Page 19 of Deadly Deception (Necromancer Tales #2)

Chapter

Nineteen

Erasmus

We got word the next morning that Dr. Emily Scott was in stable condition. She hadn’t woken yet, but her doctors seemed confident she would. Not surprisingly, Dr. Scott had a concussion. She needed time to heal, and so far, that’s exactly what she was getting.

Sheriff Henson woke Franklin and me up to give us that information, and to let us know they’d found the missing bodies—or what was left of them. Henson didn’t explain further on the phone. He gave Franklin an address and asked how soon we could be there. I was surprised when Franklin rattled off a time that was over two hours from now.

Rolling over in our shared bed, I said, “We can be there sooner.”

Franklin threw off his covers and said, “Nope. Yesterday I promised myself we’d go out for breakfast this morning, and I aim to keep that promise. You need waffles.”

I blinked while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I can do without. I—”

“Waffles and lots of syrup,” Franklin insisted. Placing a knee on the mattress, he leaned toward me and captured my lips. Fuck, this man. This gloriously considerate, loving, man. I licked my lips when he finally released me, chasing his taste. “Waffles,” Franklin said again before heading off to the shower.

I’d showered last night, then fallen asleep on Franklin’s chest with my hair wet. I couldn’t exactly remember when we’d made it into bed, but it must have been long enough for my hair to dry that way. While I didn’t shower again, I did wind up dunking my head under the faucet, wetting it, and starting over. It was the only way I wouldn’t look like a madman.

True to his word, we stopped at a Waffle House on the way to our rendezvous. I was halfway through my plate of syrupy goodness when I remembered what Franklin and I’d finally admitted to each other last night.

I love you.

Three simple words that were everything and nothing all at the same time. Tears filled my eyes and the waffles on my plate swam in a sea of syrup. Love . The words were nice, they were perfectly beautiful. They were also unnecessary. How could I doubt the way this man felt about me when I had the proof happily digesting in my belly and the sweet taste of maple syrup on my tongue.

Pushing back the happy tears, I cut off an impossibly large bite of waffle and stuffed it into my mouth, tasting Franklin’s love.

“ C all came in last night,” Henson said, exhaustion leaking through his voice. I was beginning to doubt this man slept. A yawn cracking his jaw, Henson stared across the sandy dunes at the ashes littering the remnants of a massive bonfire. “Lots of people come down to the beach. This time of year, bonfires aren’t uncommon. What is uncommon was the size and location of this one. It’s not along Lake Michigan. It’s deeper into the dunes. No one’s coming out this far in the middle of the night for good reasons.”

Henson tossed his hand in the general direction of the ash field and said, “This is all that’s left. I don’t even know if it’s all the bodies that were taken or just a few. The only reason we know they’re our guys are the metal toe tags left behind.”

I stood there, staring at the burnt-out pile. My feet were horribly uncomfortable. I hadn’t planned on trucking through mounds of sand. I hadn’t even considered that a possibility in Northern Indiana. Who knew? Evidently the locals, because this was a highly trafficked area in warmer weather. Franklin had tried filling me in on the way to the dunes. He’d said it had been a destination for him and his friends when he’d been younger. Given how huge Lake Michigan was, the beach area might as well have been on the Gulf of Mexico. The water was a hell of a lot colder and less salty, but when looking out at the massive expanse of water, it was hard to tell you were still landlocked. Even in the midst of autumn, the land held a certain level of beauty. I figured it would be gorgeous come sunset.

“Fuck,” Henson cursed, not for the first time. When I’d first met Sheriff Henson, I hadn’t imagined I’d grow to like the man. But somewhere along the line, I had. That’s not to say that I wanted to go out and have a meal or drinks with him, but he wasn’t bad for a human. And right now, he was beyond tired. Henson needed at least two days off and just as many full nights of sleep. I didn’t think he’d be getting either anytime soon.

“How many other officers know about this?” Franklin asked, his hands on his hips and legs spread wide against the wind.

“By now? Probably all of them.” Henson shook his head. “Sara got the call last night and dispatched the available officers. There’s no reason she should have considered we’d find this.” Again, Henson pointed toward the ash pile.

“That’s unfortunate,” Franklin said. “But I get it.” With a shake of his head, Franklin looked at me and said, “Can you do it?”

I tilted my head to the side and answered, “I should be able to. I can still feel their strings.”

Henson’s bent head shot up and his eyes were a little wild. “You can still bring them back?”

I nodded. “Theoretically.”

“How? They’re nothing but ash. The fire was hot enough it even burned the bone.”

I shrugged. “I’ve brought souls back with just the cremains before. It’ll take more of my necromancer energy to get them to talk, especially so you and Franklin can hear them, but it can be done.” I rubbed my cheek. “I’m not sure if I can do them all today, but I’ll try. I’ll most likely have to take a break or two, and we’ll need to get me food. Franklin brought the candy, but for something like this, I’ll need more sustenance.”

“I’ll order you the whole damn menu if you can pull this off.”

I chuckled. “I shouldn’t need that much, but the thought’s appreciated.”

I cracked my neck, not that it helped muster my necromancer energy. It was more habit than anything else. I think the habit sprang from clients’ disappointment there wasn’t more to the act of bringing a soul back. They expected some type of sacrificial ritual, which wasn’t needed at all.

“It’ll take me a few to sort through this, so have a little patience.”

“Mine’s on short supply,” Henson said. “I’ll try and muster what I’ve got.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.” I’d try not to take it personally if Henson lost his shit. The man was running on empty, and we all got a lot touchier when that happened.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the different strings. I’d never tried bringing souls back when their cremains were mixed up. In the end, it wasn’t all that different than any other time. Their souls were still attached to what was left of their physical body.

“Christ,” Henson muttered when I brought the first soul back, his individual ashes swirling and coalescing together. If someone wanted to, they’d be able to gather Jordan Allen King’s remains.

“You might want to get some individual containers,” I said. “Their families might want their remains.”

Henson spoke into the walkie talkie on his vest. I didn’t pay attention to what he said, my focus remaining on Jordan’s soul. I pushed a little more of my energy into him and said, “Jordan Allen King, I’ve called your soul back so we can hold those responsible for your death accountable.”

Jordan’s ashes swam before me, pitching back and forth like a flock of starlings. His voice remained silent. Apprehension tinged with fear sang through Jordan’s soul. Instinctively, I knew those emotions weren’t aimed at me.

“Sheriff Henson, you can ask your questions now.” Franklin shifted at my side, moving to block the insufferable wind. I wanted to thank him for his consideration but couldn’t risk dropping my concentration. I could see that Franklin had his phone out and was recording the interaction. I was glad he’d thought of it.

“Yeah. Okay.” Henson cleared his throat and physically drew himself up. “Mr. King, do you know who killed you?”

“Yes. And no,” Jordan answered unhelpfully.

I heard Henson sigh. “Care to explain that?”

“No,” Jordan immediately answered.

“He’s scared,” I said. “Just like DeWayne.”

Henson appeared more resigned than irritated. “Can you make him answer me?”

“I can make it so he can’t lie. He didn’t lie when you asked him if he’d care to explain. You need to be more specific and not offer an optional out.”

“Got it.” Henson was a fast learner, despite his exhaustion. “Mr. King, tell me what you know regarding your death.”

Jordan’s soul balked, and I pushed a little more energy into him. At this rate, I’d need another helping of waffles within the hour. Given that nudge, Jordan had no choice but to answer. “Vanja ordered it. I only recognized one of the guys that came for me.”

By now, hearing that name no longer inspired shocked awe. It was expected. What wasn’t was that Jordan recognized one of his assailants.

“What was his name?” I asked before Henson could.

“Jay.”

I waited for more but nothing was forthcoming.

“Does Jay have a last name?” Henson asked.

Jordan’s cremains did the equivalent of a shrug. “Probably, but I don’t know it.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Henson threw up his hands and turned away. I understood his frustration.

Henson and I asked Jordan a few more questions. We talked long enough for Officer Witkowski to arrive with the individual containers. They weren’t fancy urns. I figured the family could decide on that later. Franklin took one of the containers from Witkowski’s trembling hands, sat it on the ground relatively close to the swarming cremains, and stepped back.

“Jordan Allen King, I release your soul. Go in peace.” I funneled the remains into the container as Jordan’s soul departed.

The windswept dunes were quiet until Witkowski said, “Holy shit. That was… I don’t have the words, but I’m glad I witnessed it.”

I liked Witkowski better and better with every interaction.

“How are you holding up?” Franklin asked. “What do you need?”

That was a loaded question. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I needed beyond a chair. “Maybe a lawn chair,” I answered. “I’m good for now, but I’ll probably need to sit after the next one.” Franklin shoved several pieces of hard candy my way even though I hadn’t asked for it. Regardless, I unwrapped the first piece and shoved it in my mouth.

“Witkowski, can you get us—”

“On it, Sheriff.” Witkowski took off, and I knew he’d bring me some type of seating.

“That was pointless,” Henson said, disgust clear in his tone. “Why in the hell would someone go to the trouble of taking the bodies, burning them, and assaulting Dr. Scott if they don’t know anything?”

“There are still four more,” Franklin said. “I’d also hazard a guess that whoever is masquerading as Vanja, they don’t know what these victims knew. So far, it looks like this Vanja wannabe is hands-off on the grisly stuff. They give the orders and someone else implements them. My guess is that they don’t know what the victims might know, what their assailants might have let slip.”

Henson scrubbed his hand over his forehead, pacing back and forth across the sand. “I just want some fucking answers.” Tilting his head back with hands fisted on his hips, Henson stared at the cloudy, gray sky. “Sorry. Give me a minute to get me shit together.”

“Take your time.” I waved Henson off, even though he couldn’t see me.

With a deep inhale, Henson turned and gave a firm nod. “Okay. Let’s get this shitshow back on the road.”

I chuckled. “Now you’re talking my language.”

Eyes slipping closed again, I tugged on the next string. “Devon Prince Mason, I call you soul back from beyond the veil…”

And that’s how the day progressed. I went through four souls, two turkey and cheese sandwiches, three soft drinks, and a bag of candy. Even with all the food and rests in between, I was wiped, and we hadn’t learned anything more useful. Every soul said Vanja was responsible, and yet none knew who this mysterious Vanja was, or the full names of the thugs who’d killed them. Not everyone had died by heinous methods. Two were gunshots to the head. They’d never seen it coming, and could only speculate that Vanja had been behind it.

What we did learn was that the newest incarnation of Vanja was following in the old, and much feared, Vanja’s shoes. Three of the victims said they suspected Vanja because they’d skimmed from the profits of illegal sales of charms, drugs, and in one case, weapons. While I didn’t want to victim shame, none of these guys were up for citizen of the year awards. Regardless, I kept their remains separated and individualized for their families. It wasn’t my place to judge. I was just here to get information.

“We should wait until tomorrow for the last one,” Franklin said. He was sitting beside me, our legs stretched out and sand filling our shoes. Witkowski had gotten more than one chair when he’d brought mine, bless his heart.

I considered and shook my head. I was hella tired, and if it weren’t for Pops’s pain charms I’d be in the fetal position cradling my head, but the thought of coming back out tomorrow and doing this again? No thank you. I wanted it done, and there was just one more.

“I can do it,” I said while pushing my shaking limbs out of the chair. The air was getting colder as early afternoon drew into late afternoon, evening on the horizon. If this went on much longer, and if the cloud cover broke, I’d get a chance to see that spectacular sunset I’d imagined.

“I know you can, but I’m not so certain you should,” Franklin said while helping me stand. He kept a steadying hand on my elbow. The sand shifting beneath my feet didn’t help.

Henson gave me a critical eye and when I nodded, he took that as my answer to continue. Eyes slipping closed again, I reached for the final string. It felt different than the others. It was still human, but while the others sang male, this one struck me as female. I’m not sure how I could tell, only that I was right. Verification came when her name popped into my head. “Daisy Maria Vasquez, I call your soul—” I didn’t need to complete my sentence. Daisy’s soul flew back, colliding with her cremains in a vivacious swirl. While the others had been reluctant, Daisy was eager.

“This one might be different,” I said. “Franklin, you still have enough power on your phone?” He’d recorded all the others.

“Probably not.”

“I’ve got it,” Officer Witkowski said. He’d stayed and watched me bring back every soul. He seemed no less eager now than when he’d first arrived.

“Daisy Maria Vasquez, Sheriff Henson would like to ask you some questions regarding your murder.”

“Oh, thank God,” Daisy said. My energy was failing, and I had to dig deep to give her enough boost for the others to hear. “I was afraid no one would find me, that all my work would be lost.”

Franklin and Henson shared a look and Henson asked, “What work would that be?”

“I’m a journalist.” I think her answer surprised all of us. I knew she was different. For lack of a better explanation, her soul felt cleaner than the others. She wasn’t apprehensive and she wasn’t consumed by fear. If anything, Daisy was eager.

“A journalist?” Henson sounded mystified. “I have no reports of a missing journalist. Surely someone is missing you.”

Embarrassment flushed through Daisy’s soul. “I’m a freelance journalist. An amateur, really. I don’t have any family, and only a few friends who I mostly communicate with via social media. I’m a bit of an introvert.” Her soul didn’t feel saddened by that fact. “I came across Vanja’s story by accident. Whispers on the net, just a hint here or there. It didn’t make sense. Vanja’s been dead for decades, and yet fresh mentions were popping up here and there. It was a mystery.” I could feel Daisy’s anticipation. She loved a good mystery, and had been pulled into this one.

“I started in Valparaiso first, then moved to Michigan City. It was difficult getting anyone to talk.” She felt and sounded frustrated. “Everyone’s so scared of her.”

I started to nod but stopped mid motion and said, “ Her? ” Franklin and Henson’s same response made us sound like a well-rehearsed chorus.

“Vanja’s a woman, didn’t you know?” Daisy asked.

“No,” Henson answered. “No, we didn’t.”

You know what they say about assumptions, well, I figured all three of us were feeling like asses right about now. Not that our victims hadn’t assumed the same, that Vanja was male. But they hadn’t known who Vanja was. We’d simply taken it at face value that Vanja was sporting a Y chromosome.

“Tell us everything you know,” Henson said, pulling out his own phone and hitting the record button. I didn’t blame him. I liked Witkowski and couldn’t imagine he was part of the problem, but one never knew. I’d learned over the years that humans could be sneaky. They often hid their perversions well. It was a trait humans appeared particularly specialized in.

The sun was setting and the area dim by the time Daisy finished, and I released her soul, collecting her ashes as we had the others. I took it as some comfort that Daisy had also been shot in the head and not tortured before her death.

Finished, I attempted to take a step toward my borrowed chair but wound up on my knees. Thankfully, the sand made for a soft landing. Franklin was at my side immediately and interestingly enough, Henson and Witkowski weren’t far behind.

“Erasmus?” I always knew when Franklin was truly worried when he used my first name.

“I’m okay. Just give me a minute.” I really needed a whole night, maybe two, but that had to wait. I also needed a carb-alicious meal. Both would be handled soon enough.

“Here.” Franklin shoved a handful of candy my direction. When I didn’t immediately grab a piece, he unwrapped a lemon drop and pushed it against my lips. “Suck on this,” Franklin said softly.

In my lightheaded state, I giggled. “I’d rather suck something else.” I waggled my eyebrows and managed to draw a reluctant grin.

“He must be okay if he’s making stupid jokes,” Henson said, backing up a little.

“I’ll be fine.” I waved him off and almost collapsed when I stupidly removed that bit of support. Franklin’s arm around my chest kept me from face planting into the sand.

“You will be,” Franklin reassured. “Eventually. It’s time to get some food, and then it’s into bed with you.”

I giggled again as Franklin lifted me. “You just want to see what else I’d like to suck on.”

“Good Lord.” Henson rolled his eyes. “I do not want to hear shit like that. O’Hare, get him out of here.”

“That’s the plan. Come on, Boone, climb up.” Franklin crouched, turning his back to me. I think Witkowski might have helped me clamber onto Franklin’s back. I’m sure I looked like a beached whale flopping about as I got my arms around Franklin’s neck and my legs situated around his waist. Franklin’s hands wound behind his back, cradling my ass. Once I was secure, he started walking away from what was left of the bonfire.

“Necromancer Boone,” Henson’s voice sang through the windswept dunes. Franklin turned so I could look at Henson. “Thank you for your help today.”

I grinned. “Said with sincerity. You’re slowly making your way onto my Christmas card list, Sheriff.”

I had the distinct pleasure of watching fiery red race up Henson’s neck, coloring his cheeks. He spluttered something incoherent before turning his back on us.

Franklin didn’t waste time. He trucked through the dunes. The man’s legs had to be aching. I’d try and remember to give him one of Pops’s pain charms when we got to the SUV. Then again, with my eyes drooping and the gentle sway of Franklin’s body below mine, I doubted I’d still be awake by the time we reached the car.

Waking up later to the scent of pasta and garlic bread proved how right I was.