Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

He rubbed a hand over his face before pushing it back through his hair. “Yes. ‘Oh.’”

It meant today was it. Today was the day the four pieces were brought back together. And the day she discovered what his phylactery was. The day she had to choose whether to give it up to the priests…or not.

But what upset her—what really scared her—was that he seemed to have resigned himself to defeat. She reached for his hand and took it, squeezing it tight. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Being—I don’t know. I don’t like you like this.”

He shot her a raised eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to be? Would you have me ranting and raving, cackling and spouting my dastardly and evil plans? I have done that for you so many times, Marguerite. I have played your demon more times than I can count. I am…tired of it.” He chuckled sadly. “It’s exhausting, being the villain.”

Her heart shattered. She turned him to her, and before he could protest, she kissed him. She kissed him with everything she had. But he didn’t respond. He just…let it happen. “No—” She stood abruptly from the table, nearly knocking over her chair. “No. It’s not going to end like this. It isn’t!”

“I’m afraid I don’t under—”

She slapped him. Straight up slapped him. She didn’t know why she did it. But before she could stop herself, she had pulled back her hand and open-palmed decked him across the face. He reeled with the blow before sitting back in his chair, a look of pure and utter confusion on his face.

This was not going to be a defeat. It wasn’t. She squared her shoulders and glared at him. “I’m in charge. Not you. I get to decide how this ends! I’m not going to let you just sit there and—and—” She swallowed the rock in her throat. “Where is it? We’re doing this now.”

He stammered uselessly for a few moments.

“Now, Gideon.”

That seemed enough to propel him to movement. Wordlessly, he stood, downed the rest of his coffee, then left the room, gesturing over his shoulder for her to follow. She did so, her teeth gritted, feeling oddly frantic. When they reached his library, she saw the top of her kitchen table had been placed over his glass coffee table. On three of the quadrants of the talisman she had carved into the surface sat the matching fragment she had found.

Without looking at her, as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it, he went to his bookshelf and retrieved a small wooden box from one of the surfaces.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a piece?”

“I wanted to ensure that when—” His shoulders slumped. “I still wanted this to end on my terms. When I was ready for it.” With a beleaguered shake of his head, he turned to the kitchen tabletop and, opening the box, placed the fourth quadrant down on the surface. “I was still trying to maintain control over you, even now.”

She watched in fascination as all four pieces seemed to rattle on the surface, vibrating with some unseen power. Jolting in surprise, she jumped back an inch as they shot together into the center as if drawn by magnetism. And then…it wasn’t four pieces. It was one whole.

The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine. She took another step back from the table and wiped a hand over her face. There was a memory, itching at her, crawling over her like spiders. It took her a moment to breathe regularly again. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

“Marguerite…”

“I know. I know. The point of no return. I get it.” She turned to look at him, and the anguish in his silver eyes made her want to cry. “Stop it!”

He flinched, and when he spoke again, his voice was low. “Please stop issuing me orders, it…it’s uncomfortable when I cannot fulfill them.”

“Excuse me?”

He fidgeted for a moment.

“Tell me the truth, Gideon.”

Another flinch. “You can compel me, Marguerite. I am undead, and you…can command me.”

With a blink, she opened her mouth and then shut it again. “I—Really? Since when?”

“Since this morning.”

“Because of the talisman?”

“More or less…you’ll see soon enough.” He let out a breath and stared down at his feet.

She wanted to order him to tell her everything. To force him to stop being so goddamn evasive all the time. But it felt wrong. “I’m sorry…I didn’t know.”