Spirit Chaser: The Good Necromancer, #3

CHAPTER ONE

Lester, I don’t think this is a good idea.

My friend CeCe sat on the windowsill of my dining room, feet dangling over my parquet hardwood floor. She narrowed her eyes at me as I opened my hutch and set the table for one. She gave me a look as if she was about to slap me.

There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing, I said, setting down a shiny porcelain plate. I wiped my fingerprints away with a handkerchief, leaning in close to inspect my work. My table still smelled of the lemon wood-cleaning spray I had used on it a few minutes earlier.

This is unprecedented, CeCe said. She folded her arms. And that’s saying a lot, considering your reputation.

I don’t know whether to consider that a compliment or an insult, I said.

Consider it the truth. CeCe was as dead as ever—her flat voice reminded me of the spirits I talked to from the great beyond. Cold, clinical, yet full of energy, but never enthusiastic. She’d changed a lot since she had become a lich—a warden of the dead. Her rose-gold sword hung in a scabbard on her side, and her blood-red dress with bone spikes on the shoulders rippled gently from my vent in the wall. She had a look that could only be described as radiantly dead. It wasn’t every day that a lich traveled from the spirit world to talk to you, hang out in your dining room, and give you life advice. But we were old friends.

Maybe she was mad I didn’t make her dinner. After all, that was the proper thing to do when you were asking someone for a favor. But I had a previous engagement.

Listen, she said, frowning and exposing an ice-blue vein in her cheek. Lester, you know that I will always stick up for you. You also know how dangerous my job is. It’s not like here, where you can screw up, lose your job, and find another one in a few weeks.

I stood there with my silver china tray, a teapot clinking softly as my hands trembled a little. I was getting the jitters not because I was in the presence of a lich, but because I was suddenly terrified that CeCe wasn’t going to grant my request.

You’re telling me that you’re going to let me set this table, prepare a nice meal, and spend the night lonely because you won’t let me have a family reunion? I asked.

It’s not that, CeCe said. You know I love your family. And if it was just one, I wouldn’t be as nervous. But you’re asking for two, Lester.

This is a package deal, I said.

I stared at CeCe over the top of my glasses—a trick that always worked with my undead servant Bo and other unwitting people who didn’t know how persistent I could be when I wanted something.

That look again, she said, throwing up her hands. Don’t give me that look.

I didn’t waver. CeCe, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a necromancer, I said. Controlling souls is what I do. They’ll be safe with me.

A low-pitched whistle cut between the two of us. Bo entered the dining room carrying a tinfoil tray of fried catfish fillets and okra. The fillet breading was an aromatic mix of Old Bay and lemon powder. Helices of steam rose from the fish, gathering in water droplets on the foil. Mmm mmm, it sure smelled like my childhood when my mom fried catfish on Fridays.

Nothing brings people together like a nice plate of fish, Bo said. He wore his signature purple tracksuit and white basketball shoes. His sunglasses were dark as night. My car keys jangled in his pocket. I had asked him to run to a friend’s catering shop to pick up my order. Bo liked to cook, but his taste buds didn’t work like they used to—a downside to being dead. I wasn’t going to risk him serving bland food on a day like this.

CeCe, you’re looking awfully lichy today, he said, tipping his sunglasses to her. Did you cut your hair?

CeCe twirled a strand of platinum hair. No, and your flattery is not going to work today.

Bo cracked a smile. So boss man ain’t convinced you to do the thang yet, huh?

I’m working on her, I said.

You wouldn’t keep a lonely old man from celebrating his parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, would you? Bo asked.

I turned to Bo, irritated. Old? Lonely?

Mmm-hmm, Bo said, hooking a thumb at me. If you think he’s cranky now, just wait. He clasped his hands in a begging motion. Do it for me, CeCe. Have mercy on me. I don’t want cranky Lester tonight.

You know the rules, CeCe said, hopping down from the windowsill. She propped her elbows on one of my mahogany dining room chairs, looked me straight in the eye, and said, If anything happens, I can’t protect you this time.

I shrugged. I set the teapot down, strode over to her, and gestured with my palms up. This isn’t like the last time.

But she kept staring at me with those far gone, dead eyes. The kind of gaze where she was looking at me and through me at the same time.

Halgeron is going to kill me, she said incredulously. He’s literally going to roar and crack the earth. Do you know how long it took me to bribe him to give me my phylactery back?

She was trying to guilt me now. Liches were wardens of the dead, but despite popular belief, they were not immortal. They could die if you destroyed their phylactery, a bone jar that contained their soul. A while back, CeCe wagered her phylactery to save my life. Halgeron, the Lich King, took it and relished every opportunity to make her do his bidding until he was satisfied with her debt.

As for me, Halgeron hated my guts because I happened to be a better game player and beat him at his own game of celestial backgammon…in front of his entire army of liches.

How about this, I said. I’ll go to Halgeron myself and I’ll make a wager with him. That way, you won’t have to be involved.

I was with you for a hot minute, Bo said. He screwed up his face at me. But now you’re talking crazy, boss man.

I put my hand on CeCe’s shoulder. All I want is a nice family reunion to celebrate my parents. Just for the night.

Just for the night, CeCe said, sighing.

I’ll owe you, I said. Doesn’t that count for something?

The truth was that after my last adventure, I had felt lonely. I had been locked out of the spirit world and challenged by a vampire who seemingly knew me better than myself. Nothing in my life was stable, and now that I had access to the spirit world again, I wanted stability.

CeCe still searched my eyes. I tilted my head toward the catfish. I can offer you some mighty fine catfish if that will tip the scales.

No thanks, CeCe said, making a look of disgust at the fish.

She paused.

All right, she said. But you owe me again. And I’m going to cash in the favor promptly this time. You still owe me from last time, and the time after that, remember?

Damn, your scorekeeping is immaculate, Bo said.

Game of tallies, CeCe said, extending a hand.

Deal, I said, shaking it. It was cold and firm, not at all like a hand should have felt like. I brought her in for a hug, and a faint smell of wildflowers and rot filled my nostrils.

Let me talk to Halgeron first, she said, whispering in my ear. I’ll soften him up for you. Wait for my return.

Then she was gone, and I was embracing the air.

Welp, Bo said, I told you an advance notice would have worked better.

I shook my head as I poured a glass of water from an ice pitcher. That would have given her time to talk me out of it.

Family has always been important to me, yet the older I get, the more I realize the absence of family in my life. I was an only child, but my dad was one of seven. You could say I was raised by my aunt and uncles. They were a force in my life as strong as my parents.

When I started a family of my own, I tried to keep those bonds going. It helped that I shared a roof with my parents and that my dad was the patriarch of the family. Folks visited us often.

But something funny happens when your elders get older. First, they start dying. Second, when they die, the children get upset over something trivial and some stop speaking to each other. If an elder dies without a will, something far more common in the black community than it should be, then children really start fighting, especially if there’s a house, money, or family jewelry involved. One day, you wake up, and as you’re brushing your teeth, you realize that you haven’t talked to one of your cousins in years. Third, people start moving away. Aunts and uncles switch states to be closer to grandchildren and great-grandchildren because, frankly, there’s nothing for them in the city anymore. Those relatives left behind don’t talk much because the only thing that held us together was the elders that died.

My parents were pretty smart. They didn’t die without a will. I stayed in their good graces and I inherited their hundred-year-old house. Beyond that, all I had was my wife, Amira, and my son and daughter, Marcus and Marlese. When I lost them, well…I guess you could say I think about my family a lot. Especially my elders. You have no idea how much I miss their advice.

So you wouldn’t blame a man who decided to use his rare powers of necromancy to call up his dead parents for an evening of nostalgia, would you?

No, I’m not crazy. Yes, it was a sick thing to do. If any normal person ran around saying they were going to celebrate their dead parents’ wedding anniversary with a quiet little séance, they’d be in a mental institution before sunset.

After my last adventure, I couldn’t concentrate. I was crankier than normal. Maybe it had to do with the demon blood running through my veins, but I wasn’t so sure. The only thing that gave me comfort was thinking of my parents. Call it fate that their wedding anniversary was fast approaching. I took it as a sign.

Now I was acting on that sign, setting my table for an evening with them: my mother and father, and of course, Bo. I’d be the only one eating.

As I finished setting the table, I got the distinct feeling that I was forgetting something.

I smelled faint burning from the kitchen.

My macaroni.

An egg timer buzzed and danced on the countertop as I rushed into my kitchen, slipped on oven mitts, and pulled out glassware with glistening macaroni and cheese. This was my mother’s favorite dish. We used to call it Black Mac because around here, only black people ate macaroni out of an oven.

I set the glassware on the stove and took in the cheesy, salty aroma. The edges of the macaroni were burnt like the brown landscape of a strange planet.

My dog Hazel trotted into the kitchen, licked her lips, and sat at my feet, watching me expectantly.

Not for you, sweet pea, I said. But maybe I’ll give you some leftovers.

Hazel whined, looking at me with her beady black eyes. Unable to resist, I set aside a little bite for her when it cooled down.

Here you are, making all the food, Bo said. You know none of us can eat, right?

It’s about the mood, I said. It’s about honoring my parents and making them comfortable. They’ve been away a long time and will need reminders from the past.

Bo started to speak when lightning surged through my skull. I dropped the knife and it clanged on the stove. I staggered backward as a kaleidoscope of black and white forced itself on my mind’s eye.

I put my hands to my temples as the vision from my front porch spider settled into view. This spider was nestled on a web in the corner of one of my transom windows. He was sitting a little higher than usual today—he must have been hiding from a bird—there was a gang of asshole blue jays that had been hanging around my yard lately. My cluster of spiders was terrified of them. For this reason, I couldn’t get a good look at the woman standing on my doorstep. Her hair was obscured by a hood, and I could only see the top of her hood as she slammed my door knocker. The first slam made me jump.

Instantly, Hazel barked and dashed for the front door.

RAWRK! RAWRK!

Definitely a stranger. I steadied myself and Bo gave me a curious look.

Who is it? he asked.

I shrugged.

Bo puffed out his chest and followed Hazel to the door. I followed, leaving my oven mitts on.

Bo glanced through the peephole.

It’s a chick, he whispered. You expecting anybody?

I shook my head.

A hard frown crept across his face.

Who is it? he asked, deepening his voice.

A pause.

Who are you? the woman asked loudly.

That voice. It hit my heart and pushed me forward. I didn’t know I was walking now. The next thing I knew, I had thrown my oven mitts on the floor, pushed Bo aside, and was turning the lock.

Bo grabbed me. Let me vet her.

I pushed him away again and swung the door open.

A black woman stood on my doorstep. She had curly black hair that peeked out in a tuft under her bright red hoodie. She shouldered a duffel bag, and a ring of keys dangled from her hand. She shifted the duffel bag uncomfortably.

I stammered, but nothing intelligible came out as she looked me in the eye, surprised.

Daddy, I’m home.

I stared at my daughter, Marlese, unable to believe it. At first, I thought it was a trick—a supernatural coming disguised as my daughter to make me lower my guard. But this was, without a doubt, my Marlese. The daughter who disowned me after my necromancy got my wife and son killed. I hadn’t seen her in seven years.

I need a place to stay, she said.

I opened the screen and brought her into a long, strong hug. She didn’t reciprocate until a few seconds in.

I kissed her cheek. I didn’t know what to say to a child who hated me, so I didn’t say anything, closed my eyes, and let the tears fall.

Something rattled. At first, I thought the sound came from Marlese’s duffel bag. But it wasn’t her bag.

Ssst. Ssst. Ssst.

I looked over Marlese’s shoulder. There were no cars on the street.

Ssst. Ssst. Sssssssssst!

I let Marlese go and took her by the shoulders.

We’ll talk, I said.

She nodded.

Ssst. Ssst. Sssssst!

Then, an angry wail drifted