The Necromancer's Seduction

by Mimi Sebastian

  But at that moment, I didn’t care.

  * * * *

  Ewan called me around six, insisting on picking me up and taking me to Xavier’s art opening, but I insisted on coming alone.

  I threw on a white blouse over gray slacks, mirroring the bland tones coloring my emotions. I entered the front room to retrieve my purse, and images of making love with Ewan flashed in my head.

  Anger bubbled inside me, small bubbles at first, a pot of water on low heat. By the time I’d stomped upstairs to put on my necklace, the bubbles had expanded, popping all over the surface of my body. I reached into my closet and changed into a red halter top with a neckline that crossed below my breasts, black skirt, and black-heeled sandals.

  The taxi dropped me off an hour later in front of Xavier’s abandoned warehouse-turned-art-gallery in the Mid-Market arts district. The crowd of art collectors, artists, and art aficionados spilled out the front entrance onto the street. I weaved through the people and entered the mezzanine, set off by a crystal chandelier and fountain composed of granite rocks that climbed to the ceiling.

  I strolled into the main gallery, a huge two-story room with a sculpture of a twisted silver ball in the center. The sounds of jazz mixed with the conversations bouncing off the walls. A waiter dressed in a tuxedo offered me a drink off his tray. I grabbed a glass of wine, glanced past his shoulder, and saw Ewan. His back anyway, but it was definitely him from the black waves of his hair and broad shoulders tucked into a black leather jacket over black jeans.

  What threw me off and got the lava surging in my throat was the woman wrapped around him. Her waist-length blond hair was streaked with purple, matching her purple skirt over white fishnet stockings. Too retro glam for me, but it worked on her, dammit.

  He turned and met my eyes. He extricated himself from her tentacles and walked toward me. I pivoted and sought refuge in my admiration of the painting hanging on the wall to my side, which wasn’t a stretch since it was a Gauguin. I liked how Gauguin painted naked voluptuous women from exotic islands. This one featured a mulatto woman lying naked on her stomach.

  I was still mad at him, furious. He stood next to me and eyed my shirt. My fingertips zinged like I’d inserted them into electric sockets. I hated him.

  I sipped from my wine. Feeling stripped bare under his gaze, I babbled, “Is this really a Gauguin?”

  “Xavier wouldn’t display it otherwise. I like how Gauguin glorified women’s curves and full figures. Not like the pasty, anorexic pretty-girl models and celebrities venerated in popular culture these days.”

  I agreed completely, thinking about my own roomy hips. Oh. I stole a glance to find him regarding said roomy hips. My face flamed. I left his side to allow my heated blood to cool and wandered into a small alcove rounded by windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, sporting a view of a water fountain in a small courtyard. The water sprouted around a strangely beautiful statue of a spider-like creature that could only hail from the demon realm.

  “Xavier has quite the gallery,” Ewan said next to me.

  “Why does this Xavier have to be my custodian? Why not you?” I was angry at Ewan and Malthus, but they were the demons I knew.

  “Just the way demon stuff works. Malthus and Xavier are council members or magistrates. In this type of situation, only a magistrate can stand in for another magistrate. He’s more than capable, and he has no love for the wolves.” He paused. “I’m surprised you’d want my protection.” The frustration and pain in his voice squeezed my stomach. I ignored it.

  “I’m supposed to depend on another demon I don’t know when I can’t even depend on the ones I do know?”

  “I apologized about Cael. How long are you going to whip me over it? I’m bound by certain—” He thought about it for a moment. “—loyalties.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I never misled you about anything else.” His voice was soft, husky, and my body understood his meaning, but I couldn’t stop the next words from spilling out.

  “No? Not even to get in my pants?” I immediately regretted the question, knowing I’d crossed the line into bitch territory, but couldn’t stop. I hated the anguish etched on his face.

  “If I knew I could have simply lied to get in your pants, as you so artfully put it, I would have done it a long time ago.”

  The silence that stretched between us was the longest and the loudest I’d ever experienced. The air felt charged with opposing magnetic forces. I couldn’t stand it anymore. “So this Xavier is at the same level as Malthus? Why doesn’t he oversee the portal?”

  He shrugged. “I think he’d rather spend time indulging his pleasures.”

  “What cult did he belong to?”

  He paused. “He was a member of Catair Hovac. The Death Cult.”

  My mouth went dry. “That does not sound good. And he’s my custodian?”

  “The Death Cult studied death—ways to ease the passage of a dying soul, the pain or peace experienced at the time of death, but like all the cults, Hovac was abolished. Don’t worry. He’s not the Grim Reaper.”

  Somehow I wasn’t convinced.

  “You’re an anthropologist. You of all people should understand that all cultural practices serve a purpose. Not all of the practices are perfect or ‘nice,’ it’s just the way things are.”

  I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His calm expression contrasted with his heavy tone.

  “Very nice.” A woman’s voice drew my attention.

  The octopus.

  She took a strand of my hair in her hand and sniffed. “Mmmm, tasty, but I much prefer you.” She stroked Ewan’s arm and took his hand. “Xavier wants to see you now.” He let her lead, and I followed, glaring at her swinging butt as she sashayed up a metal staircase hugging the far wall of the room.

  “Hello, Ruby, very pleased to finally meet you,” Xavier said a few minutes later.

  He stood in front of a wall of windows that provided an amazing view of the bay, but the night was inky dark, and it was hard to make out even the twinkling lights of the boats on the water. Xavier took my hand and kissed it. He let go and waved his arm in front of me. “How do you like my gallery?” His voice mirrored the smooth tones of a late night DJ playing jazz.

  “Impressive,” I said, covertly studying him.

  Xavier matched Malthus in demon age and rank, but there the resemblance ended. Xavier had the debonair quality of a Hollywood gangster with his gray suit over a red shirt unbuttoned at the neck. Malthus reminded me more of the serious FBI agent, meticulous, careful in his attention to procedure.

  Xavier’s gray eyes reached into me, pulling. I tore my gaze away, reminding myself this was a death demon.

  “Xavier, you impress me, as always, with your art. I see you have some new Pollocks.” Ewan’s voice ripped through the room, polite and gracious, with just a slight edge of steel.

  I looked past Xavier to see Ewan regarding us, his eyes narrowed to annoyed gold slits. Xavier didn’t move his gaze from me, but he released my hand. I had the distinct feeling Ewan knew he had to play nice with Xavier, but he didn’t like it.

  “Your compliment is appreciated, Ewan. Can Fiona offer you a drink?”

  He was strange and scary, but for some inexplicable reason, I liked Xavier. Fiona I could do without. She sat on the arm of Ewan’s chair and wormed her arm around his shoulders. I didn’t want to admit it, but I hated the fact she was hanging all over him, and, of course, it just made me wonder if those two had ever gotten horizontal. Maybe she was a succubus and had used her powers to seduce him? I sighed inwardly. Not like I had any claims at the moment.

  “Would you like a drink?” Xavier asked.

  “No.” I decided whiskey and demons were a combination I needed to avoid.

  “So how do you plan on resolving this situation with Brandon?” he asked.

  I waited for Ewan to answer. He’d asked me to let him respond to Xavier’s questions about the wolves and Cael. I chalked it up to more demon
bullshit and was happy to let them hash it out. This whole business had me antsy. I wanted to find Cael, release Brandon, and be done with it.

  “We’ll do what the wolves requested. Find him and reverse the reanimation,” Ewan answered.

  “What about this Cael character?”

  “We’ll deal with him, follow the codes.”

  “Good, good. Cael is a stain on the necromancer race. You should not spare any expense in eliminating him.”

  “I’m not going to eliminate anyone,” I said. “I’ll let the demons deal with him.”

  “Of course.” Xavier stared out the window. “The wolves could pose a problem. If they hassle you, let me know. You did well in standing up to them.”

  “I don’t want to stand up to them. I want them to leave me alone,” I said.

  “They will.” He tilted his head back as he drank from his glass, his eyes glowing at me in an expression of confidence. “We have a council gathering regarding the breach?” He directed his question at Ewan.

  “Yes.”

  “The council.” Xavier’s voice dripped with derision. “Populated with fools. Their failure to assert demon power has led to this mess. Now you, my dear,” he said to me, “have exhibited extraordinary power. Creating two supernatural revenants. Fascinating.”

  His words struck a dissonant chord within me, the tones bouncing off my mind, my soul. No one up to this point had used extraordinary or fascinating in the same sentence as necromancer. Usually, they use disgusting or aberration.

  “Necromancers are greatly misunderstood. You should embrace your power. There is so much about it you don’t understand, so much knowledge lost,” he said.

  That much was true. Because I had rejected my necromancy, I was now juggling unlit torches, unsure when they’d light and burn my hands. To say it made me nervous would be an understatement. But Xavier was a death demon and I, a necromancer. The connection seemed uncannily serendipitous.

  “What do you know about power spheres?” I asked, darting a glance at Ewan. Fiona was still attached to his arm. He straightened in his chair and fixed his eyes on me.

  Xavier considered me for a moment, and a small smile played on his lips. “A power sphere gives a necromancer access to unprecedented amounts of arcane energy. You need corpses or revenants.”

  “You can use revenants to make a sphere?”

  “Yes, but not zombies since they are devoid of a soul, unlike a revenant.” He tapped the edge of his glass on the table. “Are you considering making one?”

  “No, of course not.” I picked at my nails.

  “Why not?”

  Huh? I reached back to pull on a lock of my hair. “Malthus said an old necromancer killed a bunch of innocents to make a sphere, and the power drove him crazy.”

  “Every story has two sides.”

  “Are you saying the necromancer had good reason to kill those people?”

  “The demons imprisoned the necromancer’s brother without a trial and had him assassinated in prison.” He paused and drank from his glass without removing his unfocused gaze from me. “Some supernaturals believed the necromancers had grown too powerful. Wars have a way of turning villains into heroes and heroes into villains.”

  He spoke so quietly I had to strain my ears to catch all the words. War? Against necromancers? Too many questions crowded my mind. The biggest one—the one flashing in neon—was which side the demons took?

  “Ancient history,” Xavier said, his voice back to non-straining levels. “The only wars supes wage today are over who’s going to preside over the next meeting.”

  Fiona finally extricated herself from Ewan’s side to stand next to Xavier. He wrapped his hand around her waist. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ewan?”

  The edge of Ewan’s mouth twisted into a smile as Xavier regarded him intently.

  Xavier returned his gaze to me. “Ruby, anything can be used for good or bad. A witch’s power is not bad at the source, but a bad witch can use the power to hurt others.”

  “It depends on the source of the power. Some power is inherently less stable, such as power derived from death,” said Ewan. He addressed Xavier’s comment, but he directed his gaze at me, the lines around his face tightening.

  “Ewan, you sound like Malthus. Ruby is smart and capable. She has already proven her talent. She raised two supernatural revenants and appears to be in full control of them.”

  Fiona regarded me for a moment. “Surprising, given the instability in your family. Necros can be careless with their power, especially those who are not fully aware of the consequences.”

  I bit my lip to keep from voicing certain choice words that vibrated on the edge of my tongue. I was aware of and had spent my life dealing with the consequences. Xavier left Fiona’s side and approached my chair.

  A loud crash sounded from the ground floor. We ran to the balustrade and saw a zombie thrashing in the middle of the crowd. People screamed—startled screams, screams of laughter, but I didn’t hear a scream born of sheer terror. They acted as if they were on a television reality show. The small groups on the fringe of the spectacle resumed their conversations. Only the woman the zombie had grabbed by the throat tried to cry out in earnest when she realized she could no longer breathe, but her scream came out as a strangled whimper.

  Xavier reached his hand out over the balcony, and the zombie collapsed as though Xavier had cut his puppet strings. He leaned over the railing. “My friends,” he said, and his voice boomed through the gallery. “A hand for our Fiona’s performance art.”

  The crowd broke out in applause. Even the woman the zombie almost strangled to death gushed at her participation in the “performance art.” Christ. These people wouldn’t know a real zombie if it bit them in the ass. And it almost had.

  Fiona waved.

  I wasn’t sure if I was more disturbed by the appearance of the zombie or the crowd’s reaction. I met Ewan’s eyes. He curled his lip in disgust and moved to the window.

  Xavier didn’t appear upset or shocked or angry. His expression reflected mild amusement. “Seems Cael is trying to make a statement.”

  Ewan came up behind me and placed his hand on my back. “We should go.”

  I wasn’t going to argue, having had enough art—performance or otherwise—for the night. He guided me to the stairs. I stepped down, but Fiona stopped him before he could take the first step, leaned in, and kissed one of his cheeks while caressing the other.

  “Call me anytime you want . . . company.” She looked at me briefly, a knowing smile on her lips. I smiled back, trying to make it one of those fake sweet smiles, but it turned into a smile that threw punches. Bitch.

  “A pleasure, as always, Fiona,” Ewan said. Did I detect sarcasm or was it wishful thinking?

  Once we exited the house, he swept me into his car, and we drove off.

  “In a rush, are we?” I asked.

  “There is only so much of Xavier I can stand.”

  “He seemed nice enough. Fiona sure enjoyed your company.” I detected the annoyance in my voice and chided myself for that slip of the tongue.

  His lips formed a bemused smile. “Granted it’s not always easy to deny a succubus, but Fiona is not my type and can be a serious pain in the ass.” Succubus? I’d nailed that one.

  My cell beeped. The text from Kara contained one word.

  Help.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My fingers thrummed on their way to becoming numb. Kara’s second text told me to come to Matilda’s house. Fortunately, Matilda didn’t live too far from our location, but it still entailed a U-turn to traverse the Golden Gate Bridge again.

  Ewan sped along the two lane coastal road, taking the curves faster than the speed limit allowed. The road was deserted and quiet, the whispering waves providing the only background sound to the roar of the engine. I opened the window to let the ocean scent sooth my nerves.

  “We’re almost at Matilda’s,” Ewan said. “Any more messages from Kara?”


  Before I could respond, the car veered, thrusting me against the seat belt. The tires screeched against the pavement, and something bashed against the windshield. My heart rammed into my chest, matching the force of whatever we hit.

  Ewan skidded the car to the side of the road and leaped out. I followed him to find a man’s body splayed next to the Rover. When I saw white peeking out from holes in his flesh, I peered to take a closer look.

  Ewan pushed me away from the zombie. “Stay here, away from that. I sense . . . something. I want to take a quick look around.”

  The minute Ewan’s figure faded into the darkness of the beach, the zombie sprang up and snatched my arm. His grip was strong for a half-decomposed body.

  “Flesh.” His voice was a nauseous rasp, carrying the stench of death. I gagged at the sound of his decay.

  He yanked my hand closer to him, and I kicked at his side, pressing my sandal against his body to wrench my arm out of his grip. I heaved against his grasp, the strain stretching my skin until I heard a bone rasping pop.

  I fell back on the sand holding his detached arm in my hand. I flexed my hand in disgust, flinging the arm behind me. Damn these zombies and their Lego body parts.

  The zombie slouched over me. I kicked at the sand in frenzied bursts, wanting to get up and away from him. He caught my shirt with his remaining hand as I hauled myself up, snatching some sand in the process which I threw in his face. He slashed at his eyes. I took advantage of his distraction to grab a rock next to me and bash his head. I didn’t expect to knock it off completely.

  I dropped the rock and loped to the car where I rested my head on the hood and grasped my hair. I had to free Brandon, free Kara, and free Matilda from the danger that threatened, free myself from the clusterfuck wrought by my power. I heard the soft sandpaper scratch of the beach sand behind me.

  “We should go,” Ewan’s voice said a few minutes later.

  “The body?”

  “I took care of it. You did quite the number on him.”

  My laugh skirted the boundaries of hysteria. “It was either his head or mine.” I popped my attached head up. “What did you sense?”