Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [9]
Douglas watched as the girl unlocked the front door. No use debating what could have been. The gloves were already off, and now he was going to have to give a very ungentlemanly kind of warning. Pity, that. Still, a necromancer left unchecked could create all sorts of trouble. Best to put him in his place now.
The little parasite had to be lying. How could he not know? It wasn’t like necromancy was a power one could ignore. Douglas could remember seeing his first spirit when he was quite young.
Douglas hadn’t really understood why he was at his grandmother’s house. He just knew that he was to be quiet and that he had to wear his itchy clothes. He yanked at his collar for the third time, and his mother took her hand off her swollen belly, grabbed his fingers, and pulled them away from his shirt. She glared at him and went back to fanning herself. He opened his mouth to argue, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Auntie Lynn frowning at him, so he snapped his mouth shut and looked at his feet, trying to make himself small.
Douglas was bored. He wished there were children to play with. The adults were busy crying and talking, and if they did come over, it was to greet his mother. He spotted a tray of cookies. With a sideways glance at his mother, he leaned slowly toward the table. Mother was busy talking to someone, her fan doing little to dry the sweaty curls around her face. Douglas made a quiet getaway and headed over to the cookies. He looked for gingersnaps, his favorite, and shoved one in his mouth while hiding a few others in his pockets. He took one last cookie and turned, nearly bumping into a sad-faced little boy. Douglas spoke around the cookie.
“Hi, Charlie,” he said, spraying a fine mist of crumbs everywhere. Douglas quickly looked around. No one noticed the crumbs. If they did, he wouldn’t be let into the parlor ever again. This was what his mother called a “nice room.”
Charlie waved feebly at him. His skin was a little pale, and Douglas was surprised to see that Charlie wasn’t wearing his itchy clothes.
“Your mother’s going to whup you if she finds you in here in your pajamas, Charlie.” But Charlie just shrugged and motioned to the living room. Douglas brightened. “You wanna play trucks?”
A while later, Douglas’s mother came into the living room and asked him what he was doing. “It isn’t right,” she said, “making a ruckus at a time like this.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said. “I was just playing with Charlie.” His cousin looked a little guilty, but he looked a little sad, too. Douglas felt bad. He didn’t mean to get Charlie in trouble, especially for still being in his pajamas. “It’s my fault, Mother. We’ll be quieter.”
The color faded from his mother’s face. “What did you say, baby?”
“I didn’t mean to get Charlie in trouble.” He stared at the floor, stuck his lower lip out, and tried to look contrite. If he got the look right, he might avoid his talking-to. “I was being too loud.”
His mother sank slowly to the floor. “Honey,” she said gently, “do you know why we’re here?”
“I promise to be quiet.”
She shook her head and reached out, clutching his face in her hand. “No, I meant, do you understand why we’re here today at Grandma Montgomery’s?”
Douglas stared back at her.
She rubbed at some dirt on his cheek before letting go of his face. “Dougie, Charles got sick. Real sick.” She paused. “He’s, well, he can’t play with you anymore. Charles has gone to heaven.”
Douglas looked at Mother. Her face was open, honest. She wasn’t fibbing. But he could still see Charlie right there. She was wrong. But Mother was never wrong. He stared at her, trying to figure out what to say.
“What?