Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,12

Darien twisted his arm free and took a couple of careful steps.

“Would you like some food while we’re downstairs?” Silas had never been a mother hen, but something about Darien made him want to offer care and cosseting. “Hot cocoa, maybe?”

“Sleep.” Darien rubbed his head, his eyes dark-circled and hazy. “I’m so tired.”

“Right then.” Silas moved close again and took his arm properly. “I’m going to hold onto you as we go up. You don’t have to like it, but between the slippery treads and those socks, you’ve no choice. I’ve had about enough of scraping you up off the floor tonight.”

“All right.” Darien turned for the stairs without resisting.

They managed pretty well, up the stairs, down the hall, and into Silas’s room. Silas steered Darien toward the bed, and pulled the covers back. “Here, lie down.”

“That’s your bed.”

“I’ll take the sofa.”

“I can’t kick you out of your bed.” Darien stared at him. “I’m shorter, anyway. The couch is fine.”

I want you in my bed, damn it. Silas pushed down the irrational answer, pinching his nose and wishing his head didn’t throb. He was stupidly off-balance tonight. “All right. Don’t blame me if you fall off that narrow thing and whack your head again.”

Surprisingly, Darien smiled. “The bed I’ve been using wasn’t much wider. And a lot harder. I’ll be fine.”

“Come on then.” Silas eased Darien onto the sofa. He grabbed a pillow and the top blanket from his bed and passed them over. At least he can use those. He added his quilt, spreading it out over Darien’s legs.

Darien blinked up at him. “You’re being too nice.”

I almost killed you. Then and now. “We’ll see if you say the same thing when I wake you in two hours.”

“Wake me?”

“You had head trauma. I have to check you every two hours, all night.”

“Ah, hell, not when I might fin’lly sleep.” Darien squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sorry.” Silas reached down to squeeze his shoulder, but turned the gesture into tugging the pillow straighter. “Rest now. I’ll be back later.”

“Where’re y’goin’?” Darien’s voice had already developed a tired slur.

“Just checking the doors. Go to sleep.”

“’kay.”

Silas moved to the doorway and stood there waiting until Darien’s breaths slowed and deepened. Poor guy must be exhausted. A sharp pain in his calf made him jolt but he managed to stay silent. Grimalkin sheathed his claws and glared up at him, with a jerk of his furry head. Silas stepped out, shut the door, and followed Grim down the stairs.

The cat turned left at the ground floor, leaped to swing off the door handle for the cellar, rode the door as it opened, and kept going down. Silas flicked on the light switch and took the steep steps behind him.

On the slate floor at the bottom, Silas’s chalk marks fanned out in a map of symbols and lines, shimmering with hidden intent. Grim picked his way carefully between the lines, tail high and rigid, not disturbing so much as a dust mote. When he reached the darkest node, he sat. Extending one furry paw, Grim patted the air above the node, then flinched and drew back. Silas made his way over and stared down too.

He was tired and his head throbbed. He didn’t want to pull more power tonight, to scry properly. “What do you think? Is it getting stronger?”

“Like bees dipped in acid. Black rot.” The cat shook his paw and set it down, then tucked his tail over his toes. “A blind man could see it.”

Silas wanted to say this wasn’t his problem. He’d warned the council demonic power was brewing. It was up to them to find it. He’d tried scrying for it, and slid off some well-crafted shields. He’d asked locally about the kind of pain and destruction demons fed on and heard nothing nearby. Yet.

But of course, that ignored two facts. The first, that demons didn’t stay put; they moved around tracking new prey, and this one was getting stronger, or nearer, or both. The second fact was that it quite literally was his business, as an ethical necromancer. Ghosts might be his bread and butter, but demons were the reason his master had given years, and in the end, his life, to setting Silas up in power. The light opposed the dark, because that was its nature. He’d committed to the light.

Committing to the fight didn’t guarantee he’d win it, though. “I can’t hunt it now. Not for a while. I’m stripped to the bone.” He’d burned through almost every