The Restless Dead Want YOU To Fight Necromancy

Both young men were passed out asleep on separate couches. The library table was covered in books, open to relevant pages, you settle down to read, starting with your bestiary.

The zombie is not a beast, as such, but may still be encountered in the wild, free of its connection to the magician who raised it. It is an undead servant out of the Haitian Vodou tradition, and shares the general anger with the living that all undead share.

Yes, thank you, bestiary, you're aware of your anger issues.

You read through printouts from the internet about the famous movies of the past century, Night of the Living Dead, Day of the Dead, Dawn of the Dead. You reread your basic introduction spell for death magic, which involves animating dead birds to spy for you.

There's nothing particularly useful in your tome on blood magic, it's not even on the table. The wards against undead are bookmarked in your warding tome, and a spell to scry for dark magic and evil is bookmarked in your divination spellbook.

Zombies are deadly, implacable, and stupid. It's a little better than deadly, implacable, and clever.

You head downstairs with your zombie head, to experiment. It goes well – between the lingering traces of the necromancer's magic clinging to you, and the zombie head, you're able to isolate the feel of zombie magic from that of regular black magic. It's a buzz, like flies on rotten meat, a particular frequency that you can tune your songs to. You'll be able to target zombies specifically with your spells, now, excluding humans and vampires – at least assuming you have the correct ritual ingredients on hand.

That did not take as long as you thought. You take a few minutes to pad around the basement, locate a metal trash bin half-full of charcoal, and drag it back to your ritual room where it now doubles as a zombie head holder.

That done, it's time to head back to the hospital, and you're down a ride. Still… you do know the way, and it's not as if you're helpless. You could use a run.

The road is just as quiet and empty as it was when you drove back this way earlier tonight. You can't say you're the only thing you hear, you are not, because your hearing is excellent. Still, for being in the middle of a modern city, it is quiet enough to hear yourself think.

You are feeling very alone, in this modern world with all these new people. It seems like you don't meet one before there's the next, with their own story and concerns and things they need from you. There's been no chance to catch your breath, and there likely won't be for a while. If Bruce and Claudia had not offered a closer relationship, if they hadn't given you the benefit of the doubt… you would be very unhappy right now. As it is, the dichotomy between the very good things and very bad things that have happened over the past few days make you dizzy.

You'll take your time and do things methodically. You always do.

Of the ladies from the CDC, it's Marj who is waiting up for you. You go to meet her, and invite her to film your warding.

You love magic, but there's nothing that can really make drawing intricate diagrams of stars within circles for hours on walls and doors and more walls interesting. You keep your focus and answer Marj's questions as they come up. Every curve is precise, drawn in white chalk, every hook of every rune the same. Each ward circle is marked in the proper places with your blood and zombie blood, to distinguish between zombies and not-zombies.

You walk sunwise around the building to power your chant, though you could have done it standing still. The sun doesn't like zombies, and it does like protection.

Eventually, the magic flares silver, and the ward circles you drew flare equally, visibly brightly, and disappear. You're done.

"That's it?" Marj asks you.

"That's it."

"I feel like I should tell you your country appreciates you or some such," she comments.

"I'm glad to hear it."

You are more-or-less fond of the United States, in any case. It would be nice to think that the United States were fond of you in return.

"Be well," you add. "I'll be back next week to refresh the wards, if not sooner. If – if I were delayed for some reason, just find a rabbit or some such and bleed it on a doorway, while stating your intention. That would buy you time."

"You're not serious."

"I understand it might seem barbaric."

"No, it doesn't seem barbaric. It seems weird as fuck."

"I can't really do anything about that."

"Guess not. Thanks, anyway."

"Good night."

You see her safely back inside the now safe from zombie invasion building, and trot back home. Dawn twinges at the edge of your awareness – not here yet, but if you were farther from home, it would be time to head back.

Actually, why are you running? There's no hurry, your only remaining task you assigned yourself tonight is to try to find those werewolves, and that won't be until they might reasonably be awake. You might as well make this into your evening walk, and try to get your feet under you.

You amble the rest of the way home, enjoying putting concepts that linger in your mind to real images you've seen with your own eyes.

Perhaps it's because you're walking softly, hopping from tree to log to rock, that you stumble across the deer. Three little bucks, no older than two or three years, lift their heads in startlement from their browsing as you come into view.

A humming note and a thought stills their fright. You're nothing to be frightened of, no you are not. You're practically a friend.

One of them nuzzles at you, as you approach it, as you run your fingers lightly through its fur, finding the best place where the blood runs close to the surface.

You sink your teeth into the trusting animal's neck, and drink its death. The second and third join their companion. Hot blood, fresh blood, fresh death – even in a beast, there's something to be said for it.

You're even bringing home meat for the table. Given how many people you've brought home to feed, you don't mind that at all. You shift your bag around to your front, pull out your string, and tie all three deer together. That way when you lift them with your mind, you can steer them along very neatly.

When you let yourself hunt, it's so easy. Too easy. Far, far too easy, to think about what else you could be hunting.

Home is just a little bit further, and you leave the deer on the back lawn.

The back door to the kitchen opens, and Bruce steps outside, coffee cup in hand. Bruce looks from you, to the deer carcasses on the lawn, to you. He rubs at his eyes with his free hand.

"I don't even like cats."

You laugh.

"Should I bring you mice, next?"

"No."

[] "Is this how you react every time someone gives you a present?" Teasing.
[] You put an arm around his shoulders. "I can take them back, if you like." Flirtatious.
[] "Is there something wrong?" Innocent.
[] Write-in