Finn Fancy Necromancy Read online

  “Me too. So, did you see the Silver Halls? Or the Forest of Shadows?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I was in the wilds with the shapeless Fey, in neutral territory, not one of the Shaped Demesnes.”

  “Oh. So, what did you do?”

  I shifted on the couch, pulled the blanket up around myself. “I relived memories.”

  “Good memories?”

  “All of my memories. The good ones, the bad ones, the stupid boring ones. The Fey would come to experience and feed off of the energy and emotion manifested through the memories.”

  Petey frowned. “Did it hurt?”

  “No. I didn’t feel a thing, except what I remembered, or dreamed.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad. I like remembering. Sometimes I like to just lie on the grass and remember stuff. Especially about you, and Mother, and Grandma Ramirez, and Grandfather Gramaraye, and all the people I can’t see anymore.”

  “Well, I certainly remembered you, dude.” And Grandfather, since I would often feel his presence in the Other Realm. Perhaps it was just my imagination since I never felt the presence of my other family members, alive or deceased, but I preferred to think it was real, that his spirit had been able to breach the wall between Realms thanks to some spiritual aftereffect of all my Talker training with him and the resonance that had built between us.

  Pete sipped loudly at his cider. “Did you remember the time we climbed up on that billboard with Dawn and ate a whole box of Ding Dongs?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, I remembered that.”

  “And the time I dumped Walter Ryan in the trash bin because he called Dawn the N word?”

  “Yes, Petey. I—”

  “And the time Grandfather told Mort to do your chores all summer, and Mort made me do them instead, and Grandfather gave him a pimple potion the first day of school as punishment?”

  “Pete, I remembered everything.”

  “And the time I got stuck crawling through the attic and we found Mother’s journal hidden up there?”

  I sat up, cider sloshing hot onto my hand. “The time we did what?”

  “We found Mother’s journal in the attic and you had to pull me out, and I got splinters on my belly?”

  I cleaned my hand, and frowned. “No. I don’t remember that. Are you sure I was there?”

  “Yeah. Remember, Mother had drawn Kimba? Do you remember Dawn’s dog? Mother was all worried because Kimba was a Doberman pinscher, and they were supposed to be mean, but Kimba was really nice.”

  “Yes, I remember Kimba.” But not the journal, or Pete getting stuck in the attic. “Where’s the journal now?”

  “I think Grandfather burned it after Mother died, ’cause it was private.”

  I thought the Fey had summoned every last memory of mine, repeatedly, but I didn’t remember anything about Mother’s journal.

  Had something gone wrong during the transfer, even more wrong than just not getting the changeling’s memories? Had I lost some of my own memories somehow? Memory was a very tricky thing, especially when you had two beings using the same brain.

  But wouldn’t I remember remembering it in the Other Realm, even if I didn’t remember it actually happening, or … something? So did that mean the memory was somehow blocked or destroyed before my exile?

  The only memories that should have been officially blocked were related to my necromancy training and use—the ARC didn’t want the Fey to learn any more about our magic than could be helped. But those blocks had all dissolved naturally once my spirit reentered my body. I knew, because I could remember every boring necromancy lecture from Grandfather.

  “I’m sorry,” Petey said. “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about Mother, or Grandfather. I know you were their favorite, you all being Talkers and everything.”

  “Favorite?” I heard Mort’s influence there. “Petey, Mother loved us all the same. And Grandfather—I’m not sure he even liked me some days.” Grandfather gave me more attention and focus than Mort, Pete, or Sammy, it was true, and I loved him. But Grandfather’s brand of favoritism had been less a prize and more like catching the Eye of Sauron at times. I’d tried everything to earn his respect, and still wasn’t sure I ever did. “Enough about me, it’s your turn. How have you been? What have you been up to while I was away?”

  Petey shrugged. “Nothing special or anything. Well, I did go to Waerfolk Anonymous for a while.”

  “Really?” It made me uneasy thinking of Pete being around so many feybloods. It would be just like them to infect him with their waer curse for real, and claim it was an accident.

  “Yeah, but the leader, he said I graduated and shouldn’t come to their meetings anymore, because it made the others feel bad, not being as good at controlling their animal spirit as me.”

  “Of course he did. Well … congratulations.” I took a sip of cider, and let the steam and smell of cinnamon apple yumminess waft over my face as I hid my smile, and my relief.

  “Thanks,” Pete said.

  “And you’ve been helping Mort with the business?”

  “Yeah. I still do all the lifting, and driving, but Mort also made me the head of security after this one time when a troll family tore up the viewing room.”

  I winced. “That must have been scary.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a long silence while Pete sat hunched over the pillow in his lap like a bear embracing its cub, then he said in a quiet voice, “If I ask you something, promise not to laugh?”

  “Of course.”

  “Promise? Because Mort would just laugh.”

  “I promise, Petey.”

  “Okay. Will you help me find a girlfriend?”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry. I just—a girlfriend? What makes you think I can get you a girlfriend? I’ve never had one myself, not really. Besides, I just got back from exile. I don’t know anyone.”

  He looked up with his wide, puppy eyes. “Yeah, but you’re my brother,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  And I guess it did, in a way. As much as I might have teased Petey growing up, I’d also been the one to protect him from the worst of Mort’s pranks, to let Petey play games with me and my friends, and the one he came to when he had problems. I’d always been his big brother—even though he was the one who protected me when it came to bullies—and clearly exile hadn’t changed that.

  After all the things about my life and the world that I’d found changed in the last few hours, all the things I’d realized were lost to me during my exile, Pete’s trust in me as his big brother was comforting, and I found myself wiping tears from my cheeks.

  I cleared my throat. “Are there any girls you like?”

  “No,” Pete said, then looked down. “Well, yes, but they’re mundy girls, you know? And besides, there’s my monthly visitor.”

  I sighed. “Pete, I thought I told you not to call it that.”

  “It’s what Mort calls it.”

  “Well, I’m telling you not to, okay?”

  “Okay. Trolling for vampires?”

  “What? No! For cheese’s sake, you need to stop listening to Mort. Call it, I don’t know, your wolf time.”

  “Okay. Well, how am I supposed to date anyone with my wolf time?”

  I had to be careful here. I couldn’t just tell him he wasn’t a waerwolf. After so long, he might think I was trying to trick him like Mort, and I wanted him to trust me. Especially if I only had three days to spend with him, I didn’t want to spend them with him mad at me. I’d tell him, but later. Maybe I’d mail him a letter just before exile. That was best all around.

  “Well,” I said, “you have the potions. So you don’t have to worry about transforming, right?”

  “But what if I scratch or bite her?” Pete said.

  I resisted the urge to ask him what exactly he thought dating involved. Then I realized I had an easy solution.

  “Actually, I think I might know how to cure you, all the way and forever.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t soun
d excited.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His voice went soft. “Well, if I stop being a waerwolf, there won’t be anything special about me.”

  “What?” I sat up. “Pete, that’s not true.”

  “Yes it is. I’m not a Talker like you, or smart like Mort and Sammy, I’m just … me.”

  “Oh man, Pete, you’re totally awesome, dude! Are you kidding me?”

  “Really?”

  “Heck yeah! You protect us, you make us smile when we’re feeling bad, you’re one heck of a painter and, well, I wish I had a heart half as big and good as yours.”

  Pete frowned down at his chest for a second, then looked up and smiled. “Thanks, Finn.”

  “No problemo, brother. So, what do you say, get rid of the wolf time?”

  “Maybe,” Pete said, though he still didn’t sound excited at the idea. “But I still have to find a girl who’d like me.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t be hard,” I said, and hoped I wasn’t lying.

  A knock sounded at the door, and I almost fell off the couch.

  Oh crap. Had the enforcers returned?

  “Pete?” a woman’s voice called from outside.

  “Oh!” Pete said, looking at me. “I forgot to tell her you were coming home tonight.”

  “Who?”

  “Dawn,” Pete said. “She comes over sometimes at night, to talk. She usually brings dessert.” He licked his lips and glanced longingly at the door.

  Dawn. I looked around the room. Memory welled up as sudden and sharp as if summoned by the Fey.

  * * *

  Dawn closed the door to the mother-in-law cottage and turned on the boom box radio that sat on a shelf between empty flowerpots. Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It” filled the room.

  “Uh,” I said. “Um.” I was smooth like that at age fourteen.

  “It’s just a dare,” Dawn said, pushing her glasses up. She’d put multicolored bands all along the side frames that matched the ones in her cornrows. “You don’t have to get all weird about it.”

  “Mort dared you to make out with anyone in the circle,” I said. “I think he wanted you to pick him.”

  “Yeah, well, your brother’s stupid. And if he says ‘Chaka Dawn, let me rock you, let me rock you, Chaka Dawn’ one more time, I’ll beat him stupider. So, you going to kiss me or what?”

  “Really?” I glanced to the door and back to Dawn. “I thought, uh, you just wanted to pretend to kiss or whatever.” I glanced down at her body. I couldn’t help it, my eyes just did what they wanted sometimes.

  She grabbed my hand and placed it on her “Frankie Says Relax” T-shirt—over her breast. Holy hand grenade. My hand was on her breast!

  “See,” she said. “They’re just boobs, not magic or anything. You don’t have to get all stupid around them.” Her words came out fast, even for her, and her hand on my wrist trembled lightly.

  She stepped in close to me, looked into my eyes. I could feel the heat of her this close, could smell coconut, and bubblegum, could hear my own heartbeat.

  I kissed her.

  Her lips were soft. I expected them to be soft, but not soft like this, warm and melting. Her tongue touched mine, and I tried to match its movements, to follow its rhythm as it moved in and out, a feeling like hunger rising with each thrust.

  I found myself shaking now, trembling as if my muscles were exhausted.

  Dawn pulled away, and I reluctantly opened my eyes to find hers staring into me. Waiting. Wary.

  “Uh,” I said.

  She stepped back, and punched me in the arm. “Don’t go all stupid on me. It was just a kiss. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend now or anything.”

  She turned and rushed out of the shed, leaving me flushed and confused.

  * * *

  Another knock on Pete’s door broke the memory trance. I blinked. Was such vivid memory an aftereffect of exile?

  Dawn’s familiar voice called out, “Pete, are you awake?” She had the kind of voice you’d expect on a twelve-year-old girl if she’d been smoking for half those years—soft and sweet sounding, but with a scratchy edge.

  “Yes,” Pete said. “Just a minute.” He looked at me, and whispered, “You want me to tell her to go home?” He didn’t sound too happy at the thought.

  “No! Let her in.” I definitely wanted to see her, to catch up with her.

  And an idea occurred to me: Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to find Pete a date after all. Or at least a practice date.

  Pete grinned, bounced out of his bed, pulled on his gloves, and unlocked the door. Dawn walked in.

  The woman who stood in the doorway looked wildly different from the Dawn of my memories. The glasses were gone, replaced by a silver piercing on her left eyebrow. The cornrows had become a wavy lavender afro. And she’d gone from scrawny to Mother Goddess curves. She carried two plates with slices of what looked like berry pie.

  “Hey, Petey, I brought—” She stopped when she spotted me. “Finn? Is that you?”

  I smiled. “Hey, Dawn.”

  “Holy son of Godzilla! Long time no see. You look good. I heard you were living way off the grid down south or something, but Jesus man, why the hell didn’t you ever just drop me a line? That was really shitty of you, you know?”

  Ah, shoot. Of course Dawn didn’t know I’d been in exile. As far as she knew, I’d simply left without saying good-bye. And she’d never had a lot of friends besides me and Pete and Sammy. Being new in town was part of that at first, and the fact that she was one of only two black kids in all of Port Townsend probably didn’t make it any easier to fit in. Mostly, though, she was just weird. Like the way she said whatever random crazy thought popped into her head.

  Man, I’d missed that, especially in the perpetual sameness of the Other Realm.

  But I could only imagine how my disappearance must have seemed to her.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m really sorry about that, Dawn. You know, I was having some real problems, and I needed to get away, time to deal and, you know … find myself.” I winced. Lame.

  “Hey, you’re talking to the queen of self-exploration, my friend,” Dawn said. “Not masturbation, though I’m pretty well the queen of that too, but I meant, you know, trying to figure all that head and heart crap out.” She crossed her arms. “So how’d it go?”

  “Uh. I … good?”

  “You don’t sound so sure there. I’d be happy to help you explore yourself some more—again, I’m talking head and heart here. Mostly. Although this place brings back some memories, huh? Well dangity, I don’t want to interrupt a family reunion or whatever—”

  “No, no, it’s fine, really, come in.”

  “Naw, I think I’ll just go. You’ve kind of thrown me, to be honest, appearing out of the blue and all, and I need to process some things. But here, you two can have these. I’ve got plenty more at home.”

  “Really, you don’t have to go,” I said.

  Dawn set the plates on Pete’s end table. “But I want to go, and these days, I pretty much do what I want.”

  “Well then, do you want to go to dinner in town tomorrow? With Pete and me?”

  Dawn stopped, and stared at me in silence. Just as it began to feel really uncomfortable, she said, “I don’t know. Are you going to wear those adorable pajamas?”

  I looked down and blushed. Great.

  “Probably not.”

  “Well, that’s a shame. But still sounds delovely and delicious. Let’s say the Belmont, six o’clock? See you there.” And she left.

  I blinked at the closed door for a second, and then shook my head. “Well, she hasn’t changed much.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pete looked down at the two pieces of pie. “Which one do you want?” he asked, as though afraid of my answer. One of the pieces was nearly twice the size of the other.

  “I’ll take the small one, dude. You need your pie.”

  Later, as I drifted off to Pete’s snores, I made a decision. I couldn’t control w
hat my enemies did, even if I could prove my innocence in time to save myself. If the past was any lesson, I was pretty screwed, in fact. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to save myself, just that success was a long shot.

  So I would make the best of whatever time I did have. That’s what I could control. As much as possible, I would spend the next three days enjoying my family and friends.

  And hopefully lots of pizza.

  6

  Hot for Teacher

  DAY 1

  That night, my dreams were vivid memories, another delightful side effect of the long exile and mind transfer. But as I dreamt, I felt like I searched for something, that I tried to reach across time to my younger self and find an answer to a question. Or maybe I was searching for the right question …

  * * *

  A car drove by as I walked Heather home from school. Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is” blasted out the window.

  We walked past block after block of homes that seemed to be in competition for the Most Likely to Be Owned by a Fairy-Tale Witch award, houses with towers or cathedral windows, weather-worn or with stylistic paint jobs, or that hunkered down in yards filled with overgrown gardens and gnarled trees that looked like they could come to life at any second.

  I thought about trying to kiss Heather the entire walk. Fifteen years old, and I still hadn’t had a girlfriend, not really. But Heather was the one.

  Dennis Holmes zipped by on his ten speed. “Dorks in love!” he shouted as he passed us. Dennis was a total douche. I mean, yeah, Heather looked like she could be Pat Benatar’s dorkier sister—the home-cut short hair, the glasses, the rockingest plaid and neon outfits layaway could buy at Sears. But I didn’t care. And dudes like Dennis didn’t know her, so they didn’t get it.

  “Are you going out with Dawn?” Heather asked.