Necromancer: A Novella (4 page)

“Won’t get you back on grill, flame-boy,” he said.

So I’d caught the grill on fire a few times. Okay, more than a few. Lesser Kevin had to remove the smoke alarms when I cooked. “I can’t help it if grease is flammable. Besides, it’s not like it hurts the grill.”

“And what about last time?” Ramon asked, flipping the chicken burger onto a bun and placing it on a tray.

I handed the tray up to Brooke. “You’re referring to the Plumpy’s kids’ meal incident? A lot of crap over a few boxes. Water under many bridges.”

“Sam, the toys ignited and exploded melted plastic onto your apron, which also burst into flame.”

“That’s what fire extinguishers are for.”

“The little girl at the counter started to cry because she thought you were going to immolate.”

“Immolate?”

“You looked like the Human Torch, man.” Ramon made an explosion-like noise and scraped something off the grill. “Flame on, Sam. Flame on.”

I waved him off. “Psh.” And since my arm hair had totally grown back, no permanent damage had been done.

“Besides,” he said, pulling out a hotel pan full of precooked bacon, “can I help it if the grill responds to my raw Latin heat? You skinny white boys cook the burgers, but I make love to them.”

“That’s disgusting,” I said.

In the last hour before closing, I crouched under a table with a putty knife and chipped old gum away. I led a very exciting life. Brooke was going to make Frank do it, so I offered before that could happen. Instead he got to sweep, and I was that much closer to winning the pool. Brooke sulked behind the counter, blacking out teeth and drawing mustaches on the people pictured on our tray liners. There were no customers, and the only sound besides the scrape of my putty knife and Frank’s sweeping was Ramon, who for some reason hummed show tunes while he cleaned the grill. Right then it sounded like “Luck Be a Lady.” He danced too. Ramon was a triple threat.

As I ran the putty knife along the wood-style plastic of the table, I wondered why people would pick this as the final resting place for their gum. Seriously, we had garbage cans, trays, wrappers—hell, they could stick it on Frank—so why always the table? While I considered this, I heard the door swing open. The sound wasn’t loud, but I hadn’t expected anyone else to come in so late on a weeknight. Especially with what appeared to be dress shoes. Plumpy’s caters to the sneaker set. I tilted my head so I could peek out.

The man seemed to be of average height, but since I was lying on the floor, it was hard to tell. Everyone looks tall from that angle. I twisted my head so that I could follow him with my eyes, and as he got closer to Brooke, I decided that he must be just about an inch or two shy of six feet. He was skinny too. No, lean. But he gave off the impression of being much bigger than he was. His shoes weren’t like anything I’d seen in a department store, and his charcoal suit looked expensive. He held an old-fashioned doctor’s bag in his left hand and a piece of potato in his right.

Shit.

He held the potato out to Brooke. “I’d like someone to explain this,” he said.

The guy had a preacher’s voice, smooth and rolling, worn with use.

That voice sent a shiver of unease down my spine. I froze under the table, not even daring to bring my arm and putty knife back down.

Brooke looked at the man, her eyes cool, her body language saying casual indifference. She pointed one dainty finger at the man’s right hand. “It’s a potato,” she said.

The man didn’t respond. “You know, a kind of tuber? Grows in the ground. Almost killed Ireland. Any of this ringing a bell?”

I could see Brooke’s face and the pink fingernail polish she was wearing as her hands gestured at the man.

“I know what it is,” he said.

“Then why did you ask?” Brooke rested her hip on the counter and crossed her arms.

The man didn’t move, but I saw his grip tighten on the handle of his bag.

I stayed motionless under the table, even though my arm was starting to get tired from holding the putty knife up. I didn’t know why Brooke wasn’t scared of the man, but my guess was that being the only girl raised alongside a bunch of gigantic, lacrosse-playing male siblings had more than one benefit. When she first started going to shows with me, I’d insisted on staying close to her, afraid she might take a rogue fist from the mosh pit or get swallowed by the sweating mass of the audience. That was until I saw her split the lip of an overly affectionate drunk at an all-ages show at El Corazón.

Brooke doesn’t scare easy. Wish I could say the same about myself.

The man took a deep breath. His grip relaxed around the handle of the bag. I could only see the back of his head, but I bet his anger never showed up on his face. “What I want to know is why it was in the broken taillight of my car, which was in
this
parking lot.”

Brooke put her elbows on the counter and cupped her chin in her hands. “Oh, I love riddles,” she said. She kept her eyes wide and innocent, her pink lips straight. Her blond ponytail slipped forward, and she absently twirled the end of it with one finger. Brooke had long ago mastered the vapid look. “I give up. Why did you put a potato in your taillight?”

“I didn’t. It was there when I got back.”

Brooke’s eyes got a little round. “Oh, a mystery.” She straightened back up off the counter and let the vapid look fall away. Her eyelids drooped a little, and her lip quirked up at one side, pure devilish disdain. “Well, then I’ll just get Shaggy and Scooby, and we’ll get right on it, mister.”

The man laughed, and I couldn’t help thinking that it was the most joyless sound I’d ever heard.

Ramon sauntered up from the back, drying his hands on a  towel. “Is there a problem here?” He’d asked Brooke but kept his eyes on the man.

The man held up the potato. “I found this in my shattered taillight.”

Ramon shrugged. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“I’d be grateful if I was you,” Brooke added. “Your car could have been impounded for being in our lot. That’s why we have signs posted every two feet saying ‘for Plumpy’s customers only’ and ‘park at your own risk.’ We aren’t a parking garage, we’re a dining establishment.”

“That serves potatoes,” the man said softly. He set the remnants down on the counter.

She shrugged one shoulder. “A mashed potato taillight is getting off easy.”

The man pushed the offending spud closer to Brooke before straightening up and squaring his shoulders. He inclined his head. “The manager, if you will.”

“He’s busy,” Ramon said. We all knew that Lesser Kevin wouldn’t come out of his office unless it was closing time or the building was burning to the ground.

Ramon’s eyes flicked down to where I hid under the table. His eyebrow raised just a twitch, and I shook my head frantically. I didn’t know who the complaining man was, but he scared me. The primitive part of my brain screamed
predator
, and I believed it. With predators, if you move, if you’re seen, you’re eaten, and this man in his expensive but understated gray suit could swallow me whole.

Ramon looked back at the man, but it wasn’t fast enough.

I watched the man glance over his shoulder, just a short peek down to me hiding under the table, before he returned his attention to the counter.

I let a breath out slowly and tried to stop my hands from shaking. He hadn’t really seen me.

Then he jerked back around.

His footsteps echoed in the empty restaurant as he headed my way. I scooted farther under the table, but I could feel the uselessness of the action already. The man leaned down, grabbed me by my Plumpy’s T-shirt, and dragged me into the open. I heard Brooke and Ramon shout something, but I couldn’t make it out. All my attention was focused on the brown eyes of the man in front of me. Lean as he was, he held me up by the shirt with little effort. Hanging like that was awkward, so I grabbed his wrists for balance. I felt a cold snap of electricity, like frozen static shock, and I immediately released his wrists.

“What,” he said slowly, “do you think you’re doing here?”

“I work here.” My lips felt cracked and dry all of a sudden. He tightened his grip on me and pulled me closer. Not really a place I wanted to be. I swallowed hard.

“Not here, fool. Seattle.”

“I live here.”

His face got even closer, and I grabbed at his wrists again. The shock was still there, a chill crackling up my arms, but I held on anyway. Unpleasant, but I didn’t want to let him get his face any nearer to mine. The man’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “You live here and you haven’t petitioned the Council?”

“Huh?”

“When you moved here, you should have contacted us, asked permission”—he looked down at my name tag—“Sam.”

Oh, good, he was crazy and scary. What an awesome combination. I let go of his wrists with one hand and leveraged myself back enough so I could pull my T-shirt out of his grip. I dropped to the floor, knowing full well that he let me do it.

“I have always lived here,” I said, enunciating each word in that peculiar way people do when speaking with the insane. I straightened out my shirt. “I was born here, and I’ve never heard of any Council.”

“Impossible,” he said. “I would have known.” His face was an odd mix of concern and disdain.

“Perhaps my mother forgot to send you an announcement.” My hands shook. I shoved them into my pockets. At least that way the shaking would be less visible.

“Is there a problem?” Lesser Kevin had finally come out of his office.

I didn’t look at him, thinking it best to keep my eyes firmly on whatever threat this man represented. My body still wanted to run screaming in the other direction, but I held it there anyway. I couldn’t quite figure out which would be the safer choice.

“No, sir,” I said, “no problem.”

A moment passed as the man stood, eyes still locked on me, face unreadable. Then he grinned; the smile unfurling slowly on his face reminded me suddenly of the old Grinch cartoon they show on TV every year during Christmas. It’s much creepier on a human face than on an animated one. He reached over and restraightened my shirt.

“No,” he said, “just a misunderstanding.” As the man turned toward Lesser Kevin, his face lit up, changing the smile to something lighthearted and normal. “A case of mistaken identity. You know how it is.”

Kevin looked confused. “My employee tells me you had a complaint about your car?”

Behind Kevin, Frank cowered, his eyes wide, broom still firmly in hand. He gave me a little wave.

The stranger shook his head in dismissal. “No, no. It’s not a big deal. Again, a simple misunderstanding.” He walked over and shook Lesser Kevin’s hand. Kevin still looked sort of apprehensive, but he didn’t seem to be having the same problem touching the stranger as I did. In fact, the contact seemed to relax him. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate it.”

He turned to leave but nodded in my direction on his way out. “Sam,” he said, like he was my friend, but it wasn’t friendly. It was ominous, like when my mom spoke my name in public with that tone that meant I was going to get an earful once we were alone.

I leaned my skateboard against the wall so I could zip up my hoodie. After the weird events earlier, closing time had seemed a little anticlimactic. Ramon still did his usual tricks to try to get a laugh out of me, and I forced a few smiles, but I  felt too distracted to really pay attention to any of it. We made Frank do most of the actual cleanup. He didn’t complain, just went about wiping, stocking, and mopping until the place was ready to go.

What the hell had crazy Classic Shiny car guy been talking about? What Council? I’d have marked him off as nuts, or eccentric since he drove an old Mercedes, except for the memory of cold electricity running up my arms. He’d asked about my birth. Well, where I’d been born. Maybe I should call my mom.

Ramon flicked off the lights, and Frank, Brooke, and I filed out. “Anything going on tonight?” Ramon asked.

Frank cleared his throat and pulled out a stack of DVDs from his messenger bag.

Ramon grabbed them. “
The Beastmaster
,
Dragonslayer
,
Conan the Barbarian
. Frank, I’m sensing a theme.”

“Sweaty guys in loincloths?” Brooke asked.

“I’m secure enough in my sexuality to enjoy a good barbarian movie,” Ramon said, holding up the
Conan
DVD so Brooke could see the glistening Arnold on the front. “It’s Frank I’m worried about.”

“You’re so funny. Just funny, funny, funny all the time,” Frank said. “You should be a comedian.” He held his hands out as if he was envisioning a marquee. “Ladies and gentlemen, Ramon the Obnoxious.”

“That’s redundant,” Ramon said, handing the movies back to Frank. “All comedians are obnoxious.”

“Well,” I said, “I know what we’re doing tonight.”

Brooke scoffed. “Huh-uh, count me out, boys.”

“Really?” I asked. “These are the most girl-friendly movies we’ve watched in weeks.”

“Please,” she said, “I’ve seen
Conan
. He throws a chick into a fire.”

“Yeah,” Ramon said, “but she was asking for it.”

“Nice.” She huddled into her jacket and pushed her purse toward her hip. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” She flashed a grin at us and waved before walking to her car.

Frank watched her, looking like he might drool. I just wanted to make sure she got to her car okay. Tonight had made me a little paranoid. But she climbed into her blue VW Beetle and drove away, honking and waving as she left.

We all turned and walked toward Frank’s white Jetta. I didn’t live too far from Plumpy’s, so I’d ridden my skateboard to work. Ramon didn’t have a car. He usually found it much easier to force me to drive him everywhere in my Subaru.

Frank opened the trunk so Ramon and I could throw our boards in. I reached up to shut the trunk door and caught a movement in the shadow of a nearby building. A man was walking toward me. A big man. Of course, I’m not that tall, so a lot of guys make me feel short. But I think this guy would make most people feel puny. He was tall, muscle-bound, and man-pretty. I bet he spent a lot of time in the gym standing in front of the mirror checking his abs or bouncing his pecs. He was also tan and moved like one of those guys you see in the commercials for the military where they’re climbing rock walls and running down beaches. The kind of dude you don’t want to get in a bar fight with.

He moved up close to me, not totally in my face, but definitely in my personal space. I was beginning to see a pattern emerging. I could see Frank and Ramon watching.

“Are you Sam?” he asked.

The way today was going, I didn’t really want to answer. But I also couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I said, “Yeah.”

“I’ve been sent by Douglas Montgomery.”

“You say that like I should know who that is,” I said.

He grinned at me—not so much a grin as a flash of teeth. “You should.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” I said.

“Then I guess you should find out.”

“No, I’m good. My dance card is full, but I’ll check with my secretary. Ramon?”

“Booked,” Ramon said.

I fixed on the big guy’s brown eyes and tried not to flinch. “Tell your boss to get back to me in a few months.” Then I did something stupid. Well, something stupid besides shooting my mouth off. I turned my back. A sound came from behind, a bit of a growl, low and deep, and then my feet left the ground as he clobbered me with a fist that felt like an SUV. The jolt of pavement followed, a hammer blow before I started to roll. I curled my arms to cradle my head. I skidded along the parking lot, grateful for my hoodie and jeans, knowing that I would be hurting soon anyway. Another strike hit my back, and whatever it was, it hurt like hell. Like sharp, burning hell.

A hand grabbed me by the sweatshirt and lifted me up. I spun like a top, and the grip shifted to my throat. Not good.

The man loomed in front of me again, looking pissed. He pulled me in close, right up to his face. His nostrils flared in and out as he breathed, as if he were taking in all the smells around us. His pupils dilated. Probably from an adrenaline rush. I didn’t think this guy had the best self-control. I held still, ignoring the aching of bruised muscles and the burning in my back. What had he done to me?

I hung there and tried my best to radiate calm. Fear would only make it worse, I was sure of it, and I couldn’t get angry because this guy could wipe the floor with my carcass. So I dangled there in pain, pretending to be calm, and waited for him to make his next move.

“You even smell a little like him,” he said, his voice going throaty.

Disturbing. Was it good to smell like someone else? I reached out cautiously and put my hands over his, leveraging for a bit of breathing room. “Like who?” I choked out. Buff Guy had a fierce grip.

“Like the grave,” he said, not really answering my question. “Like cold death.”

“Thanks,” I said. Creepy, creepy, creepy. I didn’t add that he smelled like meat. Not that I could. Apparently, choking helped me keep my mouth shut and mind my manners. I wished he’d put me back down. Or that Ramon and Frank would rush him from behind. Then he’d have the opportunity to strangle all of us. I needed to get bigger friends.

“And blood,” he said. “You smell like blood.”

My pulse began to speed up despite my attempts to stay calm. This huge guy was talking about my blood, and he looked really, really happy about it. But I wasn’t going to just hang here and die in the parking lot of Plumpy’s.

I yelled in his face with all the air I could get and grabbed tighter onto his wrists, kicking whatever was in reach.

He laughed, but I kept kicking.

Then I heard Ramon yell, “Duck!” I did my best, but with his meaty paws around my throat, it was more of a leaning motion.

There was an unholy cracking noise as Ramon whacked him in the head with a skateboard, breaking it in two. The guy’s hold loosened as he turned to evaluate the new threat, and I pushed away from him with all I had. For the second time in as many minutes, I hit pavement.

I heard a car engine and turned to see Frank backing up his beat-up Jetta and coming right at us. I rolled out of the way. The man didn’t move as Frank drove at him, just cocked back his fist and punched the rear of the car. With his freaking
fist
. And he stopped the Jetta cold. While he turned his scary grin on Frank, I got to my feet and grabbed for the door. I slid in at the same time as Ramon.

Frank froze, staring at the back of his car.

Ramon slapped him to get his attention. “Drive!”

Frank slammed his foot down on the pedal. There was a screech and a jerk, but then we were driving over a small concrete divider and pulling onto the empty street. I kept my eyes on the man who now held Frank’s rusty bumper in his hands as we drove away. I watched him toss it over his shoulder like it was made of paper.

“Seat belts!” Frank’s voice held an edge of hysteria.

I stopped watching the man and curled into my seat, grabbing the seat belt and slipping it on. The motion made damn near every muscle and joint in my body scream, and I had to arch so my back wouldn’t touch the seat.

Ramon turned as he clicked his own belt and eyed me. “You okay, Sammy?”

“What the hell is going on, Ramon? Did someone paint a target on me at work?”

“Right now I’m kind of worried about that freaked-out dude back there. You think he was all jacked up on PCP or something? I mean, he tore off Frank’s damn bumper!”

“Rust problem? Adrenaline rush?” I threw out the ideas, though I didn’t really believe any of them. That didn’t keep my brain from searching for some kind of explanation.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s over.”

“Me either.” I closed my eyes and tried to find a somewhat comfortable position to hold myself in, only to realize that there wasn’t one. Frank would need a new bumper and Ramon a new skateboard. I’d have to assess my damages when I got home. At least Brooke had left before anything had happened to her.