Nothing But Necromancy (Macrow Necromancers Book 1) Page 3

  As usual, the cats failed to care. They lounged about the big old multi-story Victorian house, finding the best sunbeams, seldom moving save for forays into the kitchen for food or to follow the Texas sun into another window.

  Harmony ran out of books, snacks, and homework sometime on Friday. She made a quick trip to the downtown mothership Whole Foods and Book People and then to Bark and Purr on Burnet for feline necessities. She’d done most of the shopping since she was twelve. Her mom probably just thought groceries magically appeared if she gave them any thought at all.

  Nobody was sure who her father was. Could have been any one of a handful of men her Bohemian mom had been with. One of Austin’s top musicians was even suspect, though her mom never bothered to contact the man for any kind of support or confirmation. Her grandparents lived back east in Massachusetts and they’d washed their hands of their wild child long before. Harmony found their address in her mom’s papers and considered writing them to tell them they had a grandkid, but she never found the right words to say, and wondered if they really cared after all this time, anyway.

  Since funerals were about the only occasion she ever had appropriate attire for, she dressed up in her best thrift-store black vintage Gunne Sax gown and lace-up boots. She piled her blonde curls up on top of her head in a Victorian hairstyle and topped it with a hat she’d made from a flat straw basket that her mom had received with a flower arrangement. She’d spray painted it black and braided in a bunch of black silk roses and black velvet ribbon.

  She’d sold all kinds of different hats she’d crafted out of found materials at a trendy boutique. Often, all they needed was a bit of patching or new buttons, perhaps some trim and they were worth a bundle to the yuppies who shopped there. Harmony had already put aside a tidy sum for college fixing up old clothes and reselling them. “Upcycled,” the boutique called it. Her mom’s friends often dropped off their cast-offs for her to redo. She even had a stash of theatrical costumes and sci-fi convention-ware donated to her. The spare third-floor bedroom next to hers was piled with freshly-washed used and vintage clothing just waiting for a chop, embellishments, or tie dye.

  Harmony kept a few cherished items, which literally spanned centuries of fashion. The black dress and boots were her favorites. But, given the occasion, she could dress for Medieval, Renaissance, a twenties speakeasy, fifties dance…just about any event.

  Texas did nothing in a small way and church was second only to football in demonstrating that rule. Johnny Carver’s funeral was held at an ornate two-block long church complex bigger than a couple of big box superstores and a whole lot more ornamental. Harmony had the address wrong and ended up showing up just a few minutes before the service. Already, cars bearing her school’s parking stickers crowded the parking lot. She hiked in from the back forty grateful for what small shelter the live oaks growing alongside the path offered from the near-hundred-degree afternoon heat.

  The moment she entered the posh red-carpeted sanctuary, organ music and intermingled scents of fresh flowers with too many competing personal fragrances greeted her. Harmony sneezed into a black lace handkerchief and was startled to realize that if you arrived late a church, you had to come up front to find a place to sit. It was her first funeral and the only time she’d actually been in a church. Most of the weddings for her mom’s circle of friends happened outside or at some other venue and had some crazy hippie dude presiding, definitely not an actual man of the cloth. She still managed to find a seat off to the side of one of the curved mahogany pews where she hoped no one would notice her and sat, nodding to a white-haired couple who sat nearby.

  “What’s she doing here?” The sanctuary’s roof was dome-shaped like a planetarium for sound and the whisper came at a quiet spot in the processional organ music. Shushes from other students nearby sounded even louder, drawing attention to the whisperer and where she’d directed her angry gaze.

  “You know she slammed the door right in Johnny’s face just before he died!” The shushing didn’t seem to stop the gossip, which burned hotter than August wildfires. “Johnny Carver’s heart just stopped!”

  I shouldn’t have come. Harmony’s face burned with embarrassment. She hadn’t known what Johnny’s intentions were. If she had, she might have acted differently. Why hadn’t he just asked?

  The silver-haired minister arrived and commenced to lead them in prayer. Her classmates fell silent, turning their faces forward, adopting pious expressions. She said a silent thanks for the man’s entrance.

  Maybe I could just duck out while they’re praying? She dismissed the thought. Moving would draw even more attention to her and convince whatever few doubters there were that she was guilty of something. Harmony bowed her head along with the rest of the mourners. Since her mom wasn’t a regular attendee, she had no concept of church manners, but at least possessed the social graces to follow the actions of the others in the congregation.

  “It was my privilege to know Johnny from the time he was born,” the minister began as a projector started showing photos of Jonny’s life on a movie theater-sized screen behind him, with sentimental music playing as a soundtrack. “He started Cub Scouts and took the good deed a day as a personal challenge. Back when we were in a smaller facility, he stood at the corner each Sunday accompanying many of you across the street. He volunteered at his mother’s veterinary clinic, often going straight from school to help care for their four-legged patients…”

  Yeah, I really would have accepted Johnny’s invitation if I’d known him.

  All she’d wanted last Friday was for the torment to stop. Harmony wasn’t openly crying like many of the women around her, but Harmony’s stomach tightened with grief. Keeping her eyes forward, she felt keenly aware of more than one accusing stare aimed her way. Courtney and the cheerleaders sat a pew away and they’d pinpointed her with laser-like focus, their whispers a vicious hiss.

  The school choir ended the service with Wind Beneath My Wings. Eyes of the entire group were focused on her through every bit of the syrupy song. Harmony just wanted out, away from the crowd of strangers she should have avoided.

  Unfortunately, she found herself being herded along with the flow of traffic to the front of the church. Surprisingly, half a dozen men taller than her six feet, walked ahead of her. She couldn’t see. What was going on now?

  By the time she found out, there really was no turning back. Harmony stared in horror at the beautiful stainless steel casket with the top half of the lid lifted and the bottom blanketed in eye-wateringly fragrant flowers, Johnny lay there lifeless, his eyes closed as though he was just asleep, his hands clasped together on his chest. People passed in front of him, pausing to bow their heads, to say a few words, to touch his hands crossed in front of him.

  Heavily-padded carpet didn’t muffle her footfalls as she passed in front of the open casket, wishing she could avert her eyes.

  I’m sorry, Johnny. I wish you weren’t dead….

  “I’ve got Harmony….” Johnny’s eyes and lips opened and the song rang forth in his deep clear bass, resounding over the softly-played organ music.

  Harmony backed away, sounds somewhere between a scream and a pulsating shudder coming from her lips. Strong hands caught her by the shoulders, keeping her from teetering off her platform boots. The little old lady in front of her slammed the casket lid down with a resounding metallic clunk and turned to stare accusingly at her.

  Harmony’s head shook from side-to-side. She had no awareness of her lovingly handmade hat falling and her hair cascading down in tangled golden waves.

  “That’s not funny!” Courtney and the other cheerleaders rounded on her along with the members of the choir who’d still been standing up front. Someone grabbed her by her shoulder and another blow struck her face. People yelling accusations of tampering with the corpse surrounded her.

  “Stop it!” A woman’s authoritative shout got her assailants to back off. “Let her go.”

  “She broke his heart,” one of
the cheerleaders protested to the woman. Harmony could scarcely see through a veil of tears, but the woman’s dark curls and deep alto reminded her a lot of Johnny. A darker face had to be Dr. Johnson, no doubt wishing she could find some way of punishing her for whatever freaky thing just happened.

  “She did this!” Another feminine voice. Courtney grabbed Harmony’s bag and dumped the contents on the rich red, heavily padded carpet. Her keys, wallet, phone, fell out. Of course, the tampons were on the top.

  “No recording device.” Courtney looked disappointed. Someone stopped her before she could search Harmony’s person.

  In the stillness, Harmony could hear the rest of the song, amplified by the metallic lid of the casket. Had they put a recorder in the casket just to taunt her? Why? How had they made Johnny’s eyes open and his lips move? Didn’t anyone notice that in their haste to accuse her of tampering with the dead?

  “The services are over,” Johnny’s mother said. “Thank you all for coming. There will be a reception in Fellowship Hall for those who choose to attend.”

  “Go,” Dr. Johnson mouthed to the outraged girls. Harmony considered following them until the principal caught her shoulder with a firm hand and said, “Stay.”

  The elderly white-haired woman gathered Harmony’s belongings and stowed them back in her purse. She carefully placed it in Harmony’s hands and then closed her trembling fingers around it. The woman was near ninety, her hands work-worn and blue-veined, but still warm and competent. Harmony’s vision blurred when she looked up at her with faded blue eyes full of kindness.

  “Did you put something in the casket?” the question came from Dr. Johnson.

  Harmony shook her head, her throat too tight to answer.

  “She did not,” the elderly woman said. “Her hands were nowhere near my grandson.”

  I only wished he wasn’t dead. Harmony’s heart thudded in her chest. Like I wished he’d stop singing.

  Right. Before. He. Died. Harmony’s heart squeezed tight as she struggled to breathe.

  When it was just the family and the minister, Johnny’s mother lifted the casket lid.

  “I’ve got Harmony Sunshine….” Johnny’s voice boomed out, rich and resonant, the notes lingering as they had in life, echoing throughout the huge sanctuary thanks to the carefully-engineered acoustics.

  Harmony screamed and ran.

  Outside, the girls waited. They formed up into a line, their lips set in frowns and their eyes accusing.

  “Witch! Witch! You’re a bitch!” They even had a chant ready. Nothing original, they’d stolen it from the script of one of Harmony’s favorite movies.

  Harmony turned away from them and rushed around the other side of the building hoping they wouldn’t follow. Her heels sank into impossibly luxuriant grass. The turf was Chia Pet green and slick from a recent watering. She rounded a corner to discover a deep green John Deere wheelbarrow, almost pallid compared to the rich verdant grass.

  “Witch, witch….”

  The girls followed. Harmony glanced over her shoulder and felt a pebble strike her cheek. She cast around for the nearest weapon. The best thing she could think of was to place the wheelbarrow between them and her and hope someone would come help.

  She’d seen enough “girl-fights” to know this wasn’t about a beat-down. The last victim had her ear split when her opponent ripped out an earring. While she was down on the ground bleeding, the girl proceeded to rip off her shirt and bare her breasts to a jeering crowd. Her attackers had utter and total humiliation planned for her.

  Harmony’s stomach turned when she reached the wheelbarrow and saw the thing was full nearly to the brim with dead grackles. Her heart thrummed and sweat trickled down her back at so much death around her. The large bluish black birds were a huge nuisance and tended to run off the songbird population, but it was illegal to kill them since they were a migratory species—and here were dozens in a hot metal wheelbarrow on a Texas summer day. The refulgent odor stung her nose.

  “Witch!”

  Something heavier hit her shoulder.

  Harmony took a deep breath and put on a burst of speed. She rushed to the wheelbarrow and turned it, ripping the grass as she went, so it was between her and the girls. Panting from her exertions, the stench struck her full-force and nearly knocked her to her knees. What little she had in her stomach threatened to spill out. She swallowed hard as the terrain tilted and her vision telescoped.

  Can’t. Pass. Out. Now.

  “Get away from me!” she yelled. As the words left her lips, the small flock of grackles took erratic flight from the wheelbarrow straight toward her attackers. They were broken creatures, some so twisted, flight should not have been possible. Their song, which was somewhere between a rusty hinge and tormented souls from Hell, resounded in the air.

  Like many birds taking off, they lightened their load by releasing their scat, which struck her would-be attackers’ on the head and shoulders. Bits of them fell off on the way, littering the ground between her and them. Other one-winged birds limped across the grass toward the handful of cheerleaders and choir members. The girls shrieked louder than the grackles, their accusations gone from their lips as they turned and ran in the other direction.

  Dead. Birds. Flew.

  Harmony stared at the bottom of the green barrow, full of broken remnants, her heart a tight knot in her chest. She couldn’t let the thought reach its logical conclusion. Her breakfast spewed out of her stomach at her feet as she shook and wept. She turned and ran.

  She didn’t stop, she raced to her black Beetle and sped out of the parking lot.

  What have I done?

  Her mom’s brightly-colored Victorian house stood silent and accusing as she screeched up to the front door. Harmony stripped from her funeral dress and grabbed everything she considered essential, including her stash of cash from thrift store sales. She cleaned the cat boxes, filled extra bowls full of water, and dumped every last bit of food she’d bought for them out into dishes so they’d at least have something to eat until her mom finally got home and they managed to get her attention. Knowing her, she’d probably hire a maid.

  By the time the sun set, she was gone.

  For having knocked herself out on a bank of school lockers after being chased by malicious ghosts, Elise felt remarkably good despite being in the hospital. The feeling she’d been fighting for weeks, or longer, had vanished as if it had all been part of her imagination. Of course, it was possible the drugs they gave her had something to do with that. She wasn’t even sure what coursed through her veins at that moment, but she found she really didn’t care, as long as the heaviness stayed away.

  She’d slept through the dance, though Derek had brought a bouquet of white roses to her hospital room. Elise lay in her bed listening to the background noises of beeps and hisses, studying the flowers in the low light. The arrangement of daisies, irises, and roses was beautiful, even with the ugly machines in the background. She focused on their soft white petals and prayed the pressure wouldn’t come back.

  Elise stared at the roses until the rhythmic beeping lulled her back to sleep. The next time she woke, it was light out and her parents stood in the room talking softly to a woman wearing a white lab coat.

  “Mom, Dad?” Her throat felt scratchy.

  “Honey!”

  They rushed over to her side.

  “Are you feeling okay? What happened?” Her mom clutched her hand.

  “I....” Hadn’t she already had this conversation with them? She knew she’d talked to someone, and they had told her what happened.

  Something shifted against her leg. She glanced down, but didn’t see anything, though it almost felt like a dog or a large cat leaned against her.

  “I was chased by ghosts. Everyone saw them. I guess I hit the lockers and knocked myself out. I thought I told you that?”

  Her parents exchanged a worried glance.

  “No, you were asleep the last time we checked on you,” her father said
.

  “Oh. What did everyone else say?” She cringed, not certain she wanted to know.

  “That something attacked everyone and chased you out of the gym. They didn’t know what it was.”

  Tears welled in Elise’s eyes. “I was going to go to the dance with Derek.”

  “He brought you flowers. He seems like a very nice boy,” her father said. “I’m sure he’ll go with you to the next one.”

  Elise blinked away the tears and nodded. “Can I go home?” She glanced at the doctor who waited behind her parents.

  “All of your tests came back normal. There is nothing physically wrong. You should make an appointment with Doctor Vlasic, but I don’t see why you can’t go home. She needs rest,” this the doctor said to her parents. “She shouldn’t be stressed for a few days. Keep her visitors to a minimum, and only short visits. I’ll write a note so she can stay home from school for the week.”

  A whole week off of school? Elise wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Like almost any kid, she enjoyed the occasional vacation from classes, but she also didn’t want to have to think about what had happened all week without something to distract her. She’d miss her friends as well as the activities.

  Her parents conferred with the doctor a bit more, and they sent her into the bathroom to get dressed so they could go home. Elise wondered what sort of doctor this Doctor Vlasic was. Maybe he or she could help with the headaches.

  Though she had felt relatively alert when she first woke, her thoughts went fuzzy and her movements felt clumsy as she struggled into her clothes. As soon as she dressed, her parents led her from the hospital room. Her mom carried her flowers and her dad stayed by her side in case she needed support. As soon as she got into the car, she fell back asleep.