Ian closed the book with a dull thud and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. Nothing. It had been three days, and he still had no explanation for the dried and withered spiritless corpse in the morgue. Although the case had officially reverted to the jurisdiction of the City Guard and they had not asked for his help, Ian had not been able to let it go, neither had Sam Harrison. Ian had scryed Sam with the details of Millie Linton’s interview the moment he’d arrived back at his office. He knew Fiona suspected a necromancer had done this foul deed, as did Sam, and at first, so had Ian himself.
He had never seen or heard of anything like it. He’d promised Sam he would do some research and see if he could find out what could have caused the spirit to leave the body so completely. He’d immediately scryed the caretaker of the family compound in the mountains and had him round up every text on Necromancy in the library. It had taken the man almost an entire day to round up the nearly one hundred texts and another day and a half for the wagon driver he hired to bring them into the city.
Four hundred years ago, the Barroes family had been little more than a traveling band of con artists. Back then, the paranorm society had been a secret hiding in plain sight. They lived in the norm world, following the rules of norm society as well as the rules of the Paranorm Council. The Barroes family was an old paranorm family with a history of producing children with necromantic powers. Back then, most necromancers lived on the edge of both the paranorm and norm legal systems, and the Barroes clan had been no different. As a matter of fact, they had celebrated it. Children with necromantic powers were taught from an early age how to use the information they could glean from the dead to con and bilk unsuspecting people, norms and paranorms alike.
They had lived on the road, traveling from city to town, executing con jobs and moving on when norm or paranorm authorities started catching on. Until, that was, sometime in the mid-1800s when a Barroes girl, Ian’s several times Great Aunt Matilda, had been born with the power of foresight. It wasn’t an uncommon power in the Barroes clan, especially among the girls, but Matilda had been different. Her powers had been extremely strong and accurate. For years, the family used her visions to make more and more money. Then, when she was in her thirties, she began to have terrifying visions. She saw death and destruction hundreds of years into the future. The end of civilization.
The girl’s father, having witnessed several of her visions come to fruition, took what she saw very seriously. The family found a place deep in the mountains of Tennessee. For the next two hundred years, using Matilda’s detailed journals, the following generations had built up their wealth and turned the mountain home into a compound, a fortress really. The underground bunkers held food and supplies. They had horded everyday items that had cost pennies back then, but after the Cataclysm, they could be traded and sold for a hundred times their original worth. They had become rich off the combination of Matilda’s visions and their necromantic powers, and had emerged from the Cataclysm almost unscathed and even richer than they had been before.
The library had been one of the things they had horded. In order to make sure the Barroes family, for they’d had no interest in sharing their wealth and knowledge with the rest of society, was well educated in the dark and ignorant times after the Cataclysm, they had amassed an impressive library full of books on history, science, and math. They’d also made it a point to get a copy of every book on magic, especially Necromancy, they could put their hands on. Not the silly books put out by norms that had no idea of the real existence of paranorms or magic, but the secret, underground texts.
There were hundreds in the family library. Ian had spent as much time as possible in the library bunker when he’d been a child. He’d loved learning. When he had left the family compound for good to live in Nash, his father had forbidden him to bring any books. In the years since his father’s death, he’d brought many of the books to his home in Nash and had even donated some to the city archival library for the use of Academy students. He used some of the historical texts on Necromancy in his classes, but he had left most of them at the compound. Now they were all here, and he’d spent all day yesterday and all of this morning going through them.
He glanced at the ticking clock on the wall as he sipped the cup of tea Mrs. Gary had brought in a few minutes earlier, along with a plate of bread and cheese and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. It was midday. He’d been reading through books since dawn. He’d read and reread dozens of tomes on the history and scientific theory of Necromancy and was no closer to knowing what had separated that man’s spirit from his body than he had been three days ago. The only thing he knew for sure was this was in no way related to Necromancy. There was definitely magic involved, and someone very powerful. But it wasn’t Necromancy, so it wasn’t his business.
He looked at the pile of books again. Since he had them here now, he’d lend them to the city archives so they could be copied and added to the library. But that could wait. First, he’d eat his lunch and maybe find Fiona. He hadn’t seen her since the night they’d danced at Pinky’s. His body tensed and began to harden at the memory of her in his arms and that kiss… Could he call it a kiss? It had been more like a mutual devouring.
He had always known if he ever got her in his arms that the connection would be powerful, but the reality of it had been far beyond his dreams. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Hadn’t even meant to dance with her.
He’d spent the entire evening going through magical history books from the City Archives and had, of course, come up with nothing. He’d been wide-awake, restless, and thinking about Fiona. Since seeing her that morning, he had barely been able to concentrate on anything else. It was like that every time he worked with her. For days afterwards, all he could think about was what it would be like to touch her sun-kissed skin and taste her full, pink lips. He imagined her dark hair spread across his pillow. It was beginning to get out of hand. That night he’d been fed up. Enough was enough. It was time for him to take matters into his own hands. Time to man up and start on the road to making those imaginings a reality.
Before he could think better of it, he’d found himself in Pinky’s ordering a drink and asking about Fiona. He hadn’t intended to do more than have a drink and say hi. He wanted her to see him outside of the work environment, start seeing him as a man instead of just a necromancer. He’d also figured that showing up on her home turf would shake her up a little. She was so steady, so unflappable. He needed to catch her off her guard, and he figured invading her home territory would be just the way to do it.
But then she’d been there next to him, and she’d been so beautiful and so pissed off. He hadn’t been able to resist pushing her a bit. Nothing risked, nothing gained. So he’d asked her to dance. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to get her to agree, but she had, finally. It was just supposed to be a dance. One dance to shake her up a little. To show her his intentions—to prove that he would be back for more. But it had been so much more than he had expected. The moment their skin touched the world had ceased to exist for him. A conflagration had erupted inside him that threatened to burn them both to cinders. He knew, from the look in her eyes, she had felt it too.
She’d been so incredibly beautiful, so intensely warm in his arms, that he had not been able to resist the pull to taste her. And when he had, he’d been lost, completely and utterly lost. If she hadn’t stumbled, he would have had her even if he’d had to find a dark corner to do the deed, and from the intensity in her kiss and the gyrations of her body against his, he’d known she wouldn’t have objected.
But then she’d stumbled and gone pale. It had scared the life out of him, but she’d sworn she was okay. He didn’t believe for a moment she’d just been tired. Something strange had happened to her, he knew it. He’d felt her using her magic, felt the pull of energy towards her, and then it had abruptly stopped. He’d let it go because she seemed to recover quickly, and he hadn’t wanted to push too hard. He would have eased back
into the subject, but then that damned good-looking vampire had shown up.
As he’d watched her wrap her curvy body around the huge man, a white-hot fury of jealousy he hadn’t thought himself capable of flooded his senses. He’d always thought himself an intelligent, civilized man who used his brain first and his brawn second. But for a moment, a long moment, there had been nothing he’d wanted to do more than punch Jarrett Campbell in the throat.
Bzzzz. A soft buzzing and a pulsing, blue light pulled him out of his thoughts. Someone was scrying him. He turned to the large, flat crystal attached to the wall next to his desk and touched it to activate it. Instantly, the light faded, and Sam Harrison’s face appeared in the crystal.
“Hello, Sam,” he said jovially. He liked Sam. Most Blades were punch-first-think-later types. Sam wasn’t. He was well educated and articulate. He was one of the few people Ian liked talking to.
“Ian.” Sam’s tone was a bit brusque. “Sorry to be abrupt, but I need to know if you found out anything about that body in those books of yours. And don’t tell me you haven’t looked because I know better. Jurisdiction wouldn’t mean crap to you if there was a possibility of a necromancer being involved.”
Oh, how well Sam knew him. He smiled wryly. “I’ve read every book I have and some from the City Archives. Twice. Nothing. I can find no explanation.”
“Damn,” Sam spat out. “I was hoping you might have some sort of lead.” Sam’s face was creased with worry. Not a usual look for him.
Ian asked, “Did another body turn up?”
“No, not exactly. But as of this morning, this is an official Blades’ case and I need you on it.”
“If Necromancy isn’t involved and there aren’t any bodies, is there anything I can really do?” Ian asked. Not because he was unwilling to help, he just didn’t know how he possibly could.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure there are bodies, lots of them. We just haven’t found them,” Sam said, running a hand over his face tiredly.
“A lot of bodies? Shit, Sam. What’s going on?” There was never a shortage of work for the necromancers that worked with the Blades, but that was because they could glean information from spirits on all types of cases. Actual murder, while rampant in the unprotected Outer Zones—the wild territory between the safety of the walls of the various cities, towns, and communes—was very rare inside the walls of Nash City. A lot of potential bodies could only mean murder.
“I can’t really explain it all right now. Can you get down here?”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.” He swiped his hand across the scry, and Sam’s image disappeared. Grabbing a hunk of bread and cheese from the plate, he headed for the door.