Page 37 of Necromancers Don't Raise

“I knew it.” I sighed heavily. “You’re not really giving me benefits, are you?”

“On the contrary, Miss Nova, I have a contract waiting for you at the auction house. But that’s for tomorrow. Today, we are going home, watching an odious show while we sit on the couch, and eat ice cream. That is, if we don’t use it all on your knee. I got Neapolitan, since I don’t know which flavor you favor.”

I sighed happily. “You have a contract for me? And ice cream? You really are the best master in the world.”

“You are not dead, Miss Nova. I am only the master of the dead.”

“That’s only because you refuse to take off your shirt around any goblins. You could command the masses. Think of the goblin army you could raise.”

He made a choking sound. “Thank you for the suggestion, but I think I’ll pass. Did you actually go up against Retta in a contest you knew you’d lose for a chance to steal a poster?”

“Of course. Oh! She asked for the armor, but it was hers in the first place.” And she’d gotten the poster from him, but probably not ethically, so I was even more justified in stealing it back. I did feel slightly guilty about it, but the prize was worth the guilt.

“Not hers. It went with the job, so when she left, the armor stayed with me.”

“Hm. That sounds a little petty, Mercury.”

“I am slightly petty when my employees, who I have spent large sums of money on armoring, leave me for a competitor who wants all my secrets.”

“Ah. Corporate pettiness. That’s fine then.” A wave of exhaustion swept over me. I snuggled into him and relaxed, letting him carry me and my aching knee home.

Chapter

Eleven

Iwoke up to my bedroom door slamming closed.

I blinked at Mercury, where he stood wearing the most beautiful suit I’d ever seen. It fit him stunningly, but the real clincher was the way it smoothed over his musculature, making him look even more massively beautiful than usual.

The white rat on my chest squeaked at him, like it was lecturing him for waking me up, then the rat looked at me, raised its hands as if in a shrug, because what can you do about necromancers, then leapt off the bed and disappeared into the shadows. I looked from the bottom of the curtain, then back at Mercury, who was looking rather imperious. I was still bemused and confused from sleep.

“Good morning,” I said, feeling like my head had been stuffed with cotton.

“Afternoon. And here I thought that you wanted a job.”

I threw back the blankets then yanked them back up when I saw that I was still in the holograph bra and black velvet bottoms and nothing else. “Let me get dressed, then I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Of course.” He spun on his heel and left me slightly disoriented. Still, I needed a job, and whatever he wanted me todo while he wore that incredible suit, I’d do. And try not to ogle him. I opened the armoire and studied the contents. There was armored clothing, and the one classy black dress from Fatima’s. Did he want me to be a guard at his high-brow auction house? Which would be more suitable? I only had the one dress, but I had many of the armored pieces. I’d start there.

I dressed quickly, trying to look pulled together, and failing because my face was still a mess, not helped by the white tufts coming out of my skull. I looked dangerous, possibly rabid, and nothing close to respectable. Hopefully that fit the job description.

When I got to the kitchen, limping as fast as I could, Mercury stood from the place where he’d been sitting at the table. He gestured for me to sit at his right, where a wide assortment of food waited, from cereal to roasted chicken.

I sat and smiled at him. “So, what’s the job?” I pulled the bowl of cereal towards me and took a bite while he studied me, considering.

Finally, he said, “Your eyes look particularly stunning this afternoon.”

I chewed my bite and nodded. “Thanks. Your eyes are particularly stunning when you’re considering ripping out someone’s heart. It’s the silver, like mercury. That’s where you got your name, isn’t it? At least that half of it, but Oswald? It’s such a dusty name. Ah. That’s where you got the other half.”

His brow wrinkled as he put a hand on my forehead, checking if I were feverish, no doubt. “I am not personally dusty.”

“That’s true. Forget that I mentioned it.”

He shrugged his strong shoulders and slid his hand over my short, fluffy hair. “Your hair is getting longer. It’s soft, like down.”

I humphed. “I look like a bald turtle that sprouted mold.”

He squinted at me, then shook his head. “That explains why I was thinking about turtle soup for dinner. You could wear a glamour.”

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