AN: Written as a quick something to make me feel less like crap.
Disclaimer: I own my self-loathing rather than the rights to the series.
Title: His Skull Friday
Word Count: 560
Summary: What to do when an evil necromancer comes back from the dead…
He was sadly more Ghost Rider than Girl Scout.
A flamin' skull etched with archaic tattoos hovered above the opening of a bloodstained white robe. He was also floating—no feet could be seen under the hem of his singed and bloodied outfit—but the skeleton arms looked fully functional and lethal! They were very pointy and curved, a little too much like claws for my liking.
"Give…it….back!" he rasped through a mouthful of what sounded like gravel and cemetery dirt, uncurling a metatarsal (metacarpal?) at me. The tip of his finger bone ignited in cold fire. The air around it grew dense and my lights started to flicker from inside my room.
"Hoo boy," I said intelligently, and I slammed the metal door in his face.
A freaking dent immediately appeared, and my wards spluttered out in a flash of pale light.
Well.
This sucked.
A second dent appeared. The hinges rattled.
I quickly scurried to safety in my basement. "Bob! You have an admirer that misses you!"
Orange lights blinked to existence in his skull. "Ah, hell no! "
"Hell, yes!" I corrected. I started throwing books into a bag, collecting my silver rings with my free hand. "Hell and back again, it looks like your old boss is here for a reunion tour."
The cracks in the floorboards above my head leaked a creepy blue light, and fell over me like rain, causing every hair on my body to stand up. If I had a glass of water, it would've shook with the amount of water. Then I heard my beloved door being pulverized and thrown across the apartment.
"We'll need a Way in less than ten seconds!" I ordered. I swept my left hand in a semi-circle, and candles ignited around me to set up another layer of protection.
Bob swirled around my head like a halo. "But, Harry—"
"Not now" I grabbed his skull. "Get in and we'll think of various wittier backup plans later!" My (he was mine, dammit!) spirit of intellect sighed and went back to his bone cage. I let out my own sigh of relief, and I stuffed Bob inside a netted knapsack. "Now we get the hell out of—"
And there was a blinding flash of light as the smell of burned wood reached my nose.
After I regained my sight, I slowly looked up the new hole that was in my apartment, and saw the guy that the Council couldn't kill on their first try glaring down at me.
"Starborn," he managed to sneer without having any lips. The flames grew around his head, reaching taller and scarier heights.
My throat closed in fear.
Bob started cackling. "Lift me up, Harry. I want to see how many maggots are crawling all over his face."
My arms obediently obeyed.
Kemmler raised his ghoulish hands to cast a nasty spell on me.
And Bob, my perverted and out-of-control friend, grew in size, and shouted one thing to the necromancer.
"BOO!"
And the very wizard that even death couldn't keep a hold on scattered in the air like evil sand being blown away by an industrial fan, his scream a lingering and metamorphic ghost in my pounding eardrums.
It was a long moment before either of us could speak.
"See? I told you, Harry," Bob said. "I had it all under control."