Greywalker - Kat Richardson [98]
A connection closed in my mind. “Mara, what happens to necromancers when they die?”
“I suppose that would depend on how they died. I suspect that many of them don’t truly die, but linger in some fashion or become something new. If they survive bodily death and still have their minds intact, they could still wield their powers, but I think it would be very dangerous for them. Casting would suck away a lot of whatever life energies they still had, and the recuperation afterward would be extraordinary. But their relationship to the power would be different, and they could probably conserve a great deal of their own energies—even feed them—by killing as part of the ritual. If they’re corporeal enough to use the knife or what have you.” Then she stared sharply at me. “That’s a rather strange question to ask. Why did you?”
“Because I think I’ve met a necromancer.”
“My God, Harper. Where?”
“I can’t say.”
She glowered at me. “You must be very careful. Use what I’ve taught you to protect yourself, or these powers may harm you. I know you don’t quite believe it all—”
“I’m beginning to.”
TWENTY-THREE
Mara dropped me near my office. Before I took another step for Sergeyev, I wanted to know more about that organ in the normal world, and though it made me uncomfortable, I knew where to start. I didn’t even bother going up to the office, I just went straight to the Rover.
The street outside the Ingstrom house was full of cars. The auction of the personal property was under way and the house was packed with bidders. I wished I felt something more useful—like anger—but all I felt as I stepped up onto the screened porch was an uncomfortable confusion.
Michael was at his table inside. His eyes got wider when he saw me.
“Hi, Michael,” I said.
“H-hi, Ms. Blaine.”
“Is Will on the podium?”
He replied slowly. “Yeah.”
“Is Brandon around?”
“Brandon’s not here.”
“Why not?”
Michael shrank. “I don’t know. He was supposed to be here but he didn’t show up. Did you want to talk to him?”
“No. I wanted to avoid him.”
He nodded. “Yeah, he’s not too cool lately.”
I heard Will’s gavel drop, and then a murmur of sound rose to a growl and people began to boil toward the outer doors. I stepped back and hid in the crowd-shadow of the table.
Michael shot me a quick look of nervous apology. “Lunch,” he explained. “Without Brandon, we’re running kinda late.”
“That’s OK.”
He smiled and turned to face the first of the exiting bidders. I was pushed farther into the corner by the eddying humanity and trapped there when Will came out.
He patted his brother on the shoulder and glanced at the screen of the laptop computer. “Everything OK out here, Mikey?”
“Yeah.” Michael shot a quick glance in my direction and went back to his computer and the couple in front of him.
Will raised his head and turned. He stiffened when he saw me and froze in place behind Michael’s chair, until his brother elbowed him in the side.
“Hey, I’m trying to work here,” Michael growled.
Jarred, Will walked toward me but kept the table between us. He stopped and clasped his hands in front of his belt buckle. His long fingers squeezed white. “What . . . what can I do for you?” His voice was cool, but I could almost see it, like a staff of music quivering on the air, thin as smoke.
I looked up at him, and all I could think was, “My God, he’s tall!” I felt stupid, and something hurt inside which had nothing to do with recent physical bruises. “I wanted . . . to talk to you on a professional matter.”
Will looked blank. “Professional. That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
He glanced at the tide of people, then back to me. “Let’s take this someplace a little quieter.”
“All right,” I agreed, perversely reluctant to be alone with him.
“Mrs. Ingstrom left some lunch for us in the kitchen and I’m starving. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind if