Page 30 of Necromancers Don't Raise

“Do I look like anyone you know?” I finally asked.

Her lip curled ever-so-slightly. “It’s not hard to recognize the Dealer’s companion. What are you doing here? My bodyguards will throw you out shortly. You’re trespassing. You’ll probablyget a chance to meet some charming police officers on your way out if you don’t leave immediately.”

“In that case, I’ll take my time. I’d hate to miss out on an introduction to charming police officers. Perhaps one of them will find a demonic goblin like me equally charming. It’s not likely, though, is it?”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you want?”

I took a calming breath and stood up tall. “Why haven’t you done a more thorough investigation on the fire and death of your daughter?”

Her eyes flickered with annoyance and a splash of grief. “We let the authorities handle it.”

“Since when would Patricia Clarence let anyone else handle anything? Is it somehow to your advantage to let the fire and deaths be seen as accidental?”

“I can’t believe you’d come in here and accuse me of…” She sputtered for a moment, still in her slip.

I handed her the dress on the hanger, the next one waiting for her to try on. “Might as well multi-task. You have a meeting with Gerald in forty-five minutes.”

“How do you?—”

“You don’t want to know. Or do you?” I eyed her while she hesitated, then took the dress, because she did have a meeting, and I seemed to be more of an irritation than an actual threat to her safety.

“You must have met my daughter on one of her philanthropic tours. She did engender loyalty in the most unusual people.” Her expression softened to her ‘confronting-unfortunates’ face. “You must accept the loss of our precious girl. She had a good life, even if it was short. We can’t bring back the dead.”

I snorted and bared my teeth at her. “I’m living with a necromancer. We certainly can bring back the dead, even if they were brutally murdered, mutilated, with fingers and nosechopped off before they were dumped in a sewer, so don’t tell me we can’t bring back the dead.”

She tensed up. “Mercury brought you back from the dead? You’re undead?” She looked at me like I was a rotten skunk on the side of the road, only worse.

“No, unfortunately, I went from undead to alive when my demon blood kicked in. I must have gotten the goblin from you. Everyone always said, ‘You have your mother’s knack with numbers,’ but where did I get the demon?”

She stared at me blankly, then pulled the dress over her head, smoothing it over her body automatically while she processed. “You aren’t telling me that you’re my daughter, come back from the dead.”

“No, why would I tell you that when it wouldn’t make any difference? I regenerate. I can’t do surgery to be cut and pasted back into the appropriate Clarence mold. I really broke the mold on this one. Turn around.” She did, standing there, facing the mirror while I zipped her up. I looked at our reflections in the mirror, me and my white fuzz on top, pale blue-green eyes, narrow features, crooked mouth, sharp nose. We looked nothing alike. She stared at our reflections like I did, at all the differences, and yet, we had the same posture.

“I think you must be under a spell,” I finally said. “You should ask Sissy to look into the deaths, because it’s clear you can’t see anything. You’ll never believe me, not when I look nothing like you. I didn’t realize how much work I had done, but looking at my natural face, it’s a lot.”

She studied me intently and then turned to face me, her eyes running over my face in fascinated horror. “You aren’t my daughter.” She said the words, but her voice was uncertain.

“No, I’m Nova Nativitae. I have no family, like you. Can you tell me who would want your daughter dead? Just as an exercise in futility? What about your past? Are there monsters that you’retrying to escape from? Is that why you have no pictures from your childhood, why you were always so careful to guard me?”

She stood straighter. “This conversation is over.”

“Yes, I can see this was a waste of time. You’ll never admit to having goblin blood, so why would you admit to the demon? Still, you should have Sissy look into the murder.”

“It was an accident.”

“Yes, everyone says so, and we must believe what everyone says. Except that I was mutilated before I was killed.” A welling of helpless anger rose up, choking me. “You’re right. This conversation is over. I don’t know why I thought you’d help me when I have nothing to offer you in return. I’m just some random, hideous, inappropriate stranger who accosted you in a dressing room.” I turned to leave, then hesitated. “That dress adds ten pounds and years. Maybe that’s what you’re going for.”

I opened the door to find Bones holding off Sissy and Goons, mostly because his arms were so long. He had his hands around their throats, not quite strangling them, but very effectively holding them in place.

“Bones!” I grabbed his arm and squeezed, but he was like a tree branch, immovable.

“Miss Nova, did you get sleeves?” he asked with his usual sunny smile.

“Oh. I’ll just…” I grabbed the nearest black dress, but Fatima’s assistant hurriedly grabbed a different one on a hanger, handing it over.

“This will be closer to your size,” she said with a shy smile.

I blinked at her. Now that was a useful assistant, always calm under stress with an eye to customer satisfaction. I’d poach her for the company if I had a company.

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