Kiss of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 1)

Ally winced at the use of what must be her real name. “Keep it down, please.”

Yup. He knows she’s a demon.

“You weirdos are giving me a headache.” Maggie sighed. “I’ll only be ten minutes. I promise. And I won’t leave your sight.”

Rinaldo let out a growl, muttered something about “greasy food and real coffee,” and stormed into the restaurant.

She smiled down at the demoness. “Thanks, Ally.”

The other woman smiled warmly in response. “Anytime. Bye, jerk,” she spat at Gideon.

The necromancer clutched his chest in sarcastic pain. “Oh, the vulgarity. I am wounded.” He laughed as he watched Ally follow Rinaldo into the restaurant. He shook his head, smirking. His deep voice rumbled as he lowered his voice. “Demons these days. Astaroth must be so disappointed in her.”

“To each their own.” She sat down across from him, careful not to lean back on her bag and crush her new pet rat. “Gideon?”

“I’m shocked you wished to speak with me.” He sipped his coffee and beckoned for a waiter to come over. He rattled something off in what sounded like perfect Italian before the waiter nodded and walked away. “I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“I am. And what did you just do?”

“Ordered you one. You do still like cappuccino, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t be mad at him when he ordered for her…when she didn’t speak Italian. “Thanks.” Watching him carefully, she finally came out and asked the big question. “What are we?”

“Hum? What do you mean?”

“I mean that in every possible way. What are we, Gideon? What is this? Why am I—whatever the fuck I am? And who are we to each other?”

“How much do you remember?” He furrowed his brow and sat forward.

The waiter came back with her cappuccino. She paused to sip it before she replied. Holy shit, it was good. “Huh. Okay. That’s amazing.” She sipped it again. “Totally worth being abducted and thrown onto a plane.”

“They threw you on the plane?” His voice darkened in instant rage as he moved to stand up.

“Stop! Figuratively.” She laughed. “Holy shit, Gideon, now it’s your turn to calm down. They haven’t hurt me. They’ve been super nice and generous.”

“For now.” Gideon sank back against his chair and glowered in the direction of the two members of the holy order. “That will likely change. You’re useful to them. They may imprison you.”

“We’ll see.” She sipped her cappuccino again and wondered how many she could drink before she died of caffeine overload. “And to answer your question, I remember bits that conflict and make no sense. Sometimes you’re killing me. Sometimes there’s this big shadowy monster that does it. Other times…I don’t know, I get other pieces.”

“Like what?”

“Like us just existing. Listening to you play the violin. Or…or when I think they cut your heart out and put it in a jar, and you passed out in my arms when you should have been dead, and yet you were only worried about me.” She made a face. “Tell me that last one was just the product of stress and too many horror movies with Harry.”

Gideon looked away and didn’t answer.

“Oh, shit. Do they…did it grow back?”

He mumbled the word “no,” and then quickly kept talking. “Allow me to change the subject. I have a simple proposition for you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m surprised it took this long.” She didn’t know where she had the balls to pseudo-tease, pseudo-flirt with him. But she had spent so much time being afraid, she was tired of it. And tired in general. Maybe teasing would be easier than crying. It would probably be more fun.

Gideon’s neck went a shade of red. Oh, goodness—he was blushing? She hid her grin in her coffee. Yeah, teasing was much more fun than crying. “I—a different manner of proposition. A deal, princess. That’s all.”

“Damn.” She watched as his face grew even redder. This shouldn’t be fun. But it is. “But go on.”

“Asking me questions like that—‘what are we’—isn’t going to get us anywhere. They are simply too large, too complicated, and too total for me to provide you a response. I understand what you’re asking me, and I sympathize, but I cannot give you a satisfactory response. Not one that you’ll be happy with, or that you’ll…be able to accept.” He paused between his sentences, as it was clear that he was carefully measuring each one out before he spoke. He was careful. Meticulous. Detailed. Every line in its perfect place. Every word carefully chosen.

She wanted to ruffle his hair very badly. She quickly threw that thought in the garbage where it belonged. “What do you mean, be able to accept?”