Necromancy for the Chronologically Challenge

Chapter 2

"Move it, twinkle-toes! Unless you want to find out if ghosts can feel a silver-plated lobotomy!"

Della’s voice was a whip-crack against the roaring backdrop of the inferno. She didn’t wait for Eron to find his bearings; she lunged forward, her fingers—cold as ice and firm as iron—locking around his wrist.

"Wait! My shoes! I really need my—"

"Forget the shoes, Eron! You want to be a well-dressed corpse or a barefoot legend? Choice is yours, but we have exactly four seconds before that lady in the red cape turns us into glitter."

Eron looked over his shoulder. The lead Exorcist, a woman with hair the color of spun platinum and eyes that glowed with a terrifying, sterile white light, was already leveling a heavy claymore at them. The air around her didn't just vibrate; it seemed to vanish, consumed by a void of pure ‘erasure’ magic.

"Target identified," the woman said, her voice like grinding stones. "Anomalous Revenant and Class-D Summoner. Execution authorized."

"Class D? Hey!" Eron yelled, even as Della yanked him toward a collapsing staircase. "I’m at least a C-minus on a good day!"

"Focus on the running, less on the resume!" Della shot back. She leapt over a fallen timber, her tattered silks fluttering like the wings of a dark butterfly. As Eron stumbled after her, his bare feet slapping painfully against the scorching stone, she looked back with a wicked grin. "By the way, nice hustle. For a guy who spends all day in a library, you’ve got a decent set of glutes."

"Not the time, Della! Seriously not the time!"

"There’s always time to appreciate the view, Master," she purred, her voice somehow audible over the thundering collapse of the North Bell Tower.

They burst through a heavy oak door and onto the slanted slate of the dormitory roof. The night air was thick with ash, the sky a bruised purple lit by the orange maw of the fire.

"Okay, okay, we’re out," Eron panted, his lungs burning. "Now what? We’re four stories up!"

"We jump," Della said simply.

"We what?"

"You heard me. Jump. I’ll catch you. Mostly."

"Mostly? Della, I’m a squishy human! I don't have 'ghost physics'!"

Behind them, the roof exploded. Saphira Kelm didn't use the door; she simply deleted the wall. She stepped onto the shingles, her heavy boots clinking, her silver-white aura pushing back the smoke in a perfect circle of negation.

"The girl dies first," Saphira said, her blade humming. "Souls like hers are a blight on the natural order. Move aside, boy, and perhaps the Bureau will only sentence you to life in the Silenced Cells."

"She’s not a blight, she’s... she’s my summon!" Eron shouted, stepping in front of Della despite his knees shaking so hard he could barely stand. "And she saved everyone! She warned us about the fire!"

Saphira didn't blink. "A demon’s prophecy is just a blueprint for its own chaos. Last warning."

Della stepped up behind Eron, her chest pressing against his back. He could feel the phantom weight of her, the strange, cold heat of her presence. Her arms slid around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"She’s kind of a buzzkill, isn't she?" Della whispered into his ear, her breath smelling of winter roses. "But look at those eyes. She’s not just an Exorcist. She’s a Kelm. Pure blood, pure hate, and a very, very short fuse."

"Della, if you have a plan, now would be great," Eron hissed.

"I have a plan. It involves you trusting me and me being incredibly manipulative. Ready?"

Before Eron could ask 'ready for what,' Della’s hands slid down to his hips and she heaved.

"Gah! What are you—!"

Eron was airborne. The world tilted—fire, stars, and the terrified face of a boy who was definitely about to die. But as he fell, Della wasn't falling with him; she was gliding, her spirit tethered to his soul like a silken bungee cord.

"Grab the ledge of the infirmary! The one with the gargoyle!" she screamed.

"I'm gonna die! I'm actually gonna die!"

"Shut up and grab it! If you die, I have to go back to that boring-ass void, and they don't have honey cakes there!"

Eron swung his arms wildly, his fingers catching the cold, mossy stone of a gargoyle’s wing. His shoulders nearly popped out of their sockets as he dangled over the courtyard.

"I got it! I—"

CLANG.

A silver bolt of energy slammed into the gargoyle’s head, showering Eron in stone dust. Saphira was airborne now, too, propelled by wings of white light that looked like jagged glass. She landed on the infirmary roof with the grace of a predator.

"You're persistent," Saphira said, her sword tip hovering inches from Eron’s clinging fingers. "But your 'spirit' is out of tricks. I can smell the chronomancy on her. She’s a thief of time. A parasite."

Della materialized right next to Saphira, standing casually on the edge of the roof as if gravity were merely a suggestion she chose to ignore. She smoothed her dress, her silver eyes locking onto the Exorcist's.

"A parasite? That’s hurtfully accurate, honey," Della said, her voice dropping the playfulness for something sharper, something ancient. "But I'm not the one who spent the last three years crying into a locket because I couldn't find a body."

Saphira froze. The white light of her aura flickered. "What did you say?"

"The 'Great Saphira Kelm,' the star of the Bureau," Della mocked, walking in a slow circle around the armored woman. "You’re not here for the academy, are you? You’re here because the surge of energy felt like him. Like the rift that took him."

"Be silent, spirit," Saphira hissed, her grip tightening on her sword until the leather wrap creaked. "I will unmake you."

"Will you? Even if I told you where Mavren Holt is?"

The name hit the air like a physical blow. Saphira’s sword dipped. Her face, previously a mask of cold justice, cracked. A flash of raw, human grief surged through her eyes before being replaced by a terrifying rage.

"Don't you dare speak his name," Saphira whispered. "My brother is dead. He was lost in the Siege of the Void. His soul was shattered."

"Was it?" Della leaned in, her translucent face inches from Saphira’s. "Because I saw him about twenty minutes ago. He was sitting on a throne of black glass, and he looked... well, he looked a lot like you. Except for the red eyes. And the wings."

Eron, still dangling from the gargoyle, looked up in horror. "Della? What are you doing? Who is Mavren Holt?"

"A ghost story, Eron. Just like me," Della said, never taking her eyes off Saphira. "Well, Saphira? Do you want to play the hero and drop my Master into the courtyard, or do you want to know which floor of the Underworld your brother is currently haunting?"

Saphira’s sword was shaking. The 'erasure' magic was bleeding out of her, replaced by a chaotic, flickering light. "You're lying. You’re a Revenant. You manipulate the living. It’s what you were built for."

"I'm a Prophet, darling. There’s a difference," Della purred. She reached out, her fingers ghosting over Saphira’s silver chestplate. "He’s alive. But he won’t be for long. The King of Pale doesn't like guests who don't pay rent."

Saphira lunged, but not to strike. She grabbed Della by the throat—or tried to, her hands passing through the spirit's neck with a hiss of static.

"Tell me!" Saphira screamed.

"Eron," Della called out, looking down at the boy whose fingers were finally slipping. "I think it’s time for that 'masterful command' we talked about."

"I... I can't breathe, let alone command!" Eron gasped.

"Just say it! Say: 'Della, take us away!'"

"Della... take us... AWAY!" Eron roared, his fingers finally letting go of the stone.

He plummeted. But he didn't hit the ground. Instead, the world turned into a kaleidoscope of violet and silver. He felt a pair of soft, firm arms wrap around him, a body pressing into his, and the sensation of being pulled through a straw.

POP.

They slammed into a hard wooden floor. The smell of old paper and stale honey replaced the smoke and ozone. Eron groaned, rolling over. He was back in his dorm room. It was messy, cramped, and currently bathed in the soft blue glow of his dragon nightlight.

"We... we're alive?" Eron whispered, checking his limbs. "I’m alive!"

"Barely," a voice said from the shadows.

Eron scrambled backward, his back hitting his bedpost.

Saphira Kelm was standing by his window. She wasn't attacking. Her sword was sheathed, but her hand was still white-knuckled on the hilt. She looked at Eron, then at Della, who was casually sitting on Eron’s bed, kicking her legs back and forth.

"You brought her here?" Eron shrieked, pointing at the Exorcist. "Della, she’s literally a professional ghost-killer!"

"She’s also our ticket out of the city," Della said, reaching into Eron’s bedside drawer and pulling out a slightly squashed honey cake. She took a dainty bite, humming in approval. "Mmm. You’re right, Eron. These are delicious. A little heavy on the cinnamon, but I can work with it."

Saphira stepped forward, the floorboards groaning under her heavy armor. She ignored the room, ignored the "pathetic" Class-D necromancer, and walked straight up to Eron.

She didn't draw her sword. She did something much worse. She grabbed him by the collar of his singed tunic and slammed him against the wall, her face inches from his.

"That girl," Saphira said, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and pure, unadulterated lethality. "That thing you summoned. Why does she know my family’s secrets? Why does she know about Mavren?"

Eron looked at Della for help.

Della just winked and blew him a kiss. "Tell her the truth, Master. Tell her we’re going to find him. But first..."

Della leaned back on the pillows, patting the spot next to her. "We really need to talk about your choice in interior decor. A dragon nightlight? Really, Eron? I thought we were going for 'Dark Lord' vibes, not 'Toddler’s First Spook-Proof Room.'"

Saphira’s grip tightened. "Answer me, Valther. Or I’ll see if your ghost can talk while I'm burning your soul-tether to ash."

Eron looked from the terrifying Exorcist to the teasing, beautiful spirit on his bed. He felt the cold sweat on his neck and the frantic beat of his heart.

"I... I think we're going to be a very weird team," Eron squeaked.

"Team?" Saphira growled.

"Oh, definitely a team," Della laughed, popping the rest of the honey cake into her mouth. "Now, lock the door, Eron. Things are about to get very... complicated."