Page 48 of Witches of Dubious Origin
Jasper shrugged out of his coat and slipped it over my shoulders. I started to protest, but he shook his head. “I have a shirt and jumper on while you’re in your pajamas.” He shook his head again, indicating that was the end of it. Fine.
“What’s the right question?” I asked, burrowing into his coat.
“How did that deranged undead Viking find you?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, but deep down I wondered if I had conjured him. When I’d been concentrating on the page in the grimoire and feeling the magic building between me and it, had I called the Viking into being? It was clearly a big mistake. Huge.
The thought that I might have gotten us killed by calling forth an undead Viking? There was not enough wine in my house to deal with that. I was going to have to break out the whiskey.
“I feel as if you’re not telling me something,” he said.
I could feel Jasper’s gaze on the side of my face, but I didn’t turn toward him, not wanting to reveal the self-doubt in my eyes. Instead, I diverted.
“What a coincidence,” I replied. “I feel the same way about your sudden appearance here with your pocketful of magic tricks.” This time, I did give him a careful side-eye.
He looked me up and down, one of his black eyebrows lifting to mimic mine. “Outrunning an undead Viking, saving your grimoire, and not giving an inch. I think even Olive would be impressed.”
I sincerely doubted that. I rolled my eyes and walked out of the cemetery, turning onto the sidewalk that led home. The walk back felt shorter than the run from my house had been. Maybe a freaked-out sprinting panic slowed time in a sort of Zeitraffer phenomenon where the brain’s visualperception of motion was altered, causing an illusory sense of slowed motion.
Jasper fell into step beside me. “How about I tell you how I got here so fast and why I happened to have exactly what we needed on my person, and you tell me where you think our friend came from? Deal?”
“All right, you first.”
“The black pouch”—he paused and patted his pocket—“was given to me by Olive. She has curated an emergency kit of magical objects that anyone who works for the BODO carries with them at all times. I arrived so quickly because I was already here. Claire asked me to keep an eye on you. She was worried that if Eloise was correct and your mother and grandmother were murdered for the book, then the person or persons responsible would come after you next.” He pointed down the street to a nondescript black sedan. “That’s one of the museum’s cars. I’ve been parked there every night, keeping watch just in case.”
I nodded. Now it all made sense. Despite Claire’s potential overreach in having a person—Jasper!—stationed on my street staking out my house, I felt protected and, in the case of tonight, grateful. I never could have gotten rid of the undead Viking without his help, and judging by the Viking’s hyperfocus on getting the book, I likely wouldn’t have survived if I’d tried.
“Thank you.” The words came out more stiffly than I would have liked, but at least I’d said them.
“You’re welcome.” Jasper inclined his head. “Your turn.”
“I did tell the truth before; I don’t know where the Vikingcame from. That being said…” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how to explain the connection I’d been establishing with a page of the book. Ah well, Jasper’s reaction would be nothing compared to Olive’s, so perhaps it was a good practice run.
“Yes?” Jasper prodded.
“It could be that while I was attempting to build a magical bridge between me and the grimoire that I inadvertently conjured the undead Viking,” I admitted.
He stopped walking, so I did, too. We stood on the sidewalk with him staring at me in horror as if I’d just admitted that I put dill pickles in my Dr Pepper—I do and it’s delicious. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
“Wait. You thinkyoumight have conjured that reverse-mullet Thor?” he asked.
“I can’t figure how else he got here,” I said. “Unless you know of some other necromancer in the vicinity.”
From the look on his face, I knew immediately that there were other necromancers close by. What the hell? Why hadn’t anyone told me this before? I could have gone to them for advice or help.
His pale eyes studied my face as if he could read every thought I’d just had. “Not all necromancers are…friendly.”
“Like I am?” I asked with a dash of sarcasm.Friendlywas not the first word anyone would use to describe me and we both knew it.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but you clearly have skills, Zoe. That potential is one of the reasons Miles wants you to work at the BODO.”
“Does he really? Or does he just want to keep an eye on me and any undead army I might raise?” I teased.
A flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “Unlike general magic, which can be harnessed by anyone with some knowledge and practice, necromancy is a very nuanced sort of gift and the wielder has to be very sure in their purpose or it goes all sorts of wrong.”
“Like calling forth an angry Viking?”
“Assuming it was you and not someone else, yes, exactly.” He clapped my shoulder with his large hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Let’s hope it was you.”
