Finn Fancy Necromancy
Read Finn Fancy Necromancy Online
Authors: Randy Henderson
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This book is dedicated to my family, for all the good things.
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As this is my first novel, it's tempting to acknowledge every person who's ever had an impact on my life, from the doctor who delivered me unto my mother with a slap on my butt, to the bookseller who delivered this book into your hand (perhaps with a slap to the butt, no judgment here).
However, the Published Author Handbook is very clear on Acknowledgment etiquetteâ“butt-slapping doctor” is not thanked until at least book twelve, for example. Booksellers and librarians, however, are optional as early as book two (historically established as the point where the author realizes how important they are, and feels really bad for not mentioning them in the first book).
Yet even focusing only on the people important specifically to this book, I find I have more than a few to name. First, my family:
My parents; Elaine, Frank, and Mary Hendersonâof all the ways you might have messed me up, thankfully I ended up with Generalized Writers Disorder, and you provided love and support through the years of rejections and really horrible prose. Thank you.
My chosen family; Shelly, Lucas, and Kylieâas we all grew together, you formed the core of my life and helped me find the heart in my writing. Thank you for all the love, patience, and laughter. And gnomes.
My brother, David Henderson, you're always there when I need an ear or a kick in the butt, but thankfully never a kick in the ear. Thank you. And to my extended family, in particular Scott Henderson and Nina Wolsk-Henderson, and Grandmas Janette and Eleanor, who always expressed encouragement and enthusiasm for my writing, thank you.
Thank you also to my writer and
Finn Fancy
feedbackers: Clarion West class of 2009 (particularly Emily Skaftun and Julia Sidorova for
Finn
feedback), Leslie Howle and Neile Graham, you helped me grow by leaps (sad, awkward leaps that often pulled a groin muscle, but leaps). To Kitsap Writers Group, in particular Larry Keeton for killing Aggie, John Pelkey for saving Mattie, and Anya Monroe, Eryn Carpenter, Gary Snodgrass, Emily Moore, and Rebecca Hudson for feedback; thanks to Cascade Writers and Karen Junker for providing me the opportunity to connect with both my editor and my agent; to Tina Connolly and Keffy Rm Kehrli for reality checks; to Christy Varonfakis Johnson for sanity boosts and crazy suggestions; to Benjamin VanWinkle for continued friendship and geekem; Tad Kershner for writerly lunches; and last but certainly not least, to Horrific Miscue Seattle, the best circle of writer friends on the planet (as rated by independent poll). If I missed anyone, apologies.
At Tor, thank you first and foremost to my editor, Beth Meacham, whose faith in
Finn Fancy
is the reason why this novel is in the hands of readers; to Amy Saxon, for making things happen when they needed to happen; to word wrangler Wade Newbern for his style and nerd cred; and to everyone else who worked to make this book a reality and as successful as possible. Thank you.
Thank you to my agent, Cameron McClure, for taking a chance on me; and to the team at DMLA.
And finally, to you, who read this book, thank you for giving reality to my dream and life to my words.
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CONTENTS
1. I'm Not the Man I Used to Be
10. Wishing (If I Had a Photograph of You)
14. She Blinded Me with Science
27. Should I Stay or Should I Go?
It took all my self-control not to push my Fey warden to move faster along the glowing path toward freedom. We were like a couple of floating melted gummy bears made of unicorn snot and dreams, gliding lazily through the fractal rainbow landscape of the Other Realm. Twenty-five years, that's how long the Arcana Ruling Council had exiled my spirit to the Other Realm without true physical sensation, without access to other people, to real music or any of the things that make our world so awesome. Exiled from my body and my life since 1986 for a crime I didn't commit. But my sentence was over at last.
When I get back,
I projected at the warden,
I'm never touching magic again, even if my family begs. Just going to find my girlfriend and live like a mundane.
The warden didn't respond. I was really just talking to myself anyway, nervous that the Fey would somehow yank away my freedom at the last minute.
We reached a raised platform of violet light where a second blobby warden and exile floated nearby, faced away from us. Though we were all in the bodies of unshaped Fey, I could sense the spiritual resonance of the other exile as being human, and male.
My warden raised a handlike glob, and the air in front of me rippled.
A portal opened up, an oval window to my world, good ole Earth version mine. Beyond shimmered a beach, the Washington State variety with the freezing gray Pacific Ocean lapping a shoreline of pebbles and driftwood, all kissed orange by the setting sun. Just seeing those shapes and colors without having to manifest them from my own memory was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Actually, it caused butterflies to leak from the jewel-like lights that floated in the blob that served as my head, but the point is, it was damn good to see Earth again.
I can't say, however, it was so good to see myself standing there on the beach.
I was fifteen years old when they exiled me from my body. And most of my time in the Other Realm had been spent reliving memories of my youth for the entertainment and nourishment of the Fey.
So despite all the mental growth I achieved by reliving and reflecting on my past and all, my physical self-image was pretty well stuck at fifteen. But the dude who stood waiting on the other side of the portal was old. Not Emperor Palpatine old, I mean, I still had all my hair. Too much hair in fact: the wind blew it around my head in a ridiculous black mane. And the changeling who'd been granted use of my body kept me in good enough shape that he probably wasn't even embarrassed to wear those tight jeans and even tighter black T-shirt, though I would not be continuing the David Hasselhoff look once I retook possession. But I looked, like, forty years old. I looked nearly my father's age, or at least his age at the time I was exiled. I'd sort of known that would happen: the changeling might be immortal, but that didn't stop my body from aging normally while he possessed it.
Still, it was a total mind blower.
A man in a black suit strolled into sight of the portal. His braided mustache identified him as an enforcer, a representative of the Arcana Ruling Council and police of all things magical in our world, come to monitor the transfer. He probably had a “we'll be watching you, punk” speech ready for me as well.
The changeling flipped back his Joey Ramone hairdo, and raised his handâmy handâto signal readiness for the transfer.
And as a bonus for ordering a body transfer today, I'd receive one memory transfer absolutely free. Twenty-five years of selected life history and real-world memories from the changelingâwhere “I” lived, where I worked, who I'd talked to, what had happened on TV the last twenty-five yearsâall part of the arrangement so that I wasn't clueless, jobless, homeless, and presumed dead by the mundane authorities when I returned home.
I hoped he hadn't watched
Star Trek IV
. It was just coming out when I got exiled, and I really wanted to experience it myself (yes, despite
Star Trek III
).
And music! Oh dear gods, I hoped this guy had listened to decent music.
Wait. Did I cancel my Columbia record and tape club membership before exile, or did I owe them like ten thousand dollars for a whole stack of unwanted tapes at this point?
Well, I'd know soon enough. The sun melted beneath the horizon and twilight began, a time for transitions. I felt the transfer begin.
On the beach, the enforcer kicked the changeling in the gut and flung something glittering at the portal. The transfer cut off.
What theâ?
The flung object disintegrated against the barrier between worlds, and a screech cut through my mind like a rabid cat's claws being scratched across a chalkboard. Roiling clouds of gibbering ink gathered above our heads.
My warden grabbed me in a gummy bear hug.
Betrayers!
The word echoed through my mind. He dragged me back from the portal, but I struggled against him, willed myself forward.
No!
I projected back.
I didn't do this! Damn it, let me go you slimyâ!
Beyond the portal, the enforcer pulled out a wand and pointed it at the changelingâat my body! Purple lightning danced from the end of the twisted black stick like a neon snake having seizures, and my feybody heart lurched as I watched the arc strike my real body. Except that, somehow, the changeling deflected the lightning back at the enforcer, flinging the man back.
The dark hair and black suit of the enforcer rippled for a second as he flew into the surf, and I caught a glimpse of blond hair, beard, and black robes beneath. A glamour! Someone had disguised themselves as an enforcer.
The portal began to shrink.
The screeching clouds above me fell silent.
Then a house-size blob of deep black nothingness plummeted down like a screaming meteor of oh-crap-this-can't-be-good.
There was no point in arguing with my wardens now. I reached out to my body, not with my will but through the natural resonance between body and spirit, using skills learned during years of necromancy training with Grandfather. The connection was immediate. I traveled free of the Fey body and through the shrinking portal. As I hit the barrier I felt a cold behind me, the kind of cold that freezes lungs and makes yetis shiver. And then I fell to my hands and knees on the pebble beach.
Sharp points bit into my palms and shins, chilly water splashed over my hands and wrists. The smell of salt air and rotting sea plants blasted into my awareness. I looked up to see the portal flickering. Beyond, the plummeting blackness shredded the warden, like a statue of multicolored sand blasted by high wind. The portal winked out.