Page 17 of Deadly Deception
“Oh, that’s not what Tompkins said. That was our agreement. It was the only reason I agreed to this insanity.” Henson scoffed toward the end.
“And what insanity would that be?” I asked, attempting but most likely failing to keep the defensiveness out of my tone.
“This.” Henson waved a hand in Boone’s direction. “Bringing another one into the department. As if housing one isn’t enough. They’re all alike, crazy as a mad hatter.”
“I assume you mean necromancers,” Boone casually replied.
“Of course,” Henson answered easily.
“Hmm…” Boone tapped a finger to his lips and said, “You’re not totally wrong. That doesn’t make you right either. Regardless, this is the first I’ve heard about such an agreement. Lucky for you, I’m willing to help out. I’ll even wave my typical fee.”
Henson’s neck turned fiery red, the color traveling into his cheeks. “Fee?You mean to tell me you charge for this kind of shit?”
“Of course,” Boone mimicked Henson’s earlier response happily. “Everyone has to make a living, and if you think this is a happy walk in the park for me, then you’re gravely mistaken. Then again, I doubt someone as small-minded as you seem tobe has spent much time contemplating the toll retrieving a soul from beyond the veil takes on a necromancer.”
I expected smoke to start coming from Henson’s ears any moment. “Can you do this or not?” Henson finally muttered through clenched teeth.
Captain Tompkins and I would definitely have words later. He’d failed to mention that Boone was expected toperformon command. Grasping Boone’s shoulder, I said, “You don’t have to do this.”
Boone’s deep green eyes softened as they turned to look at me. With a sad smile, he answered “Yes, I do. For Navarre, not for this asshole.” Boone hooked a thumb Henson’s direction and we both ignored the low growl that rumbled from deep inside Henson’s chest.
With a wink, Boone said, “Let’s see what Elias Michael Hemsworth has to say for himself.” Stepping away from me, Boone closed his eyes briefly while taking a deep breath. He took one more before opening his eyes. A pale, green glow lit up his cheeks, the light from his eyes reflecting off Boone’s white skin. “Elias Michael Hemsworth, I call your soul back to your body.”
The corpse opened his mouth. Cracked and necrotic skin pulled away from Hemsworth’s desiccated lips. Elias’s body was dead long enough that it was stiff and not very pliable. The bones creaked and the skin cracked as Hemsworth’s corpse sat up. His eyes were milky and sunken.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Sheriff Henson said while taking two large strides backward, running into a nearby chair in his hurry to get away from Hemsworth’s corpse. Henson’s ruddy skin was now ash pale, and his eyes were wide enough their whites shone like ivory.
Boone stayed by my side. He didn’t need to get any closer to the Hemsworth. “Elias, I’m necromancer Erasmus Boone. Sheriff Henson would like to ask you a few questions. You willanswer him honestly. I will know if you lie.” Even alive, I could feel the weight of those words tugging at something deep in the pit of my chest. Boone said it was his necromancer power, and I had no reason to doubt that explanation.
Arms crossed over his chest, Boone said casually, “He’s all yours, Sheriff.”
I’ll give Henson credit. He recovered from his shock quickly enough to do his job. Sort of. Given the questions he asked, the defense would call bullshit for leading the witness.
“Is your name truly Elias Hemsworth?” Henson asked.
“Yes,” Hemsworth answered, voice scratchy but clear.
Henson jotted a note on a nearby paper. His hand shook, but he managed. “Did Navarre murder you?”
“No,” Hemsworth answered.
Henson didn’t like that answer and asked, “Did a necromancer named Navarre harm you?”
Again, Hemsworth answered, “No.”
With an eyeroll, Boone asked, “Do you even know a necromancer, or anyone, named Navarre?”
“No.”
Henson snorted like a bull but didn’t seem poised to ask anything else. Boone stepped in again and asked, “Do you know how you died? Were you murdered?” Henson had asked Boone to bring Hemsworth’s soul back prior to an autopsy. The sheriff didn’t know it, but that was what Boone preferred. We’d all been there and done that, and the returning soul had been too frightened and distraught regarding what had been done to her body to be of any help.
Hemsworth answered, “I was murdered.”
Boone dug further. “Who? Who killed you and why?”
Up until that point, Hemsworth’s corpse had been easily willing to answer. Now he hesitated. Boone’s voice deepened as he infused more power into it, and his eyes shimmered abrighter green. “Elias Michael Hemsworth, youwillanswer the question.”
Hemsworth’s corpse flinched. His answer sounded like ground glass. “Vanja. Drug deal. Didn’t have the money.”
