Michael Scott - The Necromancer

“Josh?” she called again. “Josh?”

The fluttering in her stomach was worse now, like really bad indigestion, and her heart was racing so fast she was feeling breathless.

“Josh!” Louder now. “Where are you?” If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. “Josh Newman, you come here right this minute!”

She heard movement at the door and the handle turned. Spinning toward it, Sophie put her hands on her hips. “Just where have you-”

The door swung open and Aoife stepped into the room, followed by Niten. The Japanese immortal carried two swords, one much longer than the other, while Aoife clutched a long ugly leaf-bladed knife.

“It’s Josh,” Sophie began breathlessly. “He’s missing.”

They split up without a word, Niten moving to the right, Aoife to the left. The guest cottage was tiny and they were back in the kitchen within moments. “No sign of a struggle,” Niten said calmly. “Looks like he just walked out.” He turned and disappeared back into the night, leaving Sophie alone with Aoife.

“He’s gone,” Sophie whispered. “He’s gone.” It was all she could say as waves of panic began to wash over her.

Aoife returned the knife to the sheath strapped to her leg. “Talk to me,” she said. “What happened?”

Sophie shook her head. “When I woke up, I felt…” She pressed both hands to her stomach as she searched for the words.

“Empty,” Aoife suggested.

Sophie looked at the red-haired warrior. “Yes,” she breathed, suddenly able to identify the feeling. “I feel empty. I’ve never felt that way before.”

Aoife nodded, her pale face expressionless.

Niten opened the door and spoke quickly to the warrior in Japanese, then turned and raced away.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Sophie was starting to feel breathless with terror again. “What’s happened to my brother?” she asked. Static curled through her hair, and tendrils of her silver aura smoked off her skin. She began to shake, and Aoife stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. When Aoife spoke, her voice echoed inside Sophie’s head, and even though she used the ancient Irish tongue of her youth, Sophie understood every word. “Breathe deeply, calm yourself… You need to be in control now. For your sake. For Josh’s sake.”

Sophie shook her head. “I can’t. You don’t know what it feels like…”

“Yes,” Aoife said in a fierce whisper. “Yes. I do.”

And when Sophie looked up, she found the warrior’s green eyes sparkling and bright with tears. “I lost my own twin,” Aoife said. “I know exactly how you’re feeling.”

Sophie nodded. She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “What did Niten tell you just now?” she asked.

“He said the car is missing.”

Before Sophie could ask anything else, the door opened and Perenelle stepped into the cottage, followed by Nicholas and Prometheus, making the small room seem even tinier. Niten came last, but he remained in the open doorway, facing out into the night.

“Gone?” Nicholas snapped in French.

“Missing,” Aoife agreed.

“Was he taken?” Perenelle asked.

“Nothing can get into this Shadowrealm without my knowledge,” Prometheus said.

Perenelle went to Sophie and opened her arms, but the girl made no move to close the distance. She remained with the warrior. The Sorceress took a step back and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. “So he went of his own accord?” she asked.

“There are no signs of a struggle,” Niten said from the doorway. “And only one set of footprints heading down the valley toward the car.”

“But the car was dead,” Nicholas answered, “the battery drained.”

Prometheus folded his arms across his massive chest. “Yes, but the boy has learned the Magic of Fire. All that raw energy is coursing through his aura right now. He could easily have sparked the car to life.”

“Where did he go?” Sophie asked. “I don’t understand. He wouldn’t have just left without telling me.” She looked at Prometheus. “Maybe something here took him? Maybe those mud people?”

Prometheus shook his head. “The First People will not approach the house. I agree with Perenelle: he went of his own accord.”

“But where has he gone?” Sophie asked again. “Home?” She shook her head. She had never, in all her life, been so confused or felt so lost. “He wouldn’t have left me.”

“Why is he gone, is the better question,” Aoife said.

But Perenelle shook her head. “No, the real question is, who called him? I wonder…,” she began, then stopped. The Sorceress turned and made her way to the kitchen table. Sitting down, she held her hands on either side of the crystal skull, not touching it, and looked over at Sophie. Her lips were drawn into a thin, almost bitter smile. “Perhaps you will lend us your aura now.”

“Why?” Sophie whispered, completely confused.

“So we can try to see your brother. See if he’s gone of his own accord or if he’s been kidnapped.”

Aoife rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “If you possess my grandmother’s memories, then you know just how dangerous the skull is, Sophie.” She lowered her voice. “While you’re looking into the skull, it is looking into you. Stare too long into its crystal depths and you can-quite literally-lose your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do,” Sophie said simply. She looked into the vampire’s eyes. “You said yourself that you would do everything in your power to get Scathach back…”

Aoife started to nod.

“I’ll do the same for Josh.”

The warrior stared at her, and then she pulled out a chair. “That I truly understand. Sit. I will stand guard over you.” For an instant the hard lines of her face softened, and she was the image of her sister.

“Go raibh maith agat,” Sophie whispered in Irish, a language she had never learned. “Thank you.” She looked into the warrior’s face.

Aoife nodded. “Scathach would have done the same,” she murmured.

“Put your hands on the crystal skull,” Perenelle commanded.

Josh knew it was a dream, nothing more than a particularly vivid dream.

He dreamt that he was driving Niten’s black limousine north along Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. It was still night overhead, though the sky to his right was already starting to lighten.

It was one of those dreams that were perfect in every detail. Sometimes he dreamt in black-and-white and without sound, but this was in color, and he could even smell the polished leather interior of the car and the vaguely floral scent from some hidden air conditioner. He sniffed. There was another odor too: the smell of burning plastic. A curl of gray smoke drifted past his eyes and he looked down. At first he thought he was wearing red-gold gloves; then he realized that his hands were glowing hot and actually melting into the steering wheel. As he pulled them away, threads of sticky rubber and plastic, like chewing gum, stretched from the wheel.

It wasn’t a scary dream. It was just… odd.

He wondered where he was going.

“Think of your brother,” Perenelle commanded.

Sophie took a deep breath and rested both hands on the skull. Instantly the crystal turned a rich metallic silver, making it appear as if it had been carved out of metal.

“Think of Josh,” Nicholas said.

Sophie concentrated on visualizing her brother, determined to see him in every detail. The skull’s empty eye sockets turned dark, then mirror bright, and abruptly an image formed in the air above the crystal, but it was vague and fragmented, little more than a smear of colors.

Sophie felt Aoife’s fingers tighten on her shoulders, and a cool strength soaked into her flesh. She realized that the warrior was giving her some of the strength of her gray aura, and then she felt the woman’s breath warm against her right ear. “Think of your twin,” Aoife commanded.