Necromancer; A Dead Man's Gamble

The night, in all its cold dreary glory, is at least better suited for hiding the absolute shit hole this city has always been. No matter how the richer parts above tried to distracted from it with neon signs, fancy restaurants and recently paved roads. The streets below will remain a dirty disgusting heap of rubbish, rotten and decomposing at the heart of the city.

Rain pelts the ground, natures attempt to wash away the grime. The water fills the pot holes in an almost perfect illusion of an actual road. Where it is kind to the roads, it’s a scorned ex to the unfortunate few that still remained on the street. Soaked to the bone and looking more like drowned rats, people rushing towards work; any job that paid the bills worth the possible death sentence the chilled air could bring. The wind wails like banshees through the decrepit buildings; I should know since I’ve met just about all of them in my line of work. Umbrellas are rendered a futile effort to stay dry under, and the infamous duet of thunder and lightning sends the rats scurrying for cover. Street lights were few and far between, broken, dim, or long since knocked over by a speeding car moments away from becoming scrap metal.

“Leave us alone!”

Ah, that’s right. I almost lost track of why I’m out here in the first place. The prey I’ve been hired to hunt for this evening has brought us along on a long chase through the winding roads. The pair, a man and a woman, scurrying for cover as the predator draws ever closer. Turning down an alley, the chase is finished, the prey has cornered itself with a dead end. They hammer their hands against the brick wall, as if it would crumble under their fists.

“No! Please!” the male cries out, turning to us as we close off their only exit, “We don’t have it, we don’t have it!” he pleads as the woman, his wife I was told, cowers behind him.

“Sorry, it’s nothing personal but the boss says you either have what they want or you’re no use to us,” Barus moves forward, a feral grin stretches across his face as pebbles scatter under hooves.

Headlights suddenly illuminate the alley, outlining the quadruped forms of my fellow hunters in it’s blinding light whilst I remain mostly hidden in the shadows. The car pulls up and the ‘boss’ emerges from within. I’ve heard the title boss from the mouths of hired thugs, too many times to put any respect behind it. But it gives the one’s with the money some kind of thrill to think they’ve earned, read; bought, a title worth anything. Case in point; the man who’s hired me the most recently. He’s quite shorter than his Centaur lackeys, but he manages an intimidating figure well enough before he starts posturing. I move forward to hold the umbrella above his head, his request to make himself look more important; I’m getting paid extra for the theatrics so I can’t complain... much.

“So...” he drawls slowly. He’s hidden mostly by the umbrella but his pot belly, I hear he’s quite proud of, sticks out far enough to be seen, “...Where is it?” he slowly pulls a gun from his coat, he seems to do everything slowly, making sure their eyes are tracking his every move as he checks that it’s loaded.

“We don’t know!” the lady sobs out clutching at her husbands suit. Her bun has become frazzled in the chase, blondish hair falling around her face and across her shoulders.

“You. Don’t. Know?” my boss steps closer, holding the gun to the mans forehead.

“Look, we panicked okay?! If you knew what was in that box, you would have too,” the man tries to explain but the boss doesn’t want to hear any of it.

“I knew exactly what was in that box when I told you to steal it, it’s precisely why I wanted it stolen,” he nudges the gun against the forehead again to emphasise, “Now, I’ll only ask one more time, where. Is. It?”

“You knew but- it got lost in the scuffle it could be anywhere by now!” the man rushes when the boss turns the gun towards his wife.

“I want that relic! Is that to difficult to understand?! Is it?!” the boss waves the gun around for a bit. The Centaurs flinching whenever its aimed at them, he stops his hand at an angle that leaves the gun pointed at my face. I glare at him out of the corner of my eye, and simply move the barrel away from my head to face it back towards the husband.

The boss scoffs and moves closer towards the couple, yanking the woman away from the man. The husband exclaims in argument but is quickly silenced when I pull out a gun of my own. The boss puts the gun to the side of her head, ignoring the stream of tears.

“Shh, quiet now, quiet, shh, shh. It’s okay, there you go. I’m not the bad guy here, okay? I just want that card, that’s all I want. And I know you saw something,” he grabs her face roughly when she starts to shake her head, “No, no don’t try and deny it. I’m not unreasonable, I’m actually quite merciful. So, tell me what you saw, give me what I want and you’ll earn my mercy,” he strokes her hair as he says this, his voice a soft honey coated pile of shit.

“It was in the Casino, where we were supposed to meet up to trade it off to you. Someone bumped me into the table and the box broke, and... Death fell into the chaos that ensued,” the woman starts shaking again at the last sentence, tears returning in full.

“Ah. So you know of the relic. That’s unfortunate, no wonder panic was your first response. No, no, shh, it’s okay, no more crying. I just want to know where it went after that,” the boss shuffles, pulling out his phone, “See, this is the last image the camera captured before the lights went out, and that’s you right? You’re looking at something, but it’s not the fight currently happening in front of you, what is it?”

“A boy, he served us drinks, the card left with him,” the woman stutters, eyes fixated on the phone. She doesn’t notice the gun being lifted against her head again... and never will.

“No!!” the man rushes forward as his wife falls to the ground, blood soaking into the stone. He pulls her body to him, hugging her in one final embrace she will never feel, “You said you would be merciful if she told you what she saw!” he cries at the sight of the hole that left her face intact but her eyes lifeless, head falling to her chest in a pitiful attempt to hear a heartbeat.

“I was, I let her die first, she never knew it was coming and she isn’t feeling what you’re feeling right now, that’s more mercy than you got,” the bullet tears its way through the mans head and lodges itself into his wife’s sternum, mere moments after the last words uttered to him clicked in his synapses, “Get rid of them, I hear the rivers’ nice this time of year. Just make sure the dead don’t talk, or write for that matter.”

“But what about Mr. Gift? If he finds out we wasted produce...” the closest Centaur speaks up, but skitters back when his bosses eyes fall on him.

“We’ll tell him they were a bad batch. Cancerous, diseased, the usual. They knew too much about our little operation and if he finds out what we were hiding behind his back... we’ll be on the menu.”

Trains, who’s the idiot that invented these. Cram as many people as you can into them, like sardines in a can, which goes rocketing across the city from place to place at about 105 km/h. Also it only has seventy or so seats all together. So, you’re either sitting down with someone’s’ crotch in your face or standing up with someone’s face in your crotch. All in all, it’s a terribly awkward experience. Made even worse when everyone starts pushing and shoving against each other.

Then, there’s the people themselves. Everyone thinks where they need to go is more important than everyone else, so it’s a free for all when those doors open. If you don’t look like an average Joe with an uncle named Bob. Then you usually look either like the; ‘I work at a wealthy business’ looking bloke. Combed back hair and a recently ironed suit. And even though he’s taking the train like the rest of us, he’ll look at you like you’re the scuff on his shoes. Or you’re the frazzled looking mother with at least one kid bouncing around on the seats making a racket. I’d look like that too if I was dealing with the little hellion. Anyone close enough to look her in her eyes knows that she’s debated the pros and cons, at least twice during the ride, of leaving them behind when she gets to her stop.

“Hey mister,” I feel something pulling on my coat. Speak of the devil and all that. I turn to look at the hell-spawn child, short naturally turquoise hair cut just below his frilled ‘ears’. Dark eyes that reflect back at me in certain lights.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” kids. Blunt as hell and don’t care if they offend.

“Cecil, leave the man alone,” the woman in front of me, obviously his mother, scolds him, “I already told you, he’s blind,” the lady fails at whispering as she pulls him back towards her.

I turn to look at one of the bits of metal surrounding the door, in the reflection I see that my eyes have turned a murky white. Blind? Not even close lady. All this pushing and shoving has caused my wounds to ache. The pain shooting up my arms finds a place just behind my eyes in a splitting headache. My control is tenuous at the best of times, hence the dead mans’ eyes. My eyes change back to their normal brown just as the train stops. The kid gets off with his mother but looks back one last time in shock, he probably saw the shift of colours. More people pile into the sardine can and the shoving continues. I put my head down this time to avoid any more mishaps. I hear over the speakers that I still have five more stops to go. I reiterate, I hate trains.

I barge into the Councils’ meeting room, walking past the guards who don’t even bat an eye; speaking of eyes, “Yikes. I swear every time I come here, I lose more and more of my eye sight. The light that is bouncing off the top of all your heads right now, blinding. Don’t get me started on the eye sore that is, the sheer amount of marble and gold in here,” I smirk at all the geezers sitting on their high chairs. Not the little kid kind but the literally up high chairs; which actually now that I’ve said that, yep, I’ve decided they are the little kid kind. Their faces look like outraged prunes.

“Ainsel, really?” Richard, the only man in here with a full head of hair and younger than a dinosaur mind you, stands up and walks over to me, “I’m sorry, I asked him to meet me about the recent string of portals. After. The. Meeting. I’ll sort this out now so he doesn’t barge in again, adjourned until after lunch? Good,” He quickly drags me out, as the rest of the geezers try to catch up to what’s happening right in front of them.

“No offence Richard. But besides you, everyone on the council looks like they could hold butter in their mouth without it melting,” I remark as he drags me further from the doors and closer to the ‘Central Nexus’.

Which is just a fancy name for a hall filled with antiques, armor, tapestries, and other relics that depict the pieces of history the Council is most proud of. So, of course there’s no antiques from Others’ history, or at least not the real relics and their lore. The long hall full of old crap leads to the pride and joy of the Council, the Realm Portal. A door way for people going nowhere fast, with how long the line always is and the ages it takes to get through the security check. Richard suddenly stops pulling on my arm, and turns to me.

“Ainsel, listen to me. I originally called you to discuss something completely different, but I need to tell you what the meeting you just barged in on is about first,” He looks around, to make sure no one is listening in, “A relic has been stolen.”

“What? How? What relic? From where?” I look around hoping to see a empty space in the hall that tells me it’s not as bad as I think it is. All of these useless trinkets are worth millions, but none of them can kill anyone by just existing.

“Not from here,” He grabs my shoulders to stop me from looking around, “It was a relic from The War... one that was held in the Catacombs.”

“Richard, was it?”

“No. We still don’t know which relic it was yet,” Richards’ voice is barely above a whisper, “but Councilman Searson, assures me it wasn’t The Four.”

Councilman Searson, tasked with the safety of the relics. Hates my guts but he wouldn’t lie about that. Good, if even one was stolen. I nod to myself, turning back to Richard to ask about the original reason he summoned me but I’m cut off by a loud metallic clang. I look over and see a man boy, can’t be much older then mid-twenties, standing above a fallen suit of armour.

“Crap, that’s my bad,” the kid raises his hands above his head, looking around like he expects guards to jump out and kill him on the spot.

“Moron,” I scoff turning away from the strange kid, “So, besides from trying to give me a stroke, by warning me about a relic in the most dramatic way possible. What did you want to originally discuss with me?”

“Ah, yes. I apologise for that. Well, the ‘moron’ as you so eloquently put it actually,” Richard raises his eyebrows at me, basically telling me to behave as we turn to the kid. Said kid, has moved on from the fallen armour and is currently looking at the more fragile tapestries, “Ah! Nathanael! Please come over here for a moment,” He calls out to the kid. Effectively stopping him from touching, and possibly breaking, another antique. Pity, since the one he was looking at is Searson’s favourite.

“Ah, yeah, sorry again, about the, uh,” Nathanael, definitely in his mid-twenties, stumbles over his words as he gestures back towards the armour. I shuffle slightly to peak behind him and see a couple of workers scrambling to pick up the pieces. A few turn with a glare before they spot me, they quickly turn back to the task; no spines there.

“Uh, yeah... So, this must be. Um, knew I should have written that down,” the kid tries to start up again, failing miserably as he turns to Richard with a ‘help me’ expression.

“Mr Ainsel Etaceh, the man I talked to you about a week ago,” Richard supplies.

“Ah yeah. Thanks. I mean I knew, that. I just. Sorry, your name is unusually hard to remember... and pronounce,” the kid is a bundle of nervous energy and movement, as he turns from Richard back to me in stunted sentences; that somehow manage to make sense, “Is it... Germanic in origin?”

“Northumbrian and ...Greek, I believe,” I answer with a raised eyebrow, surprised he even knows about Germanic languages; with the Councils mandatory common language bull shit.

“Right, makes sense. Um, I’m Nathanael. Your new, uh, doctor? I guess?” The kid holds out his hand.

I ignore the hand and the boy it belongs to, turning to Richard instead, “Is this some kind of joke?” I ask in all seriousness.

“Ainsel. Can’t you go five minutes without trying to pick a fight?” Richard sighs and pinches his nose, effectively conveying his exasperation with me, “Nathanael, can you give us a moment, please.” it’s not a request, he makes that clear when he gestures to a seat closer to the antiques than the staff would like; not far enough away in my opinion.

“Yeah, sure,” the kid looks a bit put off as he turns around and walks over to it whilst mumbling to himself, “It’s not like I didn’t just hear him insult me, and know exactly what you’re going to talk about,” he’s got some spine, I’ll give him that.

“Ainsel, this is no joke,” Richard says once Nathanael sits down, he makes a point to sit in the closest one facing us though.

“Oh great, because I’m not laughing. Are you kidding me right now Richard? This kid? I mean look at him, he barely looks like he’s in his twenties,” I say throwing my arm up with a slight flinch, gesturing towards said ‘kid’. Who is trying, very badly, not to look like he’s listening in; or maybe he isn’t trying at all.

“I know he’s a bit... strange,” Richard moves slightly so the Nathanael can’t see his face, “But he’s one of, dare I say, the best medical student we’ve had in a long time. He went to the best schools available,” Richard scowls when I scoff at that.

“Great, so he’s a snob,” Unlike Richard I don’t care if the kid can read my lips.

“You’re lucky, I managed to snag him for you,” Richard glares at me for my tone, and probably because I’m not playing nice with his new pet.

“Specific wording there Richard, why for me?” I send a glare of my own at this, “And why now?” I step closer, searching his face for hidden motives.

“Don’t look at me like that Ainsel. I know how your mind works. The facts are, I know your work load has been growing lately with the sudden influx of knock-off portals. Don’t think I didn’t see those bandages,” He says as I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat, hiding the wrappings on my fingers, “And now with a relic out there... even you can’t keep up with the amount of stress it’s putting on your body,” Richard continues as he places a hand on my shoulder.

“Watch me,” I hiss as my shoulder starts throbbing from the extra weight, I don’t miss the ‘I-told-you-so’ look he sends my way.

“That, and the Council have decide at least one certified medic needs to be with you out on the field,” Richard finishes, pulling his hand away as my head shoots up.

“In the field?! The hell is the Council thinking?” Richard steps back looking around at the heads that have turned towards us at my exclamation.

“Ainsel, take heed with your tone when you speak of the Council, ” he whispers furiously, putting a hand on my shoulder again. I hiss at the sudden pain but quieten down when I spot Nathanael standing up; for some reason his body language is reading as concerned.

“Fine. What’s his sub-classification?” I shuffle back out of his grip. The pulsing behind my eyes getting worse the longer I stand in this hospital-white room.

“...He doesn’t have a sub-classification,” my eyes snap up to meet Richards own, but he’s looking around the room at the busybodies listening in. A quick glare from me gets them moving again.

“Tell me I heard that wrong, because there is no way he’s human,” I step closer to keep my voice from reaching Nathanael as my tone settles on mocking, “Isn’t it the Council that said ‘Human doctors are too valuable to waste on our hospitals’? They aren’t supposed to get further than the Docile stage- Territorial stage at best. They’re better suited as classifiers, away from the action but with the knowledge to treat themselves if attacked by us Others. Not. Field. Doctors,” I emphasise the last point by poking Richards fancy suit with every word.

“The Council made an exception,” oh, look at that. Alarms are going off in my head already, “He was one of the highest rating of Docile-Classified Creature interactions in the zoo,” he says it like it’s supposed to impress me. Saying he’s good with Dociles’ is like saying, he can handle a wolf because dogs like him.

“What about the other Classifications?” I raise my eyebrow as his face turns smug for a moment, “And don’t say he’s fine with Territorial’s. Anyone with half a brain can handle a Territorial. I’m talking about Threatening and Volatile,” His smug look disappears instantly. I don’t both asking about Chaos. They stopped using that as a test within the first week because the students, Human and Other alike, kept being slaughtered by the Chaos-Classified Creatures.

“We don’t use the Volatile Stage anymore,” that’s new, I raise my eyebrow at that, “Too many students were failing,” he reasons when he sees the look on my face.

“Kind of the point of the tests, isn’t it?” I mumble mostly to myself, as my hands do the ‘go on’ gesture.

“Too many in terms of nine out of ten ratio...” he sighs as he looks back to Nathanael for a moment.

I follow his gaze and see Nathanael is looking at some old depictions of knights fighting dragons. There’s a small frown on his face as he reads the plaque underneath, looking between the two with confusion for a moment. He takes a picture of both, before going back to his seat with a mildly annoyed look on his face. Richard clears his throat beside me, and I turn back to him so he can continue.

“He technically failed the bare minimum for the Territorial Stage by 7% but was given lee way as a Threatening interrupted the Territorial stage. He also managed to get the Threatening-Classified Creature out of the Territorial-Classified Creatures... territory,” I raise my eyebrow, smirking slightly as Richard struggles though the sentence. When he notices my reaction, he levels a scowl at me that could curdle milk; not a good look on him, “Don’t start, I’m working on it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” the smirks still in place but my hands have gone up in the classic ‘I give up’ pose. I step back a bit at the same time, only just noticing I’ve been crowding him this entire time.

“Yeah, well your face has always been better at conversation than you,” He lets that sink in for a moment, he smiles and shakes his head when I give him a put-on affronted look, “The Council is stubborn in their ways, they’re not really open to revaluating the term Territorial for Creatures that are violent when protecting their territory. Even though it’s a pain in the ass when you’re trying to have a conversation about them.”

“Yeah, I’m not alive enough to get into it with you about the Councils need to pack everything in a neat little box right now,” I sigh, he give me a scolding glare for my remark, but relents when he pays attention to just how run down I look, “...Has he got any idea what I do? What they’re getting him into?” I get back on track, trying to keep him from making any remarks of his own about my health.

“The Council have informed him of everything they believe was necessary,” Richard straightens up into his usual ‘the Council is infallible’ Façade.

“So, that’s a no. Dammit, this is... Richard he’s just a kid,” I shake my head at him. Just barely keeping myself from barging back into the Councils room, to knock some sense into their shiny skulls.

“To you, so are we all,” Richard decides to point out, earning him another glare from me, “Just give him a chance, please? Three months trial at least. If you still hate the kid, I won’t force you to keep him and that’ll be the end of it.” Richard bargains.

“Three months, that’s all? Then you’ll take him back?” I ask looking to Richard then back at the kid, who has wandered off again from the seat towards more fragile relics.

“If you still don’t like the kid, yes. I swear on my Seat on the Council,” a bit dramatic, but said with sincerity so I guess that good enough for me.

“Fine,” I concede. He nods with a satisfied grin and walks back to the meeting room. I shake my head at the pompous peacock as I walk over to Nathanael; he’s looking at one of the ‘statue’ guards.

“I wouldn’t get too close, if I were you,” I speak up from behind him, startling him so bad he jumps almost a foot into the air.

“Don’t do that!” Nathanael yells and turns to me with a hand over his heart, he stops short as he notices it was me who scared him, “What do you mean?” I almost don’t catch the question with how quiet he suddenly is after that exclamation. Crap, the kid’s probably heard every rumour out there about me; this is going to be a long three months.

“They’re not statues, they’re Gargoyles,” I shrug nonchalantly, but I can’t help the grin on my face as he takes a noticeable step back.

“Don’t worry, they’re not as vicious as people say,” I decided to reassure him, which feels strange since usually I would jump at the chance to rile a snob up, “Honestly, the worst thing they can do is stare... unless you get close to them,” I continue when he takes a few shuffled movements back towards the Gargoyle. There’s, my need to be a pain in the ass, thought Richard had taken it all with him for a sec.

My grin turns into a smothered laugh against my knuckles, when Nathanael steps back once more and turns a ‘really?’ glare at me. Hasn’t even known me for ten minutes, and he’s already got the default reaction look down pat. My laughing cuts off abruptly, when I notice his gaze has drifted to my bandaged knuckles; I quickly shove them in my pockets with a glare. In the most subtle show of embarrassment I’ve ever seen. Nathanael jolts his entire blood flushed face away from me, and towards the tapestries hanging above the Gargoyle; at an angle that would make squares jealous. His attempt at playing innocent stops for a moment, and his face gives off the impression that he’s debating something with himself. He turns back to me and I’m slightly put off by the look in his eyes as they scan my face.

“Is it true? What they say about you? You can bring people back from the dead?” okay, got to admit, I wasn’t expecting that, after the entire roller-coaster of emotions he just plowed through.

“Depends what you mean about back-” I’m cut off by my phone going off, I quickly fish it out of pocket when I recognise the tune.

-New bodies, look like they’re your type- I look at the message for a moment before shoving it back into the coat pocket.

“Okay, kid. Looks like you get the ‘learn as you go’ package, I’ve got a job to get to,” I say turning and walking towards the exit; the only portal in or out of here. I don’t bother to visually check if Nathanael is following, I could probably hear him tripping over himself a mile away.

“What job is this?” the kid asks when he finally catches up to walk by my side.

“Do you have any idea about who I am? What I do?” I ask, stopping abruptly to look him in the eyes.

“Well, I know you’re a Necromancer a …subspecies, classified under Born-Magical Entities,” I scoff at the classification, though I take note of his hesitation at saying ‘subspecies’, “There’s barely anything recorded on Necromancers in public and medical archives. However, the Council did inform me that your magic is the cause of the wounds on your hands; hence the bandages. But I’m not sure what exactly, is your magic,” he finishes, looking a bit uncomfortable at the lack of information.

“I’m surprised the Council told you even that much,” I scratch at my chin, as I drag Nathanael past the line and head directly towards the portal. I let go of him when he keeps looking back at the angry people in the line, who have probably been waiting an hour, “Do you have a coat?”

“Why? Will I need one where we’re going?” the kid looks genuinely confused as I show my pass to the guard and drag him next to me again; gesturing between us to tell them he’s with me.

“It’s not where you’re going, it’s who you’re going with,” I smirk at him, as we pass through the portal without any more problems.

“Rumor.”

“Okay, how about this one? You once tossed a Banshee’s mummified hand at Councilman Grehy,” I actually have to stop and think about that rumor. I’ve been answering Nathanael’s ‘questions’, closer to a statement but his tone implied a question, about the numerous rumors about me since we left the portal. Apparently my ability to use the portal without needing to wait in line was a rumor in of itself. And in turn sparked the game of 21 rumors.

“That’s a bit more complicated. It was a hand, but it definitely wasn’t mummified... it wasn’t a Banshee’s either now that I think about it. And I’m pretty sure it only hit Councilman Grehy after it bounced off the face of my intended target, Councilman...” I scratch at my chin in thought, what did it start with? An L? Maybe a T? My expression settles for annoyed confusion, “Uh, I forgot his name, the one with the long beard and the mole on the end of his nose.”

“Smith?” Nathanael prompts, after a few moments of muttering names under his breath.

“Yep, that’s the one,” I nod in agreement, shrugging I add, “I can’t remember what exactly prompted the need to toss it at him. Couldn’t have been that bad, if I didn’t even remember his name.”

Turning a corner down Nicks & Knacks Street. It originally had a different name, probably some fancy person no one around here even cares about, but the street sign kept getting knocked over. Since the street is primarily filled with trinket shops, the people working and living in the area named it themselves. Truly imagination at it’s finest. I’m the only one thinking about the name of a street today though, murder tends to take priority in the minds that live here. Well, as long as there’s the police and their yellow tape around anyway. Speaking of police.

“Henry, you rang?” not much of a hello, but he knows I hate the smell of corpses in the morning.

“Hey, Ainsel. Yeah, two bodies, unknown markings found on both... who’s your shadow?” Henry though is all about the small talk. How’s your family? Do you think the dead hear us before you bring them back? Are you enjoying the weather? The benign and inconsequential things in life. He’s working towards a retirement on a farm where he can grow his own food, and two rocking chairs on the porch. The perfect place to grow old with his spouse. Actually, that reminds me. Henry said if I skip out on dinner at theirs’ again Eli’s going to be pissed.

“Doesn’t matter, he’s with me. What kind of markings?” I try to shake that terrifying thought out of my head, as I focus back on the question.

“I’m his personal walking-talking doctor’s appointment,” and the kid seems to like answering questions that weren’t asked of him. He shuffles forward from beside me, extending his hand towards Henry.

“So, Richard finally managed to make you concede, hey?” Henry grins at me as he shakes Nathanaels hand, “This dumbass here, has been dodging doctors and hospitals for years. Hates them,” He gestures with his head in my direction as he stuffs his hands back in his coat pockets.

“Yeah, yeah,” I scowl at the two, ganging up on me like that, “Just show me the bodies.”

“Yeesh, you’re grumpy today. Car break down again?” He throws his hands up in surrender when I just continue to glower at him, “Okay! I’ll leave it be, happy? I just hope you’ve had the chance to have your hands fixed. This is a bad one,” He sighs at this, turning towards the crowd of police and yellow tape in front of us.

“Every one, is a bad one... and I haven’t had the time. I got the message around the same time I got him,” I gesture to my side at Nathanael, with my thumb and a head tilt.

“Ainsel, if they haven’t been treated properly. This, is going to make it worse,” Henry hesitates at the yellow tape, looking to me with concern as he slowly lifts it.

“Come on, I’m fine. Besides, you know the fresher they are the easier it is for me,” I move to go past him and under the arch he’s made, but he holds me back with an arm across my chest.

“Like I said, worse. They’re not fresh. At least three days old, bloat I think is the word,” he somehow manages to look pointedly at me, and unsure of his wording at the same time, “And the rain that’s been pissing down on us all week hasn’t done us any favours. At least they were mostly covered by the overlapping roofs. They were found in the alley behind this trinket shop. Owners been away, didn’t know anything was wrong until she got back,” he removes his arm and lets me continue towards the alley.

I look down at my hands for a moment, my blood has seeped through the bandages again. At least the blood from these particular wounds, can’t be confused with the victims. The magic quite literally flowing through my veins, or at least as long as it’s being used, turns the blood as black as ink, “Time doesn’t take kindly to being wasted. I’ll live, show me them,” I wave him forward towards the alley.

After a moment of him trying to convince me silently with eyebrow lifts, head tilts, and a shrug of the shoulders that roughly translate to ‘are you sure?’ and ‘it’s you’re funeral’ he agrees to show me the two corpses, “Fine. They’re just around here. Don’t worry about the crime scene. I had them finish up with all the evidence before you got here and they’ve taken more than enough pictures of the corpses original states, so go wild.”

The alley looks like just about every other alley in this city, dark and dirty. The suns’ finally decided it wants to do it’s job through the small gap between the buildings, so only a few lights have been set up. At least the shop adjacent isn’t a restaurant or something like that; no rotting food to add to the mix of smells. I leave Nathanael with Henry and the other offices. Moving without preamble past the forensic vultures who have already picked the corpses clean of evidence. The markings, maybe runes? Around and on the corpses are pretty basic, but there’s still the tang of magic in the air; so who ever carved them are powerful. I can’t make heads or tails of it though, apparently chicken scratch doesn’t care what language it’s written in.

“So, what exactly does he do here?” I’m still close enough to hear Nathanael asking Henry about my job as I look at the corpses themselves.

Henry was right about them being bloaters. Both corpses are conveniently laying on their backs; convenient for me, that is. There’s discolouration on their faces and fingers already, blues and purples mostly. Their skin is a sickly greyish-white colour on the portions furthest away from the ground. And because gravities a bitch to blood. I know what remained of it in the worm feeders had pooled in the parts of the bodies that lay just above the ground, not quite touching it but still affected by gravity and the obvious lack of a functioning heart; leaving a pattern of pale purple to dark red splotches on the skin. Any place that is actually pressed against the ground remains the white colour though, for a reason I can’t remember; probably physics.

“Well, they’ve obviously been killed by someone or something, with a connection to magic. Markings on corpses are a well known favourite around here. Ainsel works for The Organization; capital letters on that. They deal with these sorts of crimes,” Henry is going the long way around everything today it seems. I crouch down next to the corpses.

The woman is about 30 whilst the boy looks in his teens; might be mother and son. She has a broken neck, deep wounds in her chest, and abrasions on her arms. He looks like he was beat to death, I’m not sure what’s discoloration and what’s bruises on his face. No other obvious wounds. The clothing they’re wearing, form fitting for the most part, makes it easy to see the affects of autolysis in the torso. It’s mainly just below the ribcage; so the limbs have moved only a smidge. What’s happening is the gas left behind by the cells breaking down after death is causing the corpses torsos’ to swell like a balloon made of flesh. Eventually the limbs will be forced to splay out at odd angles. That process isn’t just turning the insides into gas but liquid too; organ soup for two. The liquid is the main culprit of the mildly sweet and kind of musty scent of rotting flesh; smells sort of like fabric that has been wet for days and then dried. There’s a slightly acidic scent as well, though that’s mainly the piss and shits’ fault. This fetid liquid will be slowly escaping various parts of the body such as the mouth, but mainly well... the rectum and genitalia. Not pretty.

“Okay, but I meant. What is his job here? Right now. At this crime scene. And what is he doing with that corpse?!” I hear Nathanael exclaim in shock as I snap the ladies neck back into place. It’s still broken but at least it’s at a easier angle for me. And as an added bonus, it’ll piss Kimberly off.

“Hey, kid!” I call out, as I smack away one of the myriad of flies buzzing around the corpses, “Grab a coat and get over here! You might just get you’re answers!” I only turn slightly when I hear Nathanael rushing over. He kneels down next to me, lucky for him he’s already wearing a coat; I smirk again when I see Henry’s name tag.

“Okay. Like I said you’re getting the ‘learn as you go’. So, no matter what happens. Just stay there, and don’t move... don’t interrupt either,” I look Nathanael in the eyes, he seems uncertain but nods in agreement.

I move to kneel behind the woman’s head, keeping my eyes on Nathanael for any sudden movements. I give him a second to decide if he’s going to stop me or not. He sighs and sits back on his haunches, I relax and offer him a small smile in thanks. If he were to try and stop me whilst I’m in this state... things would get real ugly, real fast. I unwrap the bandages from around my hands, he makes a small sound when the wounds are uncovered but stays where he is. I wipe as much of my blood off on my coat as I can, but the wounds have gotten worse over these past few weeks. It’s going to have to do. I can’t risk waiting any longer. I place my left hand of the left side of her head. Making sure the tips of my fingers connect with the Temporal lobe: for speech, vision, hearing, and long-term memory. And the Parietal lobe: for language, intelligence, and sensation. The placement on the left hemisphere is need for analytical and reasoning ability. Once I’ve connected with those, I move my right hand onto the right side of the Frontal lobe: for memory and intelligence. And Occipital lobe: for visual processing and spatial-orientation. The right hemisphere is needed for facial recognition. I glance back up at Nathanael for a moment, he’s pulled the coat closer to him as the air around us grows steadily colder. The power in the air building with every breath I take, every beat of my heart, and every drop of my blood.

“Are you ready, kid?” my breath now a visible cloud in the air in front of me, as the corpse below me gasps in her first breath since she died.