, just, oh, larger, I guess. And there are the wings.”

  I felt my brows touch my hair, and I turned to find him looking straight ahead, smiling. This time, I wasn’t quite sure he was joking.

  “Why do you stay here?” I asked. The question erased the easy creases around his eyes. He stared at the road, and when he didn’t answer for a few moments, I said, “You don’t have to answer. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He regarded me. His expression had lessened in intensity, but his eyes were guarded. “It’s okay. I came to the human realm to help Malthus manage the portal, keep the other demons in line.”

  “Are you like the enforcer who attaches a brick to the victim’s foot before throwing him into the lake?”

  He smiled. “No. We’re not the Mafia.”

  “I’m not sure the other supes are convinced that’s true.”

  “They’re so innocent? All the supes have their schemes. Battling a Frerac is easy, but conquering supe politics? It’s easy to catch a tail swipe, block the sword, but how do you defend against the hidden agenda or betrayal?”

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You doing all right with all this? I was worried after the Frerac attack.”

  “Worried when I have a demon enforcer?” Did I really just say that? I lowered my head and peeked at Ewan, but his eyes stayed fixed on the road.

  My mind conjured the sight of him severing the Frerac’s head. What was Ewan doing in this realm in what amounted to a demon desk job when he could be out, sword in hand, conquering the nether worlds?

  “What kind of demon are you?” I asked.

  He took his time in answering, watching me instead of the road. I pointed at the windshield and was about to voice my dismay, when he smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t get into an accident.” He turned back to the windshield. “As fa
r as my demon identity goes, I belonged to the warrior cult.”

  I laughed. Duh. “What do you mean belonged, and what’s a cult?” I tried to dampen my excitement, not overwhelm him with questions, but warriors and cults? Oh my! I gripped the armrests to keep from clapping my hands. I wish I had my notebook.

  He gave another long pause before answering. “Our society was organized into cults, or catairs in demon. Each cult specialized in a skill, or knowledge about our culture. They were abolished a long time ago, replaced by a more hierarchical structure governed by a demon council.”

  He spoke the last words through clenched teeth. I wanted to ask more about why the cults were abolished, but something told me whatever had transpired, had touched him on a level he wasn’t ready to expose.

  “So are the different demon types, like Incubus and Yasha, derived from the cults?” I asked instead.

  “Sort of. While those types are not accurate, most of us go along with it because it’s easier than explaining the cults.”

  We rode in silence for a few blocks. I pondered the information until I deemed it safe to pose a more personal question. “How do you reconcile you—the demon—with the human behaviors you’ve adopted to coexist in this realm?”

  Instead of the scowl I expected to cross his face, he smiled. “Being a demon has certain advantages—strength, abilities, sexual prowess,” he said, feigning seriousness. I coughed, and he continued, “There are other characteristics I try to suppress, but you can’t suppress them all the time . . . they come out eventually.”

  Like after a fight? I refrained from asking that question and more, figuring I’d done enough anthropologist digging. Neither of us said anything for a few moments. I soaked in the scenery of the San Francisco Bay as we dipped and rose with the hilly streets. A fog had rolled in, swiping the arches of the Golden Gate Bridge and stretching a soft, cottony layer over the water.

  “Can I ask why you distanced yourself from the supernatural community?” he asked.

  I continued to stare out the window until my vision blurred and meshed with the fog. “I’m guessing you know what happened to my mother?”