annoyed and surprised.
The older just looked weary.
“It was the least painful way for her to die,” he told Emma, in a gentle voice. “But
there are others, and they are more certain.” He gestured again, and this time—this
time she recognized the fire that lay in his palm, like a roiling ball. It was green.
Chase had called it soul-fire.
It had almost killed him—and it would kill Allison if it hit her.
Emma didn’t know what to do with the power she had. She didn’t know how to use it,
how to defend herself—or anyone else—with it.
“Please,” she said, voice low and shaking. “Just let her go. I’ll go with you. I won’t
fight. Just—let her go.”
The taller of the two shook his head, although there was a weight to his expression
that hadn’t been there before. “I can’t,” he replied. “It’s against the law.”
“Everything you’re doing now is against the law!”
“Mortal law doesn’t concern Necromancers, Emma Hall. It doesn’t concern you anymore,
although you don’t understand that yet. You have a gift—”
“It’s the same as yours,” she said quickly, her hands now warm in Nathan’s because
she was drawing power from him. “It’s the same as yours—and this is
not
how I want to use it!”
“You’ll learn. All your friend loses is a few years. A few years, in the existence
of the dead, is nothing.”
“She’s not dead—”
“She will spend far, far more of her existence dead than she will alive, even if she
lives to see old age. Come, Emma. If you feel you must, in the decades to come, you
can return here and find her; if you grow in power and stature within the City, you
can command her, and she will come to where you wait.”
He threw the fire.
He threw it, and Emma reached out and caught it with her arm; it splashed, as if it
were liquid, and spread instantly across the whole of her coat. Real fire wouldn’t
have done that.
The Necromancer’s eyes widened in either shock or horror. He was still too far away
to tell.
Allison was nearer, and she started to reach out, but Nathan barked at her, and she
stopped. She could see Nathan now. Emma was holding onto him.
Emma was doing more than that. The fire wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold. It burned,
but it didn’t burn hair or skin; it burned something beneath it.
“You fool!” the Necromancer shouted. Power spread out from him in a fan; it was distorted
by the rising waves of green.
She reached for Nathan almost blindly, and she set what he gave to her, his very presence,
against the spread of the fire itself. She didn’t tell Allison to run—there was nowhere
to run to. She didn’t look to see if her dog lay dead in the streets, because there
was nothing at all she could do about him now.
Where Nathan’s power surged through her, the fire stopped its painful spread. But
it didn’t bank; it ate away at what he’d given her. She could take everything he offered—everything—and
she might extend the fight with the flame for long enough to put it out. And then?
He’d be here, unable to talk or interact or do
anything
.
But she couldn’t stop herself; she couldn’t disentangle their hands; she took what
he offered, fighting every step of the way.
She wasn’t prepared for the way the green fire suddenly guttered, and she stumbled,
still holding Nathan’s hand. She was surprised that his weight supported hers, but
she didn’t have time to think about it: Looking up at the Necromancers, she saw that
the one who had thrown the fire had fallen to his knees. His eyes were wide; she could
see their whites from here.
Behind him, she could see Chase.
* * *
Eric swore. Chase heard the words at a distance because he left them behind at a sprint.
Two men stood side by side in the street. Beyond them, Emma and Allison were backing
up. Emma appeared to be talking; she’d lifted both of her hands, as if in surrender.
Allison was
The older just looked weary.
“It was the least painful way for her to die,” he told Emma, in a gentle voice. “But
there are others, and they are more certain.” He gestured again, and this time—this
time she recognized the fire that lay in his palm, like a roiling ball. It was green.
Chase had called it soul-fire.
It had almost killed him—and it would kill Allison if it hit her.
Emma didn’t know what to do with the power she had. She didn’t know how to use it,
how to defend herself—or anyone else—with it.
“Please,” she said, voice low and shaking. “Just let her go. I’ll go with you. I won’t
fight. Just—let her go.”
The taller of the two shook his head, although there was a weight to his expression
that hadn’t been there before. “I can’t,” he replied. “It’s against the law.”
“Everything you’re doing now is against the law!”
“Mortal law doesn’t concern Necromancers, Emma Hall. It doesn’t concern you anymore,
although you don’t understand that yet. You have a gift—”
“It’s the same as yours,” she said quickly, her hands now warm in Nathan’s because
she was drawing power from him. “It’s the same as yours—and this is
not
how I want to use it!”
“You’ll learn. All your friend loses is a few years. A few years, in the existence
of the dead, is nothing.”
“She’s not dead—”
“She will spend far, far more of her existence dead than she will alive, even if she
lives to see old age. Come, Emma. If you feel you must, in the decades to come, you
can return here and find her; if you grow in power and stature within the City, you
can command her, and she will come to where you wait.”
He threw the fire.
He threw it, and Emma reached out and caught it with her arm; it splashed, as if it
were liquid, and spread instantly across the whole of her coat. Real fire wouldn’t
have done that.
The Necromancer’s eyes widened in either shock or horror. He was still too far away
to tell.
Allison was nearer, and she started to reach out, but Nathan barked at her, and she
stopped. She could see Nathan now. Emma was holding onto him.
Emma was doing more than that. The fire wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold. It burned,
but it didn’t burn hair or skin; it burned something beneath it.
“You fool!” the Necromancer shouted. Power spread out from him in a fan; it was distorted
by the rising waves of green.
She reached for Nathan almost blindly, and she set what he gave to her, his very presence,
against the spread of the fire itself. She didn’t tell Allison to run—there was nowhere
to run to. She didn’t look to see if her dog lay dead in the streets, because there
was nothing at all she could do about him now.
Where Nathan’s power surged through her, the fire stopped its painful spread. But
it didn’t bank; it ate away at what he’d given her. She could take everything he offered—everything—and
she might extend the fight with the flame for long enough to put it out. And then?
He’d be here, unable to talk or interact or do
anything
.
But she couldn’t stop herself; she couldn’t disentangle their hands; she took what
he offered, fighting every step of the way.
She wasn’t prepared for the way the green fire suddenly guttered, and she stumbled,
still holding Nathan’s hand. She was surprised that his weight supported hers, but
she didn’t have time to think about it: Looking up at the Necromancers, she saw that
the one who had thrown the fire had fallen to his knees. His eyes were wide; she could
see their whites from here.
Behind him, she could see Chase.
* * *
Eric swore. Chase heard the words at a distance because he left them behind at a sprint.
Two men stood side by side in the street. Beyond them, Emma and Allison were backing
up. Emma appeared to be talking; she’d lifted both of her hands, as if in surrender.
Allison was
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