Necromancing the Stone Page 6

  Douglas placed a hand on James’s shoulder. “I know.”

  An unspoken phrase hung between them both: You are all I have. Neither of them had ever said it, not once in all their time together. But they both knew it was true. People had floated in and out of Douglas’s life, but James was the only one who’d stuck.

  Though it was warm and pleasant outside, the air inside the mausoleum was chill and quiet. James cleared his throat. “The coin should help you find what you’re looking for, at any rate.”

  Douglas held the Stygian coin up for a better look. Remarkable. “Are you sure it wasn’t where I’d left it? In the china figurine in the music room?”

  James shook his head, his silver eyes cloudy. “Empty. It’s somewhere in the house, I assume. Perhaps you moved it at some point and forgot?”

  “Not likely. That’s not the sort of thing one misplaces.”

  “I can’t see it the way you can. It would be best for you to look—more efficient that way.” James pursed his lips. “Are you absolutely positive that you need it?”

  “Yes. The coin is nice, but it’s more of a temporary measure. I need the egg to be completely restored. Besides, it wouldn’t do for anyone else to get ahold of it. Consequences of a dire nature and all that.” Douglas let the Stygian coin drop against his shirtfront. “Ask around—carefully. Maybe the gnomes found it and did something with it. Don’t let on what it’s for. I don’t want them thinking they have something to barter with.”

  “Lovely. If those little barbarians got it, then it could be anywhere.”

  “Just don’t let him find it,” Douglas said, his hand resting on James’s shoulder.

  James made a noise. “Even if he did, he wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  7

  SMOKE ON THE WATER

  I unbuttoned the top of my shirt as I looked at the Tongue & Buckle. I wasn’t used to button-up shirts. I only owned two. The one I had on was new, a gift from my sister. Just thinking about her made my fingers worry nervously at the next button. The shirt was black, short-sleeved with tiny little skulls on the pocket. On the back, a Day of the Dead style Virgin Mary. Haley has a wicked sense of humor.

  James didn’t insist on much, but he did insist on dressing up for meetings. Ridiculous, since one of the members had a hard time wearing pants. Wait, what was I thinking? James insisted on tons of things. I undid another button.

  “You’re one away from a nice seventies look.” Sean put his feet up on the dash.

  “I’d need chest hair for that. And gold chains.”

  “True.” He leaned farther back into the passenger seat, if that was even possible. Sean, at least, never bitched about my Subaru. “You know, you’re going to have to go in eventually. And the longer you wait, the longer you’re in those clothes.”

  I flicked a piece of lint off the black slacks James had dug up for me. He’d grunted at inspection. That grunt probably meant he’d be taking me shopping soon. Or it might have been directed at my Cons. You never knew. He needed to cut me some slack. My last job had been flipping burgers. You didn’t buy dress shoes for a job like that. With a job like that, you couldn’t even afford dress shoes. Or clothes. You couldn’t afford anything, really.

  Sean looked over at the pub. “What did Groucho Marx say about being aware of any job that requires new clothes?”

  “The quote is that we should ‘beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,’ and it’s Thoreau, not Groucho Marx.”

  “Oooh, listen to you. ‘It’s Thoreau.’ Well, we didn’t all go to college for a quarter.”

  “I went for a year, not a quarter, and shut up.” I stared at the door with him. I wished Sean could go in with me. Backup might be nice, but it had been explained to me that taking in a bodyguard was a sign of weakness. It meant that I didn’t trust the group. It also meant that I didn’t think I was as strong as they were. Of course, I did feel that way, but the important thing was not to show it.

  “Groucho, Thoreau, whatever.”

  “Don’t you have tutors at the Den?”

  “Yup. That doesn’t mean I pay attention to them.”

  “Fair enough.” I opened the door. “Don’t wait up.”

  “My entire job right now is to wait up.”

  I shut the door and headed for the bar.

  *

  Zeke looks like a bodyguard. He’s huge—a mass of muscle and sinew. He’d break my neck if I tried, but I’m pretty sure you could actually grate cheese off his abs. Not that I wanted to know about his abs, but his shirt was so tight I could make them out, and he’s a lot taller than me, which makes them hard to miss. I had a sudden image of him using his abs to grate my face. Unpleasant.

  And yet, for some reason, Zeke seemed afraid of me. I couldn’t figure it out. I had slipped on the light suit jacket that went with the pants, and it flared out as I spread my arms for my pat down. Then I shucked off my Cons so he could inspect those, too. Zeke was thorough. He waved me on, then reluctantly pulled out one of the old wooden chairs for me to sit in so I could put my shoes back on. I nodded thanks as I tied my laces. Everything, with the exceptions of the staff and patrons, looked stained with age and use, giving the pub a strangely cozy feeling. If I ever got over my nervousness about coming to meetings, I might really like the Tongue & Buckle.

  My shoes were tied, and I couldn’t delay anymore. It was time to join the rest of the Council.

  The meetings took place in the back room of the bar at a giant curved table. I grabbed an empty seat next to Brannoc, which is where I usually sat, because he was the one person I knew. He smiled at me—more welcoming than the greeting I got from Kell. The vampire didn’t like me much. From what I gathered, it had something to do with Kell being dead and me being the mayor of Zombieville. I didn’t know too much about it. As soon as I could think of a polite way to bring up Kell’s potential enslavement via necromancy, I’d ask. Until then, I just tried to be nice.

  The Council is a motley crew. It’s composed of me, Brannoc, Kell, a satyr named Pello, a witch named Ione, a fury named Ariana, and Aengus, the bartender. I wasn’t entirely sure yet what category Aengus fell into, or what a fury was exactly, besides what I’d read in Greek mythology. Overall, a very intimidating group. I guess that’s kind of the point.

  We didn’t have a whole lot of stuff to deal with this time. Petitions to move into or out of the area, mostly. I got roped into accompanying Pello and Kell to a meeting with a representative of the local sea folk. I wasn’t really sure what that entailed. I hadn’t even known we had an underwater contingent.

  I ordered a soda from the bar during the break. While I waited for it, I sat on the stool and stared down at my coaster. What the hell was I doing? I had no idea what the other members of the Council were even talking about half the time, and I couldn’t ask them any questions because, once again, it was another thing that would make me look weak. How the hell was I supposed to help anyone, when I didn’t even know what was going on? I spun the coaster in a circle. I was so screwed.

  Brannoc slid into the seat next to me and ordered a beer. “How you holding up?”

  I let the coaster go, watching it fall and settle onto the bar. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I have no idea what I’m doing.” I rested my chin in my hand. “I’m still trying to figure out how this whole thing works.”

  Brannoc handed Aengus money in exchange for the beer. “And you’re afraid you might screw it up.”

  I nodded and put a straw in my soda. “There has got to be someone better qualified for this position.”

  Brannoc took a sip of his beer. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m going to get someone hurt.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “but when you’re in a position of power, that’s always a possibility. People rely on your choices, and sometimes the outcome of those choices isn’t favorable and someone suffers because of it. That’s life.” He put his beer
down. “A good leader learns from those mistakes. He doesn’t quit out of fear of them.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, you did, but that’s okay—your fear is natural. What you have to remember, Sam, is that there is always someone who knows more than you, or is stronger than you, but that doesn’t always mean that they are better qualified.”

  “That actually sounds like the definition of better qualified.”

  Aengus came up to us and wiped the bar with a rag. “Whining, though more acceptable from youth, is no less unbecoming.”

  I frowned at him. “I wasn’t trying to whine.”

  “Then you were accomplishing it quite well without even making an attempt.” He left to pull a beer for somebody else.

  Sometimes I hate it when people are right. “Sorry,” I said.

  Brannoc shrugged. “The person you were describing—more power, more knowledge—could be Douglas.”

  I grimaced.

  “I know,” Brannoc said, “but it makes my point. I encourage you to continue to learn and push yourself, but knowledge and power don’t make you good at this, not on their own.”

  I had a hard time picturing myself as the best suited for anything at all. What did I know about being a member of the Council? The last job I had involved a spatula and a name tag. “Then what does?”

  “Caring about the people asking you for help, trying to do your best by them, and putting them before your own wants and needs. That is the kind of person who should be on the Council.”

  I glowered at him. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  Brannoc laughed and clapped me on the back. For a brief second, he reminded me of Sean. “If I was just trying to make you feel better, I’d have encouraged you to run while you still could.”

  “Great,” I said, “now I feel worse.”

  8

  SLOW RIDE

  James avoided looking at Douglas while unpacking the supplies he’d brought. The cabin he was in, though cleaned by a service on a fairly regular basis, had very little actually in it and so had to be stocked with all manner of things that Douglas would need.

  “Usually you discuss changing tactics before you implement new plans,” Douglas said idly, seemingly unconcerned. Something about the way James was handling things was different, and it was niggling at him. Douglas abhorred niggling. A niggle meant he had missed something small, which meant it was easily overlooked and hard to correct. Details can make or break any plan, regardless of size. So he kept picking at the niggle, hoping to find where it led.

  “You left it to my discretion.” James’s gaze never wavered from the cabinet as he organized salt, chalk, and any other thing that needed to be handy. “I understand that you’re anxious to get things moving at a quicker pace, but please remember that you do prize me for my ability to anticipate your wishes.” James threw an icy gaze at the third member of their party—just a quick flicker—before returning to his chore. “It’s an ability I have proved time and time again to be an asset your other assistants lack. Need I remind you of Michael?”

  “You’re right. It’s just that I can’t remember the last time you disobeyed an order,” Douglas said as he watched James shift the items yet again. “I think that cabinet is as orderly as it’s going to get.”

  “You can always kill her later.” When Douglas didn’t immediately nod his head in approval, James shrugged, his face set in a distinct pout.

  “What is the saying? If you keep making that face, it might freeze that way?” James’s sulking always amused Douglas.

  “Fine, you didn’t like how I carried out your errand. But it certainly didn’t warrant your bringing in a replacement.” He waved his hand at their company, currently slouched next to Douglas.

  Douglas patted the head of his new underling sitting at the table. Not his best work, but reliable, and that went a long way. “Oh, come now. We both know he won’t replace you, and you’re being silly to even look at it like that. Remember, right now you technically belong to Sam, and so your ability to answer my beck and call is a bit hampered. After I resurface and claim what is rightfully mine, then of course there will be no need. But until then…” Douglas didn’t expect James to clap or cheer or anything ridiculous like that, but he had expected a small smile, perhaps, or some hint at expectation. Instead he saw only that same frustration and concern.

  James set some more chalk and yet another container of salt on the counter before turning his attention to the new subordinate. “Are you sure Minion won’t draw undue attention?”

  Minion looked at James, a wooden expression on his face as he contemplated what James had just called him. “My name is—”

  “Your name is Minion while you’re here, and you’ll bloody well like it,” James spat.

  Minion nodded. “I understand.” He turned, his expression still that unreadable blankness. “Master, he makes a good point. People like to take my picture. And won’t I be missed?”

  Douglas rolled his eyes. “Have a little faith. I’m not going to take Minion anywhere he’s going to be seen. As for being missed, I told his people that he was going on some mystical retreat to get in touch with himself or some such nonsense.”

  Minion nodded. “That was wise, Master,” he said slowly. Of course, he said everything slowly, so it was hard for Douglas to tell if this particular utterance was any slower than usual.

  James continued to storm about the kitchen, closing doors a little harder than he needed to, slamming a box of new trash bags and dish soap down on the counter. “Seriously, what did you do wrong with him? It’s like the muscles in his face are frozen. How does he even get work like that?”

  “That’s not fair,” Minion said. “I do plenty of good work.”

  “Please,” James said, “the last good thing you did was My Own Private Idaho. You’re just a guilty pleasure now. An institution of ridiculousness.”

  Minion sulked, or at least Douglas thought he might be sulking. His expression hadn’t changed, but his shoulders appeared to slump a little.

  “Now, now, children, let’s not fight.” He glanced at James. “And don’t mention that movie. That’s when the … accident … happened, and it upsets him. While I don’t really care for his feelings, I’d like him to be functional and useful. Otherwise what’s the point?”

  James crossed his arms. “What kind of moron tries to do that with a bottle of Jäger and a stuffed deer head, anyway?”

  Douglas gave a slight shrug. “I was told it was a cast game of truth or dare that got out of hand. Besides, it was the toaster that really overdid things.”

  Minion nodded somewhat sullenly. “We are but dust in the wind, dudes.” He brightened. “But the Master brought me back so that no one would be deprived of my work. Right, Master?”

  James sneered. “Is that what they told you?” He looked Minion up and down. “And you believed it. Of course you would.” He leaned in, sticking his face up close to his object of ridicule. “I caught a matinee of that movie, and you know what? I couldn’t tell the difference between the scenes when you’re alive and the scenes filmed after the incident.” He gave the last two words air quotes.

  “That’s because Master does such good work,” the zombie returned, a note of blind devotion in his voice.

  James harrumphed and went back to straightening things and preparing the cabin. “Despite having to divide my time, I still think I’m more useful than he is.”

  “Really, James, this behavior is quite unlike you.”

  James didn’t answer. Instead he kept putting away groceries and slamming doors, but his expression lost some of its angry sneer.

  Douglas rested against the counter. “This has nothing to do with Sam’s sister—I simply wanted to have someone around to do legwork for me. I don’t know if he’ll be recognized, but it would be far worse if I was, and it’s easier to explain away a celebrity sighting than if I was seen. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

&
nbsp; James slowed down. “Yes, I can see how that might be a touch awkward.”

  “Exactly. And might I also remind you that you can’t always run off and do things for me, either? Sam might start asking questions.”

  James didn’t meet his eye, but Douglas could see brief flickers of indecipherable emotion on the boy’s face as he thought it through. But he wasn’t a boy anymore, was he? With a shock, Douglas realized that James was acting like a hurt teenager. His kind aged slower than humans, making it possible for them to stay with a family line for generations. Douglas watched as James pushed his hair out of his eyes. Late teens, but pukis or not, the angst and mood swings were certainly there. He felt something in him relax. Of course, that was why James was acting so odd. Stupid of him not to figure it out sooner.

  “What’s your next move, then?”

  Douglas grabbed a fake apple out of Minion’s hand and put it back in the bowl, twisting it so the bite mark was hidden. “Those are wax, Minion.”

  The creature looked confused. “It’s not an apple?”

  “No.” He watched in disgust as Minion spit the wax out onto the floor. “How exactly do you function in Hollywood?”

  James calmly advanced on Minion before he could answer and smacked him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. “Bad Minion! We don’t spit on the floor. Now clean it up.”

  The creature hung its head. “Yes, sir. Sorry,” he added shamefully.

  “I’m beginning to understand why you always say it,” James said with a scowl as he oversaw Minion’s work.

  “Say what?”

  “That good help is hard to find.”

  Douglas nodded. “It is a rather limited commodity, isn’t it?”

  9

  ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST

  When I got home from the Council meeting—and after I had accompanied Kell and Pello to a disastrous meeting with our underwater contingent—Ramon and I finally got to break in the new half-pipe. He also got to break in a new skateboard, a welcome-home gift from me. The last one had met an unfortunate end while trying to save my hide. I didn’t do anything fancy—I’m not the best on a board. Ramon is, though. When I needed a break, I sat in the grass and watched him go, twisting and turning in the floodlights we had up, and I realized how lucky I was to see that again. As guilty as I felt for complicating Ramon’s life, it could have been worse, and it could have been just me on that half-pipe.