What do you get when you mix a necromancer, an undead servant, a lich, an octogenarian apothecary, a little coupe, and a vial of bitter poison?
Heartburn.
We were a ragtag crew driving to Joyner’s house a few blocks away from Soulard Market.
We rode in silence. I let Joyner have the front seat. CeCe and I rode in the back. CeCe nursed her wounded hand. The sinewy tendons in her wrist were showing. Thank God liches self-generate. In a few hours, it would be like the wolf never bit her.
I was shaken up from the shadowcraft. Joyner was too. I had no idea what the hell CeCe was thinking.
As for Bo, well—I’m pretty sure if this coupe were a person, he would’ve murdered it by now. Joyner complained about the heater not blowing hot enough and Bo fiddled with the dials all the way to Joyner’s place.
Joyner lived in a skinny, three-story, French-inspired brick rowhouse in the middle of a block. The lamp in his alcove was unlit. A warm light in his living room was on, flickering through a sheer curtain.
“I’m gonna have a word with Eduardo,” Bo said. “Nah, take that back. I’m gonna have some sentences and paragraphs about this damn car.”
“You should write a five-paragraph essay about it,” CeCe said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“I’ll tell you what will make me feel better,” Joyner said. “A sermon, a stiff drink, and the shades drawn for the night. In that order.”
“You earned a night off,” I said.
“Mr. Broussard, you’re in one hell of a mess again,” he said, handing me a plastic bag. Inside was a bundle of dill and a vial of purplish-black liquid. “The dill will keep the witches away. The good news is that it’ll keep them at bay for a while. But they’ll most definitely use shadowcraft again.”
“What is shadowcraft?” I asked.
“A clandestine magic that allows the caster to do evil deeds unseen and unpunished,” Joyner said. “It draws on evil memories that linger in this world. It can literally stop time. But the costs are so severe, it’s not worth casting.”
He sighed. “Lester, you can talk to the dead and my lady lich, and that doesn’t cost you much. Just some blood. Even binding a dead man to a corpse is still low-powered magic. You could practice necromancy at your highest level every day and the only real cost you would pay would be the consequences of falling for a demon’s trick or relying on unreliable information from a spirit.”
“At a minimum,” I said.
“But shadowcrafting is more costly,” Joyner said. “Every time you do it, you lose time from your life in proportion to how long you stopped it. You also invite the evil energy you use into your body. It takes a piece of your soul. If used enough, it will destroy you, and quickly.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Whoever’s casting that magic has nothing to lose,” Joyner said. “They threw away a piece of their life and soul to try to kill you. That ought to tell you how fiercely they want you dead. No real witch would practice shadowcraft unless they were reasonably sure the spell would get them something.”
“Like what?” Bo asked.
Joyner shrugged. “You’re a capable necromancer. Not evil like the rest of them. Killing you would keep any villain’s options open since you wouldn’t be able to get in their way.”
“I’m starting to learn that,” I said.
“Speaking of villains,” Joyner said, “I packed you a dose of aconite. I mixed it with licorice and ginger for taste. Take it now and get ready for a hell of a night. The poison will peak and then it will be a little more manageable as your body digests it.”
“Thanks as always, Mr. Joyner,” I said.
Bo got out and helped Joyner out of the passenger side.
I stared at the dill and the vial of aconite, and reflected on our conversation.
“Mr. Joyner,” I said. “Before the witches attacked, you told me I had three problems. You said the first was the wolves. What were the other two?”
Joyner scratched his head. “I already told you about the shadowcraft.”
“But what about the third problem?” I asked.
Joyner paused, thinking.
“Can’t remember,” he said.
He bid us goodbye. As Bo escorted him to his front door, I wish he would have remembered the answer.