Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

I just want to make my own decisions. I just want to feel like I’m in control of my own life. The spectral version of herself in her dream wasn’t wrong. But she was still unraveling how she was supposed to follow the advice she had given herself. One roadway was blocked—she’d found a door but didn’t have the key.

She had tried not to feel relief when he refused to answer her question.

As for the other thing? Ask Gideon if he kept the rings. Something about it made a pit of dread open up wide in her stomach like a yawning cavern. Every answer she received she knew would be worse than a door that was locked to her.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

The truth was terrible, and the lie was killing her.

Pulling in a deep breath, she held it for a second and let it out in a long rush as she headed up the stairs. Algernon was waiting for her at the top of the climb, sitting on his hind legs, wiggling his remaining whiskers at her.

She reached out and offered him her hand. Without hesitation, the little undead creature jumped onto her arm and climbed up to her shoulder, stuffing himself in her hair and wriggling around until he was pressed up against her neck. She smiled.

But the truth came with friends like Algernon and Harry. Her thoughts drifted to Gideon and those sharp, silver eyes. That smile. The smoothness of his movements. The compassion in his touch.

She headed back to “her” room and lay down on top of the sheets. Algernon curled up on her stomach. She scratched his patchy fur gently as she stared up at the ceiling.

“I want to remember.”

She didn’t know why she bothered talking to herself. I’m talking to myself plenty as of late. Might as well pick up the phone and use it both ways. “I want to put the talisman back together. I want to know. I want control.”

She had never once tried to summon one of her blackouts. They had always been revolting to her—a disgusting fracture that made her lesser than normal people. But now, she wanted to dive into that chasm she felt in her mind. She wanted to see what she could fish out of it.

Let’s go dumpster diving.

She shut her eyes and felt the darkness crash over her.

Marguerite clutched the small metal box in her lap. She kept her expression dour and unreadable—the man who was silently rowing the small boat in front of her didn’t seem any keener on talking than she was.

She had paid him for his services and his discretion, not his conversation. And it was all well and good to her. The only sound was the quiet splash of his paddles in the smooth, clear water as he brought them deeper and deeper into the underground cistern.

The ceiling arched overhead like the vaults of a cathedral, the intricate columns disappearing into the water below. The light of the lantern at the head of the boat cast flickering, orange-yellow reflections along the surface, creating the illusion that the vaulted ceiling and columns were mirrored beneath them, as well.

The air was thick with moisture and the scent of moss that grew along the edges of every stone surface.

On and on it seemed to stretch in all directions, an endless maze without walls. She could almost imagine being lost in a place like this. They traveled for what seemed like forever. Once, she thought she might have even seen the face of a woman, carved from stone, submerged beneath the surface of the rainwater. But the cistern was not eternal, and eventually they reached their destination—a column that was different than the others. Strange, tear-like shapes oozed down its surface. A tribute to the souls who had died in the construction of the place, the man muttered to her.

She nodded.

It was only fitting.

She had paid the man to take her somewhere her cargo could never, ever be found. The far wall of an underground lake beneath a sacred building should be far enough away and out of the public eye. This place might as well be a tomb, for how secret and hidden it was. And judging by the disrepair she saw in the cracks along the walls and columns, it would collapse long before her cargo was discovered.

Placing the box on the rippling surface, she let it slip form her hands and sink slowly down into the dark water. It felt like betrayal, even now. It felt as though she were doing something shameful. She could almost imagine the hurt in his silver eyes as she told him precisely what she had done with his precious talisman.

And a good deal of his money.

But regardless, the deed was done, and she had three more places to visit before her task was complete. With a nod to the man at the head of the boat, he began to take them back to the entrance with a creak of wooden paddles and quiet splashes that rippled the surface of the seemingly endless reflections.

She should be joyful at her task. Bringing wrack and ruin to a monster like the necromancer should make her smile. It was a noble deed, but one that brought her nothing but grief and sadness. For all his darkness and misdeeds, she was drawn to him.

It would be too easy to fall into the warmth she felt in his presence, to allow herself to surrender to his kindness and whispered words of sorrow and regret.

No. She would destroy the necromancer who had cursed her life and so many others. She could not kill him directly—no one could. But the talisman was a key to his survival, and she would see it hidden from him until he languished and faded from the world. It might take centuries, but it would come.

Soon enough, Dr. Gideon Raithe would be no more.