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“And the necromancer?”
While my mother wrinkled her nose, she also sighed, a frustrated sound. “He passed away a few years back. He had a heart attack, and he refused to do what he’d done for Monster. He was a weird one—and did a lot of good changing some thoughts on necromancy. Of course, he was also the first to admit it’s very tempting to use those powers for something other than good. Honestly, if that mean old bastard still lived, I would have gone knocking at his door for some tea and to ask a few questions. He would have been willing to talk to us. Right now, Dragon Heights doesn’t have any openly practicing necromancers for good reason. They wouldn’t be driven out, not like in Miami, but the dragons would definitely be keeping a close and careful watch out, especially the purples. They do not like the reputation they have because of necromancy.”
“So, what you’re saying is that Dragon Heights seems to have a necromancer problem?”
“So it seems.”
My father got up, went to my fridge, and peered inside, making disapproving sounds. “We should take our child grocery shopping after teaching her how to do proper meal planning. There is nothing but chaos in here. Chaos, potatoes, and milk. Aren’t those charmed jars? Why are they in your fridge?”
Right. Chester had been in charge of handling prepping Garnet for the trip while I’d wiggled into leather. “I don’t think Chester realized the bottles are charmed and put everything in the fridge before we left yesterday.”
My parents heaved their most dramatic sighs, and my mother said, “Gather the beasts. We will be going to get you a new table. While I applaud its persistence, your father and I are going to take it onto the sidewalk and put on a show while we pulverize it. I want to see who comes calling—and how you conduct yourself.”
“Mom, most people don’t want their child to be kidnapped. Don’t sound excited about someone kidnapping me.”
“We aren’t most people, and neither are you. Don’t make such a fuss. It’s just a little kidnapping.”
“You are a terrible person,” I informed my mother.
“No, my darling hatchling, I’m a dragon, and it’s time for you to learn what being a dragon is truly about.”
TWENTY
Before necromancers had crossed the line into irredeemable sin, Death Mile had been their roost.
Monday, April 27, 2167
Death Mile
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
Somehow, I convinced my mother to take Garnet and Tourmaline out shopping while I ran some errands, went to the grocery store, haunted places the brothel workers had gone, and made myself visible in such a way that I might be either attacked, kidnapped, or otherwise inconvenienced. While the murdered pilgrims deserved justice, the thought of the brothel workers being used as a source of necromantic powers bothered me more.
I lacked knowledge about necromancy, and if I wanted to get to the bottom of the attacks—and find out if a necromancer was behind the stabbings—I needed to cure myself of ignorance. To learn about necromancy, I needed to brave Death Mile.
Once upon a time, before necromancers had crossed the line into irredeemable sin, Death Mile had been their roost. Nowadays, it served as the prison ward and housed two of the city’s morgues in addition to a rather prestigious research hospital.
When I’d registered myself as an anonymous entity, I’d been warned about Death Mile. It was the place necromancers would go if they were to show up. Between its close proximity to the Cemetery Ward, its morgues, and the hospital, a necromancer had everything needed to begin learning their art. The wise necromancers used their powers for the benefit of others.
Unfortunately, most necromancers weren’t wise—or so the stories claimed.
On the surface, Death Mile reminded me a great deal of the Gray Ward but with a lack of brothels—or anything other than support for the morgues and the research hospital along with a few warehouses perfect for a murder. Most appeared to be abandoned, but when I took the time to stop and listen, noises came from within every structure I passed. The windows needed work, but who wanted to get up five-something stories to repair broken windows nobody could squeeze through even if they wanted?
From the looks of it, most had plastic taped to the insides to keep the elements outside.
I bet the warehouses froze during the winter.
Across the street from the research hospital and one of the morgues was a park surrounded with a spiked wrought iron fence. I considered the place, a small haven of greenery in an industrial nightmare.
“You don’t want to go there.” The man’s voice, from not far behind me, startled me into turning. A tall man, who’d give my father a run for his money in the bulk department, offered a grin. Unlike my father, who wore a properly fitted suit, the man went for something far too tight for him. Before I had a chance to say anything, he added, “It’s haunted.”
Death Mile likely consisted of secrets and ghosts, but rather than tell him that, I asked, “By who?”
“Oh, many.” The man smiled, and he pointed at the hospital. “I figure they mostly come from there. They do their best, but it is a research hospital. A lot of people go there to at least make their deaths worthwhile for society as a whole. We learn a lot there, but many of the stories end in grief.” After a moment, he gestured at the morgue. “That certainly doesn’t help, but most in that morgue come from the hospital. Some don’t, though.”
“You live around here?”
“I used to.”