The Necromancer's House

The Necromancer's House by Christopher Buehlman Page A

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Authors: Christopher Buehlman
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getting dark in this ship.
    â€œI have to go now, the bitch is coming back.”
    Nadia!
    â€œBut let me tell you something, Mister Andrew. You’ll be sorry soon. I know who you are now, and I will tell
her
.”
    Your niece?
    â€œYou poor fucker!”
    It laughs now, shaking itself to pieces, its light almost completely gone. Its voice is strangled, as if it is drowning again.
    â€œBut I’ll tell her to make it quick. If you do something for me.”
    What?
    â€œFind my dog. Find my little Caspar.”

31
    Complete darkness.
    Cold.
    Andrew screams.
    Cold arms find him, cradle his head, a stiff, cold nipple brushes his cheek down in the dead ship.
    â€œYou idiot,” the rusalka says, kissing his mouth.

32
    Light.
    Warmth.
    Andrew screams.
    Warm arms find him, cradle his head, a soft breast beneath the cotton of a T-shirt.
    Anneke is crying.
    â€œYou idiot,” she says, kissing his mouth.

33
    â€œI thought you were dead. You looked pretty dead.”
    She uses a roll of paper towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol to swab his upper lip and chin. While the weightless parts of Andrew were touring the depths of Lake Ontario, his body sprung the mother of all nosebleeds. It dropped its other ballast, too, but Anneke won’t let go of him yet.
    He is lying under a blanket, the blanket topped with his leather jacket.
    â€œI need to change my pants.”
    She hugs his head to her chest one more time.
    Salvador paces behind her.
    â€œSend Jeeves for new pants. I don’t want you walking yet.”
    â€œSalvador, please get me a pair of jeans.”
    Happy to have a task, the wicker man disappears from the buggy barn and heads for the main house.
    â€œWell, since you’re my sponsor, I guess you’re the one I tell I really want a drink right now.”
    He nods his head, shivering.
    The lake’s cold is in his bones.
    â€œYou know what the worst thing was? When I thought Elvis had left the building for real, my first thought wasn’t, ‘Oh God, my friend is dead.’ My first thought was, ‘They’ll think I killed him—I’m going back to prison.’ How’s that for sucking? As a person, I mean. Who’s that selfish?”
    She won’t let herself cry.
    He wrestles free of her, goes to the barn door, leans over and vomits. Cold lake water comes out of him.
    She brings him a paper towel for his mouth.
    â€œI don’t understand half of what happened tonight,” he says. “But somebody’s coming for me. Somebody dangerous. And I think I know who’s sending her.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œI don’t want to say her name. But I think it’s time I gave you a proper tour of my house. And I think it’s time I told you what happened to me in Russia.”
    It stinks of lake now, worse than before.
    â€œIs time you were telling me, too,” the naked woman with the dreadlocked auburn mane says. She walks dripping into the barn, eyeing Anneke territorially.
    Anneke does some eyeing of her own.
    â€œYou have cigarette for me?”
    â€œYou know where they are.”
    Nadia pads across the barn floor, reaches into the jacket pocket.
    Anneke watches her, willing herself not to react to her smell.
    Nadia pulls out a bright yellow cigarette pack, but the cigarette she pulls from it is broken in half.
    â€œShit,” she says, smelling the blond strands of tobacco.
    Anneke offers her a Winston.
    The rusalka takes it.

34
    He tells them what happened to him in Russia.

PART TWO

35
    The man who forgot his own name has been living on the street in Syracuse since March. March was a hard, miserable month to be outdoors, but, with the help of the blanket from the Salvation Army, the down vest from Goodwill, and the shoplifted sleeping bag, he made it.
    He’s caveman strong.
    A tribe of one.
    He is proud of the sleeping bag. Not just for the tactical skill he showed in getting it past the sensors before the

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