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And she may or may not be planning on getting it on with a necromancer before the night was out.

So.

Y’know.

Context.

“I take it he couldn’t do the weird, body-magic-illusion-voodoo thing?” She gestured at him.

He chuckled. “No. He couldn’t. He was a powerful necromancer, but not a lich, like myself. He hadn’t ever mastered the art of building a phylactery. I quickly discovered I didn’t suffer from the same limitations. I placed my soul into a necklace I owned, and that was that. I was free to remake myself to my liking.”

“Ah-hah!” She pointed at him. “Your phylactery is a necklace.”

“Not necessarily. A lich can typically change where their soul is stored.” He smirked and leaned back in his chair. “It was a necklace. I will not tell you where it is now.”

“Damn it.” She sipped her drink. “My money was on the talisman-y-thingy we’re hunting down.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

She frowned at him. “Not fair.”

“You do not get to talk about what’s fair and unfair tonight, Ms. Valard. Not after your mischief already.”

“Don’t encourage me. I’m having fun, and that’s not something I’m really accustomed to. It’s a nice change. And you’re too easy to tease.” She had to slow down. Everything. Her drink, her conversation, her desire to reach under the table and find out exactly what kind of a state she’d left him in. Damn it all.

“You seem to enjoy your time with our dear Hero just fine. I heard all about your late-night escapades watching movies and eating disgusting food.”

“Sound a little more bitter about it, why don’t you?” She reached for the pepper shaker and began toying with it. Not because she really was interested in it, but because if she didn’t, she’d finish her drink too quickly and immediately want another one.

“I’m not bitter.” He paused. “I’m jealous.”

That got her to laugh again. “All right, at least you’re honest. I’ll give you points for that. Harry’s a good friend. Nothing ever happened between us.”

“Did you ever proposition him?”

She pulled in a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a rush. Honesty should beget honesty. “Yeah. I did. I wanted some casual affection. He said no. Nothing happened between us.”

“I know. For whatever gods blessed me with having him for a rival, I am forever grateful.” He sneered as he glanced out the window toward the street.

“Sex isn’t everything, y’know. If a person’s in a wheelchair and doesn’t have functional bits, or just can’t, or doesn’t feel like it, it doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of love.”

His expression fell. “Yes. You’re quite right. I don’t mean to sound callous to his condition. I have tried to help him. But you can see how well we get along.”

“What do you mean, help him? He’s a zombie.”

“A revenant. Very different.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

He chuckled. “He would be able to use his illusion to…eh…engage in activities, but, as you have learned, that is simply not how he is wired.” With a shrug, he sipped his martini. The man could clearly put them back. He didn’t even seem buzzed yet. “Entirely to my benefit. It made him less of a challenge in that regard, even if he found more than a few ways to annoy me.”

“Wait. Wait, wait.” She leaned forward. “Do you hate him so much because of a love triangle?”

“No.” He looked down into his plate thoughtfully. “It wasn’t a triangle. I fear that’s far too simplistic a word to describe what happened. He and I never competed for your affection like this was some manner of young adult fantasy novel. It was not nearly that…optimistic.”

She sighed. “I wish I knew why you two hated each other so much.”

“You will, soon enough, I’m sure.”