Kiss of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 1)

“Marguerite…”

The choked, pained voice was one she recognized. She flew to her feet as Gideon—who had every right to be dead with the deep, wide gash in his chest—staggered up the stairs. He leaned heavily on the railing, leaving smears of crimson as he limped up to the top of the landing.

“Doctor?”

His knees buckled. She flew to his side and caught him as he fell. Or more accurately, she broke the fall as his weight brought them both to the wood planks. It was only then, when he was lying in her lap, that she realized the extent of the damage he had suffered.

There was a hole in his chest.

She could see bone. She could see pulsing veins. She could—she squeezed her eyes shut. “This isn’t real…”

“It is. I am terribly sorry.” He pulled his shirt over the wound and hissed in pain. “Did they see you?”

“N—no.” How could he even speak? She had seen his lungs through the shattered bones of his ribs. They had taken something from him, and she suspected she knew what it was. And if she was right…then he was not human.

“Good.” He shut his eyes and twitched in agony. “I am sorry you had to witness this.”

He might be a monster, but he was a monster who sought to protect her. And she had no one else. Reaching out, she stroked his hair back. It was damp from sweat. “Don’t apologize. You aren’t to blame for this.”

“Oh, but I very much am.” He sneered, his expression flashing to one of sheer loathing. “I am always to blame.”

The expression was pointed squarely at himself. She frowned and held him closer to her, shifting her arm so she could cradle it behind his neck. His blood was staining her nightgown and her housecoat. She didn’t care. “Will you be all right?”

“Of course.”

“But…”

“I know.” He took her hand and cringed as he saw the blood that already coated her. “I know.” He kissed her fingers tenderly, even as he shuddered from the pain that must be searing through him. “We can speak of it in the morning…I promise.”

“What did they take from you?” She suspected. But she wanted to know for certain that her world was now one of impossibilities. She wanted to hear it from him.

“Nothing that matters.” He smirked. His eyes slipped shut, and he leaned his head against her arm. “Nothing that doesn’t already belong to someone else.”

Maggie jerkedawake as the room around her jolted. She heard the screech of airplane tires. They were landing. She groaned and wiped her hand over her face. She had been asleep. But now she wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a memory. It felt like one of her visions, but she wasn’t sure.

She hadn’t died in that one. So, that was a plus. Curled up at her side, tucked into the crook of her elbow, was Algernon. The little undead rat was on his back, and she would have assumed he was dead—really dead—if his little paws didn’t twitch occasionally like a running dog.

Smiling, she climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him, and went about getting dressed. The change of clothes was greatly appreciated, even if the cut of them was a little more fitted than she usually wore. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of how she looked—she just liked to hide.

She didn’t like it when people looked at her.

But the hoodie she had been given was comfortable, even if it did show off her figure. And she loved the skull on the front composed of a mosaic of different styled crosses in different patterns. It made her smirk. Ally had a good sense of humor. She’d probably need one, being a demon who works for the church.

She brushed her hair. She even put on a little makeup. She felt more rested and…well, normal, than she had in a long time. I’m caught in an existential crisis and in a war between a necromancer and a secret order of monster-fighting priests. One of whom is a demon. And I don’t think I’ve slept as well in eighteen months as I did last night.

I’m fucked up.

Or maybe this new reality was in fact better than her old one. That living in a supernatural world where she wasn’t insane was better than a boring one where she was. Even if this new situation of hers was more dangerous.

The idea of learning who she was—who and what she really was—remained both nerve-wracking and exciting. It was a door she didn’t know if she truly wanted to open. But she would cross that bridge when she got to it, she supposed. There was a lot more that could happen between now and then.

There was a small backpack on the chair by the little door. Opening it, she rifled through it. She found both an American and an Italian passport with her name and photo in it. It was a decent photoshop job, she’d give them that. Her last name on each was printed as Doe. Great. She hated not knowing her last name.

Maybe Gideon knew it. She was a little afraid to ask. There was a smaller purse inside, which had a decent chunk of cash in both currencies, a few odds and ends that she might need, a scarf, and a granola bar.

For some reason, the granola bar made her laugh. It was like someone had strolled through a CVS and grabbed whatever they thought she might want. With a smile, she walked over to the bed and put the bag down. Gently nudging Algernon, she scratched his head. “Hey there, little guy. Time to go.”

Algernon rubbed against her hand and scrambled up the backpack and inside without any complaints. He rustled around in there for a while, before making himself comfortable in the fabric of the scarf. Tucking her phone into her pocket, she gently slung the bag over her shoulder and headed out of the room.