Page 7 of Deadly Avarice
Boone didn’t verbally answer; he simply nodded. That was my cue, and I did exactly what I promised. I spilled the whole shitty story, or at least what I knew of it. Despite Becks’s digging, she hadn’t been able to pull up more details, not even the necromancer’s name. Maybe they didn’t know it. Maybe it simply wasn’t important.
Boone’s fingers tightened in mine before going disturbingly lax. They also went cold. I rubbed harder, attempting to instill more warmth. Boone was shaking by the time I was done.
“They just shot him?” Boone asked, his voice small and whisper soft.
“They did, although there were mitigating circumstances.” I winced. I didn’t want to defend the officers’ actions. If they’d truly felt threatened, that was one thing. But there was absolutely no reason for the obvious overkill that happened. The necromancer hadn’t simply been shot. He’d been massacred.
“Gaia,” Boone prayed. “How can…” Boone trailed off. “Why?”
I shook my head again. I’d been asking myself that all afternoon. “Ignorance. Fear. Stupidity. Pick a shitty reason and go with it.” Personally, I was leaning toward a combination of all three and then some. Fear was a powerful motivator. And, as sad as it was, necromancers were often shuffled into this purgatory zone. They were the minuscule community that everyone threw their distrust toward. In many ways, necromancers had become the scapegoats of modern society. Fear of necromancers was one thing nearly every species could agree upon. It was a horrid common denominator.
Boone leaned back in his chair, his hands slipping free of mine. I could have held on, but I let him go. Eyes distant, Boone stared over my shoulder, gaze unfocused.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. Those words were never enough. You’d think by now humanity could have come up with something more meaningful, something that managed to encompass the breadth of feeling those words typically attempted to harness.
Boone’s slow blink sent more tears cascading down his cheeks. He let them fall, not even attempting to brush them away. With a mirthless chuckle, Boone said, “I’ll bet it didn’t even make national news.”
Boone was right; the shooting and subsequent death hadn’t made it into the national media. At least, not yet. I doubted it would. There were too many other stories that pulled in viewers. Sadly, a shot-up necromancer wouldn’t gain a lot of traction. Becks came across the news story because she’d been in the middle of an internet search for another case.
Voice soft, Boone asked, “Is this my fault?”
I jerked back, eyes wide. “How would this be your fault?”
Boone shrugged. “I could have started looking sooner. Ishouldhave started looking sooner. These are my people, Franklin. They weren’t as fortunate as me. I—”
“Stop.” I jolted forward and grabbed Boone’s shoulders, shaking him slightly to get his attention. “This is not your fault. You are not even fault adjacent. There’s plenty of blame to go around, but none of it lands at your feet. Do you hear me, Erasmus? None of it.”
Boone’s head turned down as he stared at his clasped hands. I thought he was listening to me, but I didn’t think he was hearing me. With a heavy sigh, I grabbed his shoulders and tugged him out of his chair. Wrapping my arms around him, I felt Boone sink into my embrace. Dipping my hands lower, I cupped his ass and picked him up, carrying him to the couch.I wouldn’t say our landing on the cushions was graceful, but neither of us got hurt and Boone was still plastered against my chest, so I took it as a win.
My fingers carded through Boone’s hair. I loved its silky feel and length. With his cheek pressed against my neck, I felt the warm puffs of Boone’s breath and leaned into the comfort of the couch. Inhaling deeply, I decided to try again. “You’re too close to this right now, so listen to someone who’s a bit more objective. I get what you’re saying, and I even understand a little why you feel the way you do. You got lucky. Your pops is a card-carrying asshole but I don’t give a damn about that. I respect the hell out of Holland because he stayed, because he didn’t abandon you. Did his presence stabilize your necromancer abilities? I have no idea and neither does he. I’d wager you would have been more capable than most even if Holland hadn’t stuck around. But that’s not something we’ll ever know, and I’m okay with that.
“You are not responsible for every necromancer, just as I’m not responsible for every human, and thank God for that small mercy.” I did not want to even contemplate holding that type of responsibility. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that life hasn’t been easy for you either, Boone.” Lydia Boone had originally placed her son in public school only to be told he wasn’t welcome. It was a playbook Boone’s momma had learned to play by, instilling that knowledge into her son. Lydia Boone was a strong woman—smart too. Boone’s momma was the kind of woman who knew when to fight in public and when to move that fight to the privacy of the home. Sometimes the cost of winning was too high. It was a lesson most took a lifetime to learn. It was a lesson Lydia Boone had thankfully learned earlier than most.
As expected, Boone scoffed and attempted to argue. “What I’ve been through is nothing compared to—”
“And how do you know that? Our problem is that we don’t know many other necromancers. Hell, beyond Navarre, we don’t know any. That’s a pretty broad sweeping statement given the circumstances.”
Boone’s huff was warm against my chest. “I think it’s a fair assumption.”
“Yeah, we can debate that, but I don’t really feel like arguing right now.” I really didn’t. I wanted to hold the man in my arms until the sun broke the morning sky.
Quiet filled the room and ever so slowly, Boone’s stiff muscles relaxed as he sank further into my body. “I don’t either,” he whispered. “I’m too tired to fight. Plus, fighting with you isn’t any fun.”
My chuckle shifted Boone’s body. “Agreed. There are a hell of a lot of other things I’d rather do with you than fight.”
“No argument here,” Boone answered on a yawn. “Gaia, I’m tired. I shouldn’t be this wiped after returning a single soul.”
I didn’t think Boone’s exhaustion was work related. It was the emotional kind and that was always worse than physical exhaustion. “I think we could both use a nap,” I said while I continued stroking his hair.
“Hmm…maybe just a small one.”
“Go to sleep. I’ve got you.” I held on just a little bit tighter. If it were up to me, I’d never let Erasmus Boone go. Life would have other ideas. I’d just need to figure out how to manipulate Life into allowing more moments like these.
Chapter
Three
Erasmus
