Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,16

off? Make him underestimate me? His head spun enough to make sitting on that polished floor seem like a great plan.

Silas was at his side in two strides. “What’s wrong? Are you dizzy? Do you want to lie down?”

That immediate concern was reassuring. No rancher ever asked his cows if they needed a nap. “Only for a second. Go on.”

Silas folded himself to sit cross-legged in front of Darien. His wool trousers pulled across thighs that were more muscled than Darien would’ve expected from his lean height, and the snug sweater and dress shirt he wore clung to a nicely flat stomach without sign of a spare tire— Jesus and all the saints, Dare, focus on the important things. Like whether he’s about to eat you— and not like that!

The odd hit of sexual awareness didn’t help Darien’s dizziness. It just made his groin throb in time with his head. It’d been six months since he’d got laid. He hadn’t dared risk it, with who knew what horrors in his head, and once there were more than a couple of voices, he’d had neither the energy nor the attention to even care.

Apparently, shutting up ravenous ghosts in his head was translated to sexy by his warped brain. He blinked hard and pressed his bruised temple. The flash of pain was very effective for refocusing. “Ouch. Damn it.”

“Maybe you should go back to bed.”

He straightened his back. “Maybe you should tell me what’s going on.”

Silas hesitated, then nodded. “All right. You know I’m a necromancer. That means I deal with ghosts.”

“Everyone knows that.” Darien regretted the quip when one dark eyebrow rose and the flow of information shut off. “Sorry, go on.”

“Most people don’t know we also deal with demons. That was why I tried to protect you.”

“Demons are real?” He’d still hoped those were just rumors, or metaphors. His college friend Lucy had been fascinated with the occult. Demons had been just one of the weird things she’d chattered on about, in between Cthulhu cults and elves. “Like, from hell, demons?”

“From other places we call hells. Very real. Very dangerous. Very hungry.”

“What’s with the hunger motif?”

Silas shrugged. “That’s nature. Fundamentally, everything needs to eat. Energy, life force, is one form of food. Ghosts are a piece of a person’s life force, broken off at death. The more violent and fearful and unexpected the death, the more likely a fragment is left behind, seeking revenge perhaps, or answers, or just in an incandescent rage at death coming down on them. Those pieces don’t have true life, they’re not the person, they’re just energy.”

“And that’s what I have in my head?”

“Yes. They soon lose their way and start seeking light and warmth and escape. People who carry that light, that power, inside them become targets. If they can, they move in.”

“And eat my light?” He didn’t like the sound of any of that.

“No. They cling to it, crave it, but they can’t use it. They’re stuck. And so is the host.”

“But you said I wasn’t stuck!” His head reverberated with his own raised voice but he couldn’t stop. “You said you could make them go away!”

“I can. That’s what necromancers do. But…” Silas stopped, gray eyes intent on his.

“But what? Jesus dancing Christ, I hate these weighty pauses. Say it.”

“When I pull a ghost from its host, the piece of host energy they hold onto comes with them. I send the ghost alone on to its rest.”

Darien had been good at math, once upon a time. “And you keep the energy?”

“Yes.”

“But the ghost is gone.”

“Yes. Across the Veil. And I’m left stronger.”

“By eating a bit of my… soul?”

Silas frowned. “There’s no proof it’s your soul. Or that you even have a soul.”

Darien’s childhood priest would’ve had a lot to say about that. Then again, his childhood priest had said that gay men should burn in hell, so he had no problem letting go of anything the old bastard had preached. “What do you call it?”

“Life force. Energy. Power.”

“How big of a problem is that?”

“Usually? Not big. I get the ghost out, and the host goes on living, one bite smaller. I can’t say if they even feel the lack. Most hosts have so little power that they never used it, and don’t know they’ve lost it.”

“Then do it!” Darien had a flash of standing on a frost-glazed railway track, shivering in his thin jacket, wondering if death would separate him from the ghosts, or trap him forever with them. If he’d been