Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2) - Page 24

“Fun and a little kinky. Who do you think would pitch and who do you think would catch? I know who my money’s on.” She shot him a fiendish look and enjoyed how his neck went red.

He coughed. “Yes, well. Oh, look. We’re here!” He rapped on the window. “Driver, do pull over. This will do.”

The man shot him a raised eyebrow in the rearview mirror but shrugged and did as he was told. The necromancer pulled out his wallet, counted through some cash, paid the nice man, and was out of the car before she could stop snickering like an idiot.

“Have a good night,” she said to the driver as she climbed out. Gideon was standing with his back to her, looking up at a building, clearly trying to gather his wits. “You’re too easy.”

“I’m not used to you having such a wicked sense of humor, Ms. Marguerite.” He placed the tip of his cane against the stone with a click and rested his weight against it for a moment. “This is an entirely new development.”

“Odd. I wonder if I’ve changed.”

He began to walk down the street with her at his side. “No. I think perhaps the times simply…allow for you to express this part of yourself. You have always been a rather devious thing—just never nearly so outspoken.”

“Sucks to be a woman sometimes, I guess.”

“Hardly sometimes. And I think it still does. But we, as a society, are making slow progress. I hope.” He slowed his steps so she had an easier time keeping up with him. He was taller than she was, after all. “You have not only suffered the plight of the female condition, but also the medical field, I fear.”

She shuddered. “Yeah. I know.” Grimacing as the memories tried to force themselves over her, she reached out and gripped his arm. She had to stop and shut her eyes.

He placed his hand atop hers. “Don’t deny them, but don’t let them control you, either. Recognize them, acknowledge them, and demand they recede.” His voice was quiet and warm, comfortable and soft, like a blanket and a fire against the cold winter night. She found herself leaning closer to him, wanting to find more of that consoling presence.

She didn’t know when she stepped into him, but when she opened her eyes, she was in his arms. He was holding her gently, his arms around her, her head tucked beneath her chin. And he was humming a nearly silent tune that vibrated in her more than she could hear it.

“How long was I out?” She didn’t want to move. The fabric of his long coat against her cheek was helping keep the darkness at bay.

“A second or two. Don’t worry, you haven’t been sheltering in my embrace for long. Your pride is intact.”

“Depends on how long we stay like this.” She let out a breath and took a step away from him, feeling a little disappointed. She liked how he smelled. The richness of the cigars with the sharpness of his cologne was a heady mix. “Sorry.”

“No apologies needed. You’re getting better at controlling your memories.”

“Yeah. I managed to summon them earlier today.” She jerked her head in the direction they had been walking and started off without waiting for him. “C’mon, now I really want that alcohol.”

It was his turn to rush to catch up with her. “You what?”

“I…I don’t know. I wanted to remember something, so I just did it. I guess that’s what it’s like for normal people.” She shrugged and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets again. “Although I did lose like two hours of my day because of it.”

“What did you recall?”

“Somewhere I hid one of the pieces of that stupid amulet of yours.”

Silence.

He was clearly waiting for her to say more than that. She didn’t. Finally, he let out a small sigh. “You’re still unsure if you’re willing to help me or not.”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

More silence.

She frowned. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but—”

“No. Don’t apologize.” He reached for her hand, his fingers brushing hers. She didn’t know why—and more importantly, she knew she shouldn’t—but she let him take her hand. Their fingers intwined, and it felt somehow right.

He made her feel whole.

Like somehow, he filled a part of her that was missing. It made no sense. She didn’t know him. He was withholding the truth from her.

Tags: Kathryn Ann Kingsley Memento Mori Fantasy
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