Putting the Romance Back into Necromancy



  Copyright 2012 Sarina Dorie

  Cover Art by Sarina Dorie

  This story was originally published in Bards and Sages

  Discover other titles by Sarina Dorie at:

  https://www.sarinadorie.com

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  Putting the Romance back into Necromancy

  By Sarina Dorie

 

  By 3 a.m., I had just smoothed the last of the loose earth over the final grave when Roger coughed loud enough to wake the dead. Literally.

  Losing my balance, I stumbled back from the grave. I wasn’t fast enough. A hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. My voice came out as a shrill half scream as I kicked at the hand. “Put them back to sleep!”

  I covered my mouth with my handkerchief as the fermenting fumes of rotting flesh escaped from the ground, making my temples throb with the onset of a migraine.

  Roger’s melodious tenor cracked. “I actually haven’t learned how to do that. I’m only a freshman.”

  My shoe smushed into the decaying skin and splintered the fragile bone of the zombie. I scrambled backward, peeling off the clinging fingers. “What do you mean you don’t know how to put the dead to rest? Use your voice and sing them back to sleep.”

  “I can’t. I haven’t learned how to cause reoccurring sleep. It’s way more complicated the second time.” He backed away from the ground rippling between us. “But don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I came prepared in case something like this should happen.” With that, he removed a chainsaw from the immense canvas bag. As soon as he tried to hack into a zombie, the kickback sent the chainsaw flying up, narrowly missing his face. His lean frame was thrown back onto the ground while the flying chainsaw cut the arm off one zombie and decapitated another before striking a grave and breaking the chain.

  The roar of noise died into creaking and groaning all around us. A tombstone near Roger toppled over.

  I rummaged through the bag but only found a pack of breath mints, a flashlight and a bottle of hand sanitizer. I grabbed my shovel and swung it at an approaching zombie. I struck another, clearing a path for Roger and me to get to his car.

  Avoiding the more fetid patches of air, my nose led me to safety. When we got to his father’s convertible, Roger patted his pockets as if searching for something. Even in the pale moonlight, I could see his face flush as red as his mop of hair. “Um, I think I dropped the keys back by the graves.”

  * * *

  I wouldn’t have known some idiot kid had tried to resurrect the dead in order to create a video of authentic zombies dancing to “Thriller,” except that I’d gotten a migraine. That was my gift and the reason I was at Mortimer’s School of Dark Arts; I could sense the waking dead and gauge their proximity by the intensity of my migraine. I was a natural locator, like a drug dog. Yeah, it was pretty humiliating, but it got me into the school and the pay for dark arts related jobs are pretty sweet. Plus, the cutest boys really do belong to Mort’s school. Like Doug, my supposed boyfriend, who happened to be Roger’s roommate. Though Doug wasn’t exactly number one on my list of favorite people right now. And at the moment, I wasn’t even sure he was boyfriend material.

  Apparently, the unidentified kid in charge of the “Thriller” video had quickly found out dead men can’t dance—and are much more inclined to eat brains—which had been about the time Roger stumbled upon the mess and called me for assistance. And by mess, I mean the radio playing Michael Jackson music, the camera, and what remained of the kid.

  Since it was spring break, all the senior necromancers were on vacation or at the big party out of town. If Roger hadn’t been around to put the dead back to rest, they would have gone on a rampage. The only reason I was able to assist him was because my date had stood me up and I was at home instead of the party.