Page 1 of Deadly Deception
Chapter
One
Erasmus
Ahh…October. Hands stuffed into the deep pockets of my favorite hoodie, I leaned my head back and took in a deep inhale of the crisp, clean air. A hint of freshly turned earth coated the edges of that breath, coming from a recently excavated grave nearby. With Halloween just around the corner, others thought hanging out in a graveyard was either the epitome of cool or the darkest depravity. To me, it was neither. As a necromancer, graveyards were simply another version of home.
My toes wiggled within my battered tennis shoes. Rocking back on my heels, I stared into the night sky. While I loved my Mississippi heat, fall was always a welcome respite from the constant humidity. The sky was clearer, the stars brighter, and humanity’s general odor more palatable.
The hum of the recently departed vibrated around me. Salvation Crossroads Cemetery was a solid level four. My personal made-up scale went from one to ten, with one containing the quietest, most content citizens, and ten being migraine-inducing. Salvation Crossroads wasn’t a cemetery I planned on visiting at my leisure. It was a little too noisy for that; it had plenty of dearly departed souls that evidently hadn’tcomplained enough in life, and found the need to continue their laments in the afterlife.
That was the way of the dead. Pops said the afterlife was just a reflection of the living one. He was probably correct, not that I’d readily tell him that. As the most powerful warlock on the western coast of the United States, Pops’s ego was already large enough. Warlock Nikodemus Holland had reason to have a big ego…but that didn’t mean his arrogance was always welcome.
Warmth spread through my chest, and I rubbed the soft fabric over my heart. While Pops might be an arrogant asshole, he wasmyarrogant asshole. Not everyone was blessed with certainty in their lives. I was, and one of those certainties was knowing I was loved. Pops would burn down the world for me, and my momma would be there at his side to light the blowtorch. Lydia Boone might only be human, but woe to the one who deemed her unthreatening when it came to protecting her child.
Getting tired of standing and waiting for my client, I headed for the nearest, sturdiest headstone and eased my rear against it. Patting the top, I said “Thanks, Sandra.” Her corpse was buried deep below, and from what I could tell, she was one of the quietly content. I hoped no one ever asked me to bring her soul back.
Sitting shifted my pants, all the pockets lining their sides bulging with Pops’s charms. I never left home without them, especially the pain-relieving ones. Retrieving souls from the great beyond wasn’t always happy-go-lucky, especially this time of year when my necromancer abilities were stretched thin. I’m not sure why, but besides December, October was my busiest month. My customers for those two months were completely different, with December’s clients far more somber, and their reasons for bringing a loved one back more sentimental around the holidays.
October’s clientele was…different. Notbaddifferent, justdifferent. Typically, I enjoyed October jobs more. My clients’reasons for bringing someone back tended to be more playful, and the clients themselves more colorful. While December brought out the reluctant humans who detested my existence and the need for my particular services, October drew eclectic eccentrics who were often more fascinated than repulsed by my necromancer ways.
At least, that was the typical way things went. Not everyone read theOctober Clientele Manual. Case in point: my latest client, Brendon Devonshire. Truth be told, I wasn’t too sure what to make of the young Mr. Devonshire. On the surface, he seemed like a man who simply wanted to say a final goodbye to his recently and tragically deceased stepbrother. But something about Brendon made me think that if I took a shovel to that surface, I’d find a pit of tar beneath.
Brendon’s stepbrother, Cody Stevens, had recently met his end on I-10. From what I’d read, Cody had thankfully died on impact. There’d been enough of him to bury, but his services featured a closed casket. I could pull a soul back if I had the cremains, although it was more difficult keeping them together, and it took a lot more energy to fuel their vocal abilities.
Staring at the closed casket, free of dirt and yet to be lowered into the ground, I wasn’t sure Brendon was ready for the gruesome reality of what he’d asked me to do. Honestly, I’d almost turned this job down. Curiosity was a damnable thing, and got me into more trouble than most cats. It also lined my bank account. I’d learned to trust my instincts over the years and had asked for the money for this job up front. I didn’t always do that. Hell, to Pops’s eternal irritation, I didn’t always charge clients.
This job felt different, and I’d treated it as such. I might have truly turned it down if it weren’t for the niggling worry that Cody Stevens’s death hadn’t been theaccidentit was assumed to be.When my human paramour, Detective Franklin O’Hare, agreed there could be something sketchy going on, I made my decision.
My phone vibrated with a text. Brendon Devonshire wasn’t late yet, but it was close enough to our designated meeting time that I wondered if the message was from him. My automatic grin at seeing Franklin’s name pop up was welcome.
How’s it going?Three simple words that meant the world to me. Before I could type a reply, a second message popped up.Has your client arrived yet?
While Momma and Pops regularly checked in on me, Franklin doing so was completely different. I’d never dreamed I could have something like this—something so normal for others, and so completely unexpected for someone of my species.
Not yet, I typed back, watching the little dots appear that meant Franklin was responding.
Let me know if he doesn’t show, or if you need anything else. Did you remember your candy?
A light chuckle escaped my throat.I remembered. It’s in my pocket.Low blood sugar was a hazard of the job, although it only typically happened when I was completely depleted. Unfortunately, Franklin had seen me that way too many times.
Don’t confuse it with one of Holland’s charms.That response was followed by a grinning emoji, and then a vomiting emoji.
I rolled my eyes but answered backNo worries.
I always worry. That’s what boyfriends do.
My heart wanted to leap from my chest, crawl into the phone, and message itself to Franklin. That was the quickest way I could think of to get to him. How was this my life? I’d never dared dream it was possible, not with the way necromancers were treated. We were the pariahs of the world. The different species rarely got along, and even more rarely agreed on anything. The one issue they all seemed unified upon was that necromancers were unwelcome.
I was a unicorn among necromancers. My warlock father hadn’t abandoned me. Most days I lounged in a sea of sanity. I used my necromancer skills for profit and to sustain my life. I’d purchased a home in the ’burbs and had a steady boyfriend.
“I do not understand this particular job.”
And I also had an all-powerful djinn that popped up unexpectedly in my life from time to time. Aurelia’s continued presence was, at best, confusing—and, at worst, deadly. Aurelia could kill me with a thought. Considering I was the only known threat to her existence, it was a constant wonder why she didn’t. The best I could figure was that I fascinated Aurelia. I didn’t want to contemplate what the consequences would be if that fact ever shifted or changed. As Momma said, considering it wasn’t something I could control, I shouldn’t waste time worrying. Besides, I thought Pops worried enough for all of us.
“I’m not certain I understand it either,” I answered. I wasn’t sure if Aurelia was keeping her presence hidden from others or not. That was a pitfall I regularly fell into, and I often appeared as if I were speaking with ghosts.
I glanced in Aurelia’s direction. She was dressed in her typical combat boots, ripped jeans, and flannel shirt. Aurelia seemed stuck in the nineties grunge scene. But given my questionable fashion sense, I didn’t have any room to judge.
