Tale of the Necromancer by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

23

Maggie hadn’t hadthe wherewithal to be terribly social for the two weeks following Harry’s…uh…re-death. She hadn’t wanted to stay in Hawaii, either. After saying goodbye to Rinne and Ally, she caught the next plane off the island and went home.

Home-ish, anyway.

First, she went to France. Wandering around the museum that was once her childhood home, she had to keep her tears to herself. It made the tour guides uncomfortable. Standing in front of a tufted bench she remembered sitting on and reading fairytales to young Henri and the other children, though, she found herself lost in her bittersweet memories.

Henri the Third had apparently lived a wild goddamn life. The flamboyant boy had briefly been the King of France, holding lavish and crazy parties, kept an entourage of male lovers, and eventually wound up being assassinated.

Wild, but brief. All of the children she remembered had died young, leaving Catherine de Medici as de facto Queen of France for most of her life. Bitch. Oh, well. Couldn’t be helped.

She supposed she could raise Medici from the grave just to give her a talking-to, but there wasn’t a point. Besides, that grudge was well and truly over.

There was a strange kind of closure, though, walking the halls of her old home. She took the tour several times over the course of a week, giving the staff some kind of line about how she was researching family lines, and she was distantly related to King Henri the Second. It was mostly true.

She even visited his grave, knowing the carved sarcophagus was empty. But it was nice to see his face again, even if it was made of marble. But after a while, the portraits and the furniture didn’t hold any sway over her anymore, and she left.

And traveled to the next spot in her past that she knew she had to see again.

The castle in Germany.

Hiscastle.

It had taken her several weeks to figure out where it was—or rather, what was left of it. What she remembered of its towering spires and vast halls were now crumbling bits of foundation and overgrown weeds on the jagged remains of rock walls.

She did a bit of research and found out that it had burned to the ground in 1561. She knew it hadn’t been by accident. Sitting down on a boulder, she looked out over the mountain range beyond the valley on which the castle had once stood. She could see the spot where she’d jumped and fallen to her first death.

Opening her bag, she reached in to grab the sandwich she’d packed. The ruins were a bit of a hike from the road, now part of a national park. Well, half a sandwich, anyway. Algernon had already gotten into the other half and was munching away on the crust of what was left. He jumped from the bag, dragging his food with him, and sat down on in a sunny spot on the stone beside her.

He loved anywhere that was warm. Made sense. He had no body heat of his own.

It felt weird, being out in the world by herself, her familiar notwithstanding. With Harry gone, it left her alone to her thoughts more than she liked. But she was supposed it was good for her. This was the time she needed to sort things out, wasn’t it? All this closure?

But it didn’t feel right.

Not really.

Something was missing. She frowned. No, not something. Someone.

Picking up her phone, she took a picture of the ruins of the castle whose name had even been lost to time, and, surprised that she had cell signal, texted it to a number she briefly had debated deleting, but then realized she needed it for more reasons than one.

She followed it with “The old stomping grounds definitely have looked better.”

Three dots began to cycle, then stop. Then cycled, then stopped. Then cycled, then stopped. Maggie laughed, fishing out a soda from her bag, as she watched a visual depiction of someone struggling for words.

Then finally, a message came through.

Gideon: I think it’s an improvement.

It’d been nearly a year since she left Boston. In all that time, she hadn’t heard a peep from him. Her cellphone bill was always paid, and there was always space on her credit card. It was so strange seeing his name on her phone.

Stranger still that she was smiling.

She wrote back. “I miss Harry.”

Gideon: “I know. I’m sorry.” A pause, and then three dots appeared and disappeared as he clearly grappled with something. Then, the dots went away, and nothing came through.

She frowned. “What?”

Gideon: “Are you all right?”

The poor bastard had been afraid to ask her how she was doing. She supposed that was fair. They hadn’t parted on explosive terms by any means, but it still hadn’t exactly been smooth. For all he knew, she had decided she hated him. Knowing his mopey ass, that was probably what he assumed.

Did she hate him?

No. She should. She really, really should.

But she didn’t.

Clicking the little image she had uploaded onto her phone to represent him—a screen shot of a Nazgul from the Lord of the Rings movies, she hit “call.” It rang for a split second before he picked up. Silence.

She smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

More silence. She looked down at her lap, picking at the rat-chewed-through edge of the Ziploc bag her sandwich had been in. “I’m all right. I mean. I guess I’m great, actually. Here I am, being the world’s most powerful necromancer, going where I want, making spooky friends, doing whatever I want. But…”

“But?”

I’m doing it without you. And it feels so empty sometimes. She wasn’t ready for that. She took a sharp left turn in the conversation to avoid that particular pothole. “Rinnie and Ally got married. They officially quit the Order after we learned you and Gabe were in cahoots. Oh, by the way, fuck you for that.”

“Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “It was necessary to impart a sense of urgency to the whole ordeal, and, well.” He paused. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you again.”

“Was that the last of it?”

“It was, I promise.”

“I get why you did it. I don’t like it, but I get why. And of all the bullshit you’ve pulled, that’s probably the most harmless lie you’ve told.”

“Thank…you?”

She smirked. “And besides, honestly, Gabe’s a nice guy. I like him. We met up for drinks a few weeks ago near the Vatican. They won’t let me within a mile of the grounds, though.” She snickered. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Couldn’t possibly begin to fathom.”

Silence reigned again for a moment as they sat there, each not sure what to say. She took a sip of her soda, glad she had something to fidget with. She started twisting the little metal pull-tab around in a circle. “I went home. Weird to see it as a museum now. I remember sitting in the chairs, running around the halls, knocking things off tables. Fuck, I’ve probably broken a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of antiques in my life. It’s a weird thought.”

“Being ageless like we are is a strange thing to adapt to. I once saw some random pieces of my mail featured in a glass case at the Smithsonian.” He chuckled. “It was unnerving, bizarre, and vaguely offensive. The letters weren’t even interesting.”

She laughed. “God damn, I didn’t even think about that. I bet I’ve got a dress on a mannequin somewhere. Shit.”

“Why did you go to the castle?”

“I don’t know, honestly. Closure? Curiosity?” She looked out over at the ruins again. “I guess I expected to feel that tragedy all over again. To feel like I did the night I jumped.”

“And?”

“And I don’t. I just feel…I don’t know. Not what I expected. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that, to me, I just remembered that part of my past, and now it’s nothing but rubble.” She was rambling a bit, but it felt cathartic. “The village is gone, too. It’s just a field. Time moved on, and my head is still struggling to catch up.”

“You’re adjusting to the reality of your existence. Grappling with these changes is what it means to be immortal. How you chose to handle it will decide what you become.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some creatures like us become tyrants—seeking to control the world around them in a desperate attempt to keep it from changing. Some, like me, are prone to occasional meddling, but are mostly peaceful observers. Most withdraw completely, choosing to become recluses in lieu of watching time whiz by them.”

“I’m afraid to make mortal friends, I won’t lie. Gabe and Rinnie are going to die someday.”

“Just try not to think of mortals as pets. That’s another trap we fall into.” She heard glassware tinking in the background. He was probably mixing himself a drink. She didn’t blame him. “Toying with creatures that will die before us or adopting them like a cat or a dog. Humans aren’t lesser than us.”

“Never said they were.”

“In another hundred years or two, you might need a reminder.” It sounded like he was smiling. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

She paused, before finally admitting the truth out loud and to herself in one fell swoop. “Yeah. You, too.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she broke the pull tab of her soda and toyed with the piece of stamped aluminum, enjoying how it felt when she dug it under her nail. “Um.”

He stayed quiet.

This was her call. Her decision. And she was so very, very grateful for that. “You still in Boston? ’Cuz I’m craving clam chowder, or a lobster roll, or fried clams, or something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying eating my weight in schnitzel and pretzels, but I could go for some seafood.”

“Union Oyster House?”

“Meh. Barking Crab? I know you clash with the décor, being all fancy-pants and all, but Algernon likes to play with the harbor rats.” She chuckled. “Even if they are four times his size.”

“I’ll dress down.”

The hope in his voice was killing her. It wrenched something inside her heart, and it was only then she realized that…the tone in her own voice matched his perfectly. She shut her eyes.

She wanted to forgive him.

But she should hate him. “What day is it? Shit, I need to get a job. I’m losing all track of time.”

He laughed. “I’d claim that as another symptom of immortality, but I’m afraid that’s just what happens when no one keeps you to a schedule. It’s Tuesday.”

“Friday night, maybe? Gives me enough time to sleep off the jetlag.”

“Friday night. Seven. I’ll make a reservation.”

“I don’t think they take reservations.”

“Have you forgotten who I am? Wave enough money at anybody’s face, and they’ll change the rules for you.”

That made her laugh. “Good. I thought you were about to say you were going to kill the host and make him your revenant just to get us in.”

“Well, I could. But that just seems a bit excessive.”

“Look at you, learning restraint in your old age.”

His indignant tone was still playful. “I beg your pardon. I am not old.” He paused. “All right, very well, but I’m hardly the oldest.”

“Age isn’t judged by comparison, buddy.” She tucked her trash into her bag. She’d eat her sandwich on the walk back to the car.

“Yes, yes.” Another beat passed between them. “Thank you, Marguerite.”

“For what?”

“For this. I thought I would never hear your voice again.”

“Melodrama,” she warned, still teasing him. “Your soul is stuck in my body. Kinda hard to fuck off for the rest of time without talking. The world isn’t that big.”

“You’re capable of anything when you put your mind to it.”

“Flatterer.”

“Always.”

Plopping Algernon onto her shoulder, she started back toward her rental car. The path she took was both foreign and familiar. She remembered that night she spent running through the woods, terrified of the monster that had married her.

Now she was a monster, too.

And maybe that was okay.

She smiled. “Friday at seven it is.”