Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [10]
Douglas pointed over to Charlie, who sat three feet away from her in his blue-striped pajamas. “He’s right there. See?” His mother looked, but he could tell she couldn’t see anything.
“You can’t see him?” Douglas peeked at Charlie, who shrugged at him and pointed back at the trucks. His mother patted his head, worry clouding her eyes. She didn’t believe him. Douglas felt the rotten sting of disappointment. He watched as she got up and went to find his father. Douglas went back to his trucks.
His mother’s skirt had no sooner whisked out of sight than his auntie Lynn calmly strode over. “What’s your cousin wearing, Douglas?”
Douglas frowned at the question. “Blue-striped jammies,” he said, all the moisture leaving his mouth. He was a little scared of his auntie Lynn. The air around her always felt cold. “You’re not going to tell on him, are you?”
“No, child, I’m not going to tell.” She reached over and brushed his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Douglas froze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched by Auntie Lynn. He didn’t like it. She smiled at him then and turned the gesture into a light pat. Douglas liked that smile even less.
A few days after the funeral, Auntie Lynn offered to take Douglas away. His parents hadn’t argued much. They talked it over for a few days, mostly at times when they thought Douglas was sleeping. He couldn’t believe they were even considering it. He’d expected his mother to instantly refuse. When she hadn’t, he thought his chest might cave in. What had he done? Then, for the first time, Douglas realized his parents were afraid of something. They were afraid of Auntie Lynn. And now they were afraid of him.
One week after the funeral, he packed his suitcase.
He cried at first, but in the end, it had all been for the best. Auntie Lynn explained that people like him were rare. They had to be trained—he had to be trained—and his aunt could do that. Left alone, she said, their kind could destroy themselves. Go crazy. Destroy others by accident. She helped him understand how useless his parents had been, how weak, and by being with them, how weak he was by extension. Auntie Lynn made that part very clear. Without her, Douglas would be nothing. Through her, he might become something. Someone.
She taught him everything: calculus and etiquette along with Sun Tzu, Aristotle, and Machiavelli. As he followed Auntie Lynn around the country, he began to understand something else: he wasn’t the only one who was afraid of her. When Auntie Lynn walked into a crowded room, the people parted like the Red Sea he’d heard about from the fat preacher in church, though they didn’t seem to know why they were doing it. Douglas didn’t think it was because Auntie Lynn was close to God like Moses was. The avoidance seemed unconscious, like pulling back from a snake that has suddenly appeared in your path. On some deep level, people recognized her as a predator. Douglas thought it might make more sense for her to blend in better. It’s easier to get prey if they can’t see you’re a predator in the first place. But he kept that to himself.
In time, he learned all about the family curse. That’s what she called it, a curse. Yet she said the word lovingly. Of course, by then, Douglas understood. The curse had brought her all of her wealth and had kept her alive for a very, very long time.
By his sixteenth year, Douglas had learned all his aunt could show him. While most boys his age were chasing skirts, he practiced summoning and speaking to spirits. He could raise the dead. He’d grown powerful, much more so than she. She’d started to figure that out, toward the end. Unfortunately for her, Douglas had fully grasped her lessons concerning ruthless practicality, and he’d noticed that his teacher had grown overconfident. Sloppy. Auntie Lynn never tasted the sedative in her sherry, and she didn’t wake up when he slit her open and stole her gift. As he’d knelt there, covered in her blood, his hand lolling to the side but still holding the dagger, drunk