CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To be a Necromancer

When we stepped through the barrier the relief was so welcome I could feel the tension slide from my shoulders. Tentatively I allowed my glass shield to melt like defrosting ice and sighed with relief. Once the barrier was in place it took little effort to keep it there, but even so, it was tiring constantly reminding myself it was real and not my imagination. Especially as I was not truly convinced it wasn't just that; a manifested creation of my imagination. Did that make it real? Or not? The internal debate was making my head ache, so all in all I was pleased to be done with it.

Once back in the house I took my weekend bag up to my room and began to unpack. The clothes I pulled out and smoothed, in an effort to take out at least some of the creases, could have belonged to someone else. I could remember packing them but surely that was in another lifetime. I selected a set of underwear and the least cramped pair of jeans and a warm top and changed gratefully. The clothes from the clinic I bundled up and stuffed into the waste bin at the writing desk. Sliding into the chair at the desk I stared out of the window.

Now what? Where do I go from here? I could no longer deny there was a lot more going on in the world than I had believed. I also had to admit that I was not such a freak as I had always thought. Or, at least, I was not alone in my freakishness. And both Ross and Marcy had said things that suggested there was a lot more going on than they were willing to tell me about. Nor could I deny the reality of the barrier. Which meant Marcy's witchy friends were also legit. Were there others? People with... talents I didn't know about? I watched a group of boys cycling past yelling to one another, every other word a swear word. Normality. It was out there. But I was no longer part of it.

I mentally smacked myself. Pathetic! And anyway I was never part of it. It was always a game of make-believe. The reality was I had lived in a twilight zone and maybe I still did only now there were other people in there with me. That had to be good. Right?

Wrong! I thought of Beatrice and Henry. Of my studio apartment. Of my painting and my beat-up old car and felt in mourning. I would go back in a heartbeat.

'Grace, lunch,' Marcy called up the stairs.

I left my morose musing and went down to my first meal in what seemed a year.

'A friend of mine is coming over this afternoon,' Marcy said as we tucked into asparagus and egg on toast. Strange, I thought, but tasty.

'One of your witchy friends?'

'Best not say that to their faces. And really it would be polite not to say it at all. They are witches. With names. Anne and Vicky.'

'Sorry. Are they both coming over?'

'No, neither of them are. It is Brent who is coming over. He is looking forward to meeting you.'

'I thought something was said last night about the CSC not wanting me to meet other... err... supernaturals. Or is Brent a normal human?'

Marcy smiled at my hesitation. 'They did. And no Brent is not without his own brand of magic but screw the CSC. They didn't want you here in the first place. And if they think I will be keeping Brent away indefinitely they're mistaken. Brent is my partner.'

'Oh, right.' I had heard the word 'indefinitely' in there in regard to my stay with her but chose to tackle that later. This was much more interesting. 'You say he has magic. Is he a witch too?'

'We don't discuss the abilities of other supernaturals, Grace. It's both disrespectful and dangerous. But I can say he is not a witch. If he chooses to share anything else with you that will be up to him.'

'Seems I have a lot to learn.'

'You do.'

There was silence as we finished our meal.

'Are you willing to let me help you?'

I placed the knife and fork back on the plate. 'I don't think I have a choice, do I? I want to go home. I want things as they were but it's not going to happen until I get control of myself again. Until I am able to defend myself and hopefully, others.'

'Beatrice and Henry you mean.'

I nodded.

'Grace, you are gifted, there is no doubt about that, and the clinic has increased those gifts, by how much has yet to be seen, but I'm not sure that what we have is meant to be used as either defense or offense. And you will need both to take on the clinic and protect the Penningtons.'

'But today you used...what's his name...Ignatius to help us. He and Loni both helped. If I could do that...'

'They can't fight your battles for you, Grace. They aren't our personal army.'

'Then what's the point?'

'The point is you have to be able to live with yourself. And you have to understand what you can do before you can understand what you can't. Maybe then you will find a way to get some of what you want.'

'I want it all,' I shouted. 'I want back everything that has been taken from me. And, believe me, I will find a way.'

Marcy collected the plates and took them to the sink. 'Then we have a lot of work to do.'

'I...'

'And, please, don't raise your voice to me. I am, after all, offering to help.'

My face burned. What was the matter with me? She had shown me nothing but kindness and patience. 'Sorry. It's just...'

'You're frustrated. I know. Hopefully, as you learn your craft your frustration will ease too.'

I spent most of the next hour in my room finding drawers for my clothes and, if the truth be known, sulking. I did manage to regain control of my temper though. And I was much more in control when I went back downstairs at the sound of the doorbell. This had to be Brent and I did not want to miss meeting him for anything.

Brent turned out to be tall and slim and of indeterminable age. In his thirties maybe but he could equally be a lot more. He had sandy, almost red, hair and eyes of the most unusual gold shot with brown. His wide mouth grinned broadly at me as I came downstairs.

'Brent, this is, Grace.'

Brent shook my hand warmly. 'Good to meet you, Grace. Wasn't sure I was going to what with one thing and another.'

'Oh?' I asked.

'Well, I didn't know if you would be...' Marcy's expression froze and Brent continued, 'I mean if Ross would bring you here. And of course, the CSC isn't keen for you to meet any of us. But Marcy's right.'

'She is?'

'Yes. They're wrong if they think they can choose our friends.'

'Thank you,' I said and meant it. He seemed genuinely pleased to meet me and he had a likable, open manner.

'Come into the kitchen,' Marcy said. 'I've made fresh coffee.'

'Marcy tells me you went to Meredith's flat and collected your belongings,' Brent said after we had hot cups of coffee in our hands. 'That ought to make you feel a little more at home here.'

'It was a bit of a learning curve. Did you know Meredith?'

'I'd never met her but I had heard about her.'

'From who?'

'Well, Ross, of course.'

'Ross?'

'Yes, apparently he...'

'Brent, I'm sure Ross will tell Grace all about it. How did you do at the auction? Did you get what you were after? Brent runs an antique shop,' Marcy said.

'I try to run an antique shop she means. I was left it by my father but until then I'd played very little part in its running I'm afraid. Too busy with other things.'

'How long have you had it? Do you enjoy it?'

'Almost a year. And 'enjoy' is a bit strong I think. I'm not sure I'm cut out for the antique business.'

We spent the next hour making small talk that was relentlessly steered into safe waters by Marcy. Brent was a naturally open person who, apparently, did not abide by the same rigid rules Marcy did. I wondered if he were alone with me what he might tell me about Ross and what was really going on. I also wondered what he was. That was one of the things he showed no sign of wanting to discuss and, heeding Marcy's warning about asking being taboo, I had to content myself guessing. Probably not a necromancer, I'm sure he would have told me. And besides Marcy indicated she didn't get the opportunity to speak to other necromancers. And she had said he wasn't a witch. What else was there?

By the time he left, I was no wiser and Marcy decided it was time to go back beyond the barrier and begin a new lesson.

'Have you ever spoken to the ghosts?' Marcy asked as we wandered around a nearby parkland. My shield was back in place and the ghosts were drifting along beside us unable to touch but very present.

'Of course. When I have to.' I added.

'Are there any who have attached themselves to you?'

'No. Why should they?'

'Sometimes they do, whether you want them to or not. And sometimes it's at your invitation.'

'You mean like, Ignatius?' I could see him close by.

'Yes, like Ignatius.'

'Why would I? I mean I know Ignatius was very helpful today but, well, it seems a dangerous thing to do.'

'Why?'

I thought about it. 'Communicating with them, making friends with them is just not... normal.'

'Grace, we are what we are. First and foremost you have to accept that. Then you will understand that what is considered 'normal' in the world is not, in general, our normal. Normal for you is seeing and being able to communicate with spirits. Normal is helping them and in return the spirits helping you. You don't need to make friends with them if you choose not to. But you have been gifted for a reason. To ignore it would be exactly the same as you denying your gift as an artist.'

'I like being an artist!'

'I like being a necromancer.'

'You do?'

'Yes, I get a lot of satisfaction in helping the dead and the living. And, quite honestly,' she shrugged, 'I like being able to see and know more than other people. What can I say,' she shrugged, 'it's fun.'

I grinned.

'And I like the fact I was chosen for this gift,' she added.

'But it's dangerous to meddle with the dead.'

'You only see what the society you grew up in has permitted you to see. Yes, we have some powers which are extremely dark and very dangerous. We can do things that no one should ever consider doing, that I hope I never to have to do, that I hope you will never have to do, but we have free will. We have the ability to do good rather than evil. I want to teach you all the good you can do but you have to get past your narrow-mindedness.'

I struggled with what she was saying. I had never considered myself narrow-minded. It rankled to think that was what she thought of me. But I had to live with this thing and it was no longer going to be as simple as it once was.

I nodded, 'I'll try.'

Some of the tension left her shoulders and she smiled. 'Good. Now, look around you. Look at the spirits that surround you.'

There was a crowd as usual.

'Now, watch what happens when I step away from you.'

Marcy took a few steps away and sat on a bench crossing her legs looking perfectly at ease. 'Is there a difference?'

'Yes, a good many were your ghosts!' I said feeling annoyed at having put up with all her hangers-on.

She snorted obviously reading my mind. 'Sorry about that,' she said, sounding more amused than sorry. 'Look around those still with you.'

Reluctantly I looked at the ghosts. Really looked at them, I didn't just see them as I had mostly done in the past. And they looked back. There were maybe a dozen who were so real I felt I would be able to touch them. Others were vaporous, some more visible than others. Including a small boy clutching what may have been a ball who drifted in and out of view, like a small grey cloud.

'I see them,' I said.

'Good, now, do any one of those souls attract you more than the others?'

I looked at them all again.

'No. They are all just... ghosts.'

'Don't think of them as ghosts, and certainly not 'just' ghosts. They were once people who had lives, who have a story to tell, just like you. Yes, maybe that's the answer. Think of them as storytellers. Who's story would you like to hear?'

'What?'

'Whose life story would you like to hear?'

'None.' I stopped at the impatient look she threw me.'

'Sorry, okay let's see,' I muttered looking back at the ghosts. They had all gone very still and watchful. Did they always do that when they were being looked at? I mean really looked at. I decided to choose from the more solid-looking ones, less sick-making if I had to spend much time staring at them. I looked at each face in turn. There were five women from time periods dating from long skirts and frilly bonnets, which was the best time slot I could come up with, right up to modern-day. The men were similarly spaced throughout the years. Their clothes ranged from similar to Ignatius right up to the present. The most recent was a young man with dark curly hair and wearing bicycling gear. He looked at me opened his mouth then closed it again. His dark eyes bore into me willing me to choose him. What the hell.

'Okay, got one.'

'Lord, you have no manners do you!' Marcy said. She waved her hand to stop my protest. 'Say, hello. Ask whoever it is if they would like to share their story with you. Ask if there is anything you can do for them.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really, what did you expect?'

'Won't he know what's going on without all the niceties? You said that's why they're here.'

'It may surprise you to learn the spirits who have chosen you to help them, for whatever reason, have manners. They won't, some say can't, though I personally don't believe that, they won't build a tie with you unless you invite them to.'

'A tie? I don't want to tie myself to a ghost!'

'Okay then, a connection. Whatever name you give it you have to invite the spirit to engage with you.'

'You do this all the time?'

'As often as I can. But I never make promises I can't keep.'

I took a deep breath and turned to look at them all again. A young woman in an extremely tatty bonnet smiled tentatively at me. A young child maybe nine or ten years old held her hand. My eyes gravitated to the young, curly-haired man in his Lycra cycling gear. 'Hello,' I said, 'I'm Grace. Would you like to talk to me?'

The young man stepped forward right up to my shield and his dark eyes widened, earnest, pleading. 'I want you to find out who murdered me.'