by Lisa Daniels
Don’t you even think about it, Grieves, she scolded herself. But still, she felt a little lighter in spirit, then, with more bounce to her stride when she got up, deciding she wanted to try and track down Hargraves again.
Yes… it was nice to hear that other people liked her. Silly to try and validate herself on other people’s feelings… always something guaranteed to bring someone down if they relied on others to make them happy… but it still felt good all the same. So maybe it was okay to allow that brief, smug sense of happiness to go through her.
Though it did leave another big, growing problem in her life.
What was she going to do with James, and he with her?
At least she didn’t have to think on that for too long. There were things to do, people to see, along with some potential phone calls. When she dared dip herself into the Other Side again, she swore she could feel the malicious, capricious taint of Laogh’s spirit oozing through the place. Infecting the walls and lodging little black hooks into people’s immortal souls.
“We have to stop them, somehow,” she told Albert. A quick search of the facilities turned up no Amelia Hargraves, and a rather irate Sten gave them such stink eye, that they both figured it easier to retreat to the cafeteria, where there was a small group of students and anthropologists eating and drinking.
“Is it really your job, though?” Albert asked, returning with a tray of food. Rosen didn’t feel hungry, and settled instead for a bottle of water. “These bones have been passed around for years. It’s not your fight, and it’ll be better for you to finish what you came here to do, and go back to Lasthearth.” He grimaced. “I also feel uneasy, being in this place. Seems like there’s a threat in every corner...”
“That’ll be the ominous, pervading spirit attached to those bones,” Rosen said with her teeth clenched together. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this earlier. It’s everywhere.”
“Again, it’s not your duty. You also don’t have the clout to deal with all the people interested in the bones. Weren’t you eager to find out more about this Laogh McKenna?”
He didn’t understand. He was trying to be kind to her, she knew it, but he just didn’t understand. “That spirit is going to create many more deaths. Some of them will be considered just accidents. The spirit’s also getting close to its most corrupt form, and those are the hardest to detect and control.”
If my father’s revenant hadn’t revealed itself so blatantly to us, I wouldn’t have guessed he’d made the deal, either. But her father was an exceptional case. The revenant as well, from what little research she was able to conduct upon it, had a kind of single-minded vengeance that was compatible with her father’s.
In other words, that soul-turned-revenant had once been a necromancer. Something like Laogh McKenna wasn’t, and didn’t have the necessary connections to be subdued. Not with family long dead, and the living descendants using her bones for little more than historical and monetary value. She followed her bones wherever they went, dreaming of death the whole while.
No, this was something that had to be vanquished. But she couldn’t do it alone.
“It would be best to avoid trouble, I think.” And easier for my job, too, was hinted behind Albert’s words.
“As a detective, a cop, I always end up having to deal with the aftermath of crime, racing against the clock before another one’s committed. This, for all intents and purposes, is a whole series of crimes disguised as little accidents. Knowing what I do, it’s impossible just to stand aside and pretend there’s nothing wrong.”
Albert threw up his hands in disgust. “Very well. If you want, Miss Grieves, I can arrange to...” he quietened his voice as it became apparent some people were looking at them, “do something about the problem myself. Panthers are quite well known for stealth.”
The thought of a panther prowling through a former university didn’t quite scream to Rosen of “stealth”, but at the same time, she felt grateful once more that he’d clambered on board. Even if he didn’t fully comprehend her warnings. “Thank you. I still want to check in on Hargraves, first. In case we can just bring some necromancers here and evacuate the soul ourselves. Though I’m to understand that some people don’t want the soul gone, either...”
She surreptitiously took in the sight of the others within the cafeteria, about nine people in total, and decided she didn’t like the looks she was getting from some of them. There was also a tight, uncomfortable feeling in the atmosphere, and she leaned closer to Albert, as if he were a friend, or someone closer than that. “Better hurry up with that food. Seems maybe we don’t want to be around here for too much longer.”
“Mmph,” he replied, stuffing his face with food, polishing off the last morsel with a huge bite. “As much as I’d like to say that I’m sure they’re just staring because of your beauty, Miss Grieves, it seems you might be right.”
The tightness in the atmosphere chafed at her, and she had a horrible feeling that something was going to go wrong. Very wrong. It crawled through her insides and settled there as a faint guilt.
Maybe the fact that she’d directly confronted the spirit in such an aggressive matter, instead of leaving things be, might explain this cloying magic of the Other Side that she could taste upon her tongue.
A shriek from the kitchen area of the cafeteria drowned out the quiet conversation, followed by additional, hysterical screaming from others. The cop instinct within her urged Rosen toward the screaming, rather than away. She flipped up the barrier and strode into the kitchen, Albert tight on her heels.
A scene of bright, spraying blood greeted her. One of the kitchen staff was slumped over, white-faced and clutching a bloody stump instead of a hand. Another staff member tried to staunch the flow by wrapping their apron around it. Rosen quickly took charge, calling for the hospital and shouting for some kind of disinfectant, like alcohol or antiseptic, witch hazel or TCP. Soon enough they were hurried to the hospital, and Rosen was left to make sense of what had happened.
An accident. The cook had been distracted and angry, and somehow, for whatever reason Rosen couldn’t see, viciously chopped his hand off with the meat carver rather than the actual meat they were supposed to be butchering.
Though if she thought hard enough, she knew what really had happened.
With the hysteria of the kitchen accident, Rosen chose to confine herself to her quarters with Albert, waiting for a response from Hargraves about what she intended to do.
They found out, three days later, that the unfortunate cook had died of additional complications. Namely, that there was raw chicken wiped upon the apron that was used to bind his stump, with an extra infection thrown in for good measure that caused him to go into arrest, and never recover.
The curse of the spirit, haunting the bones of someone long dead.
Chapter Six – Albert
He wanted to get out of the institution as soon as possible. He felt the pervasive aura hanging over the compound like a veil, and when he chanced to shift into his panther form the first night they spent there, his heightened senses picked up on a strange vein of misery. As if the very air itself was poisoned with depression, anger, and dark impulses. He slept lightly in his panther form, relying instead on his better senses to keep guard over Rosen Grieves.
After all, he’d always been a rather light sleeper.
Hargraves sent them a message the next day asking them to stand firm—she had to wrestle with a whole lot of people, and could they attend each of the lessons and procedures around the bones to make sure nothing untoward happened…?
Albert knew it was another way to keep an eye on them, too. He remained in human form at these sessions, since sometimes people became a little unraveled to see giant animals lounging around, even if they understood said giant animal was still a person on the inside.
Mostly.
Some animal instincts did tend to dominate. It was just a matter of exerting willpower to make sure the basest ones stayed locked up.
The bored Rosen dedicated a lot of time to messaging people on her phone, and she’d managed to get her sister and father on potential standby to come over if Hargraves approved the exorcism of sorts.
Meanwhile, Sten continued to splutter about how he wanted them gone. But he could hardly call the cops, and they were here on a legal precedent, and had done little more than to suggest destroying the bones.
The third day, they found out that the handless cook had died. They were eating their breakfast/lunch in the cafeteria once more, when Hargraves approached them, her expression nothing but grimness personified.
“More bad news,” she said, and Rosen quietly placed her fork down, eyes wary, shoulders hunched as if she was expecting an attack. “They don’t want the spirit detached.”
Rosen let out a light groan. “Who?”
“The Tremaine family, and the Historical Archaeology Society that also has a stake in the bones. They also want the consultation of either another necromancer or a medium—who has been rather passionately pushed forward as a proposal by a person you would suspect and guess correctly.”
Rosen rubbed at her face. “Sheer insanity. They really think I’d provide them with a dud opinion?”
“They took offense at the suggestion to banish an important piece of history,” Hargraves said.
“A perverted piece of history,” Rosen retorted. “She was the victim of greed and power, and has festered into a virtual demon over the centuries in her thirst for vengeance.”
“That’s the thing...” Hargraves said uncomfortably. “They were… inclined to not believe your account. They thought you were… lying.”
Albert watched in secret amusement Rosen’s exasperated, incredulous expression. “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” She threw up her hands in disbelief, accidentally jolting her plate and nearly knocking over her glass of water. “Why the hell would I be lying about something like this? I have no motive to!”
“Well, it isn’t something they wanted to hear, so they concluded you must be lying.”
“That’s not how the world works...”
“Nevertheless, we’re pulling in another expert today.” Hargraves started rubbing her thumbs together. “And it might be a medium. There’s a prominent one in Stoneshire. Esther Leroy.”
They won’t be able to get Rosen’s sister or father in time, Albert realized. If there was a medium ready and waiting in Stoneshire.
“Do you people want to kill yourselves?” Rosen demanded, and her voice went high and loud enough for the others in the cafeteria to hear and stop their conversations altogether. She didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Jesus Christ. You don’t get it at all. The spirit in those bones is dangerous! If you allow it to stay, you’re going to start getting a lot more deaths than just people getting themselves into freak accidents!”
Hargraves, not happy to be upstaged in front of her own colleagues, hissed, “Keep your voice down. I’m the messenger. Don’t shoot me for it. Follow.” She jerked her finger, and without giving them another glance, began to stride off. Albert and Rosen abandoned the remainder of their lunch to follow, though Rosen was hungry enough to snatch a last bite.
When alone, in an empty office of Hargraves’ choosing, she turned on them, livid. “I have half a mind to throw you out right now.”
Chastised, Rosen said, “Sorry. I...”
“I know.” Hargraves ran fingers through her hair, the anger suddenly dissipating. “You’re concerned. No one’s listening. But I want you to know that I’m listening. I tried to tell them. I spun your words, but to be frank, unless the spirit was walking around with a chainsaw hacking people up, rather than accidents that could be explained away as just accidents… they don’t really care. Laogh’s bones earn something like sixty million in revenue every year, just from the visits, the students, and the promotions in places like the British Museum of History and the Smithsonian.”
“Shit,” Rosen said.
“It always boils down to money,” Albert replied.
“The spirit being there would likely attract more income,” Hargraves continued, with a sharp nod at Albert. “It’s a good selling point. Bones with an actual spirit attached to them, some of the oldest ones in the world at this point, are practically a money tree. They think it might triple their earnings. Get pilgrimages of people who want proof that their spirituality isn’t a sham.”
Rosen began to stutter more indignation, before she stopped, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. I suppose there’s nothing more I can do here, then?”
Amelia Hargraves stayed silent for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Stay here in case there are any complications. With this medium that they’re bringing in. I’ll try and arrange for some necromancers to come and help you abolish the spirit.”
Rosen deflated in relief. “You won’t regret this. I’ll give you the contacts of my family,” she said, already getting out her phone. “Unless you can find other ones on short notice.”
“I’ll take them,” Hargraves said, scooping up the numbers for herself. “I make no promises. But I believe your concern. I believe these accidents… are not just accidents.”
“Thank you.”
When Hargraves left the room, Rosen turned to Albert, the smile dropping from her face. “I’m trying to do the right thing, here.”
“I know.”
“But it’s hard to compete against money like that, isn’t it?”
He agreed, but said nothing. It didn’t need voicing out loud. The office they were in looked spartan, almost empty. The desks had a thin layer of dust, as did the only windowsill in the room. Not Hargraves’ place, then.
Rosen glanced miserably at her phone. “And I’m ignoring James some more.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Miss Grieves?”
“No. Not at all. But I don’t want to answer him. I don’t want to be pulled into conversation with him. Too much to think about right now.”
Too frightened to end it, Albert thought. He recognized the throes of a relationship in its death spiral. She clearly didn’t like the guy as much as she once did, and only clung onto him because of her own self-worth telling her otherwise. This James deserved a more attentive partner, and Rosen deserved someone who didn’t mind her ridiculous work hours.
Some relationships just couldn’t work out. But the last thing he wanted to do was urge Rosen toward a break-up. That wasn’t his job. Nor should he remotely care about something like this, either. It’d be way out of line, and quite possibly a blight on his own reputation as well.
Still… he felt that compulsion to talk to her anyway. To help. She was someone worth helping. “Avoiding him only delays the inevitable. Though I understand that you do have a job to attend to as well. But you know… if you delay too long… he might end up making a decision himself.”
The long silence that greeted this statement told him what he’d suspected. “You want him to make the decision instead?”
More silence.
“That’s surprisingly immature of you, Miss Grieves. You always seem so… together.”
“Yeah, that’s just what I want you to see,” she said, running a finger through the fine layer of dust upon the desk. “Half the time, it’s faking it until you make it.”
Albert snorted. He despised this kind of notion—that people need to pretend. “I disagree with that, Miss Grieves.”
“It’s pretty much the best advice you’ll get from me when it comes to personally improving yourself. It’s hard to feel good all the time, but people expect you to be in top form. Always. They pounce on you if you’re not. And when you’re a necromancer detective in a department already notorious for the high turnout of men—you absolutely can’t afford to show any weaknesses.” Rosen looked like she regretted saying all of this, and maybe a little surprised, too.
Apparently she and her boyfriend weren’t too great at sharing personal information.
“Do what you gotta do,” she said, though it sounded mechanical. Em
pty words used to convince herself. Oh yes, this one had a few issues. She was just good at making people think she didn’t. But to be fair, a lot of people who made it to something like law enforcement had a bone or two to pick. How many cops, after all, had someone they know die, or almost made it to the wrong side of the law themselves, or felt they had something to prove? Someone to save?
It took a certain kind of steel to face some of the worst things humanity had to offer.
“Do you go out much with your boyfriend, Miss Grieves?” Where am I going with this?
“Uh… no. No, we don’t have… the time.”
“You had time once, yes? Where did you go? What was your idea of a date?”
“Anywhere that wasn’t the precinct or my father’s home, really,” she said, puzzled. “Why?”
“Just… maybe you can attempt to arrange a date night. If you were interested in repairing things in your relationship.”
“A date night.” She smiled, but it seemed more for herself, at some personal amusement. “And what did you have in mind?”
“Dinner’s the usual one. A nice meal… some wine to wash it down… a movie—though that depends on the movie. Maybe you could go to one of those drive-in theaters. Where people in their cars just park around a screen and watch the latest movie. It’s mostly retro, now, but you’ll probably find a few places like that still around.”
Still wearing that secret smile, she nodded at him. Something about that expression made him want to wipe it off her. To step into her personal space and use those yellow eyes of his, which he knew made so many humans uncomfortable, and change her mood into something else.
“Any other ideas?”
“Taking someone out to a special event or theme park’s usually a good one, too. A museum, an exhibition, some local carnie fair or traveling circus. The shooting range, the beach, a spa… plenty of things. Every week, as a couple, you’d do something. And it should help strengthen your relationship.”
