Chapter 10
HEL
Garmr snored from his bed, exhausted from his walk. When he looked like this, I could almost forgive him for the puppy regeneration. He was so adorable when he was sleepy, and it made me want to cherish him. At least until he started teething, then I'd be wishing for him to hurry up and be full-grown again.
"He's very sweet," Clara said, drawing my attention to the woman on the other side of my desk.
"He has his moments," I responded, trying not to question what I was doing too much. I'd already seen her once more than I'd intended, and her having a connection to my uncle was another concerning factor. It was getting dangerously close to seeming as if there could be some kind of emotional connection, and I knew better than to let that happen. That was how I got left behind and hurt.
"I always wanted a puppy as a kid," Clara said, unable to take her eyes off Garmr.
"Why didn't you have one?" I asked curiously.
"My parents said that I wouldn't look after it enough, and they didn't want to be the ones who were always walking it and picking up after it. They were probably right."
I laughed. "They often are."
"I can't imagine that Loki would say no to you getting a puppy," she said.
I snorted. "They'd say no, but they'd also plan to bring home an orca."
"Where would you put one?"
"Nowhere, they should be in the sea," I responded. "My father is known for their mischief, not their logic."
"That must have been an interesting childhood."
I shrugged. "They weren't around much. But we're not here to talk about childhoods or Loki," I said. "You have questions about a potion?" I was already playing with fire when it came to answering the questions she was asking. I wasn't supposed to be forming a connection to her, even if it felt like I might be. I leaned back in my seat and picked up the cup of coffee I'd thought to suggest we got on the way back to the mortuary. Though Clara had once again opted for herbal tea.
"Yes." She cleared her throat and pulled a folder out of her bag. "I don't know how much you know about potion-making..."
"The basics," I responded. "Necromancers don't tend to be very adept at it, but my father and uncle are witches."
"How does that work if you're not?" she asked curiously.
"No idea. Genetics were never my calling. I take after my mother, and my brother takes after his. Perhaps that's for the best."
"Right. Well, I'm trying to brew a potion that will make you dream of the dead," she said. "But it's proving a little challenging."
"Often the dead don't want to be spoken to," I responded. "It's like being in the middle of a nap and someone yelling your name in your ear."
She did a double-take. "Is that true?"
"I don't make a habit of lying about my magic," I responded. "That's how rumours and bad information get spread."
"So you're saying that my potion is a bad idea?" She toyed with the sleeve of her travel cup.
"No. There are plenty of the dead who want to talk to the living. You just have to be careful about how you call them. I'm guessing that it's your dad you want to see?"
She nodded. "Am I that obvious?"
"You mentioned him. If you hadn't, then I wouldn't have been able to guess," I said. "Or maybe I would have. It's normally a parent or a partner that people want to connect with again after the veil between the worlds has been shut, and you don't seem like you've lost a partner."
"So how do I do that? I've been trying to find a way. A piece of hair, focusing on a memory, that kind of thing. But I don't seem to be getting anywhere."
"The memory is going to get you closer than any hair," I responded. "Which is a good thing. Your potion would be rather limiting if it involved having to have a part of the deceased body on you."
"It wasn't my preferred option," she admitted. "But I was just trying to find a way to make it work at all."
