Page 15 of Deadly Deception
That sounded fair enough, and I nodded in the direction of the door. “Let’s see if I can make any sense of the situation.”
“Thank you,” Sara answered, sounding genuinely grateful. “Uncle Shane’s actions haven’t earned me any favors, but I don’t care much for office policies or politics.” With a soft grin and wink, Sara opened the door.
I started to walk inside but stopped just inside the door frame. Franklin’s larger body was a warm, reassuring press against my back. His hand on my shoulder stopped me from shaking but didn’t stop the well of sadness that dropped into the pit of my belly.
Navarre sat in a chair, wrists shackled and legs drawn up with his feet resting on the chair’s seat. I was somewhat surprised they hadn’t locked up his ankles too, but considering the chair was bolted to the floor, maybe they didn’t think itnecessary. An armed police officer stood in the corner and a middle-aged woman in a business suit sat on the same side of the table, her chair scooted as far from Navarre as possible.
Franklin nudged me into the room and Sara followed us, making the introductions. “Officer Witkowski is in the corner, and this is Navarre’s state-appointed lawyer, Barbara Van. The room’s small and gets a little crowded. I’ll leave you to your interview. Let me know if you need anything.”
I heard the door close behind us and Franklin moved around me, walking toward the table and offering a brief, “Ms. Van.”
“I’m not certain what anyone expects by bringing you in, but I’m willing to go with it. Honestly, I don’t believe my client understands any of the rights he’s been read or that I’m here to represent him.” Barbara Van sounded both irritated and exasperated. Most likely she’d never had a client quite like Navarre.
Franklin and Barbara participated in more small talk. I tuned them out, listening to something they couldn’t hear, something I could barely latch onto. Yet it most likely sounded like a megaphone screaming in Navarre’s ears. Had he been able, I imagined Navarre would have his hands clasped over his ears, not that that would probably help much. As it was, he sat there, knees pulled up to his chest and rocking back and forth. His forehead was plastered against his knees, and he was curled up as much as possible. Navarre’s nearly-black hair fell in a curtain around his shoulders. The sheen was bright against the florescent lights flickering above.
When he realized I hadn’t moved, Franklin turned his attention back to me and questioned, “Boone?” When I didn’t answer, Franklin moved closer and whispered, “Erasmus, what is it?”
Keeping my attention on Navarre, I said, “There’s more than the five of us in this room.” I got the feeling there were a hell of alot more spirits here, but one was a bit more persistent than the others.
Witkowski shifted in his corner, hand settling on the butt of his firearm. Witkowski’s gun wouldn’t do squat against the type of company we had. Barbara Van scooted even farther away from Navarre and gasped, “Are you a medium?”
I shook my head. “No, necromancer.” I ignored her spluttered disbelief before saying, “Although getting a medium in here wouldn’t be a bad idea. They could probably help more than me.”
Finally taking a step forward, I reached for one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table. Franklin grabbed the other one. My head cocked to the side, I tried pulling apart the different echoes swarming around Navarre, but they were a cacophony of noise and difficult to tease apart.
“What’s going on?” Franklin asked.
“I’m not certain. I meant what I said before, a medium would be more helpful than me.”
“Why?” Franklin sounded genuinely curious.
“Because what we’re dealing with are ghostly spirits, or at least that’s how I think you’d understand it.” I inhaled, trying to gather my thoughts well enough to explain the difference between a necromancer’s abilities and what mediums could do. “I bring souls back from the beyond, but this”—I waved a hand in Navarre’s direction—“is different.”
“But they’re spirits that you can hear?” Franklin asked.
“In a way. I get more feelings than actual words. I suspect Navarre’s getting the words. Remember, necromancer abilities vary. From what I understand, some of us attract lingering, disgruntled spirits. I’ve been told they’re attracted to our necromancer vibes.” I shook my head, unsure how to explain it any better. “I think on some level, they understand that there’s something different about us, that we might be able to helpthem. But here’s the thing—necromancers need a body, or the cremains of the body, to pull a soul back. I have to have that link to make the connection and get anything truly coherent. Mediums are different.”
“How so?” This time it was Officer Witkowski that asked instead of Franklin. It was good to know others were paying attention.
“I’m not entirely certain. I doubt I understand what they can do any better than a medium understands my abilities. Mediums are human. Most think they have some witch or warlock blood somewhere in their genetics. Most likely that’s true, but it’s not enough to categorize them asother. Mediums can speak with spirits. They can give them enough energy to make them coherent long enough to get some information, but it’s not for long. I can keep a soul on this side of the veil for lengthy periods of time. Mediums have finite minutes, or sometimes only seconds, to get what they need. The key here is that a medium wouldn’t need a body to communicate with the spirits surrounding Navarre. If the medium is strong enough, they can also send the spirit into the afterlife.”
“Banish them?” Franklin asked.
I shrugged. “I suppose that’s one word for it, though it sounds harsh. I’ve heard mediums say they view it as giving the soul peace. I’m not sure what the right answer is, and it might depend on the soul and what they think they’ve gotten out of the communication with the medium. If they’re satisfied and ready to move on, then giving them peace sounds accurate.”
“And if they aren’t satisfied?”
“Then banishment seems more accurate.” I shook my head and added, “I may not be a medium, but I’ve dealt with the dead long enough to understand that there’s no pleasing some souls. I don’t think the dead are special in that regard. Plenty of the living seem perpetually disgruntled.”
Officer Witkowski made a grunt of agreement and Barbara Van said, “You mean to tell me he’s got ghosts circling him?” She inclined her head Navarre’s direction, and I noticed Ms. Van’s features had gone beyond pale and were inching into the gray zone.
“Ghosts, spirits, lingering souls… There are a lot of different names you could give them.”
“H-how many?” she asked.
“You’d need a medium to say for certain. I can’t parse them out, although one seems stronger than the others. At best guess, I’d say that’s the soul of your most recent victim. Again, that’s only an educated guess. That one feels…fresher? Louder? I’m not really sure how to describe it.”
“Shit,” Ms. Van lamented. “This is way outside my purview and paygrade.” I halfway expected her to bolt. She looked like she was ready to flee. Or maybe vomit. I couldn’t tell which.
