by Jen Kirchner
“Listen, I’m not one of Ruairí’s cronies!” he pleaded. “I just needed the money.”
I staggered backward, his words punching me in the gut. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to kill more, Henri or Ruairí.
“Ruairí paid you?” I whispered. “How much?” No answer. My anger intensified, burning inside. I screamed, “How much?”
My voice echoed from every direction and pounded in my ears. In comparison, Henri sounded so small and weak.
“Three hundred dollars.”
I heard gasps. I shut my eyes, squeezing tears to the corners and down my cheeks. I felt my body shaking with shock and rage. My voice was weak. “That’s all? His life meant only three hundred dollars?” I would have given him every penny I had to leave my uncle alone.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Henri whimpered. “Conservators are overworked and underpaid. Kari, if you’ll just try to understand...”
I opened my eyes and looked at Henri, still plastered on the wall. “Tell me where Ruairí is.”
“I don’t know. He knows my number and calls when he wants something.”
“And then you get paid.”
“Right,” he said. “I get paid. Let me go, Kari. I’ll help you find Ruairí. I swear. You can even have the payment.”
I snatched Stubby from the boxes, pointed the blade at Henri, and screamed all my anger and hate and even a racial slur. “You turned my uncle into a soul-sucking demon, and now you’re going to pay!” I pointed Stubby at the open door. “Everyone out! Now!”
As the immortals obeyed, skirting the room and quickly filtering out of the door behind me, I dropped Henri, hard, to the floor. He collapsed on the concrete in a heap. I stood him upright and marched him up the stairs. As we passed through the back room to the barista counter, I heard shouts and the excited murmur of a large crowd. According to Death Radar, we were surrounded. I left Henri in the break room and snuck out for a peek.
A mob had gathered outside under the bright streetlamps. A buffer zone had been created between them and the shop, and Lumi was standing in it, barely keeping the crowd at bay. The scene was surreal, like a breaking event on the late-night news—but instead of a crazy stranger making a scene, it was me. The adrenaline I had been feeling started to wane. The reality of my actions was catching up with me.
Lumi spotted me behind the counter and waved for my attention. “Kari,” she shouted, “let Henri go and come out.”
She took a step toward the door. My heart jumped into my throat and I raised Stubby threateningly in my clenched fist. “Stand back!”
Her eyes flickered to the dagger and she obeyed. I ran back into the break room.
Now what?
I looked down at Stubby. “I don’t know, I wasn’t really thinking this out. What if I get arrested?”
No way. Marcus will sue the pants off of everyone involved.
“Good point.”
Henri’s eyes darted between Stubby and me. “Please let me go.”
I faced him, standing on my toes to better look him in the eyes. “There’s no way out for you now. Either you face me or I turn you over to Luucas and Mikelis. Who will it be, Henri?”
His eyes widened in horror. “Maybe we can sneak out the back!”
I shook my head. “We’re surrounded. Unless I can think of a way to barricade us in here, the crowd is going to storm the place any second.”
“And then Luucas and Mikelis will get me!”
“Yeah,” I said, “and my dad.”
His panic seemed to increase. He screamed, “Use me as a hostage and get us out of here!”
It was better than anything I could come up with. I lifted Stubby up, eye-level. “What do you think?”
Let’s do it.
I put Henri in front and marched him to the door.
The crowd was restless and growing in number. An excited, collective gasp wafted from the onlookers as we appeared.
I stopped just before the doorway and aimed Stubby at Henri’s neck. “Get back!” I shouted. “Move everyone back so I can get to my car.”
Lumi was having a hard time getting the crowd to do anything. Their murmurings grew into angry shouts.
“That necromancer is taking Henri!”
“I think she’s going to kill him!”
I took a step toward the door. “Get back!” I moved Stubby closer to Henri’s neck, aiming the tip at his jugular.
Lumi fanned her arms in the direction she wanted the crowd to move. “Everyone back up!”
The group was too large and too restless to comply. The front tried to step away, but the back didn’t move. The people in the middle were squashed and caught up in confusion, and the scene quickly turned to panic. We were on the verge of a meltdown.
I took a step onto the sidewalk and heard someone yell, “Don’t let the necromancer get away!”
Blue spell script formed above the crowd. Right away, I could see it was directed at me. I killed the spell instantly, causing a tornado of necromancer smoke to swirl around both me and Henri. The spell symbols became visible, ominous and black, hovering over the crowd. Lumi whirled around, frantic to stop the ensuing fight.
Her cries went unheard. A few people started shouting that I was attacking the crowd. Spells began forming in the air, too many for me to count. Their collective energy was smothering.
I pulled every spell into the building and deactivated them, causing an alarming cluster of black runes to scatter overhead, then retreated with Henri back into the café. The crowd erupted. Twice as many spells started forming, their waves of energy buffeting me violently. I killed those spells too, but more were coming.
“What’s happening?” Henri shouted.
“They’re attacking,” I said. “I don’t know what to do!”
They attack you because you’re a small, weak human. They’d never dare to attack Mikelis or your dad.
That wasn’t the help I was looking for. “Stubby,” I said angrily, “shut—”
Mid-sentence, I realized what Stubby meant: Everyone feared the retaliation of a proven necromancer—something I clearly wasn’t. I was a small, weak human, which was why Ruairí had targeted me so brazenly. Not only was I incapable of retaliation, I was afraid of it. That was exactly why Uncle Rick had been attacked. If I didn’t change my ways, everyone I cared about was going to die.
I moved Henri behind the counter and reinforced my grip on Stubby. I felt a throng of spells forming outside. Their energies burned my skin.
I grabbed those spells, too. Layers of black script splashed against the walls. I grabbed the first one. I had no idea what it was, only that it targeted me. I switched the target to a parked car just outside and sent Henri’s soul down to The Floor. I pulled a bit of his life force, activating the spell. My sacrifice was accepted and the spell clanged. The runes disappeared. A horrible wrenching noise filled the air, followed by glass shattering and a symphony of car alarms. The wind carried the scent of melted plastic.
The next spell required blood. I brought Henri back up and stuck Stubby into my thumb. I separated the spell layers and swiped my red offering at the end. I changed the target to the street outside. The spell clanged and the black script disappeared. I heard thunder and felt searing heat. I didn’t stop to find out what I had done. I craved destruction. I wanted everything around me to reflect how I felt inside.
Spells continued to mount against me in a crushing wave. I killed them all. There wasn’t enough room on the walls, so I stacked them outside, an evil black lattice painted on the windows. I changed the targets on each one until every spell around the café had been sent back out, unleashed upon the people who cast them at me.
Then all was silent. No more spells were cast. Henri’s head drooped from the constant life-force drains and my fingers were slicked red from stabbing them so many times. I was shaking uncontrollably. Whether it was from adrenaline or blood loss, I wasn’t sure. I brought Henri’s soul up to his body and fell back against a wall.
&nb
sp; “Please,” Henri sobbed, “let me go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
Tears streamed down my face. I gripped Stubby’s handle tightly. “I have to do this. Then everyone will know to leave me and my family alone.”
I forced Henri to his knees and stood over him. I was having a hard time seeing from the tears, but I didn’t need my sight. I was a necromancer, a born killer, and it was time that I acted like one. I pressed Stubby’s sharp tip against Henri’s neck, drawing a small bead of black blood. I took a deep breath and tried to exhale, but an agonized sob came out. I lifted the knife.
I stared at the spot where the knife was supposed to go. Every muscle clenched in anticipation. My head started to pound, and the thoughts kept coming: When this was over, would I feel guilt-free because I had defended my uncle and my family? Or would I see Henri’s face every night, haunting me for the rest of my life?
I truly believed killing Henri was the right thing to do to protect my family, yet I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was just so wrong. My arm fell limp at my side and Stubby slipped from my hand, clattering against the linoleum. I sank to my knees. Uncontrollable sobs wracked my body.
A cold breeze swept through the room. Flashing red lights permeated the room, lighting the walls. A figure in a dark pinstripe suit stepped into the doorway.
“I can’t,” I sobbed. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know who I was apologizing to. I guess I was apologizing to everyone.
I didn’t expect you to. That’s why we chose you.
I blinked a few times, trying to gain a better look at Stubby. “What?” I gasped.
There are two kinds of necromancers. One kind you already know.
“Like my dad.”
Yes. But there’s a special kind with the ability to create and destroy magic. A custodian of magic. We chose you for this because of your deep respect for life. You believe you’re the weakest of all necromancers when, in fact, you’re the strongest. You’re the best kind of necromancer there is.
The tears stopped. My confusion turned to frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
It’s on a need-to-know basis, and you didn’t need to know! You can’t be both kinds of necromancer. You got lucky when you fell on that propulsion power. The commands for working necromancer powers are the same as the ones you use to create and manipulate the magical world. If you absorb any other powers, those commands will overwrite the commands you use to write spells. You will lose your ability to go to The Floor.
“Can you take away that power I absorbed?”
No. What’s done is done… Now, am I going to get more TV time or what?
I sat back on my heels and stared at the floor. The figure standing in the doorway came and knelt down next to me. A strong arm went around my shoulders and a clean handkerchief dangled in front of me. I took it, blew my nose, and rested my head on the familiar, available shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are,” he said gently. “It will be all right.”
“No, it won’t.”
He chuckled.
I blew my nose again. “How do you do it?”
He looked at me. “Hmm?”
“The sacrifice. How do you live with it?”
“Ah.” He settled in next to me, sitting crossed-legged. His trousers hiked up a little at the ankles, exposing soft gray and black argyle socks with a thin, blue stripe. I had bought them last Christmas as one of his stocking stuffers. “I was an arch druid,” he began.
I already knew that. It was hard to forget, since whenever we went into the woods he wanted to stop and bless every tree.
“Human sacrifice was the way of the world for thousands of years. To be chosen as a sacrifice was an honor. Druids had various methods for sacrifice, such as drowning or burning, though I did not care for them. They were too…” He gestured with his free hand. “Inhumane. Besides, it did not benefit me as a necromancer.”
“Because you needed to stab them.”
Despite the macabre topic, the corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile, as if I was summing up a complicated subject in childish terms.
“I never killed with cruelty,” Dad said. He tilted his head away to get a better look at me. “They were asleep and unaware of the pain. My intent was not to harm, it was only to provide a service for villages that asked for help. In those days, necromancers had more respect than we do now. As you know, I was given criminals of the Immortal State to sacrifice when I became immortal. Even then, I never treated them inhumanely. Today, we necromancers are reviled for cruelty and violence, though your mother and I always taught you that violence was not the answer to conflict.” He looked down at Stubby, discarded on the floor. “It seems that has paid off.”
“I guess so.”
Whatever. She still sucks.
Dad gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I am very proud of you, Eliana.”
I looked around the room and shook my head. “Really? Even right now?”
“Especially now.”
I heard footsteps and familiar voices drawing near. Mom stepped inside, alone and unaccompanied. She approached the counter, rang the little bell next to the cash register, and glanced around the store. Her eyes met mine and Dad’s, then swept over Henri, still crouched on his knees and sobbing.
Returning her attention to the counter, she complained, “This establishment has terrible service! What must one do to purchase a decent cup of tea?”
“I can’t tell if she’s getting better or worse,” I said.
Dad’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Well, she is unaccompanied and conscious.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that tomorrow is a new day, filled with endless possibilities for you to alter timelines and foil her plans even further.”
“Thanks. Who’s supposed to be watching Mom right now?”
“Marcus, though I believe he became so caught up in your potential litigation that he forgot.”
“My what?”
As if on cue, Luucas came rushing through the door. His face was scrunched angrily, as if he had been sucking on a lemon. Marcus was right behind him, talking nonstop.
“…only exasperated by necromantic distress and supernatural prejudice. This is not an officially recognized mental condition, though it should be. Tonight’s events were clearly a case of self-defense. Also, no one actually saw her cast a spell. She was inside the café the entire time. Circumstantial at best.”
They approached the counter. Luucas looked around. His eyes fell to Henri, who kept his gaze fixed firmly to the floor.
“How’s my case coming?” I asked.
Marcus looked at Dad and me sitting in the center of the ransacked room. He didn’t even blink, as if the scene was nothing unusual.
“Difficult to say. Luucas stopped responding after he no longer had any actual laws with which he could rebut.”
Dad stood up and offered me his hand. I grabbed Stubby and let him pull me to my feet. As I turned toward the windows, I started to thank him, but the words got caught in my throat.
Fire trucks, police cars, and a large crowd of both species had gathered, examining a dozen incinerated cars, massive craters in the street, and an overturned pine tree. Every building across the street had holes.
“Oh, no,” I blurted. “I am so sorry.”
At this, Luucas turned to me. He actually looked amused. “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Mikelis.”
A lead weight plummeted to my stomach. “Why?”
Dad cleared his throat. Marcus gave me a knowing look.
“Didn’t you know?” Luucas said. “Mikelis owns all of Fast Food Row.”
My jaw dropped. Mom started laughing at a box of mint tea.
TWENTY-THREE
I was still gawking at the damage when Rochester SWAT swarmed the coffee shop. Outside, a deep male voice shouted to lay down our weapons. Imme
diately, Lumi’s commanding, high-pitched voice rang out in response, citing Immortal jurisdiction.
I jumped behind Dad. He and Marcus leaned to get a better look outside. Mom ripped open a bag of tea and dropped it into a paper cup. Luucas shot me an irritated look and headed for the door.
“Wait!” I said. “What should I do?”
“Leave the keys on the counter and let Mikelis drive you home. You’ve done enough.” Luucas held up his hands and stepped outside, shouting out his name and title and that the situation was under control.
“Am I going to be in trouble?” I asked.
Marcus turned to face me and lifted an intrigued eyebrow. I saw dollar signs and a high-profile trial in his eyes.
Dad shook his head. “No, but I doubt Luucas will be able to divert local law enforcement. I will need to use my authority as a Council member.” He gave me a long look. “I will have to explain our relationship. Everyone will know about you.”
I knew I didn’t have a right to be unhappy, especially after I blew up an entire block. But I still was.
Mom wandered over with her cup of tea, softly humming a tune I remembered from my childhood. I didn’t know what it was; I just remembered hearing it a lot. I took her hand.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
She gazed at me over the rim of her cup. Cognizance glimmered in her eyes; at first, it was a small spark, but it grew to fullness as she searched my face. Her cup came away from her mouth and she glanced around the room at each of us. Her attention landed on Henri. She almost seemed her usual self again.
“You lived,” she said to him, clearly surprised. “I did not expect that outcome. Consider yourself fortunate. Diaco would not have been pleased if you had taken her to Ruairí. You would not have gotten far—or remained in one piece.”
Henri blanched. I tried not to visualize Dad separating Henri’s body.
Dad walked over and took Mom’s hand. He kissed my temple. “Mikelis is waiting outside.”
“I suggest the back door,” Marcus said. “Several news crews are in the front, waiting to catch a glimpse of the ‘Coffee Shop Terrorist’.”
I made a note to add that title to my business card.
