inally, the necromancer was here. Seth stamped out the half-burned cigarette as the van pulled under the hotel’s balcony. He hated the idea of asking for help from a necromancer but the need outweighed his opinions. This could be the potential end to a series of murders, but only if their suspect was the right guy. The only problem was that their suspect was dead, and the only witness in this string of killings was the victim— also dead.

Seth tried not to think of the corpses in the room somewhere above him as the van came to a halt. The words Pelican Bay State Prison were blazoned in a tight blue print along the side of the white van. Blacked out windows were reinforced with a visible lattice of steel just on the other side of the glass. Necromancers were hard to find, and the only ones available to coerce were in prison. 

Necromancers were very rare, and whenever employed outside the judicial system, well paid. Drug lords and crime kingpins usually have a necromancer on their payroll and readily available in case the worst might happen. After all, who needs to fear assassination or betrayal when you have the ultimate backup? A chance to cheat death. It was no surprise that necromancers were a well-kept secret and it was extremely rare for one to be caught, alive or dead. 

But luck just might be on his side today, or Seth hoped.

When the van door slid open the most unlikely figure stepped out. Bound in handcuffs and ankle restraints was a short woman with pale skin and slim figure. Auburn hair brushed her shoulders, clashing with the orange jumpsuit. She was as beautiful a woman as Seth had ever seen. Her blue eyes pierced him as she stepped onto the concrete. 

“Detective Wilson. Federal Supernatural Homicide Division. Hope you had a good trip,” he said.

“Sure. Five hours of silence cramped in an awkward position. Good, yeah," she said blandly. “Shira, by the way. I’d offer to shake your hand but…” 

He stared unimpressed but motioned the guards to remove her handcuffs. 

“ I’ll need her hands free for this.”

“Who’s the stiff? Some rich guy that forgot to leave a will?” she asked.

“Hardly,” Seth scoffed.

“Fine, let’s see what we have then,” she said. 

Wilson led them through the main entrance down a hallway of rooms over to Room 135.

The officer outside the door stepped aside and let them enter. Two beds with an open suitcase between them, a tv, and a chest of drawers occupied the main area and a bathroom branched off to the left. Standard hotel room. 

The room seemed to have been trashed after a sortie. Beer cans lay on the floor, bed sheets askew, and the only chair in the room was overturned. A baggie of white powder lay next to a half-smoked pipe of marijuana on the nightstand. Seth had seen more than a few crime scenes in hotels that looked fairly similar. Only two things were completely out of the ordinary. The bodies. 

A boy that appeared to be in his early teens and a man of middle age. The boy lay on the floor just outside the bathroom between a beer can and an empty syringe. The man lay on the tiles inside the bathroom, sprawled on his stomach.

“Okay, what am I looking at?” Shira asked.

“This boy is the sixth victim in a case of serial murders,” Seth informed the necromancer.

Seth paused to see how she responded but she just stared, waiting for him to continue. 

“Over the past three weeks five other children have been found murdered in McArthur, a town seventy-five miles northeast of here. Each was found alone dead in their homes without any apparent sign of death, expired in their rooms, while their parents were out. One boy was sitting at his desk with his homework in front of him. Another on the living room couch, video game controller in hand. One of the victims was found with a vacuum cleaner still in hand, still running when her parents found her.”

“Alright, and how do these two relate to it all?” Shira asked “You said the others were single murders, found alone— all in the same town. This is obviously a double homicide in a town, what, Seventy-five miles away, you said? Getting someone like me out of lock up to help isn’t easy. Or cheap. You must have been sitting on this crime scene of yours for a while now, at least a few days. Why?”

Seth had hoped she wouldn’t pry and would just do what she was here to do, but the detective in him was all too eager for an outsider’s perspective.

“The five kids that were killed all attended the same school, McArthur High. They were also all in the same chemistry class. Their teacher, Tyler Blackwood, is this man here. The boy is Aaron Cartwright— same school, same class. The boy’s father called the police two days ago and reported his son missing as well as his car and wallet. A search was put out for the car, but a hit on the credit card led us to this hotel pretty quickly. The boy apparently fled, supposedly in fear for his life, and stopped at this hotel for the night.”

“That doesn’t explain the teacher being here, so far away from home," Shira said. “Unless you suspect him of being the killer and chasing the kid down.”

 “Actually, that is what we are here to find out," Seth said. “So far none of the deaths have shown any apparent cause of—.” 

“Wait a minute,” she interjected. “If this boy rented the room, what’s with all the beer and weed? Surely a boy on the run didn’t have access to this stuff.”

“That’s true. The boy did rent a room with his father’s credit card, but this isn’t his room.”

“Whose room is it?”

“Actually, it was rented to Mr. Blackwood around the same time the boy rented a room," Seth said. “It seems as if the teacher tracked down another victim of his class. Why he would want to kill his students after thirteen years of teaching is why we’re here, isn’t it?.” 

Bending down, Seth picked up the empty syringe. 

“The major oddity is the syringe. It contains potassium chloride, a highly lethal composite. We haven’t tested for it yet, but I’ll bet that we’ll find it in samples from the other victims as well. An injection mark could be easy to miss on a body anyways.”

“They both rented the rooms around the same time?” Shira asked. “Who was here first?”

“Aaron rented room 126 at 9:34pm two days ago on Thursday night. Mr. Blackwood rented room 135 just a few moments later at 9:39pm. It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon that the bodies were discovered by housekeeping, after Mr. Blackwood failed to meet his checkout deadline.”

“Should we look at the boy’s room?”

“Nah, already looked at it. Nothing there. It’s just an empty room. Blackwood must have found a way to draw the boy into his room quickly.”

 “Not too quickly," she said gesturing at all the paraphernalia around the room. “It would seem as if he had enough time for some smokes and beers.”

 “That’s true,” Seth said. “But judging by the unopened bag of cocaine, it might not have been as much time as he may have hoped for. Or, maybe, he was just saving that for after the killing as some sort of reward or celebration. Either way, we’re dealing with six dead students all from the same chemistry class and the teacher also lies dead right here.”

“How did Mr. Blackwood die?” Shira asked.

“We’re not entirely sure. The syringe still contains more than enough potassium chloride to kill several people. There are multiple small puncture wounds on both bodies that are conducive with syringe injections. Those wounds, along with the disturbed state of the room, indicate a struggle occurred. Maybe the boy was able to gain control of the syringe— either before or after receiving his own lethal dose.” 

“So,” Shira said, “not that I’m unappreciative of the free community service here, but it seems as if you have everything all figured out. So I ask again, why am I here?”

“I thought you'd have figured that out by now,” Seth said as he moved to look down on the boy. “I need a statement from the victim to close the case. This is connected. The teacher is the killer I’ve been chasing.” 

He leveled his gaze at the necromancer, stepped back and took a seat on one of the identical and still untouched twin beds. 

“I need you to bring this boy back long enough to give his account of his death and how he was able to kill Mr. Blackwood. Maybe we will be able to gain a better understanding of the killer’s motives.”

“Alright,” she said, stepping towards Seth. “I assume you brought a knife?”

Seth reached inside one of his coat pockets and pulled out a set of plastic utensils. A fork, spoon, and knife along with a napkin and packets of salt and pepper, still sealed in cellophane. 

“Here you are," he said, handing the packet to the stunned necromancer.

“Did you get this from a McDonald’s on the way here?”

“Arby’s, actually. They have good roast beef.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me," she said stunned. “You expect me to work with this?”

“You didn’t think a maximum security prison would let an inmate have a real blade do you? Besides, you have no idea how many hoops and red tape I had to go through to even allow you a plastic knife. As I understand it, a knife is essential to your magic and that is the only reason you have been allotted even this much.”

She scowled as she ripped open the package letting all but the black plastic knife fall to the floor before her before saying, “Do you have any idea how much this will hurt? The knife is more than a symbol, it’s a tool!”

“Not my problem and don’t blame me, blame the prison system, but the sooner you get started the sooner this will all be finished.”

 Shira gave him one last glare before crouching over the body of the boy. She closed her eyes and began muttering a chant that sounded un-human. Certainly like nothing Seth had ever heard before. “Eyarrus conti asp! Eyarrus haran asp! Eyarran soh! Eyarrus conti asp! Eyarrus haran asp! Eyarran soh!”

The chant continued, louder and louder. The air thickened around them and the hairs on Seth’s neck stood on end.

Suddenly Shira stopped the chant and raised the plastic knife over her head with one hand, before bringing it down, slashing a finger on her other hand. Nothing happened. Shira frowned at the angry red scratch on her finger’s unbroken flesh before once again raising the knife. After a second unsuccessful attempt, the necromancer began sawing her finger furiously, tears welling in her eyes. 

Seth blanched as he realized the necromancer’s intent. He had never seen a necromancer’s work first hand, but could now guess as to why it was known as bloody work. He was about to turn away when she managed to break the skin. A torrent of blood, completely disproportionate to the cut, spewed forth.

Seth almost vomited on the spot. 

Just as suddenly as it started, the blood flow stopped. The necromancer covered the lacerated digit in a fist, said a few final words and again revealed the afflicted finger— completely unblemished. 

It was Seth’s turn to be stunned.

“How?” he began, but shook his head.

“A necromancer’s power lies in the blood,” Shira said to his unfinished question. “It will take a few moments to take effect.”

Seth took another look at the blood-covered body before rushing to the toilet, succumbing to the urge in his stomach.

“Did the roast beef taste as good on the way up as on the way down?” Shira asked sarcastically.

Seth retched again in response. It took a few moments before he was finished and able to reemerge.

Staring down at the bloodied boy he asked “How long before he comes back?”

 “It will still be a few minutes," Shira said. “The longer they’re dead, the longer it takes to come back. This one was dead for more than a day. Also, be aware that he may not be as normal as he used to be. The shock of death and reawakening is too much for some and leaves them fragmented. Only those with a strong enough will return with a coherent mind.”

fter what seemed an age, the boy burst to life. He sat upright on the floor gasping for breath that lungs hadn’t felt in over a day. Looking around with wide eyes, the boy couldn’t seem to make sense of where he was. He attempted to gain his feet but the necromancer was there in an instant. 

“Shh! Calm down boy! It’s Aaron, isn’t it? Be calm, Aaron. Everything is okay. Breathe.”

After a moment the boy seemed to calm down a bit, but his eyes darted from the body of Mr. Blackwood, down to himself and then to the syringe in between them, and then to his own hands.

“I know it’s hard to understand,” Shira said. “You died for a moment, but you’re back now. It’s okay. You’re safe, but the detective here has a few questions to ask you.” 

The boy’s eyes jumped from Mr. Blackwood’s body to Seth. For a second it seemed as if the boy would try to run, but he took a deep breath and lowered his gaze, settling.

“Aaron? Aaron do you remember what happened here?” Seth asked.

The boy gave no answer, panting and staring at the floor before him.

“Do you remember Mr. Blackwood? He was your chemistry teacher, right?”

The boy continued to stare at the floor and gave no sign of comprehension that he was being spoken to.

“Is this normal?” Seth asked, looking to the necromancer.

“It’s not unheard of," Shira said, meeting his gaze. “I did warn you that he may seem… unaware at first.”

“Aaron,” Seth began again. “Son, do you recognize this man?” 

The boy took a moment before looking up at the body in the bathroom and nodding his head.

“He was your chemistry teacher, right?” 

Again the boy nodded.

“He did horrible things,” Seth continued. 

“There were five other murders. Kids in your class. Do you remember anything?”

“They were bullies,” the boy said with a croak. “They were all bad,” he squeaked out in a hoarse whisper before falling into a fit of coughing.

“I’ll get you some water," Seth said as he crossed to the coffee machine and grabbed a styrofoam cup. “It’s been a while since you’ve used your throat. Just a moment. Take it easy.” 

Seth hurried to the bathroom sink to fill the cup from the tap. 

“I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need to know what happened to you. And I need to know why the other five victims were killed.”

“Eight victims,” the boy said haltingly.

“Eight?” Seth said, turning back, reentering the room. “No, there were only six others— ”

The cup slipped from his fingers splashing his shoes with water as what he saw froze him to the core with immediate fear. 

The necromancer, Shira, floating above the floor. Her locks of red hair flowed in all directions as she struggled, her movements slow as if she were underwater. She bucked and waved, her arms as if trying to swim to the surface of the unseen waters, mouth agape in a silent scream of terror. Then her eyes rolled back as her body convulsed one final time and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. 

Seth didn’t stop to think, but before he was able to react he felt his body lifted into the air. Except there wasn’t any air. He couldn’t breathe. The world was suspended around him. Or was he suspended in the world around him? He couldn’t breathe. Before him, the bloody face of the boy lit with a terrible grin as they locked eyes and the world around faded into darkness, as the boy said with a laugh, “yes, eight victims. For now.”