Kiss of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 1)

“No, I didn’t. I carefully avoided the subject.” He smirked. “The checks that arrived in your mailbox were never stamped by the state. Besides Harry, you never saw a single other client of mine. The certificates on my office wall were the default samples that came with the frames. The clues were always there for you. You didn’t want to see them.”

Offended, she went to argue, and then…couldn’t. Grunting angrily, she found herself now glaring at the ancient city of Rome in lieu of glaring at the bastard who sat across from her. “Whatever.”

He laughed quietly. It was sinful and friendly, amused and dangerous, all in the same vein. It sent a shiver down her spine, and she wasn’t sure why. Pandora’s box sat in front of her again. Do you want us to be lovers?

But there was an even more dangerous question she had to answer first. And it was one that he couldn’t help her with. Do I?

A necromancer. A lich. A creature that was responsible for leaving her broken and shattered like she was, desperately trying to piece together the broken portions of her mind. One who had chased her down and killed her dozens of times. He was the monster in her nightmares. All of them.

It was so tempting to insist that he answer the simple question of “what do you want from me?” but she knew it was pointless. He’d just shake his head and say it was too complex. She had to get at the question another way. She had to find a way around his blockades, even if it took her ten times longer.

“Do you know my last name?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I believe you’re going to find out before the day is out. I would hate to steal the thunder from our two dear glowering friends inside the restaurant.” He picked up a biscotti and broke it in two, and, dipping one half into his coffee, took a bite out of it. “It is a bit of a dramatic moment I think they have planned.”

That was fair, she supposed. She sighed. “I don’t like being somebody’s prop on stage.”

“I know. And I hate that you have become that, more than anything else in this world. If I could set you free of all this nonsense, believe you me, I would.” A cold kind of grief settled over him, killing the life from his eyes. She preferred him with that little glint of deviousness, she decided. The alternative made her heart hurt in an unexpected way. “I truly would.”

“I believe you.”

The barest smile fought for life on his sharp features before it quickly faded like a ghost. “Thank you. That means the world to me.”

“What is that symbol I carved on my kitchen table?”

“A talisman.”

When he didn’t give her anything more than that, she rolled her eyes. “Gideon.”

“What?” He smirked. “I answered your question.”

Grumbling, she finished her coffee. She’d wait until she got some food in her stomach before she ordered a second. She’d get jittery. More than I already am, anyway. Anxiety was a bitch, and she hated it. It was like living with a jacked up and terrified horse in her head, always kicking at the stalls and yanking on the leads.

Or maybe a duffel bag of raccoons. She bit back a laugh at the mental image.

“Fine.” She reached over the table and stole the other half of his biscotti. He let it happen with a smile. She dipped it into what remained of her coffee and took a bite. “What does the talisman do?”

“It repairs my phylactery.”

“Is your phylactery damaged?”

“Yes. And on the verge of destruction.” There was that sad seriousness again. “I am about to die, if I do not act soon.”

She blinked. “Oh.” Taking in a wavering breath, she let it out slowly. “And if you die…?”

“So do you. Permanently, this time. As does our dear hero ‘Harry,’ and your friend asleep in your bag.”

She took a detour. “Why did you say his name like that?”

Glancing up as a pigeon flew close overhead, he shrugged. “Because he doesn’t remember his real name. That isn’t it.”

“Why don’t you tell him what it is?”

“Because I, as our dear demoness inside so crudely pointed out”—he took a sip of his coffee and grinned at her over the lip—“am a jerk.”