The Emperor of Evening Stars by Laura Thalassa

Author:Laura Thalassa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2022-10-28T18:37:24+00:00

Chapter 14

Hell to Pay

I head to George Mayhew’s place, a longtime client of mine and one of the best necromancers out there. The man is addicted to pixie dust, and he’ll bargain away his services in an instant for his next fix. Unfortunate for him, convenient for me.

I appear in Mayhew’s living room. A split second later, Hugh Anders’s bloodless corpse manifests as well, landing on his coffee table and scattering a mostly finished box of pizza and toppling a beer.

“Holy shit!” George jerks back on his couch, his game controller flying from his grip. “Hey, what the fuck, man?” he says, catching sight of me.

“Resurrect him,” I command, jerking my head to the body.

“Dude, you ruined my dinner.”

Like I care.

I glance around his place. George’s apartment smells like a pet store, thanks to the rodents he breeds. Necromancy is, at its core, blood magic. It takes lifeblood to bring something back from the dead, and George, like most necromancers, doesn’t like cutting himself up for the job when he could cut up a fluffy little creature instead.

“Do you want another supply of dust?” I say. “Resurrect him.”

He looks at me obstinately. “I’ve been calling you for weeks now and you’ve been ignoring me. Why should I help you now?”

“Fine,” I say. I snap my fingers and the body lifts off the table. “I’ll find another necromancer.”

George stands a little too fast. “Wait-wait-wait.” He wipes his greasy hands off on his shirt.

Classy guy.

“How many grams?” he asks. His eyes have a greedy shine to them.

“Enough,” I respond.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, pretending to actually consider it. Finally he nods. “I’ll do it,” he says.

I gesture to the body. “Then have at it.”

George stands, his attention moving to the corpse. One moment he’s a junkie, the next, a professional. He circles Hugh Anders, tilting his head as he inspects the dead man.

“Sleek-looking asshole,” he comments. “What’d he do to get offed?”

I ignore George’s question.

When he realizes I’m not going to answer him, he raises his palms. “All right, man, no questions.” He returns to the task at hand. “Beer?” he offers.

I glower at him. He and I both know he’s trying my patience.

He shakes his head. “Just trying to be polite.”

George lowers himself to his knees, grabbing one of Hugh’s arms. “Still warm,” he says to himself. He bends the appendage. “And rigor mortis hasn’t set in—this is a fresh one. That makes this easy.”

He stands, turning off his TV and the game I interrupted. He then heads over to his entertainment system, opening a cupboard situated next to the TV. From it he pulls out little baggies of various herbs, several candles, and a packet of matches. Setting the candles on the floor around the coffee table, he lights them one by one.

After he does so, he flips off the living room lights and heads to his bedroom, returning with a hairy spider cupped in his palm.

I fold my arms and lean against the wall, idly watching the necromancer, my blood simmering.

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