Page 58 of Necromancers Don't Raise

I sighed again. None of this felt very well-thought out. I liked to plan meticulously, but I didn’t have time, and ever since I’d failed Mercury’s auction, and then gotten him injured at the scene of the crime, I’d felt like there wasn’t much of a point to trying. But still, I had to do something. “Yeah. You’ve talked to Mr. Good before, and you were one of the lawyers that prosecuted him. Is there anything I should be on my guard against?”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. What I mean when I say that is that I had to get a special dispensation for you from the president to get you to see him, because he’s that dangerous. He’ll get in your head, twist you into a pretzel and spit you out.”

I stared at her, shock and fear comingling in my gut. “You got permission from the president? Of what?”

She shrugged. “The country. It’s my father-in-law, so it’s not like it took more than two minutes, but still, Mr. Good is seriously bad. It’ll be really fun to watch you shake him down.”

She was the president’s daughter-in-law? Her husband was the president’s son? No wonder she didn’t want to think about his name. What if I got her injured somehow? It would be a national incident. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Do you really think he’ll turn me into a psychopath?”

“Oh, no. I think that living with a necromancer already took care of that.” She patted my hand. “Don’t think too much about it. It’ll be great.”

For some reason, that didn’t help me feel better about this whole thing. Should I go back home? No. Absolutely not. If Mr. Good were going to rip me apart, he should do it far away fromMercury, who would only end up hurt. Again. And to think how much of Mercury’s money I spent on Sebastian and the shoes, all for nothing.

The drive to the outskirts of Apple City, across a bridge, and then to the high security prison, was interrupted by several check-points, each one increasing my nervousness. The gates were thick, impenetrable, so how could someone behind these walls possibly have anything to do with the enchanted viper? And if it did, how could I possibly get anything useful out of a conversation with someone that terrifyingly diabolical?

We got to the island, the high security gates, eight-foot-thick stone walls, and then several buzzing layers that went over my skin irritatingly.

“Magical barriers,” she said, giving me a smile with gritted teeth.

I nodded, like I understood what that meant. Finally, the car pulled up at an entrance with barred doors, six guards, and all of them terrifying and studded with weapons of magical and more mundane type.

The door opened, and the ogre got out first, much faster than you’d think someone so large could move. She scanned the area, then spread her palm and cast some kind of magical check before she nodded at me and Gabby.

I got out and felt even tinier compared to the enormous ogre, but I wasn’t here to cower. I stood up straight and tried to own the funeral dress and boots. I would get answers from Mr. Good. I had to do something right.

The halls were cool, iron, stone, and other materials closer to plastic, but magical. It felt alien, like I was walking through a dimension into another world, dangerous even with Gabby and her ogre bodyguard, not to mention the other bodyguards who surrounded us. She did not take her security lightly. Or someone else didn’t. Probably the president’s son, her husband. I’d seenhim a few times at events, and he was pretty, but very, very snobbish. How did someone this crazy attract him?

Neither one of us spoke until we reached a door with a grill window. She flashed me a smile. “Showtime, Nova. Keep that poise you’re already notorious for having.”

Poise? I could probably do that if I didn’t have shooting or kissing as options. We walked past another guard, and then through a door to a room with a glass partition, but on the other side of that, a large prisoner with a shock of white hair completely clothed in orange was chained to the floor. The chains were ridiculously thick, but when he looked up at me and smiled, I didn’t think they were nearly thick enough.

This was Mr. Good. Notorious bad guy. Murderer. Psychopath who lived to corrupt the world if he possibly could. I stared at him, rooted to my spot near the door, frozen until Gabby exclaimed.

“What are you doing here, you vicious viper?”

I glanced over at her and then saw the man, tall, lean, cadaver-like with small horns and a vicious hooked tail. He ignored her, instead smiling at me. “I’m Mr. Good’s lawyer. Miss Nova, it is a pleasure.”

Mr. Good’s lawyer knew me. That wasn’t a good sign. No, actually, it was perfect. I was here for answers, and I was going to get them. I gave him an icy smile. “I do hope so. I’m afraid I don’t know you. And your name is…”

He smiled and then bowed very low. “I’ll be waiting outside.” He walked past us, smelling of apricots and with his silvery tail giving one slight flick.

Gabby looked from the lawyer’s retreating tail, then back at me. “I can’t leave you alone with Good, but I’ll just be working over here in this chair with my ear buds in while you have your conversation, okay?” She shot Mr. Good a scowl and then dragged the chair over to the corner with a horrible screechand sat, pulled out her briefcase and started going through her paperwork, typing rapidly while her head bobbed in time to her music.

I glanced over at Mr. Good, who was still sitting, chained to the floor on the other side of the glass, smiling at me. He looked vastly amused. There was something disarming about his expression, like he didn’t mean any harm, but the size of his hands and the raw power of his body reminded me of Mercury. His hair made him look respectable and wise, but his large hands told a different story.

I sat down abruptly, crossed my ankles, and leaned forward. “Mr. Good, why would you want to kill me?”

“I can’t think of a single reason,” he replied pleasantly. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve rarely been so amused as when tales of your exploits reach my ears. Amusement is one of the things I live for.” His voice was low but genteel. It was a devil’s voice that could convince you to give him your life and thank him for the opportunity.

I shivered and tried to focus. “How did tales of me get to you?”

He shrugged. “I hear things. Literally. I have magical implants, spells, things like that,” he said, cocking his head, “inside my brain. They could cut it out of me, but it would kill me.”

“Not a lot of people would think that was a pity.”

His smile sharpened. “No? You might be surprised. What is your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one.”

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