Page 74 of Dead Rockstar

“Where's Guthrie?” Phillip demanded suddenly, breaking the subject. “Why did you lie?”

“Oh, who knows,” she said dismissively. “I haven't seen him in years. That part was true. When we separated, I swore a blood vow that he'd never darken my doorway again. There was a rumor that he'd died. Probably be the best thing for him. He was a miserable man. A terrible father.”

“He's the father of your child. You can't honestly expect us to believe that-”

“Guthrie is not important,” she said loudly, interrupting Phillip. “Don't you understand that? He was never what was important. He’s a meddler, a trickster, a complication. Stop giving him power.”

Phillip took my hand again and clutched it tightly.

“There's no need to feel revulsion for what you've done,” she continued, ignoring Phillip. “The spell is one that has been used before. There are others out in the world…” She paused for a moment, puffing on her cigarette, seeming to weigh out something within herself, then took a dry breath and continued in a low tone, “…those who are like Phillip.”

“Like Phillip?” I said, startled. “You mean who have come back to life?”

“Yes,” she said, puffing on her cigarette.

“Currently?” I asked. “Do you know these people?”

“I know one other,” she said matter-of-factly, stubbing her cigarette out in an ashtray that had mysteriously appeared from her pocket. “And so do you.”

“And who is this other undead person?” Phillip asked, his voice wearing thin on patience.

“Undead.” She sniffed. “What is this, a cheap horror film?”

“Who?” I repeated, squeezing his hand.

“My son,” she said, smirking under her wrinkles, as she saw the expression of horror appear on my face. “Lee.”

Eighteen

Phillip and I turned to each other, the shock in his eyes mirroring my own. “I...” I fumbled for words. “You're telling me that Lee is like...Phillip? He died and was brought back?”

“Yes,” she said simply, lighting another cigarette even though she'd just put one out. Her expression was almost bored, as though this were a subject she discussed daily and was sick to death of. “I'm the one who brought him back.”

“With the same spell?” I asked. I knew she had magic. I’d somehow known, from the beginning, that she’d been the one who bound Phillip and me. So why had we assumed that the spell had been Guthrie's? It was as though I could see the strands of it in her aura, the almost imperceptible light-blue haze that seemed to float around the porch. She caught my stare and I looked away first.

“Yes,” she said. “When he died…” her voice caught. “…I didn't even think twice. There was no way I could let my son go. He was too young; I couldn't bear it. Such a stupid accident.” She didn't elaborate, but I closed my eyes, suddenly overcome with images that seemed real…a car pushed into the wrong lane, crushed metal and flames, blood in the road, mingling with tiny shards of glass, glinting in the late-day sun, the sounds of ear-splitting screams and the wail of an ambulance siren. A shock of pale, sandy blond hair over a lifeless face. I shuddered and opened my eyes. Lydia was staring at me intently, her face full of a deep sadness.

“How long?” I asked, though I wasn't sure it mattered.

“He died five years ago,” she said. “When he was twenty-two.”

I marveled. That explained why Lee seemed so young to me; his boyish face, his gentle nature. He might be nearing thirty, but in some ways, he was stunted as a young man of twenty-two. Yet another thing I’d wondered about but hadn’t brought up to Phillip yet. Would he age? Now that his clock had started back up, would it move forward? Or would he forever be young, destined to watch me grow old, like some kind of bloodless vampire?

Lydia cut into my thoughts. “Oh yes, they age. Don't worry. They aren't immortal.” She puffed on her cigarette. “But it's slower for them than it is for us. The second time around, it seems you get longer.”

Phillip was oddly silent next to me, digesting this new information.

“The problem, Fee, is that there's only so much of this magic. It's not infinite, but a resource that can be exhausted. And the magic is running dangerously low.”

“I don't follow.”

“Not every witch can be a necromancer. It's not something we all know how to do. Guthrie is a warlock, but he was never able to do it. I could.” Her chest puffed out proudly. “I think a part of him never really believed I had the power. Thought I was just holding something over him, exaggerating my abilities. That's why he was so free with them, giving them away. When I found out he'd given my spell to Phillip here, over something as base as drugs, I was furious. When I found out the fool had put it on an album cover…” She looked at Phillip with deep disdain. “It was one of the many times I left my husband.”

“So Guthrie didn’t take it any more seriously than Phillip did,” I said.

She nodded. “It wasn't until Lee died and I brought him back that Guthrie understood that I'd had this power for real, that it was legitimate. He suddenly realized that all along I'd been the powerful witch, and he the novice.”

“Sour grapes?” I asked.

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