Necromancing the Stone Page 7

  I climbed into bed after that and settled down into my blankets, thinking the whole time how great it was going to be to do this in a new bed. With a new mattress. Maybe with Brid in it. Heaven.

  My phone went off at some point. I didn’t know what time it was, only that it was still dark and I was exceptionally groggy. I answered with a curse.

  “Sam?” My name came out as more of a sob than a question. It took me a second to recognize the voice as Brid’s. I wasn’t used to hearing her cry.

  “Brid? What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Late-night phone calls are never good, especially if someone is crying on the other end of the line. Panic chased away the last remnants of sleep, and I sat up and got out of bed, trying to talk to Brid while I searched for my pants. I knew there was no way this conversation was going to end with me going quietly back to bed.

  “My dad.” I couldn’t understand anything after that. Just sobs and mumbled words. I heard howling in the background. The sad, mournful sound of it crawled up my spine.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said. And then she hung up. I was left in the darkness alone, except for the growing pain in my chest. I felt a little like howling myself.

  *

  My Subaru station wagon, though a fine and practical vehicle, was not built for speed. Douglas’s old Mercedes-Benz Coupe, however, was. With James at the wheel, his driving gloves on and his manner relaxed in a way that told me he was indifferent to the speedometer, I was starting to understand how this car had once been envisioned as a racecar. Even though we were traveling mind-screamingly fast, I was willing the car to move faster. The downside to the Coupe is that it seats only two people. Ramon was trailing behind us, clinging to the back of Sean’s motorcycle. I couldn’t imagine going that fast on a bike. Of course, if the boys crashed, they would probably get up and walk away. I would have to be scraped off the asphalt with a spatula.

  We had left Frank at home. I didn’t think it was a good idea to bring a fragile human amongst upset werewolves. The fact that I was just as fragile didn’t give me any comfort.

  It usually takes about thirty minutes to reach the Den. James made it in fifteen. He slowed the car as we pulled into the parking area of the large cabin. I looked up at the house that was usually so welcoming. I felt none of that warmth now. The motorcycle slid in noisily behind us. Sean didn’t even come to a full stop before he jumped off the bike and ran to the house. Ramon caught it, barely, and set the kickstand. Then, with him and James by my side, I walked up to the Den.

  The front door hung open, and the entryway was quiet. I shouted hello, but no one answered. I’d never seen the Den quiet or empty. It was both now. Ramon placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “They’re in the woods,” he said. Before the words were even out of his mouth, Sean was sprinting toward the edge of the forest.

  I glanced at him.

  “It’s a were thing. Trust me.”

  I felt James move to my side, turning with all of us to look at the trees. “We better get there fast,” he said. “I don’t think they’re going to hold together long.”

  “I don’t blame them.” I squinted at the tree line. It was still dark and clear, but I couldn’t see much past the lights left on in the Den. The night was silent too—no bugs, no birds, even the wind was nonexistent. The quiet was cut by a chorus of mournful howls. “Any idea how far off they are?”

  Ramon was listening and looking just like I had been, but with different results. “A few miles, give or take.”

  “Okay.” Now that I was here I wasn’t entirely sure how I could help. The only thing I did know was that I needed to be a few miles away, in thick, dense forest, and I needed to be there ten minutes ago. “Ramon, you go ahead.”

  He didn’t argue. Instead he took off like Sean had and was at the tree line before I could count to five.

  “You have a plan, Master?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  James gave me a look that clearly said now was not the time.

  “No, I don’t have a plan. You got one?” He didn’t respond. “Pretty please, with sugar on top?” It was the please that did it. Manners appeared to have that effect on James.

  He turned to me and gripped my shoulders. His silver eyes flashed in the moonlight as he looked down at me. “Close your eyes and look.”

  To anyone else, that command might sound contradictory. But I knew what he was talking about. I closed my eyes and opened myself up to the night around me. When I felt centered, I asked, “What am I looking for exactly?”

  “Anything big enough to carry your weight.”

  The Blackthorn land is mostly woods, which makes sense for a people who either turn into wolves or something very close to wolves. With the exception of the Den and a sizable lawn, they keep the area as close to natural as they can. Which means lots of wildlife, which means lots of dead things, whether you like it or not. Needless to say, I wasn’t going to run out of things to raise anytime soon, but as for something big enough to carry my slow human self, well, that was another story.

  I was about to shake my head when I found what I was looking for. I must have relaxed or made some sort of sound, because James said, “You found something.”

  Instead of answering, I jumped down the steps and onto the grass. I started searching the ground for a stick, a big rock, anything I could use to draw a circle into the thick turf. What I was raising probably wouldn’t hurt me, but with raising the dead, the rule “better safe than sorry” wasn’t one you wanted to ignore. James stopped me, thrusting a long silver knife into my view. For a second, in the light of the moon, it looked like Douglas’s knife, and I flinched. The blade that almost took my life. The one I used to take Douglas’s. I hesitated. James made an agitated sound and shoved it into my hands. I relaxed immediately. It wasn’t Douglas’s. And since there was a J carved into the handle, I guessed it was James’s.

  “A gift,” he said. “Part of a matching set. And I want it back.”

  “Thanks.” The blade cut into the earth easily. James took care of his possessions, and besides I wasn’t digging deep. I just needed a circle. As soon as it was done, I stood up and James snatched the knife back. He sliced a small gash into his own arm.

  “You’re going to need your strength,” he said before I could get a word of protest out. He held his arm over the circle and squeezed, forcing his blood to drip down into the earth. There was no more talking after that.

  For a necromancer, blood is like money. In any other situation, I might see the humor in that. But what I mean is, it’s currency. We use it to get Death to lend us an ear. Or in this case, a ride.

  With the blood, I closed my circle and gave a call. Farther off in the field, about three feet underground, I got an answer. And with James’s blood paving the way, I let loose my gift. My power reached out, pulling aside dirt and stone, parting it like the Red Sea. Up came the bones, white bleached things that had been there awhile. They didn’t stay white long. Flesh slid over them, muscles, sinew, skin. Hair grew, and in less time than it takes to order pizza, I had a full-grown bull elk galloping my way.

  If I hadn’t known that the elk was my friend, I would have wet my pants. Between Frank’s love of Animal Planet—or as Brooke likes to call it, the channel where cute things eat other cute things—and my mom’s love of nature, I knew a lot about local wildlife. A male Roosevelt elk stands about five feet at the shoulder and about nine feet when you factor in the giant antlers of death attached to its head. On average they weigh around nine hundred pounds, and you don’t, under any circumstances, stand quietly as one comes charging at you.

  He stopped in front of me and stood, a wall of muscle and elegance. I’d never been this close to one. I touched his nose. If I hadn’t just witnessed his resurrection, I would have sworn he was alive. But he wasn’t. I kept my hand on his nose and scratched under his chin.

  “Hey, Stanley.”

  James came up behind me, wrapping a strip of gauze around
his arm. He’d probably had it in his pocket. He was like one merit badge short of being an Eagle Scout, that’s how prepared he always was.

  “You named it?”

  “Not an it. A he.” I gave him another pat. “It’s human nature to name things.” James glanced at me then, an odd look on his face. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “You better get going.” I nodded assent and had James hoist me up. I’d never been within ten feet of an elk until today, and now I was going to ride one. Sometimes my new life is kind of awesome.

  Elk run really fast. That’s the only thought I managed while I clung to the huge creature as it whipped through the trees. The fur felt coarse and dirty in my hands as I gripped tightly, branches doing their best to unseat me. I pushed Stanley in the direction of the pack. He didn’t want to go, a remnant of his life telling him that he was racing toward not one but many predators. It took lots of soothing words and a bit of a mental push to convince him that the predators would leave him alone. Wolves don’t eat dead things.

  James flew behind us, now in his dragon form, little more than a shiny blur in the corner of my eye. I didn’t dare turn and look at him.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but just based on Brid’s call, I expected the pack to be a mess when I got there. I expected to see them boiling about, a chaos of weltering emotion. And some of them were. Many were openly crying. A few were howling. But all were doing it while they worked.

  The pack was building a pyre.

  I watched for a moment as Bran, his brutally short hair dripping, his muscles covered in more sweat and dirt, yanked a dead log the size of a pony onto the pyre. He didn’t howl. He didn’t make a sound, not even a grunt, as he threw the log. But I could see the tears streaming down his face as he worked—as they all worked. I slid down off Stanley’s back and walked over to Bran.

  He stopped throwing logs as I came closer. One by one, his siblings detached themselves from the mob. Sean had his arm around Brid, offering a comfort and support that was strangely offset by the open fury in his eyes. I don’t think I’d ever seen Sean so serious. Sayer and Roarke stood silently behind them all. Sayer, I’m told, takes after their mother. Darker-haired and gray-eyed, he was quiet, despite his name. His twin, Roarke, favored Brannoc. Brown eyes, brown hair, and at first I made the mistake I think most make—I thought the twins were more like Bran than Sean and Brid. Serious. But then they’d hung out with Sean and me one night, and I realized quickly that I was wrong. They may not say much, and they may not be loud, but I think the twins are the ones responsible for their younger siblings’ sense of humor and genial disposition.

  Oddly enough, it was Bran who hugged me first. He wasn’t a demonstrative man to people who weren’t family. But he squeezed and said, “Thank you for coming,” before setting me back on my feet.

  I gave him the awkward man-pat and said, “Of course.”

  I tried to shake the twins’ hands but they pulled me in for rough hugs too. Sean didn’t even let me make the gesture of a handshake. He was also uncharacteristically silent. Brid tried to speak. She really tried. But she ended up having to shake her head as tears filled her eyes. Then she threw her arms around my neck, crushing me. I held her—I’m not sure how long. She buried her face in my neck and breathed. I felt the wetness of her tears, but she gave no other sign that she was crying. I’d never seen Brid try to restrain emotion before.

  She pulled away and sniffed. “Sam.” She choked on my name and had to start over. Pulling herself up straight, she looked me in the eye. Any trace of her crying was gone. “Samhain Corvus LaCroix: Brannoc, my father and former taoiseach of the Blackthorn pack, has granted you the status of friend. You have performed bravely for us and eaten many times at our table. We hope that this status will continue and only grow in strength.”

  I wasn’t sure what I’d expected Brid to say, but the sudden formality was shocking. And one word stuck out. Former. As in no more. The phone call, the pyre, everything suddenly clicked into place. Brannoc was gone. My gut lurched, and I wished more than anything that I could leave. My heart hurt. And I thought about how I kept losing the people who were important to me and how much that sucked. But all these thoughts were selfish, and that was not the kind of person I wanted to be. That was not the kind of person the pack needed.

  As for Brid’s speech, I wasn’t sure the entire pack would agree with her sentiment. Many of them did not want to see our friendship grow in strength, and they’d pay cash money to never see me eat at their table again. In fact, a good portion would have liked to see me facedown in a ditch. I glanced at James. He nodded slowly. Okay. Apparently that was all I was getting information-wise for the moment.

  “Of course,” I said. “Whatever you need.”

  Brid leaned in and kissed me solemnly on the cheek. When she leaned back, her face was a mask. “What we need is answers, and we’d like you to help us get them. The pack and I would be eternally grateful.” I nodded, and she took my hand, leading me past the pyre and into the trees. Stanley, James, and Brid’s siblings followed. It made for a very strange procession.

  We came to a smaller clearing lit by a few hastily made torches. As I got closer, I saw why. They didn’t want to leave the body of their father, their leader, in the darkness. I let go of Brid’s hand and walked forward. Brannoc did not look peaceful. His body lay sprawled on the grass. I could tell from the blood and the way he was lying that he’d died facedown. He’d crawled a few feet on his belly and then the life left him. Someone had turned him over after that. James came up behind me. Stanley tried to follow, but I sent him to the outer circle to wait.

  “He was a good leader,” James said.

  “He was a good man,” I said. The torchlight flickered over the body. That’s how I had to think about it—the body. If it wasn’t a person, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much. Yeah, right. I dropped my voice, though Brid’s family was distracted enough that they probably weren’t listening. “What’s going on, James?”

  “How do you mean?” he whispered.

  “The sudden formality back there, the stuff Brid said. I feel like I’m missing something.”

  James knelt closer to the body, and I followed suit. “When aren’t you missing something?”

  “Not the time, James.”

  “Sorry, Master.”

  He sounded almost contrite, so I let it go. “I know you understand things better than me. Please.”

  He looked out past the tree line. “They didn’t just lose their father, they lost their leader.”

  “I got that.”

  “Don’t interrupt.”

  “Sorry.”

  He kept going. “Like so many things, you get the immediate problem, but not its implications. Brannoc is dead. The pack has a new leader. Your lady friend is the new taoiseach. That means any diplomatic tie, any pledge to the former clan chief, has to be renewed. She’s the new head honcho, and things are going to change. Lots of things.” He rocked back on his heels. “I imagine the werewolves will be a bit distracted for a while.” He said the last almost to himself.

  “Oh.” I got the feeling I still wasn’t fully getting it. But whatever it was would have to wait. “What exactly do they want me to do?”

  James stood up. “What do you think?” He handed me his knife again, handle first. “At least try and act like you know what you’re doing. You’re making me look bad. If you insist on tarnishing my reputation like this, no one will want me after the pack turns you into bloody confetti.”

  I took the knife.

  I drew a circle around Brannoc’s body, trying not to look too closely at it. I didn’t want to see. But of course, when you don’t want to look at something, that’s exactly when your eyes betray you. He had dirt in his hair. I don’t know why I noticed that, but for some reason, it deeply offended me. I brushed it away. It was wrong for him to be like this. This wasn’t the way people like Brannoc should die. I closed my eyes for a moment, choking on the anger and the sorrow.
I wouldn’t be able to work like this, and the pack desperately needed me to. So I did what I learned to do when my stepfather, Haden, died. I shoved it away into a dark corner of myself. Not gone—it would never be gone—but out of the way so I could function. So I could do what I needed to do. I didn’t have the luxury of mourning right now.

  There was still plenty of blood in the circle. It was damn near a fresh death, but I still added a little of my own to reactivate it. Blood dripped down my arm and splashed onto the ground, covering the dark stain of Brannoc’s own. I felt the result immediately. I didn’t even have a chance to close my eyes. I was just suddenly … somewhere else.

  No, that wasn’t right. I was in the same clearing, but now it was empty. The torches, Brid and her family, James, all of them had vanished. Even Stanley was gone. I was in an empty dark forest alone. I looked up. The moon was in a different position. Huh.

  “Ash?” I called out for her, my voice floating out over the clearing. No response. I tried again, this time putting some will into it. “Ashley!” Usually she pops right into existence, but this felt a lot like the time Haley and I had made taffy at home and we’d had to keep pulling it. Sticky and tough, yet I couldn’t quite get a handle. Finally Ashley shimmered in, like a slow dissolve.

  She blinked a few times, surprise fluttering across her features while she looked around. “Where the hell did you bring me, Sam?”

  “Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “Honestly, I have no idea, but wherever we are, it practically reeks of magic.” She wrinkled her nose.