A distant thump of the door interrupted kitty lovings, likely the MERS soldiers returning from their mission to get access passes. Raum gently nudged Lilith from the sill and shut the window once she was clear. He left the window in place, not wanting to risk either sergeant seeing him dismiss it from existence. Thankfully, the endcap of a large stack was directly in front of the new window, so it wasn’t in line of sight from the tables or his office.
Neither man was a practitioner and were entirely mundane, as far as his senses were able to determine, so they probably hadn’t sensed anything when he requested that reality change. If government officers suspected even a hint of what happened, things would get dangerous, and fast.
He walked away from the window and returned to his office, Lilith racing ahead of him with happy chirps as she went straight to her sorcerer, leaping up onto the couch and immediately crawling into his arms. Ezra was still pale, clearly exhausted, and Raum took a short scan with his senses, grimacing when he saw that the sandwich, while helping, wasn’t going to replace a day of relaxing and sleep. Whoever let him leave the hospital in his current state needed to have their medical license revoked.
“How are you feeling?” Raum asked, careful to keep his concern out of his voice, unsure of Ezra’s reaction. He didn’t want to make the other man uncomfortable by hovering.
“Tired,” Ezra admitted with a grimace. “I needed another day or two to recover. I really drained myself down to nothing when I dealt with the artifact.”
“You need some rest, and some experts on the Elder fae. More expert than I am, at least.” Raum hesitated, but only for a moment. The skull was dangerous, and Ezra needed help.
“I can make some calls,” Raum offered, carefully watching Ezra as he spoke. “It might mean breaking the NDA.”
“Who would you be calling?” Ezra asked, squinting up at Raum through his hair.
Raum paused, thinking, but decided the situation warranted spilling some secrets. Anything to avoid the apocalypse.
“My parents.”
Ezra
Ezra thoughthe heard wrong for a second, and repeated Raum’s words. “Your parents?”
Raum nodded once, more of a hesitant dip of his chiseled jaw than anything else, and Ezra firmly told himself to stop getting distracted by the handsome man during an end-of-the-world crisis.
“My parents are Elder fae. I won’t disclose which species, as that’s no one’s business but theirs, but my parents may know who we can contact for more information. Old legends or family histories, perhaps.”
“Ask for Harlan or Chase to clear it with the Major; I’m not the person to ask about how to work around an NDA. If you think your parents may have information to share, I’m one-hundred percent behind it.”
“I’ll do that, thanks. And destroying the artifact? Any ideas there? I’m studying ancient artifacts and magical items inNordic and Scandinavian cultures, but I’ve never heard of an artifact even close to the storm skull. I won’t be much help in destroying it, I’m afraid. My area of research is all about their origins and impact on culture and mythology, and I’ve a feeling that destroying an artifact is less a blanket approach and more a process unique to each object.”
Ezra nodded while also shrugging, an awkward motion that showcased just how tired he was and how little control he had in the moment. “I am making a lot of guesses based off my brief exposure to the skull, but here’s what I think is going on: the conflict arises from an immortal being who has been dealt a mortal blow—it’s constantly trying to heal itself and return to life, but all that remains is the skull, and there’s nothing left to heal—and I think whatever made the killing blow was something that an Elder fae couldn’t overcome. If it was struck by the artifact I have in mind, then that would explain the paradox the skull is trapped within.”
He paused long enough to breathe.
“Or a deathblow from another immortal. I’m not caught up on ways to kill the unkillable, so I need more information.” Ezra realized he was rambling, and made himself answer the question. “I would stop the storms generated by the artifact by tipping the balance in either direction, in theory. Since I know of no mortal that can truly resurrect a person from death, let alone an immortal being when all that’s left is bare bone, I’d need to finish….Well, I’d need to kill it, completely.”
An uncomfortable silence rose between them, and Ezra stewed over his own words. He knew what he had to do, and it made him feel…wrong. Off, somehow. He had no idea who the deceased owner of the skull had been when whole and functionally alive, whether they were kind or horrid, generous or a total asshat. And it made no difference, not really—Ezra had never killed before, and though the argument could be madethat he wasn't killing a person, that they were already dead by most reasonable standards, the presence of the soul gave him pause. It wasn’t just an artifact, but a person. And he was all kinds of messed up about it.
Necromancers could not truly resurrect people, not like some legends and stereotypes assumed. Returning a departed mortal soul to their living body and having that person exist as they had before dying—that was the purview of the divine.
Gods were real. They existed—one couldn’t be a practitioner using magic and not know that divine beings existed, especially necromancers and those in the older religious orders—but Ezra was not a disciple, and he did not dare approach a god to ask. The hubris in thinking a god would assist in such small matters was enough to warrant a cosmic smack down.
The one time he had asked, She answered, and Ezra believed whole-heartedly that was pure chance. He glanced at Lilith, who was grooming herself, and smiled at his familiar.
Ezra could heal mortal wounds at the moment of dying. He was a necromancer, after all, but he knew without a shred of doubt that healing a body reduced to a mere skull, with no flesh and blood to heal, was outside his capabilities. He knew how to heal mortal wounds, but the power needed to convert energy into matter in this case was beyond him. He was powerful, but he was no god. He doubted even the great Necromancer of Boston would have the power to do such a thing.
Necromancers, even those who weren’t devout, were favored by Hecate, the Greek goddess of magic, death, and necromancy, and one of the deities of the underworld. Many necromancers were followers of Hecate because of it. Some were more devout than others.
Ezra was quite comfortable not being officially affiliated with a god, and felt no inclination to become a worshipper, evenfor the deity of necromancers. She had no need of his worship, regardless.
If She wanted to throw Her help his way, though, he wouldn’t say no.
“This is…” Raum sighed, long and deep. “I’m so sorry you’re the one expected to deal with this.”
“It is my job, and I took on the task. But thanks, I appreciate the sentiment. I admit I don’t really trust anyone else to do the right thing with this situation,” Ezra shared, staring at the floor. “It feels like I’m racing against the clock. I’m waiting for some idiot in the military or government to make the case for it to be used as a weapon. But it’s too powerful and can’t be controlled, and I fear what will happen if power-hungry assholes try to make use of it.”
“The fact that you’re worried about people misusing it is enough to reassure me you’re probably the best choice to be working on it,” Raum said with a small half-smile, and Ezra found himself flustered, cheeks a bit too warm. A fumbling teenager all over again.
