Talia's Bodyguard

by Lisa Daniels

  I did accidentally have an advance class on taking over someone else’s spawns, she thought. Maybe that’s why it’s happening. Maybe he realizes I’m strong enough to handle whatever it is the magic requires. And just to ego boost herself some more, she noted with silent glee that her father had never claimed to take someone else’s magic. Regardless of the fact that he might have simply never been in a position where he needed to.

  “I won’t,” he said, and her hopes were dashed to the floor, just like that. “But your sister will be.”

  Now she perked up a little again. “Rosen? She’ll be teaching?” But with the knowledge came trepidation. “Wait. You’re not still hoping I’m going to join the police, are you?” She knew Rosen barely had any time to do anything, due to all the murders she had to attend, speaking to dead people and all that. Very busy stuff. She also disliked talking to their father, because he always insisted on attempting to parade her around the place to get interviews. Showing off how successful she was, how important she was in the framework of the detective police force.

  Meanwhile, Talia sat there with mild sibling envy, except not really, because she did love Rosen—it just sometimes felt obvious who was favored.

  “No. She’s taking time off,” he said, in a manner that suggested it was impertinent of her to drag Rosen off the police force, like she had somehow caused this, though of course she’d done nothing of the sort.

  “Oh.” She glanced at Janos, who was standing behind her, hands clasped behind his back, staring impassively at some fixed point in the scenery. “That’s, um, nice.”

  “You better appreciate this. Your… bodyguard said that it was important that you begin to learn better the limits of your abilities. In case something like the university incident happens again. He makes a compelling case, to say the least.”

  There was a faint smugness about Janos that made her want to slap it off him. But at the same time, a small surge of gratefulness emerged, since he’d been the one to suggest it.

  It made sense that she needed help, but a part of her wondered if Janos had arranged this especially because he knew that she wanted to learn.

  “Oh, I will. Maybe I can even help her when she goes to the morgue,” Talia said, though she didn’t like the gleam that entered her father’s eyes then. Probably he thought it would spark an interest in the profession. “When will she be training me?” And I could just message her myself…

  “She’ll be training you starting from tomorrow. We’ll make the most of your temporary suspension.”

  Talia thanked her father, but left the office with a rather sour feeling in her gut. A man entered the room just after her, and she saw that he had one of those big, professional cameras. Well, that explained why her father had gone for the bow tie today, even though he usually preferred to do without. It made him look even more stiff and formal than usual, and that was saying something.

  Outside, Janos fell into casual step beside her. “I was just thinking of something,” he said, in the kind of tone that suggested that ignoring him wouldn’t work.

  “Yes?” It annoyed her to have to prompt him, instead of wait.

  “How exactly can I deal with an attack on you if it’s committed by a necromancer? Tell me that. Because when I tried to defend you the other day, it was worse than useless. Since every injury I inflicted upon the creatures just got mended. I suspect even if you tear their head off, it won’t matter, will it?”

  “Well, it can still attack despite that,” Talia confirmed, appreciating Janos’ predicament. Nothing worse for a bodyguard than finding out they’re incapable of protecting the person they’re supposed to protect. “But there is a use in attacking them if you can’t find the summoner in question. When you break the bones, separate body parts and all that, it costs more magic for them to heal themselves. So you’re making the enemy run out of magic faster. Actually,” she added, now thoughtful, “maybe that was why I was able to take control easier than expected. Because you were mauling them, and I suppose other people were trying to injure them as well… and the summoner raised more corpses. The power gets spread thinner with the more you have.” She frowned. “They don’t seem so smart, do they?”

  “Smart enough,” Janos growled. “To create fear and distrust in you. And even though you took over control, people can say ‘why not sooner?’ Or even ‘it was a trick in an attempt to create sympathy’. You’ll be surprised at how far people like to go to reinforce their own world views.”

  “Oh...” Talia rubbed her face, suddenly tired. “Yeah, there’s that, too.”

  Janos seemed marginally more cheered to find out that he could still contribute, even if the enemy necromancer sent undying corpses in their direction. Talia smiled at his increased positivity and went to collect bones from the pet cemetery again, taking them to her room and reluctantly inviting Janos inside.

  “Still want to practice, even if I’m receiving formal training tomorrow,” she said. “Build up stamina and all that.”

  “Hmph,” he said, his bright yellow eyes narrowed in distaste. He could find it as distasteful as he liked—the magic was a part of her, whether the both of them liked it or not.

  Again, she searched for that rotten old soul—and felt a small jolt of fear when she realized that it was nowhere to be found. It should have been within the vicinity. The Other Side, when she pressed into it, turned gray and cold around her, as if the world had become sepia and dust. She ventured so far into it this time that all the colors bled away, and Janos turned into a floating white light—the presence of his soul in the material world, the world of the living. The Other Side, with all its spectral delights, its phantasms, lured her in. White, willing souls drifted, and murky, hostile souls blurred together.

  The deeper she went, as well, the faster her energy drained, as it took enormous effort to dig into the minerals of the realm of the dead. When she waded into a world that was completely monochrome, the momentary silence and peace it brought soon became saturated with a sense of dread.

  The black and white version of her bedroom had black souls. One of them drifted towards her, billowing with malevolence, and her heart rate increased. Her throat dried, and in a panic, she attempted to wrench herself out of the lower levels.

  “Little one,” the black spirit whispered. “Don’t you want to join us? Don’t you want to hear our tale? Oh, please don’t go. We have so much to say to you...”

  The words sounded like the last attempts of someone to speak before they died—a continuous death rattle.

  “No need to panic...” The black soul reached out with an indistinct, blurry hand, and seized the front of her essence, dousing it in sheer cold. With a gasp, she stumbled backwards—and straight out of the deepest levels, clawing upwards, where the world around her restored itself to color, and the dancing of Janos’ soul acted like a beacon.

  She clawed herself out, but sensed something was still wrong. That she wasn’t alone. So she wasted no time saying to Janos’ startled expression, “I think I fucked up.”

  “How so?”

  “I, uh, I couldn’t find the nasty soul I fished out last time. So I thought to test my powers by going a little deeper instead.”

  Never, ever go into the depths of the Other Side, her father had said once. Even the strongest of necromancers fear it. And rightly so. For there are things within those depths that are beyond our control. Beyond our ability to subdue.

  Her father had also warned her off grabbing hostile souls, and never mentioned about taking over control from another necromancer. So she believed, convinced herself on a level, that she’d be fine. He didn’t know her limits. He wouldn’t bother to ever test her limits.

  “And… why is that bad?”

  “Well… my father said there’s really dangerous souls down there. Ones you don’t want to mess with. I didn’t try summoning one, of course. I’m not crazy. But… I think one hitched a ride back with me.”

  Janos was about to add something else,
probably along the lines of scorn and accusations about her lack of responsibility, but the bones that belonged to her cat began to shiver.

  Without her permission.

  The cat’s bones assembled, and within its hollow sockets came an eerie red glow. Not the blue she was so used to. Red. Like blood, or a setting sun’s sky…

  Instantly, Janos reached out to grab the cat, his entire hand wrapping around the bones of Willow’s small frame. She’d been a little bit of a runt in real life.

  The red eyes regarded him. Talia desperately slammed all of her energy into dismissing the creature, which she suspected with a sort of gibbering sense of horror inside her to be a revenant—a malevolent spirit that burned with a corrupting hatred. Worse than what even the most hostile soul could offer.

  The red glimmered and faded, and the bones crumbled in Janos’ hand, most falling to the floor. But something still felt wrong, somehow. As if it hadn’t truly left.

  “Is it… gone?” Janos delicately collected the bones, and a small stab of affection went through her fear, her foreboding.

  “I think so,” she said cautiously, not wanting to worry him with her suspicion. That maybe it hadn’t gone away.

  Still, it wasn’t in a body, and she couldn’t directly sense it… so it was more likely that her mind was playing up the ordeal. Thinking of things not quite there.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Janos scolded, his eyes narrowing and the hint of fur on his face and hand now fading back into pink flesh.

  “I won’t,” Talia said, though she knew she probably would do something like that again.

  “You should wait for your sister. If I see you attempt one more thing,” he said, growling, “then I will make sure to stop you in your tracks.”

  That was a warning that set her on edge. “You can’t stop me if I want to.”

  “I can,” he said. “If you delve for something like that again, and it goes wrong, then I suspect bad things will happen. So I’m also staying in your bedroom tonight.”

  “No!” Talia’s mouth dropped open. “No fricking way. You’re not going to stay in my bedroom. I only have one bed. No sofa. And you’re—you’re a man!” she added, now entering an entirely different sort of panic. Janos listened to her excuses remorselessly, as unmoving as stone, and reinforced his former statement.

  No matter how hard she protested, he stuck to his guns, and that was that. She spluttered more about the one-bed thing, a wild, awful idea entering her head that he’d leap into her bed, take up all the room and shove her off, or, or… well, the other thing.

  That usually occurred between men and women in bed. Which she hadn’t seriously given thought to until that moment. It added an extra layer of desperation to her protests, because the last thing she wanted was to picture her bodyguard in any kind of compromising scenario.

  When the night came, to her immense relief, he chose instead to sleep upon the floor—though he’d left her guessing the entire time, not explaining how he intended to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Locking the door didn’t help when he left, because again, it seemed to mysteriously not be locked when he went through it. Was he jimmying the lock somehow? Because she could swear to god that the lock was fine when she touched it.

  Maybe werewolves had the ability to magically open locks with the power of their minds or something.

  She struggled to get to sleep that night, all too aware of his presence upon the floor, seeing that silent, slumbering, furred form, with his chest rising up and down in sleep. But a light sleep, she was sure, because when she made the slightest of movements to leave her bed, his ears twitched, and his body shifted… causing her to scramble back in and tug the covers completely over her.

  He most likely would notice the movement, but hopefully didn’t plan to go over and inspect her. That’d be mortifying. When she did eventually go to sleep, she woke up hours later, mind troubled from dreams, remembering each one as clear as day.

  She dreamed she was being watched by something old and evil, but it had yellow eyes, like the ones of Janos. She dreamed of that bipedal wolf storming towards her, mouth slavering in anticipation of a kill, nose sniffing out her scent, because somehow she’d cut herself—the kind of cut upon the finger that bled profusely, despite it being so small and almost insignificant. Lastly, she dreamed of that necromancer sending thousands upon thousands of spirits after her university, and no matter how many she tried to steal off them, she didn’t have enough power to keep them all at bay, so she had to watch, helplessly, as they slaughtered all her friends, and watch as Janos fell under a huge pile, fighting for his life until his body twitched and fell still.

  It was… awful, to say the least. All of it so crystal clear, and she had to check on where Janos was sleeping, only to find he wasn’t there at all. Another brief onslaught of panic hit her, before Janos walked through the door, clean-shaven, shiny fresh as if he’d dipped himself in cleansing water. Which he probably had.

  “Morning,” he said, and she noted he had a little nick on his chin where he had gone awry with the razor.

  “Morning,” she replied, glad he hadn’t been slaughtered like she’d seen in her dream. She thought for a moment about telling him, but decided at the last second not to. No sense making him worry further, after all. Both of them had enough on their plates without worrying about the bothersome aspects of a dream.

  Everyone dreamed, after all. Everyone had nightmares. The brain had a way of rehashing the greatest hits of all her worries and fears in dream form.

  “What’s your sister like?” He seemed almost wistful saying that.

  “I don’t know anymore,” she said. “But Rosen used to have to babysit me a lot when we were younger. She’s very responsible… very driven and determined. Maybe even a little cold. But you know that you’re in safe hands around her.” Not too dissimilar to him, Talia thought then. Since he’s driven and determined to be responsible, too. It makes me feel like a child. And I resent it.

  “Sounds like your father,” he said. “He seems very distant but responsible as well.”

  “She’s nothing like him,” Talia blurted. “She’s far nicer than him. She stuck around me when my own father didn’t.” Talia was remembering how Rosen had insisted she’d never turn out like their father, since for all his kindness, he was lacking something in the emotion department. Something that their mother had felt and loathed, given that both her parents lived separately now, only maintaining a media presence when required, but otherwise doing their own things. Both were necromancers. Easier for necromancers to find acceptance in each other than to try and seek it from strangers or those suspicious of them.

  Marlene lived now in the Bahamas, taking regular flights back, always stating she was doing business… though, of course, now that her father was under a spotlight, people scrutinized the dynamics of their relationship, having far too much fun trying to describe it in ways that made someone think of necromancers.

  “I see. You get on well with her, then?”

  Do I? “We’ve not really spoken… in a while. So I can’t really say.” I didn’t want to be reminded of how successful she was, what an amazing job she had, so respectable and showing how much we contribute to society…

  “Sibling envy, I bet,” he said sagely. “I’ve an older brother myself. And a couple of cousins, both older than me. I had a lot to live up to as well, though we run a private family agency. Polishing our reps as the best werewolf guards in the private sector. We’re big names in the other states, but we haven’t broken into Samhain yet. It has its own established businesses. But my family,” he said, now twisting his lips into an ironic smile, “they’re the best. We have to be the best. So imagine what happens when you don’t get top marks, you’re a little on the skinny side, you didn’t get selected to be a prefect like everyone else who went to Elmbark private school… people don’t really expect much of you.”

  She gaped at him for a moment, unable to imagine a scenario where he resemb
led a stick insect more than the toned statue she saw in front of her now. And he was tall, intimidating. If he thought himself small, she’d hate to see what the rest of his family looked like.

  “I can’t ever imagine you being skinny,” she replied, giving a rather obvious once-over of his muscles for good measure. “I mean, you’re built like a bulldozer. If I saw you in the street, I’d want to cross to the other side to avoid bumping into you. You’re scary.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t always like this. And even so, I am… smaller than the others in my family. Not by much, but enough so that it remains a sore point when we have those delightful family gatherings. ‘Little Wolf’ has been a staple nickname for me for years.”

  “Ouch,” Talia said sympathetically. “I didn’t realize it’d be like that. I guess werewolves have big families?” At least she didn’t have any demeaning nicknames. Her sister had called her Tal, though her parents insisted on her full name, and often the surname, too, because they were clearly proud of it. Talia Grieve. Her lips pursed slightly. It felt like her name screamed out the magic holstered within her, and she didn’t enjoy the prospect of introducing her full name and watching people connect the dots.

  We don’t really grieve the dead, though, do we?

  “It is common among our kind, yes. Our females gestate a little quicker than human ones, so families tend to pop out faster. Five months,” he said, at Talia’s unspoken question. “Though we come out smaller as a result. Commonly in twos and threes, too. My mother only had two, though.” His jaw suddenly clamped shut, and Talia stared at him, sensing a bigger story there.

  “Does your mother want more children? Or…?” She left it hanging, waiting for him to fill the silence. But he’d gone as cold as the grave. Shutting down on her, when previously, he’d felt warm, open, willing to discuss things.

  “My mother… she’s not around anymore.”