Accidental Necromancer Read online

  On the bright side, I wasn’t the only one who thought Floyd wasn’t comfortable around magic. But I wasn’t thrilled that Agent Harris had considered the possibility that I’d threatened Floyd.

  A knock on the door had Smith motioning for us to be quiet. He opened it a crack and then stepped back, holding the door wide. An athletic woman in khaki pants and a blue polo strode into the room. As soon as she was through the door, Smith closed it.

  The bag on her shoulder had to weigh thirty pounds, but her posture was square. The French braid holding back her chestnut hair was tidy, but it left her powerful jaw looking a bit square. The slender nose and small mouth didn’t quite balance out her face, though she was more eye catching for the lack of perfection, not less. She took in the room, settling her attention on me, and headed over.

  “My name is Eileen, and I’m going to take a look at your face.” She set the bag down next to me and narrowed her eyes. “What happened?”

  “Kelsey. A punch.” I had a feeling I was going to be explaining my face for a while. Maybe I should come up with a cool story?

  Nah. The truth was better, and other agents needed to know about Floyd’s behavior.

  She tugged on gloves and took a pen light out of the bag. Staring into the light wasn’t much fun, but it only got worse from there. She clicked off the pen and prodded my cheek. Medically necessary or not, it hurt. Pride had me clenching my teeth and hissing answers to the level of pain in each area. The macho act wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t want Smith or Harris to see me whine.

  After poking at me, Eileen rocked back on her heels. “I don’t have any minor healing charms with me. From touch, it doesn’t feel like anything is broken. If you’ll allow, I can tell more with magic.”

  “Go for it.” The healing part wasn’t here or there. I had a few charms at home and could tend to myself.

  “Is healing part of your magical abilities?” Smith loomed over us. Not intentionally—he just couldn’t help but loom.

  Eileen tipped her head to the side. “I’m just a hedge-practitioner. I could heal her, but I won’t because I don’t have enough magic to heal her and risk not being able to help someone who’s far more seriously injured later today or tomorrow. What I want to do is feel her bones and ensure she doesn’t have a hairline crack or other damage I can’t find with touch.”

  This was how Eileen and I differed. Humans sometimes had a bit of magic, a knack or even enough to be a hedge-practitioner like Eileen. However, they didn’t compare, at least in sheer power, to a witch. Just as Eileen had been born human, I’d been born a witch. Humans and witches looked the same, but I had a life expectancy of nearly three hundred years and the ability to create, channel, and manipulate large quantities of magic.

  Smith motioned for her to continue. “As long as it isn’t healed until after it’s photographed.”

  Eileen lost her professional smile. “Got it.”

  I didn’t know what she thought, and I didn’t care. As soon as we were done here, I wanted to go home, open a bottle of wine, and read a romance novel—which was the extent of my current love life—and try to forget about this day. Since documentation took ages, it was going to be a while.

  Eileen rested her thumb against the underside of my jaw and spread out the rest of her fingers. Her pinky rested next to my nose, and the rest of her fingers pressed against the top of my cheek, almost up to my temple. She closed her eyes, and a slight tingle spread across my face. The buzz lasted for a count of three, and then it, along with Eileen’s hand, was gone.

  I shook my head to get rid of the last tingles, which set my face to throbbing again. Narzel blast it all.

  “Can I give her the ice pack now?” Eileen asked.

  Smith nodded.

  I didn’t waste any time in pressing it against my face. The cold started to seep in, and I closed my eyes.

  “No broken bones, though several of the ligaments holding the molars on her upper jaw are loose. She’ll need to stick to a soft diet for a few weeks. No indication of any damage to the teeth.” Eileen hesitated. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to follow up with a dentist or get a healing from a charm or direct magic.”

  Talking hurt enough that I just nodded.

  From there, things moved along briskly. The photographer showed up and took what felt like a thousand pictures of me with various lights and filters to see the bruising that hadn’t shown up yet. While I was going blind from the flash, Eileen and Agent Harris filled out statements. Smith excused himself to listen through the recording. When he returned, he settled in behind his disk, fingers drumming steadily. Only a minute later, he shoved away and started pacing.

  When the photographer finished, I realized Agent Harris and Eileen were both gone. As I wrote out my account of what happened, Smith continued to pace but now punctuated his laps with frustrated sighs. I wished he’d sit down. The combination was making my headache worse.

  “Done.” I pushed my statement across the desk.

  He hurried to his seat and snatched my statement off the desk.

  The seconds ticked by on the clock, and I was sure each one was slower than the last. I should’ve been done at five. Now it was closing in on eight. Even with the ice, the ache had expanded to encompass nearly half my head, which throbbed, and my stomach had taken to rumbling angrily. Mostly, I wanted to go home to food and a healing charm.

  Smith set my statement down and rapped his fingers on the desk. “This will be kept, along with the other statements, the recording, and photographs. I was also able to retrieve the footage from the cameras in the range. It includes the audio, which matches your statement and recording. Agent Floyd will be suspended while everything works its way through the system. I’ll personally see to his suspension first thing in the morning.” His face softened but didn’t lose the glint of anger. “I don’t know how this will shake out long-term. Your job is safe. If this stays contained, then none of Floyd’s friends will have reason to cause trouble.”

  “But he has enough friends that it’ll be hard to keep this from getting out.” I finished what he hadn’t been willing to state. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t already considered.

  “You’ll report to me until things are settled. There’s lots of work. We need you, and his behavior was inappropriate.” Smith studied my statement again. “I just don’t know what will happen.”

  “Got it.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. Two years of training, being all but kicked out of my clan so I could work here, and Floyd could make this a hostile environment.

  “Others could come forward with similar stories.”

  Maybe, but I was willing to bet very few of Floyd’s subordinates had been women who used magic. For all that he called it training, it didn’t seem like something he’d do to a man. Since I did want to keep my job, I asked, “Can I go home?”

  Smith nodded. “Do you need a ride?”

  “No.” I hesitated at the door, better judgment winning out over the hanger and fatigue. “Thank you. Not all men in your position would’ve taken a complaint like this seriously.”

  Smith closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, his eyes were dull and somber. “Decency doesn’t need thanks. I’ll deserve it if I can handle this without it affecting your career.”

  “Take half my thanks now. We can decide the rest later.” I left before he could come up with another way to be undeserving. A good man isn’t responsible for a bad one’s actions, but I didn’t have it in me to convince him of that tonight.

  My footsteps echoed down the tile halls. A few agents were still at work, but I didn’t see Floyd, for which I was grateful. It only took a moment to retrieve my purse and lunch box from my desk. Then I made a beeline for my car.

  Fabian, my cherry red 1971 Volvo P1800E, gleamed under the streetlight. Like he had on every bad day since I’d turned eighteen, Fabian gave me a smooth, safe ride home, soothing away some of the day’s stress with the purr of his engine.

&n
bsp; Chapter Three

  When I’d first contemplated an apartment back in college, everyone had warned against Hermitage. It was dangerous, no place for a single woman, they said. Four years on and I hadn’t had any trouble, but that’s because no one really meant dangerous. They meant it wasn’t the trendy part of town, like Belle Meade or Bellevue. The rent was also cheaper.

  Then again, my apartment was a little different than most. Fabian settled into his spot in the two-lane driveway in front of a massive brick colonial. After living here for years, I still wasn’t sure if this was a very old building that had been refitted several times or an older building that had been refitted. Either way, the colonial had once been a mansion, complete with real hardwood floors, intricate molding, and all the details that would’ve been built into a mansion one hundred and fifty years ago. Today it was an apartment building, with six units, two on each floor, and a basement the owner occupied.

  The carved oak front door opened before I could reach it, spilling light onto the stairs. Even knowing the door hadn’t opened on its own, I could only just make out the edge of Randolf’s body behind the door.

  “I smell your blood.”

  He stepped into full view. The brown loafers, creased slacks, and sweater layered over a button-down fooled some people. Shallow lines marked the corners of his eyes and mouth, giving him enough age to match the outfit. People generally spotted the red hair and wrote the pale skin off as genetic. He was something far more dangerous than the Irish, though they were known for being fierce in their own right.

  I went inside, closing the door behind me. “My idiot boss punched me to see if I could protect myself against physical attacks.” I couldn’t call my family, and most of my childhood friends had turned their backs on me when I left the clan business, but Randolf would never betray my confidence.

  Randolf stilled when he saw my face in the light. For ten long seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Though, being a vampire, his breathing was strictly optional. “Is he alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pity.” He enfolded me in a hug.

  I leaned into his cold body and felt safe. No one would hurt me here. A few tears leaked out of my eyes, but I told myself that was normal. The result of an emotional day.

  “A hundred years ago, I would have killed him for hurting you.” He rubbed my back.

  “A hundred years ago, I would’ve too, but I can’t kill my boss and keep my job. Not like that, anyway.”

  I inhaled deeply. Long before getting this close to a vampire, I’d heard they smelled like death. The shifters I knew said they smelled not alive, but not rotten. To my nose, Randolf carried the scent of cold and a hint of wood smoke, and it never failed to conjure the comfort of being by the fire on a winter’s day.

  “Ah, well. I will settle for seeing you to your apartment and securing the building.” With a cool finger, he lifted my chin toward the light. “His weight was behind it,” Randolf hissed. “I have a salve.”

  “There’s a healing charm waiting for me in my medicine cabinet.” Which I wanted to make use of before dinner so I could eat without my lip throbbing or my teeth hurting more than they did.

  The doorbell rang. Randolf snapped to attention and inhaled. “Chinese?”

  “Dinner. I ordered before I left the office.” I dug around in my purse, pulling out a few dollars for the tip.

  Randolf slid the money out of my hand. “I’ll see to it. Go up and get the charm.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Thank you.” I forced my tired feet to move and trotted up two flights of stairs. The doorbell chimed yet again as I stepped into my apartment.

  Sparse was a kind term for my place. It had the basics, carefully scavenged from yard sales and secondhand stores, with the exception of the art. Each piece was a reproduction of a classic, not a print, but a painted canvas, complete with the texture I loved so much. Each one of them was a gift from Randolf. I’d tried to refuse the first one, but he’d insisted. I’d held out until my shower needed work and had come home to find the Lady of Shallot hanging in my living room over my chaise. From there, it was a losing battle.

  I made a beeline for my bathroom and snatched a small wood disk out of a basket. This one was lightly tinted green with herbs fused to the surface. I prodded my lip with my tongue. It cracked open again, and I pressed the charm to my lip. The blood sparked the magic, and the charm went to work. The pain faded away, and the charm went in my pocket as I washed up.

  When I went back to the main living space, Randolf had set the table for the two of us, including a bottle of red wine.

  He looked up from pouring blood into his wineglass. “Better.”

  “It feels better.” The ache that had engulfed half my face was gone, and a quick prodding with my tongue proved that the split lip and the loose teeth ligaments were healed.

  Randolf didn’t say much as I dug into the egg foo yung, slathered in mustard rather than duck sauce because they knew my order. The first pancake was sitting comfortably in my stomach when my social graces returned. “How’s the blood?”

  “A lovely O positive.” He took a sip before carefully placing the goblet in the center of his place mat. “What happened? Did Agent Floyd or Agent Smith assault you?”

  I told him the full story between bites, finishing as I ate the last of my dinner. I traded the water for my glass of wine and swirled it as Randolph gazed at the Lady of Shallot across the room.

  Between one moment and the next he went from being a statue to looking at me and breathing. “Fear is powerful, but is it powerful enough to make a man who has spent years without a viable mishap lash out on camera?”

  I set down the wine and leaned back. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” It was entirely possible there was another motive, but I was too tired to figure out what benefit there could be from assaulting me. Unless, it had something to do with my clan. “What about my clan?”

  “Perhaps. They would like you to return.” Randolf tipped his head to the side. “If it is them, they’ll reach out.”

  “I can’t go back. They’ll find out eventually and, you know…”

  Randolf bowed his head.

  My eyes slid over to the fish tank and Bubble, the skeleton of an Oranda goldfish, doing lazy donuts.

  Witches were creatures of earth, sun, sky, wind, and magic. Death, while natural enough, wasn’t part of our domain. I didn’t know of any creatures who could claim any power over death. Vampires were more a pause in the cycle. Ghosts were more spirit.

  Bubble broke from its circles and swam to the side of the tank to point its skull in my direction, the oversized eye sockets empty. I opened my shields a crack and reached for my power, past the warm energy I used for most spells to something colder. It flooded through me, lifting goose flesh on my skin. On the outside of my left leg, something akin to warmth blossomed. I pointed, and a slender strand drifted from me to the tank, settling across the water. Bubble darted to the surface, snapped its mouth shut, and then repeated the action, feeding like any live fish.

  Closing my eyes, I pushed the power down, shoving it back into a part of me that was hidden from everyone.

  Witches weren’t supposed to have domain over the dead, but I did.

  There were civilized hours for phone calls, and it didn’t take the bright numbers on my phone burning their way into my eyes to know this wasn’t one of them. “Hello?” My voice cracked, and I cleared it three times as the person on the other end waited.

  “Agent Pine?” asked a feminine voice.

  “Speaking.” My voice cracked again. “Or trying to.”

  “Agent Mitchell.” Shouts filtered across the line, but she didn’t answer them. “I’m standing at a crime scene that needs your expertise.”

  “Where?”

  “South Nashville.” She hesitated, knowing that wasn’t terribly descriptive.

  “Send me the address. It shouldn’t take me long to get there.” Not at fo
ur-thirty in the morning. I tossed the phone onto my bed, where it chirped and flashed an address.

  I mapped it out while I munched on a protein bar. The area wasn’t far, about fifteen minutes at this time of day. The kettle whistled, and I filled up a travel mug, grabbed my purse, and headed out.

  Randolf paused from tending the roses under the moonlight. “Early morning for you.”

  “Police business.” I saluted him with the mug. “Boss hasn’t ruined everything yet. Living the dream.”

  He laughed and waved as I drove away.

  The dream it might be, but it would’ve been helpful to know what awaited me. Sometimes they forgot that I wasn’t like other officers, that I might need things that weren’t in my car or on my person.

  Unlike forensics, there wasn’t a standard witch kit. We all did things a little differently, and every agency had their own ideas of what we should be able to do. Right now, everything I thought I was likely to need fit comfortably into a backpack, with two overflow bags of just-in-case items carefully stowed in my trunk.

  The item I most needed, my wand, was nested in a sheath strapped to my thigh. That had played tricks on my trainers who didn’t know what do with my gun, so it sat in a cross-draw holster on the front of my left hip.

  Magic, not equipment, was what I really brought to the table. Plenty of races had their own magic, but most of them couldn’t do magic. Witches could. A professor in college had said our bodies were different, storing and channeling amounts of energy that would kill most creatures.