Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,15

slide into the room when neither of them seemed to care what he did. The cat growled over a mouthful and shortened his greasy meal by an inch. Silas turned a page. Darien realized the wonderful smells were making him dizzy. Or maybe that was the thump to the head. Either way, there was bacon which he hadn’t had in months, and his stomach clenched up into one big knot of want.

He filched a strip right from the pan and stuffed it in his mouth, taste buds flooded with salty, fatty goodness.

Grim sniffed. “And he complains about my table manners.”

Silas said, “He hasn’t put his feet up on the table yet, so I think he still wins.”

“Shrink him down to twenty pounds and we’ll see.” Grim set a paw on the end of the bacon and hauled off a chunk.

“There’s a plate by the toaster. Help yourself and come sit down.” Silas’s raised tone was clearly meant for Darien, though he still didn’t look over.

Darien grabbed four bacon strips, then added a fifth, both slices of toast, a scoop of dark-purple jam, and an apple from the bowl. He poured coffee to the brim of the big mug, eager for the caffeine hit, and carried his breakfast to the table. Neither cat nor necromancer looked up as he attacked the food.

Ten minutes later, his stomach was beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, but his headache had backed off a little. His eyes no longer felt like they wanted to cha-cha-cha right out of his head. He licked his fingers and nibbled a fragment of fruit left clinging to the apple core.

“There might be a horse out there somewhere, if you’re still hungry,” Grim said, running his pink tongue between his claws.

Darien managed not to blush. “I’m done, thanks.”

“Feeling better?” Silas asked.

“Yes. Much.”

“Head still hurts?”

“A little.” He didn’t want Silas to think he was too injured for whatever it would take to get those damned ghosts out of his head. “Not bad at all now.”

Silas nodded slowly, looking him over. Darien tried to sit up straighter and look ready, and not like he was leaning to one side or squinting. Ouch, maybe stick with the squinting. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at the dark floor.

“He should probably have some time to recover.” Darien flicked a look up to realize Silas was speaking to the cat.

Grim said, “I’ve a feeling time’s not something we’re well supplied with. You should eat.”

Darien looked at the grease-and-crumb-stained plate in front of Silas, and something cold and unpleasant slithered in his belly. “Eat?” Some of the whispers about necromancers pushed themselves to the front of his memories. They eat corpses, they kill you and then eat your soul— Everyone knew those were just stupid campfire stories about necromancers who really just did, well, exorcisms for money… Odd conflicts arose in his brain between what he knew somehow, and what he’d been told, and Silas saying Be still! in a voice he didn’t think he’d actually ever heard. Words rattled around like rocks in a can. He pressed his head between his hands and flinched at the pain his temple.

If he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. He’s had a thousand chances. Somehow that didn’t settle all the snake-crawling in his gut. Neither did the glare Silas turned on Grim, before going back to looking Darien over like he was a bottle of milk that had gone off.

Silas sighed. “We need to talk. Come on into my work room.”

It took a second for Darien to stiffen his suddenly-reluctant knees and push away from the table. “Work” room. That’s not ominous or anything. Given what a necromancer does for work.

Silas led the way out of the kitchen. Grim stayed behind, jumping onto the windowsill to look up at the sky.

“Isn’t Grim coming?” Darien wasn’t sure why the sarcastic furball made him feel safer, but he did.

“Not for this.” Silas pushed open a door to reveal a wood-paneled room lined with book cases. Most of the shelves held a hodge-podge of volumes and a quarter-inch of dust, but there was one case behind a sturdy desk that seemed clean and well-used. The floor gleamed as if recently polished. Tall windows, or maybe French doors, were hung with blue curtains that filtered the light.

When Silas strode over to open the drapes, Darien said, “Don’t!” without thinking.

“Why not?” Silas paused with a hand on the cord.

“Light still bothers me. Just a little.” Or should I pretend to be worse