Page 91 of Deadly Lineage
“Me?” Dr. McCallister placed a hand over his heart, eyes wide and innocent looking. “Nothing as nefarious as you believe. I’m not amonster.”
I was beginning to doubt the validity of that statement.
“Ms. Waylon is a simple human. Killing her would be like snuffing out an ant.” With a dramatic sigh, Dr. McCallister leaned his elbow on the casket and crossed his ankles. “Killing Bart Livingston was little more than a necessity.” McCallister held out his hand, flexing his fingers. Claws slowly erupted from their tips. “It was good practice though. There’s no way to get used to your new body like using its upgraded features.”
My eyes felt like they might pop out of my head while my brain scrambled. Facts slotted into place, forming a picture that scared the shit out of me. I was alone in a tent in the middle of a practically deserted cemetery with a serial killer.
The claws disappeared, leaving well-manicured fingertips in their wake. Swallowing thickly, I asked, “What are you?” Necromancers couldn’t tell what others were, not like fairies or brownies could. Even Aurelia seemed to be able to discern another’s species if it wasn’t readily obvious.
McCallister pushed off the coffin and took a step closer. I reflexively took another back. “You know, I’m not really certain.”Waving a dismissive hand in the air, he said, “But we can discuss that later, somewhere a bit more private.”
Oh, hell no. I was not getting in a fucking car with this lunatic.“Yeah, I think I’ll have to pass on that one.” I reached for my communication charm but never got the chance to make contact. McCallister’s hand shot out, painfully gripping my wrist.
“I don’t think so. At least, not yet. There’s a time and place for everything, little necromancer. And I am the one in control here.”
Words of pure fury and rage bubbled up within me. They got caught somewhere between my brain, lips, and the magenta-colored powder McCallister blew into my face.
I sneezed, once, twice, and then…darkness.
Sounds rustled through my nightmares, wiggling their way into my dreams until I realized my nightmare was real. My eyelids were sluggish and heavily weighted. When I finally managed to crack them open, I wished I’d been able to glue them back together.
Inhaling was a mistake. The musty air was laden with a coppery undercurrent. When I tried to rub my nose and eyes, I found my hands bound behind my back. Twisting my wrists I could easily tell they were ropes, not chains. Hell, they could have been made of Jell-O and I probably wouldn’t have been able to get free. I could barely move my body and every breath felt like I had an elephant sitting on my chest.
“Welcome back to the land of the living. For now, at least.”
I twisted my head, following that voice. Blinking back the fog, my eyes focused on a chair set up in the middle of the room. Thechair was turned so its back was to me. Dr. McCallister straddled the seat, arms crossed over the backrest. He appeared casually at ease as he sat there, not a stitch of clothing out of place. A couple of stark lightbulbs barely lit the dim room and one of them seemed intent on causing a seizure with the way it flickered.
My mouth was arid and my saliva thick. It was difficult to form words and I had to swallow and cough a couple of times before I managed an embarrassingly weak, “W-where…”
“Where are you?”
I tried to nod but wasn’t sure I pulled it off.
“Somewhere safe. Well, not exactly safe for you, but safe for me,” he answered with a grin. “Privacy is important. We should have that here.”
I blinked, begging my mind to focus. I wish I was being dramatic considering my life depended on it. “Privacy?”
McCallister gave a quick nod. “That, and all my equipment and supplies are here.” He swept a hand through the air, indicating the floor. “The sigils are properly placed. You know how long it took me to get them right?” I had no idea and could care even less. Evidently, McCallister didn’t really care what I thoughand went right on speaking. “Too damn long. I had a couple of failures along the way and they got…messy.” His nose crinkled. “Generally speaking, I don’t like messy, although I will say I enjoyed making a mess of Bart Livingston. That man was a horror.” McCallister said the last as if it were a surprise someone could be so rotten. “The world is far better off without that human.”
Maybe that was true, but I doubted the same philosophy could be used for his other victims. “And what about the others?”
McCallister looked off to the side. “They were necessary.”
“Necessary?” I wasn’t sure I completely understood, but I was beginning to form a picture. All this time, the condition of the souls was the answer. I’d explained it to Franklin. I’d had itfigured out. I just couldn’t see why or how it was possible. I still wasn’t sure I had the answers to those questions, but answers or not, the man casually sitting in front of mehaddone those things—and he had the panther claws to prove it.
“Evolution is a messy process. Casualties abound.” He flexed his fingers, claws forming and receding. It was a neat trick, one that still seemed to fascinate McCallister. “I wasn’t sure it would work, and even when I stripped my test subjects, I didn’t know what I’d get out of it.” His twisted smile was fondly amused. “It was a surprise every time.”
“You took their abilities.”
“I did,” McCallister answered proudly. “As I said, I wasn’t sure what I’d get, and I had no idea what my actions did to their souls.” Leaning his head back, McCallister laughed. “You have no idea how scared I was when I learned the witch’s body was found and that you’d been the one to find her. God, I was shaking in my shoes when I drove out to the gravesite. I just knew when you called her soul back that she’d point the finger at me.” This time, McCallister’s smile was wide and far too sincere. “You can’t imagine my relief when all she did was scream.”
Relief?“Her soul was in agony. It’s still in agony.” Tears stung my eyes. “How can you feel any form of relief knowing that? You said you’re not a monster, but that’s the very definition of what a monster is.”
McCallister’s smile disappeared, replaced by thin lips in a grim line. “I’m not the monster. Those who made me are. The warlocks who abandon their children simply because they aren’t born with the same abilities. You don’t get to pick and choose your offspring, discarding the defective ones like yesterday’s trash.”
My harsh swallow was painful. It wasn’t that I disagreed, but this was… “Who’s your father?” I probably wouldn’t recognize the name, but I was curious.
McCallister waved my question away. “Oh, my father wasn’t a warlock. His father wasn’t either.” At my confused stare, McCallister shrugged. “It’s all a bit convoluted.” With a flourished wave down his body, McCallister’s grin was back. “I’m a bit of an anomaly. One of a kind, really. I’ve got a warlock ancestor, several generations removed. It’s so distant that my father didn’t know. His necromancer genes were diluted to the point they didn’t affect him. But they were there.”
