The Necromancer's Seduction Page 10

  “You want to go with me?” Ewan asked.

  “It would help my research into this Cael guy.” I feigned seriousness. I’d give any excuse to go to New York and travel through the fairy door. My inner child squealed.

  Ewan laughed. “Okay, but you sure you’re up for it? How’s your knee?”

  “Good enough. I won’t break, despite popular belief.”

  “I know you won’t.” His soft tone caressed my ears.

  I viewed his attire again. “Am I dressed appropriately to meet the other demons?”

  He surveyed my body, taking his time until his eyes found mine. Knowing I might run into him, I’d purposely chosen the snug jeans and baby doll shirt because they hugged my curves, but I suddenly felt squeezed in plastic wrap and wanted a sack to throw over me.

  “You look enticing, as always.” His smile was lazy and his voice husky.

  He was going to kill me. He really was. He motioned for me to follow him. We walked down a short flight of stairs to a spacious basement that looked normal enough, replete with pool and foosball tables, bar, and the slightly damp mildew smell ingrained in the walls of all basements. Nothing that hinted at a gateway to another plane of existence.

  “Take my hand. You need to be in physical contact with me from now on,” he said.

  Was this a put on? I eyed his outstretched hand and raised my eyebrows.

  He grinned. “I promise you my seductions are much more imaginative than hand holding.”

  My hand sparked, and my breath caught when he wound his fingers through mine. He swept his gaze over me, settling on my face. I moistened my lips, and he smiled, a wicked smile deepening the smolder of his eyes. “Come on.”

  We walked to a door on the other side of the basement, past the well-stocked bar. He spoke in the demon tongue, and the door swung open. A narrow passageway spilled out before us. “How exactly does the portal work?” I asked.

  “Malthus learned how to bend matter at points where our realms come the closest to converging, creating the portals—similar to your theoretical space wormholes. These points fluctuate, never occurring at the same place, but that instability also gives us the ability to travel to other places in your world. Like right now, the realms have converged in New York. Next month, it might be London or the Arctic Circle. San Francisco is the only stable point and therefore forms a permanent portal.”

  “Demon wormholes, huh? Don’t want to see those worms.”

  He chuckled. After a few moments of walking down the corridor, my wedge sandals sank into the now dirt floor. I stuck my hand out to my side, feeling damp brick where only moments before I’d encountered plaster walls as we trudged deeper into recesses lit only by oil lanterns. We must have left the confines of the house. Of reality, for that matter.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “I can’t explain it in normal terms. We aren’t in the world as you perceive it. Think of this as a mental landscape.”

  “Is my mind projecting all this?”

  “No, mine is.”

  “How can a creature from the demon realm find its way out if the way in is another demon’s mental projection?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “Demon magic works a lot with bending perception and manipulating space and time, as you experienced with Jax after the zombie attacked you. A demon wanting to breach the portal need only learn how to perceive its way out. Granted, if he makes a mistake, he can wander forever, lost in the oblivion of his own mind.”

  The passageway narrowed until my shoulders scraped against the brick walls, now stained with black slime. The oil from the lamps mingled with another smell, a deep, dank odor that made me feel like I needed to wipe black mold off my body.

  “Christ, can’t you tell your mind to make this passage a little wider and warmer?”

  “It’s a subconscious projection. I can’t control it.”

  “Your subconscious is a dungeon?” I said, eyeing a rusted chain hanging from the wall. “What the hell is this place?”

  Out of nowhere a large mosaic door appeared on the wall in front of us. “We’ve arrived at the portal,” Ewan said.

  The small mosaic tiles combined in a pattern of shapes and colors to form a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. The water of the bay shimmered before me, and the briny scent of the ocean tickled my nostrils. I reached out to touch the mosaic, but Ewan seized my wrist. “Don’t touch it.”

  He reached a finger out to the mosaic and touched a boat bobbing in the waters of the bay. The tiles shuffled in a flash of color similar to a tile game until they formed a picture of the Empire State Building. The yellow taxi cabs on the street appeared to veer around traffic.

  “No shit,” I said in awe. “That is one of the coolest things I’ve seen—ever.”

  “The portal is an organic, almost sentient mechanism. The closest parallel to human science is quantum physics.”

  I grimaced. “I’m an anthropologist, not a physicist.”

  He laughed. “Imagine we’re taking a ride on an atom.” He squeezed my hand. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded and wiped my clammy hand on my jeans. “What will happen?”

  “I don’t know what humans perceive when they travel through the portal. It’s different for everyone. We’ll pass through the demon realm for a split second. You might get sick.”

  The mosaic flexed when we stepped through. Inky blackness greeted me. I stuck my hand out in reflex. Slowly, light poked at my eyes until I saw images swim past my periphery as if I were viewing mirages in a desert. The sound of buzzing cicadas on a hot summer day filled my ears.

  I couldn’t see Ewan, but his firm grasp on my hand settled my nerves and kept me from losing myself in the sensations. A dark shadow blocked out the images. Then everything around me blurred, and I found myself swaying on a concrete floor. I swung around, my back to Ewan, bent over and threw up next to a wall. I’d eaten a light breakfast, but my stomach was intent on ridding itself of its contents from the last few years.

  Judging by the rounded tunnel and posters advertising Broadway shows, I was in the New York subway. People rushed around us, impervious to our presence, thankfully. Although this time, I wasn’t sure if Ewan was using his cloaking device or if it was typical New Yorker disinterest.

  I heard an exasperated sigh followed by a mumbled, “. . . what happens when humans come through.”

  Ewan handed me a handkerchief. “You did well. Your grandmother threw up at least three times.”

  I looked up at him in surprise. Cora had traveled through the portal?

  The mumbles transformed into a gruff voice uttering words in the demon tongue. I flicked my gaze up and up. The demon loomed a good half-foot taller than Ewan. Christ, he was huge. Something about his leather boots, gabardine western shirt, and the way the light gleamed off his blond hair made me think rockabilly Norse god.

  Ewan responded to him, a frown marring his lips. The huge demon narrowed his eyes at the portal, then turned to me, addressing his question to Ewan. “This is the necromancer?”

  I bristled at his superior tone. “Yes, this is the necromancer,” I said. “I can raise the dead—and talk too.”

  He smoothed his blond mustache repeatedly with his fingers, his mouth twitching.

  “Ruby, this is Draemavos,” Ewan said.

  “You can call me Damon,” Draemavos said, his tone telling me he didn’t care either way, and he’d probably prefer I didn’t call him at all.

  Damon snapped his fingers. A small gray blob on squat legs scurried over, and the mess deposited by my stomach disappeared. As far as I could tell, the thing had no discernible facial features. When I leaned to get a closer look, a tiny slit in the middle of the blob appeared. The entire front of its body opened to reveal a large mouth. I stepped back when it hissed at me, baring rows of tiny spiked teeth.

  Ewan shook his head. “I don’t know why you keep Vyx around. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

  A set of what I took for
arms sprang from the blob. The little creature proceeded to shake the pudgy stumps at Ewan, sputtering a litany of grunts, wheezes, and what I took for words. Demon tongue or no, I know cursing when I hear it.

  “You’d be surprised at the talents hidden inside all the blubber,” Damon said before turning and walking down the subway tunnel.

  Vyx bared his teeth a moment longer, then turned back into a featureless blob and ambled after his hulking demon master. Ewan and I walked a few paces back.

  “What Damon’s deal?” I asked.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s serious about his demon persona.”

  “Good thing you’re not as bad as him.” Demon arrogance had not escaped Ewan completely.

  He lowered his head. “Or what? You won’t want me anymore?” Between his teasing eyes and sideways look, he resembled a romance novel rogue.

  I half laughed, half snorted in nervousness. “Never mind. It’s too late.”

  He laughed, not in the least worried by my comment. He knew quite well my reaction to him. Dammit.

  We emerged into the imposing Grand Central Terminal carved into the Manhattan bedrock. The green ceiling softened the austere grandness of the main terminal teeming with people rushing to their destinations. A computer generated voice announced the next train to White Plains. We walked outside and were immediately buffeted by exhaust, people shouting, and the buzz of car engines. New York City.

  I’ve visited New York a few times and always loved the atmosphere. The tall buildings created an urban landscape that made me feel small, insignificant. My gaze climbed one of the tall buildings until it met the sky, lost in its immensity. Honking taxis brought me back to ground level.

  We crossed the street. Small black orbs popped out of Vyx’s undulating gelatin-like body and eyed the gum for sale on the newsstands. I wondered how often the stoic Damon indulged the little creature. I couldn’t help myself. I bought some Big Red and handed a piece to Vyx. His orbs expanded to the size of golf balls. He snatched the gum from my hand and stuck it into his body. I assumed the smacking sound coming from within the blob was chewing.

  Both demons observed the exchange. Damon looked annoyed, and Ewan suppressed a smile. Ewan leaned close to me. “Might want to be careful. Vyx might want to go home with you.”

  “He doesn’t seem too bad.”

  “Famous last words.”

  Ewan took my hand as we muddled through the throngs. Damon didn’t fail to notice our entwined hands. He gave Ewan a crooked grin but kept silent. We passed a hot dog cart, and my stomach rumbled at the aroma of sweet onions and hot mustard wafting from the cart.

  “Want a hot dog?” Ewan asked. He had the uncanny ability of reading my thoughts, or maybe he’d just heard my stomach’s loud grumbles.

  I gazed at the cart, hesitant. Hot dog? This early? My appetite lately seemed insatiable. I think I was fifteen the last time I ate a hot dog. Ewan didn’t wait for my answer and ordered three. Oh well. I’ll just jog on the beach later. Right.

  “Thanks, Marchois,” I said to him when he handed me the dog loaded with onions—per my instructions.

  Humor danced in his eyes. “You prefer my demon name over Ewan?”

  “They’re both fitting.” I took a bite, licking the tangy onion juice that dripped down my lip.

  We weaved our way to a grassy oasis in the middle of the bustling sidewalks and noisy streets and found an empty bench. We sat and finished our dogs. It was then I noticed Vyx had disappeared.

  “We can drop you off at the necromancer’s place of business,” Damon said. The necromancer, Arthur, owned an import business in Chinatown.

  “I can find it on my own,” I said, licking the last dribble of onion juice off my fingers.

  The two demons exchanged a look.

  “Have you met this necromancer before?” Damon asked.

  “No, but my grandmother knew him.”

  Ewan stood with me and took my hand. “Call us if you run into any problems.”

  I nodded and made for the subway, giving him one last glance over my shoulder. I’d come here with Ewan, counting on getting information from Arthur about Cael, but doubts began nagging at me. I’d never met this man and only had Cora’s word he was a good guy. But what if he wasn’t?

  * * * *

  Lower Manhattan might as well reside on another planet. Chinatown lacked the skyscrapers and the sheer immensity of midtown, but the neighborhood is no less distinct. The winding sidewalks and streets carry a history of toil, dreams, and blood, all imprinted on the faces, the colors on the shop fronts, and on the bricks of the old tenements converted to apartments and cramped restaurants.

  I admired the variety of colorful green fruits I couldn’t name and vegetables of all shapes for sale on the crowded sidewalks, but wrinkled my nose at the pungent smell of dried fish. I loved eating Chinese food, but was happy to remain ignorant of the ingredients that sizzled in a restaurant wok.

  I stopped in front of a curio shop. Glass doors to the side bore small black letters—Clausen Imports. Arthur wasn’t Chinese, but Cora had told me he’d lived in China, later moving here and immersing himself in the pulse of these streets. I pressed the doorbell, and the door clicked open.

  Arthur waited for me at the top of the stairs. He shook my hand with both of his, apparently having adopted many of the Chinese customs. “I’m pleased to receive the granddaughter of Cora Montagne. I’m so sorry about her death.” He bowed his head then snapped it back up and directed me into his apartment.

  Honking cars and shouting voices penetrated the window encompassing one wall of the warehouse-size room. The place was an indoor bazaar, only lacking hawkers to barter over the multitude of trinkets, vibrant silk jackets, and pottery graced with colorful dragons that covered any available table or shelf space.

  I shoved aside a stack of newspapers and settled on the couch, picking up a smiling, red lucky kitty with its left paw raised and placing it on the table in front of me.

  Arthur sat across from me. His eyes flicked about the room, never resting on one spot.

  “Do you want tea?” he asked, his eyes on the shelves behind me.

  “Sure.”

  He didn’t get up or make any move to fetch the tea. Arthur was strange, but I was sure he’d heard me.

  “Cael is a young necromancer like yourself, lived in Boston,” he said. “He disappeared. No one in our community has heard from him in a few years. We hoped he’d disappeared for good. Your grandmother knew his father.”

  “Is Cael powerful?”

  He tsked. “Cael has power, but he’ll never be great. His father was weak, could barely raise a zombie.”

  Those words sounded familiar. I’ve heard professors dismiss a student based on one test score, not giving them another chance to prove themselves. Made me wonder how often similar discouragement had penetrated Cael’s psyche.

  He scratched his scalp, leaving small tufts of gray cotton wisp hair standing up. “Cael let his power twist him. It happens often with necros who delve too deep in the power, disrespect death. They either kill themselves or succumb to madness. His abuses extracted a price from his soul.”

  “What kind of abuses?”

  “Murdering people to create zombies. It’s forbidden for a necromancer to kill for the purpose of reanimation.” He tugged at his hair again, then waved his hand in front of me. “You raised a supernatural revenant? Does anyone besides Malthus and the witch know this?”

  Only the entire supe community in San Francisco. “A few other supes.”

  “Do the vampires know?”

  “I would guess the grapevine has swung their way by now, but I don’t know for sure.”

  He met my eyes for the first time since I’d arrived. “You must be careful. Others will try to manipulate your power.” His face turned ashen. “Is he here?”

  I creased my brow in confusion, and he clarified. “The revenant.”

  “No.”

  The color returned to his face. Soft foots
teps approached, and a young girl, blond hair lifeless as if she hadn’t ventured outside in months, held a tray bearing two teacups and a teapot. She set the tray on the table between us and poured the tea.

  I watched the steam rise from the cups and breathed in the green tea’s warm aroma. I caught a glimpse of the girl’s vacant eyes and shifted in my seat to get a closer look at her. Black veins pumped beneath her pale skin, but the smell . . . The green tea masked it at first, but it didn’t escape my necro senses now.

  I lost my thirst for the tea. I waited until she left the room to put my cup down. “The girl, she’s—”

  “Yes, she’s a revenant.” Arthur’s words carried a nervous titter. “My niece. Her parents died when she was a child. I took care of her until a car hit her on the street. Nothing more tragic than a young life cut off in her prime.”

  And he’s sitting here talking to me about Cael being twisted from the power? I blinked. The walls of the room closed in on me. I pulled out my phone in a pretense of checking the time. “I should probably go. Ewan will be waiting for me.”

  I came here wanting to pick Arthur’s brain for as much information as possible about Cael, about controlling revenants and power spheres. But Arthur’s brain was mush, and I wasn’t willing to sit here another minute and pretend the horror show didn’t affect me.

  His sunken eyes darted past me. “You think I’m crazy for turning Shayla into a revenant.”

  No, I think you’re bat shit crazy. There’s a difference.

  I stood and thanked him for his time. He sat rocking back and forth, staring out the window. When he didn’t get up, I saw myself out.

  I wandered across Canal Street and down a couple of blocks, eventually stumbling into Little Italy. When I’d put enough distance between myself and Arthur’s import house of madness, I texted Ewan with the location of a café wedged between two trattorias. I ordered a cappuccino and waited, watching tourists eat cannoli and stroll down the brick streets heavy with the smell of hot tomatoes.

  A sheen of light next to a gelato stand caught my eye. I blinked. Ewan appeared seconds later. I blinked again, expecting him to disappear, but he materialized next to my table, taking the ten plus steps from the gelato stand in the time it took for me to blink. I drank in the sight of him, and the tension oozed out of my body. “How did you do that?” I asked.