37Ari & Rio. Necromancers.
XXXJilly: So, Scotty, are you and Auriel - (Stops) What? (Looks around) Oo;;Holy crap.
Auriel: (glares like he'd like nothing better than to . . . I don't know, hiss?) -;;
Scotty: Well, about that. Um . . . Listen. You need a juicy sex scene somewhere in this story. How else are you going to attract readers? 'Cause we all know it's not gonna be from your way with words.
Jilly: Hummmmmm. You mean between you and Auriel? (drool)
Auriel: (smiles and shakes his head)
Scotty: Uh. No. (looks nervously and Auriel and licks his lips) No. Definitely not. But how about . . . Davie? Barrock? Jin and Rini? Uh . . . Hell, I don't know. Make Adriel and Raven fu—
Jilly: cracks him over the head > ;; Watch your mouth! They don't know about those guys yet!
Auriel: (hisses, shows his fangs, and starts advancing) (Aka: Cue for Ms. Jill to ruuuuuun!)
Jilly: EEEEK! Okay, so this has been me, trying to give you some – (takes off running during the process of speaking) – information on Scotty and Auriel. (looks back at Auriel and squeals) Please don't kill me?! OO Hmph!
XXXThe graveyard was dark and desolate, just the perfect place for my chosen decadence. With the way the moon shone down in Graveyard, illuminating every tombstone – almost as if it were day, and yet not – the very air seemed to glow with an eerie luminescence. The matter of the tombstones sparkled and winked as I walked past, headed toward the mausoleum, where my supplies rested safely after every use, undisturbed by anyone; courtesy of some scary vampires, of course. Even the wrought iron gates that warned passerby – not that there ever were any, mind; this place spooked normal people away like something awful – that meddling would come at a price few could afford.
Ah, the luxury of allying oneself with vampires; foul creatures that they are, they still have their purposes. And protecting my supplies and maintaining hundreds of dead bodies for me to manipulate at a whim in exchange for a never-visited graveyard to call their home was an easy enough exchange. I came and went as I pleased, undisturbed (mostly) and never questioned or judged for my practices (again, mostly). Oh, the life of a necromancer.
The only one who ever dared ask me anything was a very old, very powerful vampire with an even older, even more powerful vampire for a companion. So, when he asked, "Ari, why do you dress like a catholic priest?" I did the smart thing and just answered plainly, "Scotty, I work for the church." He about died of shock; and he hasn't spoken a word to me or spared a glance at me since.
Opening the mausoleum's heavy doors, I walked in and breathed the morbid air as if I were by the sea, enjoying a cool, calming breeze. To me, it was much the same, maybe better – considering what I did for a living. I was comfortable around death, having never really feared it; having toyed and practiced in the arts my whole life. Even now, I hadn't much to worry about or to do; I was so practiced that a routine, three day summons took only a few hours for me. Some say I'm just that powerful.
And I am.
I grabbed the supplies I needed – candles, herbs of various kinds, a matchbook, some chalk, and my own person spell book – and carefully placed them into a suitcase rather like the ones people see the CSIs carry around on TV. It had specifically designed compartments to fit every substance without fear that it would spill or that some other disastrous thing would happen to it. I'd be very, very pissed if something happened to any of my items.
With that, I walked out, leaving the door open for easy access when I was done, and headed over to the only grave I ever visited these days. Years ago, when I was slightly younger – a man in my mid twenties – I'd made a pact with a spirit. I'd told myself I would never belittle myself to acquiesce to anything they wanted; I was the master, why in the hell should I obey? But I'd needed that information badly, and I agreed: Unless we both deemed it necessary, any information I needed to obtain by doing my line of work, I had to raise him and only him. (So much for owning an entire graveyard filled with dead bodies, huh?)
It wasn't a bad deal, honestly. In life, he'd been some kind of Seer. Divination kind of guy; and I rather liked him anyway. There wasn't a thing you could ask him that he didn't know, except something stupid like, "Where did God come from?" or "What's hell like?" because he hasn't been there, and he doesn't know. He's bound to me, and he's not going anywhere soon. Oh, and I was never stupid enough to ask anything like that. Just so you know.
He says he has unfinished business, anyway.
I walked over to his grave – Gerard Chaostii is his name, by the way – and started my work. First, I lined up the candles, lit them, and then I spread my specific blend of herbs onto the pentagram I'd drawn with my chalk. It was all easy enough, I swear to you. Why I couldn't get it done quickly – ah. It's not my fault. That's all I can tell you; Not. My. Fault.
I sat down in a meditation-like pose, and was just about to start my spell, when out of the corner of my eye I saw some preteen little brat walk right into my mausoleum. I couldn't believe it; at first I thought I was hallucinating. How did the little prick even get in? And why in the hell didn't I sense his presence?
I shook my head and started to concentrate on my work. Maybe he was a spirit. Or maybe I was just losing my mind, but either way, I chose to ignore him. I actually told myself that, because I hadn't been able to sense him, he wasn't there. So, like I said, I ignored him. Well . . . One could say I tried to ignore him. It was only when I heard a very loud "Levántese!" that I decided my unhappy ass better investigate this a little further.
I was actually shocked beyond all belief, because from what I understood, he'd just walked into a mausoleum and told the occupants – the very, very dead occupants – to get up. And I was damn sure that, "Rise!" wasn't a spell, and that he hadn't drew a pentagram or used candles (I'd kill him if he even thought of touching mine) or anything intelligent like that. Nope. Stupid little fucker just walks right in, points to a random occupant, and tells it to get its lazy ass up, time's a-wasting.
What the hell is wrong with teenagers these days?
I stood up and followed suit, still wondering how in the hell the little fuck even got in. I mean, shouldn't I have at least noticed that someone walked right into my graveyard? You'd think I was all up to date on paying attention, but nooo, not me. Perhaps I was getting a little overconfident and a little less cautious these days, but . . . I still couldn't fathom it. Damn him. Damn that little ass all the way to the bowels of hell.
I swore I'd gut him if he wasn't dead already; and either way after that, I was going to raise him and play with him – there are a nice variety of ways to torture already dead things; just something to think about. (Aka: Don't piss me off. Ever.)
When I walked in, he looked over at me with the biggest "I'm innocent!" eyes I'd ever seen; big and honey brown and begging. And, I must confess if he weren't like twelve, I'd have fucked him. Just for those eyes. Mm. Okay, I lied. . . . I just found him adorable (in the most nonsexual way possible, but it's not like you believe that after the previous statement. Seriously though, I'm not lying. Nonsexual. N-o-n-s-e-x-u-a-l.) and changed my mind about killing him – not that it lasted for more than a second.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded in English, my eyes narrowed to slits. I knew I looked like one scary motherfucker; those huge, beautiful eyes of his widened and he bit his lower lip. His lips that were thin, but fit his face well enough that I decided to let him live at least until he was eighteen so I could legally bite them. But not in a sexual way . . . He pouted, like that was actually going to get him somewhere. Tough luck, kiddo.
"Um . . ." He gave me an unsure but game smile and said, "Um . . . Voy a levantar a un ejército de zombies," so cheerfully that I winced. I winced. Should I explain how that never happens? Nothing scares me; nothing. But this kid thought he was going to raise an entire army of zombies. Zombies. And he was – what? – twelve?
"Right," I said, my voice bored; uninterested. I was, however, completely enthralled. Captivated. Whatever you want to call it, but that little fucker had my attention locked on him in a way that would make any beautiful, unattached female jealous. "Well, I don't know if the local 'witchlings,'" I used quotations around that word, "have told you, but – I own this place; and you're trespassing. Now," I grabbed him by the arm and led him to a tombstone that was directly between my line of sight of the mausoleum and where Gerard's grave was. I could at least keep an eye on him, I supposed. Right now, I had work to do.
I'd deal with the preteen brat later.
He sat down with a huff and just stared at me, probably deciding it was in his best interest to listen, and took a curiosity, one that I didn't exactly favor, in what I was doing. He actually moved a little closer to see me meditate the spell; my spell wasn't bothered, but I was a little irritated. I didn't want him being like, "Ooh! Teach me that," because then I'd have to re-change my mind and kill him for sure.
But he didn't say anything; lucky for him. He just sat and watched . . .until Scotty showed up.
I sensed him before he came – a little plus when I'm in tune with my power, another little plus that it was actually working – and stopped the spell before it really got going. If I had to stop it during a vital time . . . Let's just say that bad things might happen. Bad as in: All of the dead in the graveyard wake up as zombies and start eating people's brains, or perhaps I accidentally rip a hole in the fabric of reality and a bunch of demons spill through. And Scotty had no idea how to tell how far I was into a spell.
Needless to say, I was pissed. But perhaps I was irritated more so by the fact that the little honey-eyed nut had yelped and jumped into my lap. Clutching my black shirt, he shivered involuntarily and buried his face in my chest. He was listening to my heartbeat, and I momentarily wondered if he'd find any irony in the fact that if he tried to take comfort like this is Scotty's arms . . .
"Scotty." I practically spat his name in anger.
"Ari." His tone was much more polite – to me, at least. For when his eyes turned to my little hazel-eyed nut cake, they narrowed like mine do when I'm angry, and he said, "I thought I told you to stay out of here."
Kid was at least smart enough to be more afraid of Scotty's soft tone than of my hot, heated, and rather loud one. I'll give him that much, though I – at that point in time – was rather stunned at the fact that the little Nut Cake had slipped in here before. And they hadn't even told me!
Hazel-Eyes muttered something incomprehensible, and Scotty crossed his arms. Always trust a vampire to hear it even if the rest of the world is at a loss. Damn vampire hearing.
"Sorry?" Scotty reached down and grabbed the back of Hazel-Eyes' black t-shirt, and the only thing I really noticed during that time was the dyed-black half curls of his short hair. Beautiful. Vitelli would be playing with that hair for hours, if he were out here. Of course, he'd be begging Scotty to be allowed to keep him as a pet or turn him. Scotty might very well have murdered him for either suggestion, so I was rather glad he was over at the local strip club, pestering Cowgirl.
"I'm going to kill you."
And the kid started to cry.
Which . . . pretty much made me feel bad for him. So, he broke into a dangerous graveyard filled with vampires and the occasion demon (which we kick out. No demons allowed) and tries to raise the dead. Big deal. We all have to start somewhere and . . . Hey, what the hell was I doing? I was the one who was about to kill him earlier. Why was I . . . ?
I looked up and saw those bright eyes staring back down at me. Scotty had the boy's back pressed to his stomach, his head held still, and fangs ready to pierce his throat.
I was about to say something, like that this was my affair to deal with, as this was technically my land, but that's when the THUMP sounded, and we all jumped.
"The fuck was that?" I asked, staring at them both. "You're all trying to sabotage my work schedule, aren't you?" I'd never get anything done if this kept up. Kid breaking into Graveyard or not, I had work to do!
Hazel-Eyes watched the mausoleum expectantly, and I found myself thinking, No way. No. Fucking. Way. There was just no way in hell that . . .
A zombie just fucking walked right out of my precious mausoleum, looking rather disheveled and quite a bit pissed. I expected him to look at me; prepared to obey the orders of the only known necromancer in the area, but he wasn't stupid. His attention when riiiiiiiiight to the Hazel Nut and he looked like he pretty much wanted to crack his skull open and eat his brain while the poor thing was still living. And you wonder why we use spells to raise the dead . . .
And though we most certainly could, and more than likely would, deal with Scotty sucking all the blood out of him, a zombie . . . well, there was no dealing when it came to them. We just don't get along very well. So, obviously no brain-eating for that particular son of a bitch.
While Scotty just held the boy tight to him – funnily enough, he now had him in a protective grasp – I grabbed some powder and raced over to the zombie, quickly pouring a circle of special herbs (they would keep him in place) around him, and moved before he could even hope to get a hold of me. I was actually pretty ego-inflated after that, because Scotty looked at me, his eyes shining with approval and respect, and that little shit just looked at me like he was in love.
And that was pretty much when I decided to keep him. (After I strangled him for waking that damn zombie in the first pla—).
My words, when I returned to where they were, were incoherent at best. "How the fu-? Who the fu-? How did you? Who are-?" I paused, glowering at Scotty, who looked rather amused. "Okay, let me start over. Since when was it even possible to point at a dead body, say 'Rise' and get a reaction? You can't raise zombies by pointing at them; you can't."
"Well, apparently you can; if you want them to wake up enough. And I did. And it did. And it's over there. You see it. It's there." He was speaking English with a rather adorable accent. Except whoever taught him to speak English seriously believed (or believes, assuming he's still alive) in sentence fragments.
Scotty just stared at me, dumbfounded. He actually had a little bit of a smile on his face, and I figured he was thinking that same thing I was.
Intelligent sounding, aren't you, you little psycho? (Total sarcasm, in case you didn't catch it.)
I stared. "I see this. And why exactly is it that you want to raise a horde of zombies? Er – Excuse me; an army; you said an army."
"Army?" Scotty just shook his head.
"Well." The kid looked like he was on a mission. "I figure, hey, one of 'em's gotta know what I wanna know and so if I wanna know I gotta ask 'em all and if one of 'em knows, he'll tell me and then I'll know and then that'll solve the problem."
Holy crap, didn't they send kids to school anymore? I wondered if that was supposed to be one sentence; or did it just have something to do with the fact that he'd said it all so fast? Aforementioned English-language-teacher must have believed in run-on sentences, too.
"Right," was the only reply I could muster. I shook my head.
"What's the problem?" Scotty asked softly. His voice could probably melt an iceberg; which technically, from what people call Auriel, it did. But more on that later. Right now I was just happy that someone had a head on his shoulders; not that I expected anything intelligible about of this very fuckable preteen. (Mind, I wasn't – and still am not – sexually attracted to him. But, he's cute. And I hate the word "cute," so I picked a word that sounds horrible and dirty; I like dirty. I'm fairly certain, however, that by now you just don't believe me. Seriously. I'm not sexually attracted to him. Not. . . . Oh, fuck. Never mind; you obviously don't believe me.)
"Um . . . Well, Raven's crazy, except he's not crazy; we know he's not crazy, we do. But they put him away and then he got away from being put away and I don't know where 'away' is, so I need someone to tell me where 'away' is so I can go 'away' and save him, 'cause he's really not crazy. He's not. Except that maybe you might think he is crazy and needs to go away because he hears voices and even though I hear voices, but mine are dead voices, so they're not the same voices, so we weren't sure which voices . . . Um." He paused – to take a breath, I assumed. Kid talked fucking fast. "I just wanna find my friend."
"And you're gonna raise a whole army of zombies – who can't talk, by the way – to tell you where your friend went?"
Nope. School is not required by law these days. Can't be. No way anyone would be this stupid.
"Summoning the spirits of the dead is the way to obtain answers . . ." I growled and rubbed my temples. "Scotty, take him inside and chastise him for a half hour or so, that way I can get my work done. After that – " I was going to regret this, I just knew it, "- I'll help you."
He just gave me a huge smile of pearly white teeth (which were kind of big, like Julia Roberts's, but very nice. Overall, he's just a good-looking boy.)
Scotty raised an eyebrow at me, as if asking where I got off telling him to baby sit a trespasser. Trespassers were supposed to die. But I just shrugged my shoulders and sighed, telling him that I needed to get back to my work; he was to give me a half hour, and then he could bring the kid back – unharmed, I warned – and go about his business.
XXXHazel-Eyes practically flew into my arms the second Scotty released his hand. Auriel had come out with Scotty, obviously rather jealous of the stupid mortal – which, according to him, should have been food. And that probably explained the whole flying-into-my-arms escapade.
The brooding look Auriel gave me was rather amusing, but I didn't let it show. I just looked to Scotty, who – I figured – would tell me what happened; he looked somewhere between vaguely amused and mortified. After a moment, he explained, "Well, one of the vampires thought that he was food. He'd practically starved himself – the idiot – and almost killed the boy." Scotty shrugged. "It really wasn't his fault, but even after we got him fed and everything settled, he was still staring at us, wide-eyed, from the corner of the room. And then Auriel just had to go and say, 'Well, he is mortal, and mortals are food.' That was pretty much the end of it."
I winced. "Poor baby."
Hazel-Eyes whimpered into my chest, pushing his body hard against mine. I didn't like it; he made me want to have sex (not particularly with him, his being a minor and all) and that made me rather uncomfortable.
Scotty was eyeing us.
"Hmm?"
"He asked for salt. Just salt." The vampire sighed. "I asked if he wanted anything to drink – we have human stuff, what with Davie and Cowgirl always visiting – and stuff to eat. He just wanted salt."
"I like salt," protested the boy in my arms.
"Salt-lover have a name?" I asked.
"Rio." He shivered badly, and the zombie trapped a few yards away made some horrible noises.
"Just Rio, huh?" I kissed the top of his head when he said yeah. "In this day and age, you have to have a last name, kiddo." I sighed. "Never mind. It's terribly late, you should be getting some sleep." I kissed his cheek this time. "C'mon, I'll walk you home."
He gave a start and looked at me with a face whiter than the one he'd come out here with.
"What?" I looked to Scotty and Auriel for support. They didn't look like they knew any better than I, which basically just sucked.
"You said you'd help me."
"Well," I started, "Gerard's to rest for the night; I'll help you soon. Tomorrow, okay?" I had to say tomorrow because he made me feel so guilty with those huge eyes of his. Stupid cute little kids with their stupid pretty eyes . . . I wish he were a really gorgeous female with a hot body so I could say "fuckable" and mean it.
He bit his lip, and I couldn't help but yell a little. "What's so bad about 'home'?"
Rio yelped and looked about to bawl.
I felt a little malicious, accompanied by a touch of borderline sympathy. "I can make you disappear," I said. "If you really don't want to go home. They'll find a body they think is yours and bury it; no one who knew you will see you for what you really look like. They'll think you're someone else. But you don't want that, do you? Things aren't that bad."
He . . . said I didn't even need to do that.
I just stared at Scotty and Auriel. "Help me," I said. "This kid's nuts."
Scotty just smiled.
Auriel said, "He's an illegal. Doesn't technically have a family. They're rather far away; you may as well keep him."
I hate when Auriel talks, I just want all the readers to know. He's always right and he always gets his way because he's an old, smart son of a bitch who knows the world better than anyone else he's ever met.. He's wise and doesn't have bias. And . . . he doesn't generally believe in that whole 'blood family' thing, since his wasn't exactly what you'd call 'friendly.' Plus he's immortally twenty something and drop-dead gorgeous, like all vampires are. Some say it's the fate of the beautiful; I say it's the fate of the eternally vain – and the striper-girl, Cowgirl, agrees.
"Alright," I said slowly.
Wrapping an arm around Rio, my hazel-eyed little nut cake, I led him away, bidding the vampires goodnight, and wondered how anyone on this earth would rather go home with a scary stranger than somewhere safe. I was thinking about it so much, that I almost forgot to put my supplies back.
Stupid kid.
XXX
I sighed audibly and glared at the other side of my bed. So, it was a huge, bigger than king-sized bed, but . . . I didn't exactly feel the need to share it with a twelve-year-old illegal immigrant. Even with the way his beautiful, golden brown skin contrasted so perfectly with those dyed-black (and I didn't understand why he'd dyed his hair; the dark brown it would have been naturally was close enough to the blue-black he had now) curly locks . . . Even with the way I found myself captivated by the mere rise and fall of his chest . . .
I wanted my damn bed to myself, because I'd only be more-than-willing to share it with a really hot female who wanted to . . .
But enough of that.
Rio. Rio.
The name seemed rather foreign; I'd gotten way too used to calling him Hazel Eyes and Nut cake. Horribly adorable, isn't it?
I rather wanted to smack myself.
And why in the hell was I even keeping him?
With another sigh, I turned onto my side and slipped my arm under the little brat, pulling him closer; his back rested against my stomach. For a moment, he went stiff. I whispered into his ear, relieved when he relaxed against me, and saw the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
He whispered, "Da . . . Davie," in his sleep. "Davie." A slight pause. "Ari we ha . . . ve to . . . . . . . save . . . Da-Da-Davie. Raven, he . . . . . ."
"He what?" I whispered back, but that was all I got; he fell back into an uncomfortable rest, no doubt dreaming of horrible things.
I held him, unsure of what else to do. Tomorrow, all of this would be sorted out, I told myself. So there wasn't much point in trying to make sense of what he'd tried to tell me tonight. At least, I hoped not.
But how in the hell did the kid even know about Davie? I mean, sure he could have picked up the name from Scotty, but the way he said what he did . . . it just seemed so . . . real. Perhaps it was just a dream, right? Perhaps not. My gut told me no, and that was good enough for me.
I was told long ago that, when you're young and powerful, you're drawn to others who are like you. Special circumstances, or something. Fate, I think he called it. And I had no doubt in my mind that Rio was powerful, so did that mean that he was somehow connected to Davie?
I could understand that. That was fine.
It was the fact that his friend, Raven, was included in this little quartet of power (so far consisting of Cowgirl, Davie, Rio, and Raven) that rather unnerved me. And I knew there were more like them.
Usually, with the way things work – you get a miraculously uncorrupted yet very powerful being once every few centuries. That's the way the fates work; everyone has moderate power, and when circumstances call for it, one of a greater power than anything imaginable would come along.
So far in the past three months, I'd met four of those beings with unimaginable power.
Something told me there were more.
I just couldn't help but wonder why.
XXXAuthor's Note: Wow, have you ever gotten like 30 e-mails in a row from the same person, on the same subject? Holy cow. That's all I have to say. And you said I was demanding; yet I don't think you know the definition of that word.
So, ladies and gents; here is the sixth chapter, brought to you courtesy of a very determined, very busy boy I'd like nothing more than to smack. Apparently, the lesson learned here is that he gets what he wants. He wanted; I posted.
And I'm pretty sure he'd have signed over his firstborn child (Janelle Marie Angelline) to get it. Woo. Six weeks to go! . . . Just don't shake her. Ever. She'll die. Best advice I can give you for now.
Esquirella: I would like nothing more than to see a zombie choke Lina to death, but . . . well, she's an evil bitch and evil bitches always seem to come out on top. For a while anyway. But she won't appear back in the story for a while. (Okay, like two more chapters, if that. Depends on how I separate the story.) And Davie . . . well, pack leader isn't exactly what I'd call it. Between you and me, race leader would be a more appropriate title. But that's just between you and me. No telling!
Nocturnal Fire: Well, what happened to the spell on Jin will be explained next chapter. As this one doesn't actually have him in it. (He'd probably run from the zombies.) Well, I shouldn't say explained, I guess; Davie just surmises about what happened. He's correct, but he's not sure about it. You'll see what I mean. I like when you say "Yey" it makes me feel . . . I don't know. Cool? Auriel and Scotty's relationship is so much of a mystery. It's sad when even the author isn't sure.
Afk: I wish I could be a dog with a furry tail, too! I would run and play fetch and roll over and beg for human food, just like my dog. Consequently, Davie is not based off my pouty pup! With good reason. Because, then all he'd do is lie at your feet and stare at you like, "Pet me!"
Cute Little Mongoose: Actually, she was the only Sailor Moon character that I liked (Rini, I mean.) Har. I guess you'll have that. I found the name online, browsing through, trying to find some random, albeit cute, names. It fit. It totally reminded me of Sailor Moon. But it fit. And, yeah, Davie is adorable as a puppy.