A doctor and professor? MERS didn’t fuck around and got him the best care after he passed out.
“A bit hungover, but that’s normal. I’ll be alright with the usual.”
Food, water, rest.
“Is this a common thing? Working magic until you burn out.”
Ezra took the time to make his coffee and feed Lilith some more eggs, this time with a tiny piece of bacon. Not too much as he didn’t want to upset her stomach, but she could have it as a treat occasionally. Major Grendel said nothing, merely eyed him intently over the rim of her coffee.
“Not something I do on purpose, but it’s happened a time or two out on contracts. Cursed objects can be a bit more difficult than people think.” And it was nothing like the movies. Lots ofdirt, sweat, bugs, and musty old junk. Usually corpses, too. And the smells were never pleasant. No glamor.
Dr. Phendras gave him a slight smile. “You were unconscious for over two days; this is your second morning with us. You spent about ten hours in the ICU getting stabilized, with the added worry of exposure due to the blizzard conditions. I would suggest that you avoid burnout, along with any strenuous casting, for at least the next week. Certainly nothing on par with what Major Grendel said you pulled off in the wilderness.”
She grabbed her coffee mug and stood, straightening her coat. “I’ve looked over your medical records that I received from MERS, and I am clearing you for consulting with them about the current cursed object that MERS has in their possession. Please use your best judgment on what you can handle.”
“Thank you, and sure,” he said after hurriedly swallowing a bite of sausage. He had no idea what else to say.
Dr. Phendras nodded to Major Grendel and left quietly, leaving Ezra feeling a tad bit judged but he shrugged it off. Dr. Phendras reminded him of a schoolteacher telling off a stubborn student for making the same mistake over and over. The fact that she didn’t bother sticking around to chitchat left him with the impression that she had indeed read his entire medical file. He was sure his multiple mental diagnoses were in there, along with his notable dislike for small-talk. He tried to not hold on to resentment toward his previous mental health care team and their opinions about his social graces, or lack thereof.
Ezra swallowed half his cup of coffee and set aside his mug. “Is it secure?”
Grendel set down her travel mug and her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. “We managed to get a reliquary to the encampment just before whatever you did came undone. Your neat trick with draining the death magics into the earth impressed just about everyone. It lasted about twelve hours, andwe got the skull locked away inside the reliquary just in time. Our on-site practitioners examined it prior to putting it in the reliquary, and I’m not afraid to admit they were equal parts terrified and baffled. None of our people have any experience with this type of artifact.”
“It can’t be utilized as a weapon.” Ezra sat back in his chair. Blunt was always better. “Tell whatever bosses you’ve got that having a necromancer on hand to corral it each time someone opens that reliquary isn’t gonna be feasible. There’s only so many of them, no one works for free, and screwing over a necromancer is the best way to make sure you never do anything ever again.”
Major Grendel smiled at that last bit.
“Your fee has been paid, along with the contract-mandated healthcare and related expenses. We can get you on a plane this afternoon, but the doctors want you resting, and they’ve got that room set aside for you for the next week. However, MERS is hoping you will consider an extended contract while we determine how to destroy the skull.”
“Destroy it for good, and not any attempt at harnessing it for global domination?” Ezra knew he sounded doubting and sarcastic, but that was warranted. The skull could destroy entire countries, and the stop-gap measure he employed wouldn’t work forever, especially if the skull was separated from the reliquary.
The second someone opened the reliquary the cycle would be unleashed and a blizzard from hell would descend.
His stop-gap measure would have failed the moment the reliquary sealed the skull off from draining into the earth, and it would have returned to the unending maelstrom of life and death magics within the reliquary.
“The scarcity of necromancers has won the argument for destroying the skull. The Director of MERS even dared to put in a call to the Necromancer of Boston, and he threatened to comeup here himself to ‘solve the problem’ if MERS didn’t agree to destroy it.”
The Necromancer of Boston was commonly considered one of the the most powerful sorcerers in the world, and one of the fifteen publicly accounted-for necromancers. Ezra counted himself as the unofficial sixteenth, and there were likely more dual-affinity sorcerers out there hiding their death affinity just like he was. If the Necromancer of Boston, Angelus Salvatore, got involved, Ezra would leave him to it and go home to San Francisco before the other practitioner arrived. That man was scary as hell, though by far the most qualified person to handle a death artifact if Ezra didn’t want to take any more chances.
He chuckled quietly to himself, reaching for another sip of his coffee—necromancers, aside from being scarce, were also notorious for refusing to bow to authority of any kind, especially government agencies.
“If the Canadian government can rustle up a nuke, I suggest dropping it in the deepest hole you can find and blowing it up.”
“Canada has no nuclear weapons,” Major Grendel said with a blank face.
“Uh huh. Ask the US, they’ve got plenty to spare.”
“I think you know as well as I do that the US government would demand the skull the instant they learned of its existence, never mind the futility of using it as a weapon. We can’t very well ask for a nuke without saying why we’d need it. We’ve been ordered to destroy it as soon as possible, before our allies or our enemies learn about it and make things even more difficult.”
He sighed. “Good point.”
Lilith finished her food and went about grooming herself on the chair. Ezra took a second to think about his very comfortable bed in his apartment in San Fran, then shrugged. There was no one waiting for him to get home, and the bed here wasn’t that bad.
He frowned as a thought came to him. “Simmons?”
Major Grendel shook her head once. “No sign of him or the snowmobile he stole. We’re half convinced he died out there trying to retrieve the artifact, but we’ve also got a warrant out for him, his home and office are under surveillance, and his cellphone and finances are being tracked so if any are used, we’ll know. We’re combing through his entire life at the moment.”
Ezra took that in, sat with it for a bit. He wasn’t going to be part of the hunt for Simmons, and he had no desire to be—tracking down people was not in his wheelhouse.
