Damien snapped awake. Her laughter faded little by little from his mind. The sound was being replaced by the sounds of an argument outside his room. The light from the open window set his head to pounding again. It was an ache he had grown accustomed to. Army doctors had told him it would be that way for the rest of his life. Something about shrapnel from the blast embedded in his back pressing on the nerves.

  Damien swung his legs off the bed onto the cold wood floor. He went through his normal rotations. Wrists, ankles, knees. Each one cracked in its own way. He stood from the bed and padded softly over to the door which was mostly closed. A gap in the door revealed Fred, still in his manifested form, waving his hands frantically toward an ethereal Elvish woman dressed in an old-world wedding gown. What was her name again?

  “I already told you, Florence, you aren’t allowed in this apartment!” Fred shouted in Elvish.

  Ah, right. Florence. The bride. She was forcing herself into the Prime. Manifesting similarly to what he did with Fred. The process took a lot of control for a ghost. Most of the time they could only manipulate objects. Opening cabinets, pulling chairs. What most people would call poltergeist actions.

  “Fre’Davish! You aren’t listening! Frozen azure! Fading breath! Death! Death in the a—” Her head quickly snapped in Damien’s direction. The movement was unnerving even for him. In a single breath her body seemed to twitch and fade in and out of the Ethereal then abruptly she was directly in front of the gap in the bedroom door. Damien jumped back into the room, and she floated through the door with Fred keeping pace and pushing the door open.

  “Sorry, boss. She tricked me into opening the ward. Now she won’t leave.”

  Florence looked Damien up and down and he became hyper aware of his lack of clothing. Her eyes lingered between his legs before Damien covered himself with a nearby pillow.

  “You are the wizard dating … the wolf … lucky girl,” she spoke in thickly accented Common. Her voice was soothing.

  “I think sorcerer is the technical term. Fred, get her out of here please,” Damien said. His throat was dry as it always was after using Fate.

  “Yeah,” Fred grabbed her by the arm and started to pull her out of the room.

  “No! No, I told you! There was something else here!” she struggled against Fred’s grip, to no avail and was pulled into the living room, “I felt it! Death in the air! Death everywhere!”

  “Is she normally this crazy?” Damien asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Fred replied flatly.

  Damien made his way to the closet as he heard a brief scuffle outside.

  “Death watches!” Florence shouted in Elvish.

  Her voice became muffled as the door to the apartment slammed shut. There was a faint pop, and a wave of magical energy washed through the space as the apartment was sealed. The aura of magic caused Damien’s ears to ring. He grabbed clothes and a towel from the closet and made his way out of the bedroom. Fred leaned against the counter shaking his head.

  “She normally sticks to haunting the lower floors. No idea what got into her.”

  “Next time maybe don’t open the door,” Damien snapped, “Then we won’t have crazies roaming through my home.”

  “Damien I—” Damien put up a hand.

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  “I don’t want excuses. I am going to take a shower to feel alive again. Then we are going down to the 13th. I need to talk to the victims. Also.” Damien sucked in a breath and pulled the energy out of Fred’s manifested form. He immediately felt better. The pounding in his head faded slightly. Fred fell backward into the countertop before righting himself and floating into the air. Damien turned and strolled into the bathroom, slamming the door with a bit too much force. He breathed slowly.

  He made his way over to the sink and filled his hands with water before gulping it down. Taking conscious breaths, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. The green of his iris was marred by faint pink lines that streaked across his sclera. As he breathed, he saw a thin bit of pinkish mist evaporate in the air in front of his mouth. Damien began to hack violently. When he could breathe again, he looked at the spittle in his hands. The same pinkish mist evaporated above them. He doused his hands in the sink, washing small light pink crystal shards down the drain, before slurping more water down and rinsing his mouth. He held his scarred hands out in front of his face. No shaking. Yet.

  These were the moments when he craved Edi the most. She understood that his outward anger was the mark of wounds deep within him. He could smell the remnants of her perfume in the bathroom. For a moment he just inhaled and relaxed. He opened his eyes again and the pinkish streaks had faded to barely noticeable.

  Damien moved to the shower and turned it on tapping the void rock to warm the water. He hopped into the freezing water and felt a jolt surge through his body. His mind wandered back to the wintry city of Darkwell in northern Fenwrath. The city was the historical capital of the Dwarvish kingdom and served as the focal point of the Dwarvish rebellion during Damien’s military service. Slowly the water warmed. He felt the flash of heat over his skin as if standing in the explosion again. He buried his head under the water in an effort to drown out the screams. The laughter. Alara.

  Damien shook his head and tried to focus on his current problem. The killer on the loose. Unfortunately, the Fate had done nothing but dredge up old wounds. He would have to hope that Fred found something on his excursion. Ugh Fred, Damien thought, why did he have to be so … so …

  What was he actually upset about? Fred had been nothing if not loyal during his years of service. The pain aching in his head and the reminder of his worst moment caused him to lash out. Logically he knew that. He just wanted something to punch.

  Damien slammed his fist into the wall of the shower. His knuckles cracked against the fake stonework. Red mixed with the water and ran down the drain. He stared at the cut on his fist. His mind was already fading back into the calm numbness that accompanied Fred’s presence.

  Damien made his way out of the bathroom now fully clothed in dark slacks, a dark button down, and a dark jacket. Broody. As every respectable necromancer was. He had foregone the tie today and instead wore a small coin shaped amulet with a wolf’s head engraved into it. Edi had given it to him for his birthday last year. He found Fred lingering near the window equally gloomy, brooding out over the city. Damien worked his way to the kitchen where he found a full pot of coffee. The timer keeping the pot warm had run out. The pot felt cold to the touch. Great, Damien thought. He heard a throat clearing behind him and turned to see Fred gesturing to a travel mug sitting on the island counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

  The mug had the faint red glow of void rock running along its sides. Damien felt the warmth in his hands as he lifted the mug and took a swig. The coffee was hot and tasted like a dirty ash tray, but he ignored the flavor. Just as Damien was going to speak the dishwasher beneath the counter in front of him took that moment to hiss lightly indicating a finished cycle. Damien opened the dishwasher door and saw last night’s dishes clean and faintly dripping water. He met Fred’s eyes across the counter and Fred simply nodded displaying a face that said he should be appreciated more.

  “I’m sor—”

  “Yeah, I bet you are!” Fred interrupted, “It’s not my fault your wards attract the crazies. I was out all night, tracking down leads for you. Got something on that front by the way. Then I get back here, do your dishes, make your coffee, all while you snooze the day away, only to be snapped at first chance you get. I am beginning to see what Sam means about you Necros. You never respect anything and just take, take, take.”

  Damien met Fred’s eyes again. “So,” he said smirking, “you got something?”

  Fred threw his hands in the air and let out an exasperated sigh floating back into the living room.

  “No! Fred! I was just kidding. I’m sorry. You are right. You didn’t deserve that. I contracted you to help me, not cater to my every whim. I appreciate you.”

  Fred turned back and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  “What?” Damien said.

  “Apologizing? Admitting you’re wrong? Who are you and where is Damien?” It was Fred’s turn to grin. Damien shook his head and took another sip of his coffee.

  “What did you find?”