by C. S. Wilde
Mera froze. Time seemed to stop, until one question blared in her mind.
How could a necromancer link to Morgan this way?
It couldn’t be a mind link equal to her and Bast’s; theirs was much stronger. The witch’s single connection to Morgan was the infection which carried her essence. They shouldn’t be able to trade thoughts, unless… the necromancer was nearby.
“Jules, the witch is in the hospital!”
From the look on his face, Mera didn’t need to say another word. He rushed out the door, gun in hand.
“How will he know who she is?” Dr. Stone asked with a befuddled look on her face.
“The witch should have the same lime-green shine in her eyes as Morgan’s, especially since she’s using her magic right now.”
Mera could only hope Julian would find the necro-bitch, but right now, she had to buy Morgan more time.
“My partner is gone. I’m alone and vulnerable.” She pulled out both her guns and set them on the floor. “You better leave this room,” she ordered Dr. Stone.
“No.” The doctor cleared her throat, straightening up. “She’s my patient and—”
“I appreciate that, but I can’t protect you both. Get out. That’s an order.”
The doctor’s nostrils flared, but she couldn’t go against an officer’s command. Begrudgingly, she left.
“You seem to really like me.” Mera focused on Morgan, addressing the witch. “I’ll come to you or you’ll come to me, your choice, but let the woman go.”
Morgan shook her head, an ugly cry stuck in her mouth. “Don’t do this, Detective. She hates you. She wants you to suffer.”
Violent seizures took over Morgan’s body, the water in the tub splashing in synch to her convulsing as the necromancer appeared to punish her. By telling Mera things she shouldn’t have, Morgan had defied the witch, even if it put her own life at risk.
“No!” Mera begged, despair clawing in her tone. “Come at me if you hate me so much, you coward!”
Morgan’s seizures suddenly stopped. “S-she wants you to look out the window. Don’t.”
She would. Anything to buy her more time.
Mera rushed toward the glass to find a hooded figure clad in a tattered black robe walking out of the hospital. The figure lifted a thin, gray hand in a salute as it kept escaping.
Not so fast!
Mera pushed her macabre forward, trying to connect to the blood in the necromancer’s veins. But her magic couldn’t cling to the bitch’s body, failing to connect.
How was that possible?
“Nice try,” Morgan sobbed between sentences, the voice speaking through her mouth differing from her own. It was a croaky, raspy sound that raised the hairs at the nape of Mera’s neck. “This one won’t be coming back. She’s too defiant.”
Morgan’s body twisted abruptly, as if an invisible force was trying to break it. She drew in what sounded like a last breath while the black veins beneath her skin reached her forehead, turning her eyes a pitch-black.
“No!” Mera cried, rushing to her, fury and helplessness stabbing at her chest.
“Green,” Morgan croaked, her body thrashing as she spat out black blood. “The witch’s name is Green.”
Falling limp in the tub, her vitals flatlined.
Chapter 6
“Who are you calling?” Julian asked as they left the hospital.
Holding the phone to her ear, Mera raised her index finger at him, silently asking for a moment.
The line rang twice before a cheery voice answered. “I can’t believe it! It’s been so long, my friend!”
Mera couldn’t help but smile. Hearing Stella’s voice helped her to deflect the anger still burning through every crevice of her body. It appeased, if only a little, the pain of failing Morgan Schmid.
Losing lives was part of the job, but Mera would never get used to it. Without meaning to, she grinded her teeth, her free hand balling into a fist.
“How’s my brother?” Stella asked. “When I call him through our mind link, he says everything is fine, but what does ‘fine’ mean? Such a baku.”
“He certainly is.” She chuckled. “Unfortunately, I can’t update you on that. Bast and I are working on separate cases.”
“What?”
“It’s temporary,” she assured, staring at her own boots to avoid the angry glare Julian must be shooting at her—she could feel it burning her skin. “Anyway, I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“Anything.”
Stepping away from Julian so he couldn’t hear, Mera lowered her voice. “Did you learn about forbidden magic in healing school?”
“Of course not.” Stella chortled nervously, her tone wavering. “It’s called forbidden for a reason.”
Mera understood why Bast’s half-sister lied, but she had no time to waste. “Bast said you helped a shifter afflicted by a forbidden curse some years ago.”
Stella cursed what sounded like malachai under her breath.
“I might research the banished arts in my free time, simply because I face them as a disease. I’m a healer, after all. How am I supposed to fight a disease without studying it first?” She huffed. “Prohibiting any research on the topic is stupid.”
She was right, but then again, the government wanted to restrict access to forbidden magic. A decision that had many pros and cons.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Mera assured her. “Bast wouldn’t have told me otherwise. Look, I have a necromancer on the loose.”
A long pause came down the line.
“Raising the dead is definitely a forbidden art.”
“Yes, but this one is not behaving like a necromancer.”
Mera told her about the case. About Fred Johnson raising himself and infecting Morgan, and then how the witch, Green, had killed her from a distance using only their link.
“Whoever Green is, she’s incredibly powerful,” Stella stated the obvious once Mera was done. “The movies portray the undead as rabid and infectious monsters, but that’s not accurate. An infectious dead can raise others by biting them, but those undead can’t spread the infection, no matter how powerful the necromancer might be. The contagious dead is always the sole spreading agent.”
“It’s why Morgan couldn’t infect me.”
“Precisely. Also, creating an infectious dead is no walk in the park, which is why there’s little information about them on record. As for how he raised himself, and how the necromancer killed a living person using a link… ” She blew air into the phone. “Both are technically impossible. I’ll have to do some research on how it could work.”
“There’s a doctor at the hospital who said the magic behaved like a virus. Her name is Jacinda Stone.”
“No way!” Stella’s high-pitched tone nearly burst Mera’s eardrums. “Jacy and I did an internship together years ago! I still have her number, so I’ll give her a call. Her theory seems promising.”
“Wonderful. And thanks, Stella. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, but Mera?” Fear crept into her voice. “Be careful.”
After hanging up, she and Julian walked down the sidewalk, a heavy silence falling between them. There was so much Mera wanted to tell him, but right then, she was more focused on ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth, trying to control the anger that blazed inside her.
She’d failed an innocent woman today. Spectacularly.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mer,” Julian offered. “We lose people on the job. It happens.”
“Morgan was trying to help us, and Green killed her for that.” She stared at the concrete as they went, her hands in her jacket pockets. “I promised I would keep her safe, and I failed.”
Julian draped his strong arm around her shoulders, bringing them to a stop. Caught by surprise, Mera didn’t know how to react. She thought Julian hated her for disappearing on him, and yet, he offered her comfort, like he always had during difficult cases.
Partners once again.
&
nbsp; “She didn’t die in vain,” he said. “She told us the necromancer is a female who calls herself Green, and that she wants an outbreak. That’s more than we knew before. In my book, Morgan Schmid was a hero, and we’ll honor her sacrifice.”
Mera lost herself in his words. In the sight of him, too.
Julian’s hair had grown a bit, and it now covered the top of his ears. He wore it wilder and less kempt than before, which only made him look more dashing. He still had the same warm hazel eyes, the same bronze hue to his skin, like he’d stayed under the sun for too long.
If Bast was the night sky, then Julian was a clear summer day.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Enjoy staring at me, Mer?”
Ignoring the furious blush that rose to her cheeks, she cleared her throat and freed from his embrace. “There’s also the fact that the necromancer hates me and wants me to suffer.”
Nodding, he tapped his chin with his finger. “Only a level-five witch or warlock has the power to become a necro. We never put one of those behind bars, did we?”
“Nope.” Which made the case more puzzling.
Who the hell was Green, and why did she hate Mera? Was it because the necro-bitch knew she was a siren?
No, it had to go deeper than that. Mera felt it in her bones.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner,” she blurted.
Julian pressed his lips in a line, as if he’d suddenly remembered all the shit between them. “Yeah.” Turning on his heels, he walked away.
Mera followed after him. “It wasn’t right. You were my partner, and I put you in the corner for a while.”
“A while?”
“A long while. Things in Lunor Insul were tough, Jules. After we came back, Bast and I were assigned to case after case. Trust me, I wanted to call you. I simply never got a chance.”
‘There was plenty of time to kiss Bast, though.’ Her siren grinned. ‘Frequently.’
Shut up!
“You found time to call the Captain,” he countered, his back to her as he walked ahead. “I was worried about you.”
“Of course I called Ruth! I had to report to her. Didn’t she send my regards?”
“She did, but it wasn’t the same. We always talked, Mer.” He stopped and faced her. “I get it. You and Bast are Hollowcliff’s finest. You’re his partner now, not mine, and your solve rate is unmatchable. You can’t waste time with former colleagues anymore.”
“That’s not fair. You’ve always been more than a colleague to me.” She stepped closer, placing a hand on his heart. “You’ve always been my friend.”
“A friend,” he spat out, shaking his head. Julian stomped three steps forward, stopped, then turned back. “I missed you, okay? Work is not the same without you. Life isn’t the same without you. It’s not fair he gets to have you to himself.”
He…
Bast.
“I missed you, too,” she admitted. “I’m glad we get to work one more case together. Who knows, maybe we can join forces every once in a while. Point is, I won’t disappear again.”
Julian let out the tiniest of smiles. “That would make me happy, Mer. I don’t like this distance between us. I’m not used to it.”
“I don’t like it either. You and I have always been a team, but we’ll adapt.” Stepping closer, she stood on the tip of her toes, high enough to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “You’ll always be my partner, Jules.”
It took him a moment to hug her back, his arms closing around her waist as he buried his head at the curve of her neck. There was a time when she’d wanted to be more than just friends with Julian, yet duty always came first.
Since he wasn’t her official partner anymore…
Mera shoved the thought away. Right then, all she cared about was that they’d made amends.
They stayed intertwined for a while, just taking each other in, reconnecting.
“Okay,” he spoke after a moment. “Let’s go crack this case.”
“Hell yeah!” She let go of him. “Like old times.”
“Speaking of which.” He ran a hand over his lemon-colored hair. “Did you hear Lucky Dumpling is opening a new menu next week? We could go for dinner, then grab a beer at O’Malley’s after.”
Like old times indeed! This was going better than she’d expected.
“I’d love that. I haven’t had dumplings in ages!”
Of course Julian knew Lucky Dumpling was her favorite restaurant, and that Mera missed it immensely. After years working together, he knew her through and through.
Well, not entirely.
He had no clue she was a waterbreaker. How would he react if he found out? Would he protect her like Bast had, or put a bullet in her head?
She honestly couldn’t say.
In any case, a fluffy, light feeling filled Mera’s chest. She and Julian were starting with a clean slate, which was why she’d come to Clifftown in the first place.
Now, on to the next items on her list. Mera would find Green and make her pay for Morgan’s death. Then, she would catch the dickface who called himself Poseidon, and trap him in a hole so deep, that he would never hurt another soul again.
Somehow, she was certain everything would work out. Eventually.
“Great.” Jules smiled sweetly at her. “It’s a date, then.”
Wait.
What?
Chapter 7
“Can we take a break?” Ben banged his forehead on the long wooden table, his voice echoing throughout the mighty hall of the Night Court’s Royal Library. He slammed a hand on the thick, open book next to him. “I’m seeing double, brother.”
“No breaks,” Bast grumbled as he scanned a tome about fae folk stories.
Faerie lights hovered above the table, illuminating the pages with their cold, white glow. Endless bookshelves lined the walls, nearly reaching the glassed domed ceiling at the top. Wooden porches circled the shelves all the way up, giving access to the books and other halls within the library.
Stars twinkled above, the moon beaming its silver light into the space.
Bast couldn’t count the times he’d gotten lost in there. Calling his family’s library impossibly grand was an understatement. With its hidden pathways and rooms, it seemed to go on forever.
Magic conserved the ancient books, and it also compressed the enormous place inside the royal palace. The space-bending magic that had been used to form the library was phenomenal, but the secrets of its mysterious workings had been lost over the centuries. Maybe it was similar to Corvus’ ‘magic pockets’. Maybe the library was in a realm of its own.
Maybe both.
“Anything yet?” Corvus asked from across the table as he scanned a red book.
“No. I—” Bast paused when he flipped the page, finding a tale that called his attention.
Lyrica Asheford and the Man Who Could Not Die.
When he read the title out loud, Corvus scoffed. “You won’t find anything related to your mysterious criminal in an old children’s tale, brother.”
“Yes, but you heard Madam Zukova.”
How do you kill he who cannot die?
“Fine. I suppose we can check it. It’s not like the historical records have been of any help.” He tapped his chin. “By the way, why did the seer call the detective a ‘poor princess?’”
Bast froze for a moment. “Inside joke. You wouldn’t understand.”
His brother shrugged, dismissing the subject, and Bast blew out a discrete, relieved breath. Corvus couldn’t know the truth about Mera.
No one in Tagrad could.
Refocusing on the tale, Bast began reading out loud.
“T’was a bright summer day of the year 500 after Tagrad, when Lyrica Asheford, a youngling from Spring, got lost in the woods.”
Corvus paused his reading, paying attention to Bast’s tale. “Why do these old stories always begin with a child lost in the woods?”
Bast ignored his brother’s remark. He turned the page, lean
ing closer to the book.
“The youngling walked and walked until she came upon a cliff. A strange man sat on the brink of the rock. Black runes covered every inch of his naked torso and back, and he had no thread of hair on his head. A scary man yet so incredibly sad, for when young Lyrica approached, she realized he wept.
‘Kind sir, why do you cry?’ she asked.
‘Young faerie, I am no sir. When I step on land I have a human semblance, but when I’m free out there,’ he pointed to the vast sea ahead, ‘I become he who breaks water.’”
Bast’s heart rammed against his chest.
The tale was from before the Great War, back when Mera’s people had their own borough. Before they had been banished to Atlantea.
“Lyrica was curious, for she had never met a waterbreaker before. ‘Do you weep because you miss the water?’
The strange man smiled sadly at her. ‘No, young faerie. I cry because these runes gave me immortal life, yet my love is gone forever.’ With that, he jumped off the cliff.”
“Kura,” Corvus muttered. “That’s a children’s story?”
“Folk tale,” Ben corrected carelessly as he flipped through another book’s pages. “A horrifying one, it seems.”
“When the man hit the rocky shore, Lyrica cried out loud. She cried when she saw the splatter of his blood, the bones ripping from his flesh, and his brains spilled over the rocky ground.”
Bast continued reading, thoughts rushing through his head far too quickly for him to grasp.
“Yet curiosity trumped Lyrica’s terror, and the young faerie waited to see if the sea-man spoke the truth; if he indeed would rise from death.
Sure enough, the runes atop his skin glowed like the sun, and the man’s body began twitching. His bones mended, his blood slid back into his skull, until he stood, fully recovered. He walked into the sea down below, and even though Lyrica called for him, he never looked back.”
“That child had a prolific imagination,” Corvus muttered under his breath. “If she even existed, that is. It’s just a silly story, brother.”
Bast certainly hoped so, but deep down, he knew it might be wishful thinking. Taking folk stories seriously was a giant stretch, and yet…
