8FOLD: The Necromancer Saga # 2, "The Song of Shallow House"

[Amabel Holland]

Samson Drake has returned. The sadistic assassin has become the living
vessel for the necromancer, an ancient entity seeking the death of all
life. Pinky Murder flees Samson to warn the secret circle, only to
learn, to her horror, that Samson has followed her to Shallow House.

THE NECROMANCER SAGA # 2
"SONG OF SHALLOW HOUSE"
[8F-221] [PW-65]

-------------- SECRET CIRCLE --------------------

MAILE AKAKA, age 20. Aeromancer.
Once the top field agent of The Company, she orchestrated her own
abduction and memory wipe to defect to the circle. She now serves as
its leader.

AZABETH "BETH" COLLINS, age 37. Oneiromancer.
The circle's co-leader, recently awaken from a long slumber.

JUNE LASH, age 47. Ailuromancer.
Maile's spymaster, commanding dozens of feline agents around the globe.

DAVID COLLINS, age 31. Mnemonomancer.
Husband to Beth, brother to Claire Belden, unlikely wielder of the
ancient blade Thirteen.

SARAH AVERY, age 25. Evocamancer.
An engineering genius, she refuses to use her demon-summoning magic.

TREVOR JEFFRIES. Robot.
A sophisticated robot built by The Company to infiltrate the circle.
Retooled by Sarah, and equipped with sonic weaponry.

PINKY MURDER, age 23. Apparamancer.
Teleporter. Recently escaped from a formless hell. This also resulted
in Samson's escape, and in his transformation into the necromancer's
vessel.

--------------- THE COMPANY ---------------------

CLAIRE BELDEN, age 31. Metamancer.
Missing, presumed to have defected, pursuing her own agenda with the
help of Trinity Tran.

TRINITY TRAN, age 35. Haematomancer.
Once a fugitive, working for The Company in return for their
protection; now, the head of the dominant faction within The Company.
Pregnant with David Collins's child.

SAMSON DRAKE, age 28. Sciomancer.
Company assassin; formerly Maile's lover. Now the living vessel of the
necromancer.

-------------------------------------------------

It's raining inside the house.

   Pinky looks up, expecting there to be clouds nestled against the
tall ceilings of Shallow House. But there aren't any. No clouds; no
ceilings, either. She couldn't tell you what was up there, only that
it hurt to look at it, that it hurts to think about it, and that it
was definitely raining.

   Samson stares at Maile. At least, Pinky thinks he's staring. His
eyes are still closed. He grins, revealing his red teeth. "You think a
little water is going to hurt me?"

   He spreads his arms wide, and the shadows of his limbs stretch to
either end of the room. When they reach the corners, they turn,
converging on Maile.

   She squeezes her fists, bringing down a thunderbolt on either side
of her, striking the floor. At the flash of light, the shadow-hands
recoil.

   This seems to please Samson. "That's what I've always liked about
you, Maile. Always have so much fight in you. Going to be fun to wear
you down."

   Maile replies with another snap of lightning. This one buries
itself into Samson's chest. He doesn't fall over, doesn't yowl in
pain, doesn't die.

   "This is what we were afraid of," whispers David. "A living vessel
for death itself. Almost indestructible."

   "We'll figure it out," snaps Maile. "Pinky?"

   Pinky nods, taking a deep breath. "I think I'm ready."

   She's lying, of course. She can feel the magic burning under her
skin. It's not supposed to burn. Not supposed to hurt. If it hurts,
you're doing it wrong. If it hurts, you have to rest, recover. If it
hurts, the magic might tear you apart.

   David's first. Something about the sword and the name locked in his
head makes him a prime target. Pinky wraps her arms around him and
forces her magic. Though the flash of pink and the scent of jasmine
quickly fade along with Pinky and her passenger, her scream lingers
and echoes.

   This draws Maile's attention for a fraction of a second, and in
that moment, the shadows rush toward her. As a reflex, she responds
with several thunderclaps in succession.

   This slows the shadows down, slows Samson down, but it's also clear
it won't be enough, can't be enough.

   So you can imagine her relief when a wall appears between her and
the shadows. "Shallow House, defending itself." She catches her
breath.

   "No," says June. She's on one knee, next to the large tomcat,
Goliath. Her fingers are at his neck, communicating with him. "It's
not defending. It's collapsing. It's dying. Even if he wasn't here
trying to kill us, we won't have much time."

   "She's right," says Beth. She has that faraway portentous mystical
look that gets on Maile's nerves. "Even the door magic is gone. The
only way out is Pinky."

()

She doesn't know where they are, wasn't even consciously trying to get
here, but she also knows that this is the right place. The sofa looks
right. The windows look right.

   David recognizes her confusion. "Beth put it in your head, while
you were dreaming."

   "Is it safe?"

   "No," says David. "But it'll have to do."

   She nods, and that proves to be a bad idea. Her body lurches toward
the floor; David catches her.

   "Are you okay?"

   "No." She struggles to stand upright. "But it'll have to do."
Jasmine floods the air.

   The smell is stronger than before. Overpowering. Less like a burst
and more like a spill. It's leaking out like blood in the water. Like
she's wounded.

   When she returns to Shallow House, she feels that gaping wound rip
open. She feels it in both places, both where she's going and where
she's been. Like she isn't not quite completely in either place,
jasmine and pink and red pouring out everywhere, touching everywhere.
She feels open and exposed and bleeding and get it together, Pinky,
you're better than this. You have to be better than this. (It's your
fault, after all; better fix it.)

   She focuses, brings more of herself, most of herself, into Shallow
House. It takes concentration. Takes effort. Takes pain. She can feel
the splitting pressure building up behind her right eye, as insistent
as the magic twisting and stretching her insides.

   She should have come back to Shallow House just where she left it,
within the protective circle of salt. So it's disconcerting when she
sees that circle, and the people in it, at the other end of a hallway.
A hallway that definitely wasn't there before.

   Sarah spots her and shouts something, and Maile starts running
toward her. Briefly and suddenly, the pounding in her head becomes
everything. Just as suddenly, it stops, and the hallway is gone. She's
in a corner now, her face up close and personal with the wall.

   She turns around. She's surrounded by shelves of books. Must be the
library. As she scans the room, she's aware of something moving out of
the corner of her eye. She doesn't bother to try and catch a glimpse
of it. She knows what it is. The walls of the room, of the house,
they're shifting. The books are dancing on the shelves just out of
sight. Maybe even the pages are rearranging themselves.

   Pinky becomes aware of the weight in her hands. She's holding a
book. Doesn't remember grabbing it. She puts it down on a table, and
suddenly it's a countertop. Suddenly she's in the kitchen.

   Suddenly, she's not alone.

   "I can smell you," says Samson. "Smell you from the inside."

   The part of her that's scared? It wants to jump again. Wants to get
away, then come back, hope this time that she comes back closer to the
circle. But there's no telling how much that jump will take out of
her. No telling how many jumps she has left.

   So she tries running instead, leaving the kitchen for what used to
be a common room but is now a bedroom. From the shadow of the dresser,
Samson steps into the room. Pinky feels her own shadow twisting behind
her, wrapping about her legs and arms, pinning them back, holding her
in place so he can rip her open.

   Now she has no choice but to jump. But she can't. Her shadow won't let her.

   "Doesn't matter anyway," says Samson, walking into the shadow of
the dresser and stepping out from under the bed. "Anywhere you go, I'm
already there. Like a bruise under your skin."

   He raises his hand, his fingers like knives, and as a reflex she
turns her head. Maile is beside her. The two of them, and only the two
of them, are in a small pantry.

   "I don't understand," says Pinky.

   "The house is dying," says Maile. "Let's get you back to the
others, step up the evac."

   "I don't know if I can," says Pinky. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

   "You have to be," says Maile.

   "You're not," says Samson, slicing Maile open. She screams,
clutching at her belly, blood slipping through her fingers. Samson
reaches for Pinky.

   She jumps, landing with Maile at David's feet.

   She tries to lift her head up, but it's too heavy. Everything is
heavy and everything is swirling and everything is warm and then,
inevitably, everything is black.

()

One of the wall shifts brought the protective circle, however briefly,
into Sarah's workshop. Long enough, at least, for her to grab a set of
tools and Trevor's body.

   Trevor is thankful. Though he's adjusted to the knowledge that he's
a robot, he's never quite gotten used to spending his life as a
detached head, carried like a lantern by a handle jutting out of his
noggin. He understood the reason for it. After all, he began his time
with the circle as a double agent. Maile didn't exactly want him
ambulatory.

   "Better to ask forgiveness," says Sarah as she reconnects the head
to the body. She's thankful for this, too. Something to work on.
Something to distract her from the shifting walls and panicked cats
and, most of all, from the literal demons whispering beneath her skin.

   "We can get you out," they promise. "Let us out and we'll take you
away from here. We'll save them all. Even the cats. Most of the cats.
We'll only eat a few."

   She stares at her arm, at the faint glow of her mancer's mark. For
the first time in a long time, she's tempted, and she hates that.

   Beth touches her other shoulder. "I can guess what they're saying."

   "I'm sure you can," says Sarah.

   "Pinky left with Maile almost an hour ago," says Beth. "The only
reason we're still alive is June." She points with a tossed glance.
June sits among her cats, communicating with them, guiding them, and
through them, slowing and shaping the destruction of Shallow House.
She had said something appropriately portentous about the old tomcat,
said that Goliath is Shallow House, and that the two of them are dying
together. June's been keeping Samson bottled up.

   "I don't know how much longer she's going to keep it up. And I
don't know if Pinky is coming back."

   "Beth, none of this is new information," says Sarah. "If you're
trying to ask me a question, then ask."

   "Could you get us out of here? With your magic?"

   "With my demons?" Sarah digs out her screwdriver. "They could, yes."

   "If it comes down to it, will you?"

   "No," says Sarah. "I don't use my magic. Hold his head in place."

   Beth grabs hold of Trevor's handle, allowing Sarah to tighten the
screws. "You would really let us all die?"

   "The last time my demons were out, they swallowed up Pinky and
Samson. From what she told us, the necromancer got in there. It might
be as much his realm as it is theirs. There are things worse than
death."

   "Okay," says Beth. "You could have just said that in the first place."

   "I shouldn't have had to," says Sarah. "Because I already told you,
I don't use my magic. I'm the only one that gets to decide who I am."

   She finishes up with Trevor, then watches him stand and stretch and
wiggle his fingers. "How do you feel?"

   "Whole," says Trevor. "Finally whole. I don't think you can
understand what it feels like, to be alienated from your own body."

   "I have an inkling." She starts to put away her tools. She reaches
over to grab the Phillips-head, but before she can grasp it, it falls
up. She barely has time to register this before she feels herself
falling toward the ceiling.

   The walls and the floor are shifting again, more violently. June is
anchored by her connection to Goliath, and instinctively, Trevor and
Beth have each grabbed hold of June. Trevor reaches for Sarah, hoping
to yank her back to the floor.

   But his movements are too slow, too sluggish. As walls and floors
and shadows and lights fold around her, cutting her off from the
others, Sarah finds a way to blame herself for her predicament. Trevor
has only been back in his body for a few minutes. It takes time for
his artificial brain to reintegrate itself with its nervous system. If
she had worked a little faster, he might have been up to speed. Might
have caught her.

   It gives her peace, knowing it's her fault. It means her fate was
decided by her hands and no one else's.

()

When Pinky wakes up, David is hovering over her on one side. They're not alone.

   "This is Ghedi," says David.

   "Hello, Miss Murder," says Ghedi. She recognizes the accent;
Somali. "I am an apparamancer, like you. But also not like you."

   She nods, dimly. Even when two mancers share a type of magic,
they're often expressed differently. She lets her heavy head roll
toward David. "Maile?"

   David looks pained. "We're doing the best we can for her. She's
hurt pretty bad. We still have to get the others out. Ghedi can grab
the whole group at once. But there's a catch."

   "I can only go places I've been before," says Ghedi.

   Before he can say it, she knows what they're asking. "I can't."

   "Pinky," says David, pained.

   "I want to!" lies Pinky. Don't cry. "Of course I want to." Don't
you dare cry. "But I don't know if I can." But she does know. Her body
can't take it. She starts to explain but all that comes out is tears
and blubber.

   David stammers and flails about for the right words.

   From the back of the room, a throat clears. "We know what we're
asking." A woman steps forward.

   Not just a woman. But one of them. The spandex, the mask. "We know
the risks."

   Pinky recognizes her, recognizes the chunky high-tech space glove
on the woman's right hand. "And we know it's not fair to ask."

   There's something about her face that's both cold and warm, cruel
and kind. It's the kind of steel she saw in Maile. Maile, who is maybe
bleeding out while doctors or whoever try to stitch her insides back
together.

   "But," says Knockout Mouse, "all that being said, this is us
asking. This is me, asking."

   'This is me, asking.' Those four words are absurd. What should it
matter that she's asking? They don't know each other. They've never
met. Heck, Pinky was sure she'd never meet a superhero, and wasn't
ever the type to want to.

   But now she's met one. Now, one of them is asking her to do
something impossible, and when she asks, Pinky nods and reaches for
Ghedi's hand.

   She feels the magic under his skin. It washes over her like water
cleaning a fresh wound. It stings. Reminds her of how her magic has
blown her open. That it feels like it's all leaking out of her,
bursting out of her. She feels his magic, feels its gravity, feels it
tugging at hers, gentle but insistent. The streams of magic spilling
out of her are flowing in his direction, and his magic in turn flows
into her.

   There's another smell beneath her jasmine. Earthy, like walnuts.
The swirl of pink that takes the two of them to Shallow House is
twined with a pale yellow. Supported by it. Strengthened and
stabilized. Heck, when they blink back into existence, she even stays
conscious.

   They've even managed to land in the same room as the secret circle.
Though that room has changed, is changing, will change. This isn't the
same as it was before, when the walls and floors and rooms would shift
around just out of view. Surfaces are bleeding into each other,
changing shape and color, protean and terrifying and beautiful and
dying.

   Shadows and light dance around them. In the shadows, Samson
flickers, coming and going, fractured and liminal.

   She tries not to look at it. She fixes her eyes on Beth and
introduces Ghedi. "Where's Sarah?"

   Trevor (who has a body now?) shakes his head.

   "He killed her?" says Pinky.

   "No," says Trevor. "She just." He waves at the walls collapsing in
on themselves. "We lost her."

   "She's still alive." It's not a question. Pinky can feel it somehow.

   "Child," says Beth sadly. "We don't have time. We have to go now.
June's barely holding on as it is."

   "It's not me," says June, still seated on the floor, her hands at
the sides of the giant orange tomcat. "I'm just helping Goliath." She
bites her lip, chokes on the words: "Easing his pain." She closes her
eyes, takes a deep breath. "I won't be coming."

   "June," begins Beth.

   "We have him trapped in the walls," says June. "Stuck in the, in
the shifting. But when the house is dead, he'll be free. And he'll
come after you again. We can buy you time." She throws a sideways
glance to Ghedi. "Take the other cats with you. They'll need homes."

   "Of course," he says.

   "Trevor," says June. "I know what you want to say but there isn't
time. Just know that I wanted to say it, too."

   He nods, kissing her cheek. Then he takes his place along with Beth
besides Ghedi. Cats gather at their feet.

   "Miss Murder?" Ghedi reaches out his hand. "We really must hurry."

   "You go on ahead," says Pinky. "I'm going to find Sarah."

   "I don't know if I can make a return trip."

   "Hey, you're not the only teleporter."

   He wants to tell her that there's a good chance another jump might
kill her. But she knows that, and tells him in a glance. Instead, he
wishes her luck, and is gone.

()

The whispers under Sarah's skin becomes more insistent. It's not the
same sly, malevolent pleading she's used to, not the familiar mix of
honey and ashes, promises and threats.

   In its place is desperation. Panic. Almost like.

   Almost like they're scared.

   "Well, that's unnerving," Sarah mutters to herself. Which is saying
something, given that the walls around her are folding in on
themselves, becoming floors becoming stairs becoming windows becoming
doors becoming walls. That much she accepts, with what she feels is
admirable restraint. The fact that she's going to die here also
doesn't particularly phase her. The glimpses of Samson in the shadows?
She has more-or-less been able to shrug away.

   But her demons being scared? That's not how it's supposed to work.
Should be the other way around. And that, finally, is what does it.
That's what gets under her skin.

   What do demons have to be scared of?

   The whispers change tack. They bargain. Let us out, just for a bit.
Just long enough to save you, then we'll crawl back. We don't want you
to die.

   "Why not?"

   Because we love you.

   Sarah laughs. "We both know that isn't true."

   We hate you and we love you. Before you, there was only silence. A
thousand years of silence. You have given us voice. Before you, only
darkness. A thousand years of darkness. Through you, we see soft
light. We want more. We want trumpets; we want stars. We hate our
cage. Hate the freedom that is dangled out of reach. But when you die,
there will again be only silence. Only darkness. And that would be
worse than our cage. Worse than wanting. Worse than death.

   Please. Let us save you.

   Please. Live.

   "My heart bleeds," says Sarah. "But I'm ready to die."

   "You better not." Pinky reaches through the kaliedoscoping walls.
"I'm going to take it personal." She's glowing, brightness evaporating
wildly off her skin. Like someone colored outside the lines.

   "The others?"

   "Safe." She frowns. "Mostly. Long story. I stayed."

   "For me?" says Sarah. "Why? You don't even know me."

   Pinky shrugs. "No trans girl left behind."

   There's something off about her. The way she's glowing. The warmth
of it. The way the air feels. She felt it once before, when Maile
pushed herself too far. The magic leaking out of her.

   And that's when Sarah knows there's no way Pinky is going to
survive another jump. "Are you okay?"

   Pinky smiles weakly. She knows. She came back for Sarah anyway.

   We can save her, Sarah. If you let us.

   If you let us out.

   Sarah grabs Pinky's hand. "No trans girl left behind."

NEXT TIME: INTERLUDES

COPYRIGHT 2023 AMABEL HOLLAND