Page 44 of Equalizer
“True,” Calvin admitted, although something about the idea wouldn’t leave him alone. “What if the witch was a necromancer? The body part was technically dead when it was severed or taken from a corpse. Could a necromancer reanimate it—or somehow blur the boundary between what’s dead and living?”
“I don’t know,” Arabella admitted. “That’s not an area of magic where I have a lot of experience, and necromancers are, not surprisingly, rather secretive. Even among witches, there’s astigma. I guess it would be possible for that to happen, but no magic lasts forever.”
“Could a person come back for touch-ups?” Owen wondered aloud.
“Touch-ups?” Arabella nearly choked on her tea.
“Would a spell like that be one-and-done, or could a person come back from time to time to renew the magic and keep it working?” Owen explained.
Arabella looked at him with curiosity and amusement. “You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought. I’m guessing here, but again, the answer is…maybe. Regular witches don’t study necromancy. Necromancers don’t like sharing their ways, and most witches are uncomfortable with the whole idea. But assuming the basic elements work like other magics, refreshing the spell should keep it working longer—although not forever.”
“That would be a way to keep absolute loyalty,” Calvin mused. “Toe the line, or the magic fades faster than necessary.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “You think like a mobster. Not sure how I feel about that.”
Calvin repressed a wince. His rough years with gangs were less structured than the Mob but not that far removed.
“There are stories from New Orleans about Voodoo mambos who have bound reanimated servants with their magic,” Owen said. “Surely they can’t be the only ones who could do that. A Mob boss would pay a lot to have even small teams of hitmen or retainers who can’t be bought.”
Arabella shivered. “New Orleans…that magic makes me unsettled. I definitely don’t know Voodoo, and I’m not aware of anyone in Chicago who does. I guess a Mob boss could bring someone with expertise up from there. From what I’ve been told, zombies aren’t really raised from the dead. They’re living people controlled with powerful drugs and magic.”
She looked equally horrified and intrigued at the possibilities. “I’m skeptical about actually bringing someone back to life, no matter what magic is used, even accepting that the…results…would be damaged. But if someone was dying, a necromancer might be able to stretch the time the person has left, and that could include extending the usefulness of any replacement parts.”
Calvin and Owen exchanged a look. “Another type of soldier who can’t rebel without falling over dead,” Owen said. “Perfect for building a small private army.”
“Which brings us back to Jeremiah Humphries,” Calvin reminded them. “Have your people found out anything more about him?”
Arabella nibbled a cookie and had another sip of her drink before she responded. “He’s not a necromancer. That kind of power has a particular vibration. He can do magic, although I’m not sure he’s been trained as a witch. There are reasons we go through study and apprenticeships. Magic is dangerous if it’s not wielded properly—to the witch and everyone around them.”
“Humphries might have a lot of strong natural talent and be self-taught,” Owen recapped. “Plenty of chances for things to go wrong with that.”
“Yes, and for the spells to be unpredictable,” Arabella agreed. “Another reason there are rules that ethical witches follow. Devising complex spells is best left to people with knowledge and experience. Lots of things can go wrong.”
“Could he be controlled by a more powerful witch?” Calvin asked.
“Possible, but unlikely,” Arabella said. “There are plenty of amulets and protective spells that even a novice can do to shield against that sort of thing. More likely that he’s being paid well or blackmailed. If he’s gotten on the wrong side of a more powerfulwitch, his Mob patron might be protecting him in exchange for services. It would guarantee loyalty.”
“Maybe we’ll get some answers at his lecture,” Calvin said. “Convenient that it’s mid-day and not evening.”
“Professors,” Owen said. “If the audience is made up of other academics, they’re already on campus.”
“I finagled the tickets from someone at the University of Illinois,” Arabella answered. “The event isn’t open to the general public, especially not reporters. Sounded to me like Humphries wants to be appreciated by his peers to gain status but stay out of the limelight.”
“That would make sense if the Mob is bankrolling him,” Calvin replied.
“What’s our cover?” Owen asked.
“Biology professors from Chicago State University,” she replied. “Close enough to make our presence plausible, and I’m banking on with such large schools, the faculty can’t all know each other.”
“I’m curious to see how Humphries stacks up beside Gordon,” Calvin mused. “While he might want professional status, I can’t imagine the same impresario approach would go over well with the scholarly crowd.”
They chatted about the weather and that day’s newspaper headlines as they finished their tea, then took a hired coach to the university for the lecture.
Arabella knewher way around the campus and navigated the large classroom building to find the lecture hall. She handed off the tickets to the man at the door, who barely glanced their way as they entered.
Three seats in the back row gave them a good view and an easy exit. Calvin glanced around at their fellow audience members. To his eye, they looked like professors and researchers.
“No demonstration table.” Owen nudged Calvin in the ribs. “And no generator.”
