Metal Page 3

  He was calm, though, nodding once before leaning in to open the front door and gesture for them to enter.

  “We’ll follow you, thanks. I’m a bit concerned about Finn’s well-being here in your presence.”

  “Yet you brought him with you,” Syham said, turning sideways so he could fit through the door. It was still a squeeze, but he managed it with only minimal mussing of the fur on his chest and back.

  ****

  Finn watched Veruca and the big guy quizzically, wondering why they were acting like James Bond and some villain who’d accidentally tipped his hand about the death ray he had pointed at them both. The phrase “mutually assured destruction” came to mind for a fleeting moment, until they stepped into the house and Finn caught sight of his own reflection in a full-length mirror to the left of the door. He looked pretty good, especially for the early hour. He’d gotten more than enough sleep the day before, so staying up half the night pleasuring Veruca had hardly taken its toll. His life hadn’t always left him looking so spiffy, but since meeting his true love he looked pretty great most of the time.

  “He should be allowed to inspect the evidence against him,” Veruca said as Finn winked at himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. Realization dawned on him, and he watched his own reflected expression wrinkle into a frown.

  “The—what evidence?” Finn asked. Veruca smiled briefly his way, but as she opened her mouth to speak, something pulled her attention off to the far end of the foyer. Her shoulders stiffened and Finn recognized something was wrong. The big guy kept watching Finn, his muddy eyes narrowed. Finn offered a smile, but it didn’t make a dent in the creature’s stony glare.

  Veruca took off without a word and Finn lost sight of her the second she rounded the corner into the hallway. Uncomfortable with staying behind, Finn rushed after her. An itch started between his shoulder blades as soon as he put the big guy at his back.

  “What’s going on, my love?” Finn asked as he crossed the threshold into a large bedroom. Whoever lived there was a pretty good decorator, Finn thought, before he noticed the body stretched out on the big bed at the far wall. His necromancy picked up on the problem the second he focused on the corpse, and Finn wondered if his previous thought had become invalidated. From the look of it, maybe no one was living there at all.

  “This doesn’t belong to Finn,” Veruca said from the foot of the bed. She was staring down at the corpse, shaking her head so minutely Finn wasn’t sure she realized she was doing it. “The fragment is so small, though, that I can’t get a reading on it. If I had to guess, I would—”

  The corpse sat up abruptly, startling Veruca, and turned its face directly to Finn. When it said his name, he almost fainted.

  Chapter Three

  Veruca turned just in time to watch Finn fail an escape attempt by running straight into Syham’s barrel chest. He didn’t quite bounce back through the wall like a cartoon, but he hit the floor with an impressive enough thud. He scrambled to his feet immediately and settled for hiding behind Syham’s gargantuan shoulder, since he couldn’t fit by to escape into the hallway.

  The zombie tried to get to its feet, and Veruca backed up to put herself between it and Finn. She didn’t look like she’d have been much of a threat in life, not with her slight build and pretty face. Her eyes were an average shade of brown, her hair just as unremarkable, though she’d obviously had to give up caring for the state of it upon death. It was frizzy and bumpy, pulled into a loose tail off-center at the back of her head.

  “Finn,” the zombie said again, its voice clear as day. Whatever vices it’d had in life, Veruca guessed the woman hadn’t been a smoker. What she couldn’t guess, though, was how the zombie was even active at all. The thread of soul animating the body was minuscule, much less than Veruca would have thought possible. Before it had sat up, she’d assumed it was a mistake, that the necromancer had left part of his soul behind without realizing.

  The zombie noticed her then, turning its stiff neck so their eyes met. Flicking her eyes to the zombie’s throat, Veruca wondered briefly about the thumb-sized safety pin jabbed straight through the dead flesh. The tiny spear had been stuck in postmortem, so there hadn’t been any blood loss, but Veruca still fought the urge to wince at the sight of metal through skin.

  “Move,” the zombie ordered, the tone at odds with the lack of expression on her face. She sounded frustrated, maybe even annoyed at the human barricade between her and Finn. She didn’t seem to have eyes for Syham, focusing only on Finn and Veruca. The zombie advanced and Veruca matched her movement, backing up to keep herself between the corpse and Finn. She wanted to talk to the dead girl—or, at least to whomever was controlling her—but the sudden baring of teeth let her know conversation wasn’t forthcoming. Before the zombie could attack, Veruca reached her own power into the girl’s chest, grabbing the tiny sliver of soul controlling her, and yanked it free.

  The corpse crumpled instantly, falling over itself in a way that would have bruised the skin of the living. Its hand flopped to rest near Veruca’s feet but she stood still, swallowing her nerves. The iota of soul remained loose in the air for only a moment before the pull of the other necromancer’s magic called it home.

  “What the hell just happened?” Finn asked from behind Syham’s shoulder. Veruca didn’t answer for a moment, just watching the corpse as she felt her own heart thunder in her chest. When she didn’t speak, Finn piped up again, his tone tentative as if scared he might raise the zombie with his question. “Is she okay?”

  Veruca looked back at him, pity slithering through the anxiety that had drenched her nerves. Even in the face of one of his worst fears, even with his own ability most likely screeching through his mind, demanding he let it jump into the now empty vessel at Veruca’s feet, Finn was still compassionate above all. There was no hurting the corpse, which Finn’s rational mind knew, and yet he was still worried about the body that had once been a person. Finn came off as selfish sometimes, easily distracted by his own needs, desires, and interests, but when it came right down to it, he was still driven with concern for those around him, even those who were beyond help.

  “I can guarantee Finn did not raise that zombie,” Veruca said, watching Finn as he focused silently on the body.

  “Who did?” Syham asked.

  Veruca shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t find out at this point either. The soul has fled.”

  “It knew him by name,” Syham said, finally moving all the way in the room so he could step up next to Veruca and inspect the corpse. “How would it know him if not for him being its maker?”

  “There are a half dozen answers to that question,” Veruca explained, her eyes on Finn. “But none of them really matter at this point.”

  “Proof of his innocence doesn’t matter?”

  “I’m proof of his innocence,” Veruca said firmly. “Besides, Finn isn’t the problem here. Whatever necromancer raised that zombie is powerful, and from the way it was looking at me toward the end, I wouldn’t say he or she is particularly moral. The necromancer would have gladly set the zombie upon me just for refusing to step out of its way. I would expect to see some victims around the area sometime soon.”

  “We already have,” Syham pointed out. “It’s why I’ve come to you.”

  ****

  Finn couldn’t properly split his attention between the zombie and the furry monster. At the moment, neither seemed like an immediate threat, but he didn’t want to chance ignoring either one. He’d never make it through life by making dumb decisions.

  Well, he thought, that wasn’t true. He’d made plenty of dumb decisions that had just happened to work out in his favor, but that didn’t mean he was going to risk it this time. He had more to lose now that Veruca was in his life. She was worth using his brain rather than panicking and hoping good luck took over.

  The monster had its back to Finn, facing Veruca down as if he could intimidate her. Finn had seen Veruca deal with worse, though, and knew
her to be formidable. He wasn’t too worried about her safety, even with a formerly angry zombie at her feet. She’d borrowed Finn’s necromancy once, and it had ended poorly for the person she’d set against.

  The zombie seemed to be down for the count, but it still called to him. Finn had been training to better control his power, and that had opened up an awareness that he’d previously thought impossible. To him, the ability to raise the dead had been a dangerous and desperate last resort. He preferred to stay as far away from the deceased as possible, not out of respect but out of pure cowardice. He’d gained many a scar on his perfect body from the shambling dead.

  Since being forced into lessons from a take-no-shit demon, though, he’d realized that the power was always there with him, settled in the back of his mind like a snake waiting for a mouse to happen by. It wasn’t just raising the dead he was built for, but sensing them. His magic seemed to hunger for an outlet, a parasite seeking a host. The girl on the floor had been dead when he’d walked in, but someone else had already taken up residence inside her chest. Now that her heart was free of its cage, Finn’s necromancy was fixated right on it.

  He wasn’t about to let it hop between them, though. It had become a rare zombie who got a bite out of Finn once he had control of it, but caution was still wise.

  Besides, enough had been done to the poor girl. He was betting she hadn’t been raised by chance, stumbled upon by a necromancer right after she’d died a perfectly natural, painless death. Someone had murdered her, stuffed their magic inside her without consent or care, and left her alone in an empty house, maybe to never be properly discovered or taken care of. There was no reason for Finn to believe she’d been anything less than a decent person, or that she deserved anything less than a funeral attended by loved ones. Yet here she was, abandoned to rot on the floor of what was probably her own bedroom.

  It made him sad, but he had to admit there was some anger there too.

  Noticing Veruca and the monster had been talking about murder and mayhem for the last few minutes, Finn tuned in, trying to jog his memory so it would shake loose the line of conversation that had led them to where he’d rejoined the chat.

  “Four banks in this area alone? That seems excessive. Who needs that much money?” Veruca asked, shaking her head.

  “Says the woman with a small fortune,” Finn piped up, catching her eye in hopes his beauty alone would cheer her up. She still seemed unhappy.

  “I came by mine honestly,” she said, gesturing to the corpse. “Not like this.”

  “Like what?” Finn asked, giving the dead girl another look. She didn’t appear particularly wealthy, and the house didn’t seem like it was worth much. Had she been murdered for money? And what did that have to do with banks, and most importantly, Finn?

  “You haven’t been listening,” Veruca said with a sigh. “Someone’s been raising the dead and using them to rob banks, to steal jewelry and collectibles. Someone’s been using zombies to kill people—or losing control and not stopping them from killing, anyway.”

  Realization dawned on Finn why he’d been brought to the house and why the monster had been giving him the stink-eye since they’d first met.

  “Someone thinks I’m responsible?” Finn asked, horrified at the accusation.

  “For this,” Veruca said, her expression softening. “But in general, no. I don’t think anyone would label you responsible.”

  “If yours isn’t the necromancer we seek, perhaps you should inform your boss of what’s happening.”

  “I’m sure he knows,” Veruca said, looking back at the big monster. “He hasn’t yet come to me, but there are many possible reasons for that. He could be certain it’s beneath my notice, for instance.” Finn could see something in her face that he was certain he didn’t like, but it wasn’t aimed his way, so he let it go, resisting his usual urge to cheer her up or calm her down.

  “I’ll speak with him soon. Rest assured, Fairy has nothing to fear from my necromancer or myself. Whatever damage has been done, I’ll be sure the mess is cleaned up. I trust you will make sure any interested parties understand they have no reason to worry about Finn?”

  The big guy didn’t say anything for a while, and when he did, all that came out was an unsettling, “Of course.”

  ****

  Syham had left unhappy but Veruca didn’t consider his mood her problem. Sure, his response was likely a reflection of how the more powerful fae who commanded him felt, but she had to trust that any suspicion cast her way would be wiped clear soon enough.

  Fae stayed out of her business for the most part, and she’d become good at remaining neutral in their eyes. She paid for services when necessary, but usually avoided them. Demons were willing to help her out when they could spare the time, and they were often more than capable of assisting her.

  It was a demon she was waiting on as she sat with Finn in the dead girl’s house, looking over her calendar to make sure she was aware of any forthcoming appointments.

  “This seems rude,” Finn said, looking up from his own phone. Veruca caught sight of the pause screen and smiled to herself. Finn was terrified of zombies, even his own, but he spent much of his downtime pitting them against plants in simulated battle.

  “Not talking to each other?” Veruca asked, settling her phone in her lap and giving him her full attention.

  “No, not that. We do plenty of not-talking.” He winked to make sure she knew he meant during sex. Though, she thought, there were times when talking was a big part of that too. “We’re sitting in a dead girl’s house and she’s just … you know, laying there.”

  “Would you prefer she get up and come sit with us?”

  “No!” Finn protested, his shoulders tensing at the idea. “But we just left her there. And now we’re on her couch, just … just hanging out.”

  “We’re waiting for someone to come take care of her. We’re not just leaving her there, I promise. My people know how to treat the dead with respect.”

  Finn’s expression warped and Veruca knew instantly how he felt about that. Getting up and moving to sit next to him, she rubbed his back.

  “We’re going to figure out who killed her, who used her family for unsavory purposes, and we’re going to make sure the blame doesn’t fall on you.”

  “Why’d they think it was me anyway?” Finn asked, his scowl setting in place as if he’d keep it forever.

  “Because you’re a necromancer, everyone knows you’re based in this general area, and because your kind aren’t exactly common. Certain types of fae spawn pop up frequently, while others, like us, are hard to come by.”

  “Who’s everyone?” Finn asked, settling a little as he rubbed her thigh absently.

  “A Reaper hooking up with a necromancer is news. It sent rumbling through the preternatural community, at least through the lesser fae who might care about the affairs of humans. Since most lesser fae are beholden to Fairy royalty in some form or another, the news would travel if someone wished it to.”

  Finn grunted, neither liking nor disliking her explanation. It was for the best that he’d gone quiet, as the demon she’d been waiting for had arrived.

  Demons came in most varieties, but they had all been human before being given the gift of power from Belial. They had fewer ranks than the fae, from what Veruca understood, but that was mainly because so few roamed the planet, at least compared to the number of upper fae that seemed to hang around. The demon who knocked at the door was lower in status, his time in servitude only just hitting the double digits. Finn looked up at the knock, but Veruca pressed gently against his leg to indicate she’d get the door.

  “Clark,” Veruca said as she stepped back to let him pass. He nodded at her, respectfully keeping his gaze off hers. She hid a smile by turning to gesture to the living room. “Come on in. The girl’s at the back.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, stepping inside and giving a little wave to Finn. “Hey.”

  “Mornin’,” Finn greeted, going
back to his game when Veruca indicated with a jerk of her head they’d be with the former zombie.

  “House’s got bad mojo,” Clark said giving the hallway a hard inspection as if he could read its history written in massive letters all over the walls. In a way, he could, as memopathy was one of his given powers. It wasn’t the one he’d been born with, but it had been bestowed upon him when he’d agreed to his demonhood. “At least four people died here. And here’s one of them now.”

  Clark dropped into a bouncy crouch next to the dead girl, shaking his head as if he’d come across something no more disturbing than roadkill. Veruca stepped around to face him.

  “When we got here, she was animated, quite convincingly in fact. The decay will start now that she’s not. Whoever raised her was very powerful.”

  “Oh yeah,” Clark said, looking up to Veruca, his expression not entirely matching the situation. He’d been a demon long enough that he’d stopped empathizing with death and misfortune. “Can’t get much, but she didn’t die nicely. I think…”

  Clark leaned down, bracing himself with his fingertips on the carpet, and pressed his face up close to the dead girl’s neck, just above the ironically named pin.

  “Yeah, strangled. Big hands. Um, cold hands? Another zombie, I think. Her … brother, shit. Damn. That’s cold—er. You know.”

  “Can you get anything more than that? I wasn’t able to read the soul that was animating her. If she can tell us anything more concrete, it will help us track down who killed her.”

  “Why do you want to do that?” Clark leaned back onto his heels, still looking at the corpse. Veruca recognized the question as genuine and not a reflection on Clark’s opinion of humans as a whole. Some demons had lost all compassion for anyone but their kind, but Clark was still curious.