Finn Fancy Necromancy (20 page)

“No,” I said. “You're not telling the ARC about my father.”

“Maybe you're not, martyr boy, but why shouldn't I?”

“Because of your sister.”

Zeke leaned over me. “Is that a threat, Gramaraye?”

“No. I meant because you understand. You went into exile to protect your sister. It turns out, I went into exile to protect my father. And I'll do so again if I need to. If Vee had been made to commit a crime without her control, and you served your exile in her place, would you want the ARC to then turn around and exile Vee anyway?”

Zeke leaned back, and glanced at the door to Vee's room. “No. But if you're right, if your father was made to commit the crime, the ARC will see that too and be lenient. Besides, when the ARC learns they exiled you for twenty-five years and you really were innocent, they're going to owe you big-time.”

“Right. And the reason they would owe me big-time is they screwed up. So why should I trust they won't screw up again and send my father into exile? And even if they don't exile him, he'll be thrown into the Hole. Would you take that risk with Vee?”

Zeke exhaled heavily through his nose and pursed his lips, causing his long mustache to dance. “Fine. We do it your way for now. I'm too tired to deal with the ARC anyway. But if they come to us, I'm not lying about what I know.”

“Thank you. And one more thing.” I glanced down the hall, to Mort's room. “I need you to come listen as I ask Mort a question, tell me if he's lying or not.”

Zeke's stomach growled. He frowned. “I need to eat and sleep before I fall over. How 'bout I save you time, and let's just assume he's lying?”

“The question's kind of too important for that. Please? Would it help if I said you might have to force the answer out of him?”

“You really know how to woo me. Fine. One fool question. Then I'm off to bed.”

“Deal.”

“Hang on, then.” He went into Vee's room and came back out a minute later empty handed. “Let's go.”

I knocked on Mort's door. Twice.

“Yeah,” he finally responded in a groggy voice.

“It's Finn. I need to ask you a quick question. It's pretty important.”

“Fine. Come in.”

I led Zeke into Mort's bedroom. It looked much like I assume Darth Vader's bedroom would look. The bed, entertainment center, dresser, end tables, curtain rods, all were matching black and chrome. The thick curtains were closed against the weak Pacific Northwest sunlight, but a television the size of a view screen played a baseball game. What a waste. I could only imagine how awesome something like
Battlestar Galactica
would look on a screen like that.

Mort had his head propped up on black pillows. As we came in, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Hey, guys,” he said in an oddly cheery tone. “You wanna watch the game?”

“No,” I said. “Uh, how're you feeling?”

“Good. Good. The healer gave me a little something that made all the pain go away, like little bubbles, pop pop pop.” He chuckled, and his attention wandered back to the television. “I, hey, thanks again for helping out. No hard feelings, right? I mean you—ooo, look how fast he can run.”

No hard feelings? For nearly getting us killed by sasquatches, or for something worse?

“Mort, can you focus for a second? I need to ask you a question.”

Mort looked at me, or rather his eyes looked in my direction. They actually focused on me a second later. “Sure. What's up?”

I glanced at Zeke, and cleared my throat. I didn't want to completely alienate my brother, especially after Mattie's plea. But I needed to clearly determine if Mort was guilty or not, and I didn't have time for subtlety. “Mort, did you have anything to do, accidental or not, with the attack on Felicity, or making it look like I attacked her?”

“What? No! Of course not. Like I told you, I really believed what the ARC said, that you'd hurt Felicity. But, you know, I'm really sorry about doubting you, man.”

Zeke's eyes narrowed. “He told the truth about having nothing to do with the attack on Felicity or framing you. But the rest—”

Mort blushed. “Fine. So I'm not sorry for doubting you. But that's not a crime.”

“Right,” I said. “Great. Sorry for bugging you.”

“But—” Zeke began.

“That's good,” I said emphatically, and motioned to the door.

Zeke grunted. “Whatever. I need some sleep anyway.”

“Thanks for checking on me,” Mort said as Zeke stepped through the door. “It was a pleasure.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, and I started to close his door but stopped. Damn it. Mattie's plea poked at me again. And this was not how I wanted to relive this moment for the rest of my life in exile, or leave things with Mort anyway. I leaned back into his room. “Look, I know things have been a little … rough since I've been back. But when everything settles down, maybe you and me, we can go do something together? Something fun, like in the old days?”

“I don't know,” Mort said, staring bleary eyed at the television again. “We'll see.”

“Right. Okay. Later.” I closed his door.

Zeke waited by the door to his room, between Mort's and Vee's. “Real winner, your brother,” he said.

“I don't think Mort's involved in what's going on with us. But it probably wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him anyway.”

“Well, at least we agree on that,” Zeke said. “So before I grab a little Odinsleep, is there anything else you want to tell me? Like what it is you need Heather's help researching?”

“Oh, right. Well, I think whatever's going on, it has something to do with the fact that I can still Talk to a spirit that's been warded, but only if my family did the warding. That's the other bit of memory they tried to hide. So that should make it a lot easier to figure out who exactly my enemies don't want me Talking to.”

“And then we go Talk to that spirit anyway. Good. I like it. Go do your research and let me know what you find. Tomorrow. Right now, I—”

“Need your sleep. Yeah, I got it.”

Zeke blew out his mustache at me, then went into his room.

I headed back downstairs just in time to find Heather clearing the last of the food from the table. “You ready to do that research?” she asked.

I eyed the remains of the pasta and sighed. “Yeah, let's do it.”

Heather followed my gaze and said, “Here. Eat up first. You need your energy.”

Heather downed another glass of wine as I shoveled pasta and vegetables from the bowl to my stomach with only the briefest stop in my mouth, and then we walked to the family library.

I closed the library doors behind us, and when I turned back around, Heather stood close enough that I smelled the apple scent of her shampoo. She locked the library doors, and put her other hand on my chest. She looked into my eyes for a second, and something like uncertainty or sadness flashed through hers. Then she straightened her shoulders.

“Don't be nervous,” she said, and I could smell the wine on her breath. “I don't bite, much. Unless you beg for it.”

She leaned in for a kiss. I jerked back, and hit the library doors.

“Uh, I don't think this is a good idea. What if someone comes—”

“Everyone's busy, and nobody comes in libraries anymore. Though I'm hoping we can change that.” She leaned in again. I put my hands between us.

“Wait, I just—this is kind of sudden. I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it—I mean, you know, not that I pictured you … doing stuff, but—there's just so much going on, and I don't know—” How to do it, I thought. Actually, my brain didn't know. My body knew exactly what it wanted, and a wild gang of hormones did their best to stuff my brain into a sack and beat it into submission.

Heather pouted. “You know, for someone who's been without companionship for twenty-five years, I thought I'd be fighting you off, not the other way around.”

“It's not like I don't want … not like I don't like you or anything, but—”

“The only buts I like when it comes to sex are the ones I can grab. Let's not ruin this with a bunch of thinking, Finn. I want you, you want me, there's absolutely no reason we shouldn't have a little harmless fun. Are you being shy because you're a virgin?”

“What? I'm not—that is, what makes you—”

“I think we both know better. You couldn't even bring yourself to kiss me before you got sent away. But you don't need to be nervous.” She pressed against me. “I'll enjoy every minute of it, and so will you, I promise.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as me, but then she moved in again for a kiss, and I had nowhere to go but for it.

Her kiss was different from Dawn's truth-or-dare kiss, which I'd replayed in my head (voluntarily and involuntarily) thousands of times. Where Dawn's kiss all those years ago had been warm and melting, Heather's felt more like the suggestion of a true kiss, her lips hesitant, her tongue in retreat from mine.

The kiss ended, and I leaned back, opening my eyes.

“Well,” she asked. “Worth the wait?”

“Definitely,” I said. What else was I going to say? That it felt somehow … lacking? Yeah, that would pretty much end any chance I had of rebuilding our friendship, let alone taking it further. Still, while it didn't feel like I'd kissed my sister or anything, there was certainly no Hallelujah choir singing in the background either.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mind. It wasn't like we'd had a fun-filled day together and were at some basement party or something. And there was the fact that she'd slept with Mort. And that she had a grown son. And that—

“Are you sure everything's okay?” Heather asked. “You look like you're somewhere far away.”

“No. Sorry. I mean, yes, I was just thinking about us, and about the kiss. It really was great.”

“Wow. Thanks, Tony Tiger. It's an honor to be an important part of your nutritious breakfast.”

“No, that's not what I meant. I meant—”

“Oh, so now you think I'm imagining things?”

How had things gone so bad so quickly? “No, really, I—”

“You do. You think I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.” She glared at me for a second, and then the corner of her mouth quirked up.

The knot of anxiety lifted from my chest. Mostly. “Hey, you do know I think you're magically delicious, right?”

“Uh-huh. Prove it.” She kissed me again. This time, with more passion. Or maybe it was determination.

She pulled me away from the door, still kissing me, and we kiss-stumbled our way to the nearest hardback chair. She plopped me down onto the chair and straddled me, wriggling down on my lap with a smile that belonged on a cat in an aviary. Then she pulled my head to one side and lunged for my throat. I jumped, but she held me pinned down. Her teeth didn't break skin, just bit playfully at the side of my neck, and then it was warm lips and hot breath on my throat, my jaw, my earlobe. That last caused waves of heat to pulse through me, and I began to thrust rhythmically against her. She made a soft encouraging moan in my ear. She grabbed my hand and slid it along the low opening of her shirt, under her bra. Her nipple pressed hard against my fingertip, and her lips brushed my ear as she whispered, “Do you want to kiss them?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling awkward and weird to be saying it out loud. But with her body pressed against mine, her breath hot on my ear, and a similar heat now warming my lap, yes, I most definitely did.

“Mmmm. Say yes, Miss Brown,” she said.

And for some reason, hearing her name was like a slap. And not the good kind. It jolted me out of the pleasant, sultry bubble in which we existed and back into a reality where she wasn't Heather Flowers, the girl I'd loved, but Heather the grown and experienced woman. I felt like I'd been floating in a kind of dream, an extension of moments with the Heather of my memories and, oddly, with Dawn. Another side effect of my exile maybe?

My hands moved over to her arms.

“Heather—”

“Miss Brown.”

“I think we should stop.”

“No.” She nipped at my earlobe. “I think that's a terrible idea.”

“No, really.” I lifted her up and away as best I could, but that only budged her an inch or two. “I'm sorry,” I said. “It's not you, it's me. I need more time to recover from exile, and to clear my head I think.”

“Why?” she said, and her hand rested on my crotch. “It doesn't feel like you need more time. And I can take care of your head.” She wriggled in close again, and kissed the corner of my mouth as her hand squeezed the most sensitive part of my body, pumping good feelings all through me. She whispered, “I can give you a memory you won't mind reliving. And I can teach you how to make a woman very happy.” She kissed me then, a long, deep kiss, and when our lips parted she whispered hot into my ear, “Do you want me to teach you?”

My hands slid off of her arms, to her waist. I could feel her mouth spread into a grin, pressed against the side of my face.

“Yes,” I exhaled.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Miss Brown.”

14

She Blinded Me with Science

I lay sprawled across the chaise longue, dozing, with pleasant feelings still shivering along my legs to the tips of my toes. Heather left to use the restroom with a promise to be right back.

My smile stretched so wide I felt the pull and pressure of it.

Right there, right then, the anger and fear and frustration of the past day were weak and distant creatures, in no danger of killing this pleasant feeling. For the first time since, well, before my exile, I felt truly relaxed, truly at peace. I glanced at my watch. Just after 2
P
.
M
. My first day of freedom was more than half over, and we'd spent more than an hour playing around in the library, making zero progress on proving my innocence—I grinned. If anything, Heather had made me significantly less innocent. And I felt only the faintest concern about the enforcers' deadline. If I was going back into exile to relive memories, this was certainly a better way to spend my time than fighting feybloods or accusing my family members of crimes.