Sam LaCroix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necroslacker) wrote2013-11-24 09:58 am
necroslacker) wrote2013-11-24 09:58 am
seattle ; sunday ft
Nick came to sometime on the hike down. He didn’t look super happy, but then again, he didn’t complain either. He kept an eye on Ramon for the rest of the trip, even though Sam's friend was just smiling and whistling. Sam scratched Taco’s head and tried to hide his smile.
Ramon offered to drive, since he wasn’t nearly as worn out as Sam was. Or as angry. He didn’t have a license yet, but Pello was a poor choice, and Sam was exhausted. No one asked Nick. Sam would have to add sending Ramon to the DMV to his to-do list. As he curled up in the back seat, his brain already going fuzzy with sleep, it occurred to him that if he’d done this hike last year, Ramon would have been exhausted too. Floating on that thought was the fact that Sam was probably the only one in the car—besides Nick, who was being ignored—who could still be considered human. If he could still be considered that at all. He was still human, right? It hurt to think about, and Sam was too tired, so he stored it for another day. He put it right under the festering guilt that the reason hid best friend was probably out of the human category was completely on his head.
Nick was letting Sam ignore him, which was difficult since they were sitting right next to each other. Ramon had to be in the front to drive, of course, and it was hard for Pello to sit in the back with his goat legs. Sam had a pretty complicated relationship with his uncle, considering that he hadn’t seen him since Sam had been very young. When he was only a few hours old,his mother and Nick had decided that it would be best if he could remain under Douglas Montgomery’s radar. So out of fear, they bound Sam's powers and didn’t tell me about him until recently. It had made Sam feel extremely vulnerable, and though he kept telling myself that they did it out of kindness, he still got mad sometimes.
Sam knrw the two aren’t completely analogous, but his binding reminded him of a spiritual chastity belt. You know, the big metal underpants that noblemen used to put on their wives and daughters when they weren’t around to “keep them pure for their own good”? Apparently, their own good meant no physical comfort and the risk of infection, and added a strange hitch to their step. Sam's hadn't involved anything as humiliating as metal underwear, but spiritually it was the same thing. They'd cut him off from a natural part of himself, hobbling his growth. Yes, they did it because they thought it was their most viable course of action, but Sam bet those noblemen thought the same thing. The phrase “for your own good” always made him hesitate, because sometimes it is, but usually what they actually mean is “for my own good.”
Ramon broke the tense silence. “So where are we taking you?”
Sam caught Nick glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look over.
“Tia’s,” he said. “If that’s okay.”
Sam felt my jaw tighten involuntarily. Taco, who had been sleeping in my lap, rolled over and growled softly at him.
“You’re angry, and you have every right to be, but we did what we thought was best.”
“I know,” Sam said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Then he childishly turned away from Nick, curled up around Taco, and went to sleep.
****
Sam was in the basement again. That’s how he knew it was a dream. No way in hell he’d voluntarily be down there hanging out. He was sitting in an old wooden chair, staring at the cage. Douglas was in it. Douglas looked like he’d last seen him—hole in his throat, blood staining his front, but his manner was calm as he stared back.
“Let me out,” he said. “I can’t search in here.”
Sam shook his head. “No way, bucko. You put yourself there, not me.”
“You think this can hold me?” He knocked the cage door open with a shove.
Fear seeped into my core, but Sam stayed in the chair. “You can’t do that,” he said. “You’re dead.” Douglas laughed his cold, creepy laugh, and they were suddenly in the Tongue & Buckle drinking at the bar. Thei pint glasses were filled with blood, and Sam didn’t want to drink his.
“You have to,” Douglas said. “It’s part of who you are.”
Sam shoved the glass away, and it shattered on the floor. Aengus came up carrying a jar of pickled eggs, which Sam had never actually seen in a bar, but for some reason he associated them with bars anyway. Aengus looked down at the spilled blood with a sigh and handed Sam the jar of pickled eggs. They were a sickly greenish color, and Sam gagged.
“Don’t just sit there,” he said, tossing a bar rag on the counter. “Come clean up your mess.”
“It’s not my fault,” Sam said, even though he had shoved the glass.
Aengus shrugged. “Still a mess. Still needs cleaning.” Then he walked away. Sam tried to get up and walk over to the other side of the bar, but the jar kept getting heavier and heavier. The floorboards cracked and gave way. He was underground, the roots grabbing at me, dirt spilling into hid eyes and mouth. dsm screamed.
Douglas’s face appeared in the hole above my head. Sam yelled at him to get me out, but he just shook his head.
“Not until you hand it over.”
Sam didn’t know what he meant, so he just kept screaming. Well, he kept screaming until Pello whacked him with a soda bottle and Sam jerked up in my seat. Sweaty and shaking, he rolled down the window and gulped at the fresh air.
“You okay?” Ramon asked. Nick stared, concerned. Sam leaned his head against the side of the car, letting the breeze cool him down. He closed my eyes and grabbed the pouch around my neck. The beads bit into his hand—it felt strangely reassuring.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just a bad dream.”
“If you say so,” Ramon said, his voice tinged with worry. Sam didn’t respond, but kept his eyes closed, allowing the breeze to push the last of his dream away.
He’d become pretty used to nightmares the last few months. You don’t survive getting kidnapped, thrown in a cage, tortured, and then killing a man without experiencing a few restless nights. Unless you’re a sociopath, Sam guessed. But he wasn’t, or at least he was pretty sure he wasn’t, and the dreams had been pretty regular. Sam's mom had a natural sleep aid that she made, and he’d taken to putting a few drops of it in some water before he went to bed every night. It helped him sleep heavily, and he tended to remember my dreams less. It also helped for those times when Sam didn’t want to spend the whole night chatting with restless spirits.
But the last few nightmares felt different, and Sam couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Something tucked away somewhere in the folds of his brain was nagging me, and he tried to coax it out, but no deal. Sam put my medicine bag back under his shirt.
“You want to talk about it?” Nick asked softly.
“No, and with you, double no.”
“Okay, but the guys have been filling me in with what’s been happening in town, and it seems like it might be a good idea—”
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” Sam's brain was still fuzzy with sleep, and he was having a hard time dislodging the nightmare from it.
Nick wearily rubbed his face with his hand. “Look, Murray got me a temporary pass so I could help him out for a few weeks, but I came up here to apply to the Council for a permanent stay.”
“Is that so?” Sam said softly.
His shoulders slumped slightly in a defeated fashion. “I know you need time to process, but I’m not sure we have that time. So for now, while things are the way they are, do you think we could call a truce? You can hate me all you want, but you might need me.”
“You’re about twenty years too late for that,” Sam said. “Forced exodus or no.” And that’s when he felt the hurt that had been squatting underneath his anger. And that hurt was telling me that if Nick had just stayed around, even though being that close to Douglas would have been a danger, he could have been trained earlier, properly, and not half-assed. That his situation would be different and he wouldn’t be mired down the way he was now.
“I know,” he said, and Sam could hear the pain in his voice. Damn it. He was starting to feel sorry for him. The thing was, Sam knew it wasn’t really his fault. Not really. And he’d done his best, but Sam could feel the anger boiling inside him where it had been stashed so that he wouldn’t keep letting it out all over his mom. The binding, while well-intentioned, had led to his kidnapping, Ramon’s “life change,” and Brooke’s death. Sam knew there was no way they could have predicted this outcome, but it was still the consequence of their actions. Sam hadn’t wanted to stay mad at his mom, though, so he’d buried it. Nick was a good, safe outlet. Which meant he wasn’t being fair to him. Double damn it. Sometimes Sam wished he was more of an asshole. It would make his life so much simpler.
Sam stuck my hand out. “Fine. Truce,” he mumbled.
He grabbed my hand quickly, and Sam could tell he was trying to get it before he changed my mind, which made me feel worse.
“I’m still mad,” Sam said.
“I know.”
“Well, as long as we’re clear on that,” he said. We were quiet the rest of the drive, but the tension was gone for now.
Sam made Nick wait in the car while he ran in and said hi to his mother. He found her in the kitchen, pouring some kind of infused oil into a jar.
“You look very sweaty,” she said.
“Yes, well, I’ve been hiking.” He opened the cookie jar on the counter and looked inside. Peanut butter. Sweet.
“There’s a container in the pantry—better take them all, or Ramon will get pouty.”
Best. Mom. Ever. “Okay, cool.” Sam grabbed them and set them on the counter, chewing hid cookie and trying to decide how to approach the conversation.
Hid mom glanced out the window. “Speaking of which, why is Ramon still in the car?”
“Ah, well, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Uncle Nick is in the back seat.”
She put her pot back on the stove and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh?”
“That’s it? ‘Oh?’!?”
“What did you expect, dear?” She smiled at me as she put the lid on the jar and twisted.
“I don’t know,” Sam said honestly. “Something. Anyway, I think he wants to stay here for a while.”
His mom swiped at the jar with a towel, even though he didn’t see any of the oil on the outside. Probably habit. “That might be best, actually.”
Sam bit into another cookie. “And how might that be best?”
His mom leaned against the counter, finally giving Sam her full attention. “What with … the incident.” She waved a hand in the direction of Haley’s door so he’d know which particular incident she was referring to. “It might be best to have more people around.”
“I’ll come stay,” Sam said without thinking.
She smiled and leaned over, swiping some cookie crumbs away from Sam's mouth with her towel. “You’ve got your own house to look after now. I appreciate it, but I think your dance card is quite full.”
Sam sighed. “Fine. What did James say about the house?”
“He recommended that I redo my wards, especially the one in the chimney, since that was done ages ago.”
“That’s all? Did he say how he thought they got in?”
She shook her head. “No, but he did suggest that making them simply repel those who wished harm was not enough.”
“Oh?” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “Whom are they supposed to keep out now?”
“Everyone.”
****
After they dropped off Nick and Pello, they headed back to the house. A lot of things were whirling around in Sam's head as they drove, and Ramon was kind enough to stay quiet while he tried to figure things out. What Sam needed was to speak to someone who knew what she was talking about. He pulled out my cell phone and hit June Walker’s listing. Sam had her on speed dial. As the only other necromancer Sam actually knew, she definitely warranted it. She answered on the third ring, and before she could finish her hello, Sam had unloaded everything on her. He was able to gloss over some of it, thanks to Ashley and Dessa.
Apparently, between the two of them, they’d been keeping June abreast of things.
“What do you really want to ask me, Sam?” she asked once he’d finished babbling.
“Is there any chance he could have survived?” Between the dreams and all the weird crap, well, it just kept coming back to Douglas.
Sam heard the click of her lighter as she lit a cigarette. “I don’t think so. With your power boost, the ritual he tried to inflict on you was obviously completed. That couldn’t be unless he was dead.” She paused to take a drag. “But—”
“Why is there always a but?”
She laughed. “Because it’s Douglas. He complicates things. My suggestion? If you’re worried, seek out evidence. Make your pukis show you where he took the body.”
****
It took some fast talking and a lot of unpleasant wheedling to get James to comply. Finally he agreed to meet the group there, and Sam gave Ramon new directions. We found James standing in front of the crypt, leaning against the side nonchalantly, like it was no big deal—like he hung out in cemeteries every day. Of course, working for Douglas, he probably had.
The inside was cooler than the outside in terms of temperature, but not in terms of aesthetics. Or smell. Even with the door propped open for light, the crypt was quite obviously home to a rotting corpse. Without a word, James escorted me over to the marble slab where what was left of Douglas was waiting for me. Ramon decided to stay outside—something about the smell and sensitive noses.
My necromancer status aside, Sam hadn’t actually seen a lot of decomposing bodies. They’re just not something you run across a lot of unless you work in a field specifically built around handling rotting flesh. Sure, he'd been to a few funerals, Haden’s for one, but those bodies had been embalmed.
Douglas had not. Sam was trying not to let his mind see all of it at once, but his stubborn brain kept thinking words like maggots and goo, and when he saw a beetle crawl through Douglas's empty eye socket, he backed up a step. Basically, his enemy had been reduced to a sloppy, bug-ridden mess. Sam choked on the smell and tried to cover his nose with the back of my arm.
James just stood there. Unaffected, merely curious, coolly assessing the cadaver like it was something else—a place setting, maybe, or my dress attire.
“I’m sorry I made you do this,” Sam said.
James had leaned over the corpse, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze following another beetle as it climbed out of Douglas’s suit jacket. “Why? Didn’t it set you at ease?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, of course.” Sam gestured with the hand not held under his nose. “I was just apologizing for making you see, um, him … like that.
”
James shrugged, eyes still following the beetle as it perched on the edge of Douglas’s shiny black shoe. For a second, Sam really thought he was going to paw at it like a cat. “No apologies necessary,” he said. “This is only a shell. He’s not in here.”
“That’s an enlightened way to look at it.”
James looked at me, silver eyes blinking in the dim light. “I suppose so, yes.”
****
It was dark when they finally got home, and, despite the nap, Sam was still tired. There was a tranquility to the house, with everyone ensconced in individual activities. Sam headed to his room with a wave to James. He needed some quiet time to think.
On his way in, Frank had passed him a package that had shown up. Despite his exhaustion and his hurt and upset from the day, he still knew immediately who the gift was from. The music was a dead give away as was the thought behind it. He'd completely forgotten about his upcoming birthday. He sighed and rubbed his face.
Well, that was an interesting addition to the day and said day still wasn't even over.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from Necromancing the Stone and TBC as this chapter is super long. Warning for: description of a dead body.]
Ramon offered to drive, since he wasn’t nearly as worn out as Sam was. Or as angry. He didn’t have a license yet, but Pello was a poor choice, and Sam was exhausted. No one asked Nick. Sam would have to add sending Ramon to the DMV to his to-do list. As he curled up in the back seat, his brain already going fuzzy with sleep, it occurred to him that if he’d done this hike last year, Ramon would have been exhausted too. Floating on that thought was the fact that Sam was probably the only one in the car—besides Nick, who was being ignored—who could still be considered human. If he could still be considered that at all. He was still human, right? It hurt to think about, and Sam was too tired, so he stored it for another day. He put it right under the festering guilt that the reason hid best friend was probably out of the human category was completely on his head.
Nick was letting Sam ignore him, which was difficult since they were sitting right next to each other. Ramon had to be in the front to drive, of course, and it was hard for Pello to sit in the back with his goat legs. Sam had a pretty complicated relationship with his uncle, considering that he hadn’t seen him since Sam had been very young. When he was only a few hours old,his mother and Nick had decided that it would be best if he could remain under Douglas Montgomery’s radar. So out of fear, they bound Sam's powers and didn’t tell me about him until recently. It had made Sam feel extremely vulnerable, and though he kept telling myself that they did it out of kindness, he still got mad sometimes.
Sam knrw the two aren’t completely analogous, but his binding reminded him of a spiritual chastity belt. You know, the big metal underpants that noblemen used to put on their wives and daughters when they weren’t around to “keep them pure for their own good”? Apparently, their own good meant no physical comfort and the risk of infection, and added a strange hitch to their step. Sam's hadn't involved anything as humiliating as metal underwear, but spiritually it was the same thing. They'd cut him off from a natural part of himself, hobbling his growth. Yes, they did it because they thought it was their most viable course of action, but Sam bet those noblemen thought the same thing. The phrase “for your own good” always made him hesitate, because sometimes it is, but usually what they actually mean is “for my own good.”
Ramon broke the tense silence. “So where are we taking you?”
Sam caught Nick glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look over.
“Tia’s,” he said. “If that’s okay.”
Sam felt my jaw tighten involuntarily. Taco, who had been sleeping in my lap, rolled over and growled softly at him.
“You’re angry, and you have every right to be, but we did what we thought was best.”
“I know,” Sam said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Then he childishly turned away from Nick, curled up around Taco, and went to sleep.
****
Sam was in the basement again. That’s how he knew it was a dream. No way in hell he’d voluntarily be down there hanging out. He was sitting in an old wooden chair, staring at the cage. Douglas was in it. Douglas looked like he’d last seen him—hole in his throat, blood staining his front, but his manner was calm as he stared back.
“Let me out,” he said. “I can’t search in here.”
Sam shook his head. “No way, bucko. You put yourself there, not me.”
“You think this can hold me?” He knocked the cage door open with a shove.
Fear seeped into my core, but Sam stayed in the chair. “You can’t do that,” he said. “You’re dead.” Douglas laughed his cold, creepy laugh, and they were suddenly in the Tongue & Buckle drinking at the bar. Thei pint glasses were filled with blood, and Sam didn’t want to drink his.
“You have to,” Douglas said. “It’s part of who you are.”
Sam shoved the glass away, and it shattered on the floor. Aengus came up carrying a jar of pickled eggs, which Sam had never actually seen in a bar, but for some reason he associated them with bars anyway. Aengus looked down at the spilled blood with a sigh and handed Sam the jar of pickled eggs. They were a sickly greenish color, and Sam gagged.
“Don’t just sit there,” he said, tossing a bar rag on the counter. “Come clean up your mess.”
“It’s not my fault,” Sam said, even though he had shoved the glass.
Aengus shrugged. “Still a mess. Still needs cleaning.” Then he walked away. Sam tried to get up and walk over to the other side of the bar, but the jar kept getting heavier and heavier. The floorboards cracked and gave way. He was underground, the roots grabbing at me, dirt spilling into hid eyes and mouth. dsm screamed.
Douglas’s face appeared in the hole above my head. Sam yelled at him to get me out, but he just shook his head.
“Not until you hand it over.”
Sam didn’t know what he meant, so he just kept screaming. Well, he kept screaming until Pello whacked him with a soda bottle and Sam jerked up in my seat. Sweaty and shaking, he rolled down the window and gulped at the fresh air.
“You okay?” Ramon asked. Nick stared, concerned. Sam leaned his head against the side of the car, letting the breeze cool him down. He closed my eyes and grabbed the pouch around my neck. The beads bit into his hand—it felt strangely reassuring.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just a bad dream.”
“If you say so,” Ramon said, his voice tinged with worry. Sam didn’t respond, but kept his eyes closed, allowing the breeze to push the last of his dream away.
He’d become pretty used to nightmares the last few months. You don’t survive getting kidnapped, thrown in a cage, tortured, and then killing a man without experiencing a few restless nights. Unless you’re a sociopath, Sam guessed. But he wasn’t, or at least he was pretty sure he wasn’t, and the dreams had been pretty regular. Sam's mom had a natural sleep aid that she made, and he’d taken to putting a few drops of it in some water before he went to bed every night. It helped him sleep heavily, and he tended to remember my dreams less. It also helped for those times when Sam didn’t want to spend the whole night chatting with restless spirits.
But the last few nightmares felt different, and Sam couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Something tucked away somewhere in the folds of his brain was nagging me, and he tried to coax it out, but no deal. Sam put my medicine bag back under his shirt.
“You want to talk about it?” Nick asked softly.
“No, and with you, double no.”
“Okay, but the guys have been filling me in with what’s been happening in town, and it seems like it might be a good idea—”
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” Sam's brain was still fuzzy with sleep, and he was having a hard time dislodging the nightmare from it.
Nick wearily rubbed his face with his hand. “Look, Murray got me a temporary pass so I could help him out for a few weeks, but I came up here to apply to the Council for a permanent stay.”
“Is that so?” Sam said softly.
His shoulders slumped slightly in a defeated fashion. “I know you need time to process, but I’m not sure we have that time. So for now, while things are the way they are, do you think we could call a truce? You can hate me all you want, but you might need me.”
“You’re about twenty years too late for that,” Sam said. “Forced exodus or no.” And that’s when he felt the hurt that had been squatting underneath his anger. And that hurt was telling me that if Nick had just stayed around, even though being that close to Douglas would have been a danger, he could have been trained earlier, properly, and not half-assed. That his situation would be different and he wouldn’t be mired down the way he was now.
“I know,” he said, and Sam could hear the pain in his voice. Damn it. He was starting to feel sorry for him. The thing was, Sam knew it wasn’t really his fault. Not really. And he’d done his best, but Sam could feel the anger boiling inside him where it had been stashed so that he wouldn’t keep letting it out all over his mom. The binding, while well-intentioned, had led to his kidnapping, Ramon’s “life change,” and Brooke’s death. Sam knew there was no way they could have predicted this outcome, but it was still the consequence of their actions. Sam hadn’t wanted to stay mad at his mom, though, so he’d buried it. Nick was a good, safe outlet. Which meant he wasn’t being fair to him. Double damn it. Sometimes Sam wished he was more of an asshole. It would make his life so much simpler.
Sam stuck my hand out. “Fine. Truce,” he mumbled.
He grabbed my hand quickly, and Sam could tell he was trying to get it before he changed my mind, which made me feel worse.
“I’m still mad,” Sam said.
“I know.”
“Well, as long as we’re clear on that,” he said. We were quiet the rest of the drive, but the tension was gone for now.
Sam made Nick wait in the car while he ran in and said hi to his mother. He found her in the kitchen, pouring some kind of infused oil into a jar.
“You look very sweaty,” she said.
“Yes, well, I’ve been hiking.” He opened the cookie jar on the counter and looked inside. Peanut butter. Sweet.
“There’s a container in the pantry—better take them all, or Ramon will get pouty.”
Best. Mom. Ever. “Okay, cool.” Sam grabbed them and set them on the counter, chewing hid cookie and trying to decide how to approach the conversation.
Hid mom glanced out the window. “Speaking of which, why is Ramon still in the car?”
“Ah, well, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Uncle Nick is in the back seat.”
She put her pot back on the stove and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh?”
“That’s it? ‘Oh?’!?”
“What did you expect, dear?” She smiled at me as she put the lid on the jar and twisted.
“I don’t know,” Sam said honestly. “Something. Anyway, I think he wants to stay here for a while.”
His mom swiped at the jar with a towel, even though he didn’t see any of the oil on the outside. Probably habit. “That might be best, actually.”
Sam bit into another cookie. “And how might that be best?”
His mom leaned against the counter, finally giving Sam her full attention. “What with … the incident.” She waved a hand in the direction of Haley’s door so he’d know which particular incident she was referring to. “It might be best to have more people around.”
“I’ll come stay,” Sam said without thinking.
She smiled and leaned over, swiping some cookie crumbs away from Sam's mouth with her towel. “You’ve got your own house to look after now. I appreciate it, but I think your dance card is quite full.”
Sam sighed. “Fine. What did James say about the house?”
“He recommended that I redo my wards, especially the one in the chimney, since that was done ages ago.”
“That’s all? Did he say how he thought they got in?”
She shook her head. “No, but he did suggest that making them simply repel those who wished harm was not enough.”
“Oh?” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “Whom are they supposed to keep out now?”
“Everyone.”
****
After they dropped off Nick and Pello, they headed back to the house. A lot of things were whirling around in Sam's head as they drove, and Ramon was kind enough to stay quiet while he tried to figure things out. What Sam needed was to speak to someone who knew what she was talking about. He pulled out my cell phone and hit June Walker’s listing. Sam had her on speed dial. As the only other necromancer Sam actually knew, she definitely warranted it. She answered on the third ring, and before she could finish her hello, Sam had unloaded everything on her. He was able to gloss over some of it, thanks to Ashley and Dessa.
Apparently, between the two of them, they’d been keeping June abreast of things.
“What do you really want to ask me, Sam?” she asked once he’d finished babbling.
“Is there any chance he could have survived?” Between the dreams and all the weird crap, well, it just kept coming back to Douglas.
Sam heard the click of her lighter as she lit a cigarette. “I don’t think so. With your power boost, the ritual he tried to inflict on you was obviously completed. That couldn’t be unless he was dead.” She paused to take a drag. “But—”
“Why is there always a but?”
She laughed. “Because it’s Douglas. He complicates things. My suggestion? If you’re worried, seek out evidence. Make your pukis show you where he took the body.”
****
It took some fast talking and a lot of unpleasant wheedling to get James to comply. Finally he agreed to meet the group there, and Sam gave Ramon new directions. We found James standing in front of the crypt, leaning against the side nonchalantly, like it was no big deal—like he hung out in cemeteries every day. Of course, working for Douglas, he probably had.
The inside was cooler than the outside in terms of temperature, but not in terms of aesthetics. Or smell. Even with the door propped open for light, the crypt was quite obviously home to a rotting corpse. Without a word, James escorted me over to the marble slab where what was left of Douglas was waiting for me. Ramon decided to stay outside—something about the smell and sensitive noses.
My necromancer status aside, Sam hadn’t actually seen a lot of decomposing bodies. They’re just not something you run across a lot of unless you work in a field specifically built around handling rotting flesh. Sure, he'd been to a few funerals, Haden’s for one, but those bodies had been embalmed.
Douglas had not. Sam was trying not to let his mind see all of it at once, but his stubborn brain kept thinking words like maggots and goo, and when he saw a beetle crawl through Douglas's empty eye socket, he backed up a step. Basically, his enemy had been reduced to a sloppy, bug-ridden mess. Sam choked on the smell and tried to cover his nose with the back of my arm.
James just stood there. Unaffected, merely curious, coolly assessing the cadaver like it was something else—a place setting, maybe, or my dress attire.
“I’m sorry I made you do this,” Sam said.
James had leaned over the corpse, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze following another beetle as it climbed out of Douglas’s suit jacket. “Why? Didn’t it set you at ease?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, of course.” Sam gestured with the hand not held under his nose. “I was just apologizing for making you see, um, him … like that.
”
James shrugged, eyes still following the beetle as it perched on the edge of Douglas’s shiny black shoe. For a second, Sam really thought he was going to paw at it like a cat. “No apologies necessary,” he said. “This is only a shell. He’s not in here.”
“That’s an enlightened way to look at it.”
James looked at me, silver eyes blinking in the dim light. “I suppose so, yes.”
****
It was dark when they finally got home, and, despite the nap, Sam was still tired. There was a tranquility to the house, with everyone ensconced in individual activities. Sam headed to his room with a wave to James. He needed some quiet time to think.
On his way in, Frank had passed him a package that had shown up. Despite his exhaustion and his hurt and upset from the day, he still knew immediately who the gift was from. The music was a dead give away as was the thought behind it. He'd completely forgotten about his upcoming birthday. He sighed and rubbed his face.
Well, that was an interesting addition to the day and said day still wasn't even over.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from Necromancing the Stone and TBC as this chapter is super long. Warning for: description of a dead body.]