Chapter 18: Hybrid Hazards
(One month Post-Incident)
Kane,
I hope that wherever you are in the Spiral, this finds you well. Or at least better than the last time we…
Rowan threw down her quill and crumpled up the parchment. She scowled at herself, compressed the wad tighter in her fist, and tossed it across the library, raising a sardonically triumphant fist as it landed in the grate of the hearth.
"Two points for the Death School," she mockingly cheered. She waved a graceful hand at the ball, resting her forehead in the other hand. "Zeus, would you be a dear and incinerate that before I change my mind?"
As he had done with the prior four attempts at contacting Kane that were regrettably penned in the last hour, the black pygmy dragon produced a short burst of flame that took to its literary fuel enthusiastically. Eyeing the flames with the prideful gaze of a master craftsman for but a moment, he then curled back up on the sofa that was positioned to face said fireplace, burying his head beneath his tail. Shadow, disturbed by the sudden fireball that passed over his prone form, padded over to where Rowan sat at her oak desk, whining plaintively. He put his heavy head on her knee and blinked silver eyes at her. Rowan glanced down at him, not removing her head from her hand, and sighed at those pleading eyes.
"Very well. I suppose it's late enough that you can go out now." Rowan rose from her chair and went downstairs, Shadow's nails clicking on the wooden floor right behind her. Rowan paused before the front door, hand on the doorknob, and looked down at her hound again with a smirk. "Do try to attract as little attention as possible this time, hmm? I don't want to hear about another close call with the Pet Catcher."
Shadow gave an affirmative yip and bolted out as soon as the door opened wide enough. Rowan lingered in the doorway, watching her beloved wolfish dog take off down the cobblestone street into the night. She envied how her own dog could roam freely, unconcerned by the rune ward painted on the lawn, but for her it was an invisible fence, reminding her of her limitations. Morgan, her nightmare horse, snorted and trotted up the steps of the porch; the fiery mane and tail threw off enough embers for Rowan to flinch a little.
"Alright, alright, I'm going back inside," she relented to the miniature horse. "No need to be pushy." Rowan took one last look at the moon, a celestial body she rarely saw these days without the distortion of a fogged window, before closing the door with a sigh.
Emmaline was in the basement, probably tucked into bed by now. Henry, the twin ice snakes, and Zeus had also settled down for the night. This is where life got boring for her; staring at the ceiling and feigning sleep wasn't always enjoyable. Her best option to pass the time was probably to pick up that book she had been reading before she'd longed to contact Kane.
Rowan wandered into her lounge room and stopped short, frowning at the two patches of darkness on her sofa, one at either end. One of the patches uncurled and stretched, revealing a feline shape. It meowed softly upon spotting Rowan before getting comfortable once more and dozing off, purring. Rowan brushed her bangs back and settled in her armchair, warily eyeing the pair. She wasn't entirely sure where the two black cats had come from, and she had briefly forgotten that they were here. Initially she had blamed Emmaline for smuggling them in, but the younger necromancer had sworn up and down that she hadn't done so; Rowan wasn't convinced because she felt a twinge of fear again from the girl. The current –accepted for now- theory was that they had followed Shadow home after one of his nightly adventures.
Cracking open the book, Rowan glanced over at the purring cats contemplatively. She hadn't had a cat since she was a little girl, but she'd always been fond of them. She shrugged to herself, finalizing the decision of an unvoiced debate.
"Eh sure, why not," she muttered to herself, or the cats; she wasn't sure which. "I've got a weird menagerie as it is, what's two more?"
It was a weird menagerie, and grew weirder by the day now that Emmaline was here. Over the past week Rowan had done her best to at least startle the girl; a ghost in the shower, changing the shower water color to a sickly shade of green midstream, creating the illusion of sinister glowing eyes in the cabinet when she opened the door, bumps and thumps at random times. Emmaline had taken every single one in stride, either wholly unaffected, or in the case of the eyes in the cabinet that she tried to befriend and feed, being completely the opposite of normal in her behavior. Rowan's personal favorite was a moaning ghost fading in and out of existence in Emmaline's bed. Much to her chagrin she found out the next day that Emmaline had just put on an extra sweater and slept inside the ghost.
Emmaline also seemed indifferent to the chilling temperature of the house; so indifferent that it began to worry Rowan enough to inquire on the fourth day. Emmaline's response had been a shrug and an utterance about pyromancy and not really noticing the cold. So Rowan started testing that with thaumaturgy as well, occasionally throwing a blast of freezing air at Emmaline when she wasn't looking, or dropping the whole room a degree or two intentionally. Again, Emmaline remained indifferent.
After a couple hours of trying to read, and being unable to really focus on what she was reading, Rowan gave up. She was just too restless and too focused on her former… current… too focused on missing Kane, whatever he was to her right now. She tucked her bookmark back into the pages and tossed the book onto the closest stand, wincing slightly at the sharp echo it created. Only the two black cats seemed disturbed, however, but Rowan decided to play it safe and gingerly, gracefully moved through the house.
Her catlike tread carried her speedily upstairs and into her room. Hesitating, hand on door, she decided to close it and lock it. It was dicey business locking a door these days; if the house decided to uphold her wishes to be undisturbed and Emmaline needed to get to her, well… that could get messy. But for what Rowan had in mind, she really wanted privacy and doubted anything would go wrong. Why would the Grim Reaper react to a little pleasure? To ensure her privacy Rowan also cast a cloaking enchantment on the room. In combat they were useful for concealing wards and charms, but their secondary property of concealing the sound of the casting also made them useful for stealth and privacy outside of combat.
Rowan shucked off her clothes and sprawled out on her bed. Her hands weren't like Kane's - hers were soft and delicate, not sturdy and calloused like his – but they would do in a pinch. She had to imagine the velvet of his tongue, the weight of him pressing into her. Fortunately, with a memory as good as hers it wasn't hard to imagine. She cried out as she climaxed, back burning as it arched towards the ceiling, and her eyes were prickling beneath her eyelids. When she opened them she found her room filled with a bright light. Rowan sat up, still dazed from ecstasy, and glanced across her bedroom at her floor-length mirror.
Emmaline's amulet was glowing like a Celestian Star Chalice, almost blinding her as it reflected off the mirror. In a few seconds Rowan's eyes adjusted to the new illumination and began to observe her reflection.
Beneath Rowan's shaggy bangs, her eyes were a glimmering green, looking like a cross between hellfire and the reflective glint of a predator. Shadows flickered over her, trying to coalesce around her but repeatedly being beaten back by that bright white glow around her neck. She flexed her still burning back, grimacing at the sharp pains the motion brought forth. She reached a hand behind her to feel between her shoulder blades; she could just make out the ripples of feathers embossed on her skin, pulling the flesh taut and near its tearing point. She shuddered and withdrew her hand, closing her eyes to focus inwardly on collecting herself and reasserting her mental barriers.
As she came down from her high, the glow of the amulet and the prickling in her eyes faded. The shadows withdrew, sloughing off of her to merge with the growing shadows of the room that –though mundane- converged menacingly towards Rowan. She lifted her left hand, rotating one opalescent-shimmering finger and telekinetically activating the switch on her oil lamp ensconced near her bedroom door. The room became swiftly bathed in the comforting light of the gentle flame, forcing back the shadows once again. Rowan grabbed a small rod off her bedside table and moved to the lamp with a candle, using the oil dipped rod to transfer the flame. She then went about her room, lighting the candles on less modernized sconces while flexing her back at intervals. She noticed the pain was receding, but the whole ordeal left her feeling disgusted. Her skin crawled at the memory of those feathers straining to emerge. Rowan gagged at the thought and decided she needed a warm bath to reset herself. She lit the candelabra stationed beside an alcove in her bedroom, casting further light into her private bathing area.
Rowan didn't really need to bathe regularly; being undead meant she was resistant to a wide variety of temperature changes and therefore never sweat, and secreted minimal amounts of skin oils throughout a day. But she still enjoyed a good, warm soak, and she needed that relaxing submergence since her previous stress relieving activity had brought on new stress of its own.
Rowan ran her fingers over her back after she stepped into her bath. She couldn't feel the feathers anymore, which was something of a relief. That had been the closest she'd been to becoming the Angel of Death since wearing the amulet. Rowan ducked her head underwater and took comfort in the warmth that embraced her, surfacing with a sigh. She leaned back, resting her head against the high edge of her bath, and gazed at the ceiling with eyes that no longer glowed.
In hindsight, maybe it had been stupid to lock the door and cast the cloaking enchantment. If the Angel had broken lose, Emmaline wouldn't have had any way to get to Rowan and subdue him before something happened. Or the Angel would be ready for her when she finally got the door opened. Or… I dunno, the Angel destroyed the amulet, Rowan morbidly considered. Rowan dragged her hands over her face and slapped the surface of her bathwater, scattering bubbles over the edge in her frustration.
"You, Rowan Skulldreamer, are an idiot," she told herself. "Could've gotten Emmaline killed. And for what? An oxytocin high that frankly could've been better." Rowan admonished herself by palming an orb of bubbles and thrusting them in her face. "If you'd just broken up with Talon like a normal girl, instead of being all sneaky, maybe this wouldn't have happened! Maybe your whatever-he-is wouldn't be Raven-knows-where and you could have spent the night with him instead. But nooooooo! You had to be a massive idiot and do everything wrong!" Rowan double-fist slammed the water this time, sending bubbles and water well over her head and spilling onto the tile below.
She sank into the bath, sulking in the water at eye level, and sullenly glared when a black rubber duck erratically bobbed into her temple. The ducky was one of the few things from her childhood that she was particularly fond of; it always made her smile to see the little duck perched on the side of her tub. Right now it was an irritating reminder of a simpler life and an unpleasantly insistent assailant upon her temple. She turned to it and pushed it away from below with one finger, eyes observing its unsteady dance across the still disturbed sea of bubbles.
The rosy light of dawn was peeking through the curtains by the time Rowan was toweling herself off, glimmering as the ice crystals that coated the surface caught the light. Her extremities were decidedly pruned and she actually looked aged when she looked in the mirror. But like any physiological changes to her being, it would only last a few hours at most. She decided on a white buttoned blouse and maroon pants, to add a little color. She forced herself to remember to fasten the top buttons and pull the amulet out from beneath the blouse. Usually she'd leave the buttons undone, showing her lascivious cleavage in all its glory, but that would risk the amulet falling underneath the shirt, concealing any soft glows that would signify the Grim Reaper's efforts to arise. Even the softest of glows could be a valuable data point in analyzing her condition, so it had to remain constantly visible.
Smoothing her tucked shirt, Rowan nodded at her reflection with the first sense of satisfaction she'd had all night; she looked good, she felt good, and neither this Grim Reaper nor her complicated relationship with Kane was changing that today. Today, she was going to startle Emmaline for sure.
"Good morning, Rowan," Emmaline greeted her roommate like a songbird greeted the sunrise, moving with fluid grace through the kitchen. She'd discovered sliding on the lightly frosted floors in her socks around three days ago and had slid around at every opportunity since. She began at the cupboards, withdrawing a box of cereal and a bowl. She was pouring her cereal when she heard Rowan's reply.
"Yep, another glorious morning," Rowan mused aloud, nursing her mug of steaming tea with a sly smile. It became a ritual for the two reluctant roommates over the course of their first week; Emma would eat her breakfast while Rowan drank tea, mostly because Rowan enjoyed the taste and it was another opportunity to mess with the adolescent. "Makes me sick," she commented dryly into the drink, drawing a brief sideways glance of baby blue eyes. Emmaline snickered softly to herself.
"Of course it does," she whispered with a small smile. She was growing used to Rowan's dark humor through their brief interactions. She finished preparing her breakfast and had just picked it up when Rowan spoke up again.
"Learned something interesting last night though," the older necromancer purred, trying to build suspense.
"Really?" Emmaline raised her eyebrows curiously.
"Yep." Rowan's grin was small and sinister. "Orgasms bring out the Angel."
Emmaline stopped short, small mouth agape and eyes wide. Rowan uncrossed and spread her legs, knowing her lower half could be seen under the table from this distance. Emmaline's bowl slipped out of her hands; it clattered to the floor with an echo rivaling a shield falling in a mausoleum, skittering along the floorboards and dispersing her cornflakes and milk in a wide swath. Thankfully it was metal –technically being Zeus' food bowl- and did not break.
Emmaline's eyes locked on Rowan and trembled with discomfort. Color came rushing to those porcelain cheeks a second later, and it took a few more seconds for Emmaline to end the stare, look at the floor with closed eyes, and hug herself tightly in that oversized wool sweater of hers. In Emmaline's mind she fought off the images of a nude Rowan enjoying herself, but they were quickly replaced with images of herself in Rowan's place. Emmaline grimaced; it was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part. One more thing I can't enjoy because of what I am, Emmaline reminded herself, imagining a raging inferno burning the images in her mind to ash. How unfair it is that I can't, but even an undead woman can. She inhaled deeply as the images burned away, then turned to look at Rowan again.
Nope; still seeing her nude. Emmaline turned away again, cheeks moving ever closer to a strawberry hue as her mind roiled with the same lewd imagery. She chose to look at the mess she had created instead of Rowan.
"Sorry about the mess," She muttered softly.
"Don't worry about it, Emma, that's what I have pets for," Rowan replied, snapping her fingers. Shadow came running into the kitchen, having returned home a few hours prior, and those twin black cats followed. The three eagerly set aside any disgust with one another to lap at cold milk and munch on soggy cornflakes. Emmaline watched the animals work with a weak smile. Behind her, Henry was already atop the counter, reaching up for the cereal box and preparing another serving of breakfast.
"Thank you, Henry," Emmaline's soft gratitude delighted the rat, as did the light scratch behind his right ear he received when he handed over the bowl. Rowan watched everything with a malevolent grin and a glint in her eyes; she'd finally cracked Emmaline's unwavering façade. It figures it took a lewd topic to do it, Rowan snickered to herself, should have thought of that sooner. She decided to get as much fun as she could out of this one moment; the turmoil of emotions coming off the girl was delicious for the necromancer.
"Soooo… want to hear the details?" Rowan inquired, folding her hands on the table. "Who knows what valuable data there might be within every second!"
"I…umm…" Emmaline nipped at her lower lip, glanced briefly at Rowan, and then swiftly turned her eyes towards her feet, watching each step as she walked to the table. No eye contact was made as she sat down. When she released her lip from her teeth there were faint red marks and Rowan smelled blood. "I don't think that is necessary," she continued, but removed a pen and notepad from her sweater pocket. She had decided to keep one on her at all times to jot down relevant observations regarding the Grim Reaper's jailbreaks. Rowan once again sensed that anxiety she had come to identify as social in nature, but this time also picked up a depressed resentment towards her. Rowan decided to press on that button.
"Let me guess, Marleybonian upbringing?" Rowan began the interrogation in earnest, catching Emmaline off guard. Her pen hovered over the pad contemplatively. She nodded. "Bet they told you it would be bad for your health, ruin your eyesight, make you undesirable to men, or some such nonsense. Marleybonians can be surprisingly censorial and strict about the pleasures of the flesh. Girl to girl, let me give you a little crucial knowledge," Rowan leaned closer to Emmaline, who flinched backwards, "they have no idea what they are talking about."
Maybe in regards to you, Emmaline seared within her mind, but didn't have the gumption to voice the sentiment. She instead looked away from her ward. But for me, it is you who have no idea what you speak of. Not that you care to know, anyways. Emmaline imagined that inferno once again, a practiced technique for dispelling the erotic dreams that plagued her since puberty. She inhaled deeply, and then turned back to the notepad before her. Time to change the subject.
"I think it very strange," Emmaline's voice was cold and focused as she began to jot down thoughts, "that an emotion such as physical pleasure would incite the Grim Reaper. So far you've reported only emotions involved in death and grieving bringing him forth. Is this the first time a 'happy' emotion incited a reaction? Why would such a pyromantic emotion as lust incite a reaction at all?" She did not look up at Rowan, so missed the stunned expression on her face.
Not only did Rowan not expect Emmaline to so quickly recover from her moment of vulnerability, she did not expect Emmaline to ask such an intelligent question so quickly. Most kids her age would still be stumbling awkwardly, giggling or blushing. Emmaline had her moment, collected herself, and then started asking questions Rowan should have asked hours ago. She had been so caught up in her newest chance at unnerving Emmaline that she'd never stopped to think about how odd the whole event was.
"I… I don't know," Rowan answered, concern replacing her malevolent grin as a hand reached thoughtfully for her chin. "Hmmm… some people do derive pleasure from death," Rowan thought aloud, "and this Grim Reaper certainly feels like the type."
"But people like that are exceptions, usually sadists or psychopaths," Emmaline replied, pen dancing along the pad. "And our magic-"
"Doesn't manipulate positive emotions like pleasure," Rowan interrupted her, holding a hand out at the younger Necromancer to stop her. "Yes, I know. Now hush, I need to think and you're bothering the process."
"Excuse me-" Emmaline was shushed loudly as Rowan's open palm changed to a single silencing finger. But Rowan admitted to herself that Emmaline was onto something; this was the first time a positive emotion elicited a response. So why now? Why erotic emotion? This was the first time I partook since the Incident, but I've also been happy, loving, and caring at times, and those times never brought forth the Angel. Rowan's eyes widened and she sat straighter. Unless the emotion wasn't the trigger at all. What if the emotion has never been the trigger? What if my thoughts have been the trigger all along? Rowan's emerald eyes snapped towards Emmaline, honed in on the notepad, and her hands shot forward to snatch it away. Emmaline's reflexes were considerably slower and she was startled by the sudden confiscation of her work.
"Hey!"
Rowan ignored the girl, grabbing a pen that was beside her –formerly resting on the Marleybonian Times, folded to the crossword puzzle from two days prior- and began to furiously scribble. Listing off every subject she could recall thinking of at the times the Grim Reaper had asserted himself, she began to compare those subjects to her incident last night. There were no real correlations, except there had been more than one incident where negative emotions regarding Kane had appeared to arouse her transformation to the Angel of Death. Rowan mulled on this further. She had both positive and negative emotions regarding Kane Darksword, but this was the first instance of positive emotions towards Kane having an effect. All prior times were decidedly sullen.
Our battle, though, Rowan remembered, and focused on that memory. She recalled an unusual, new sensation from the Grim Reaper when he was about to kill Kane; an excitement that had been absent when the Grim Reaper had taken the lives of the two pirate Dogs. It had made her wonder then if Kane was somehow important to the Grim Reaper. If Kane was a specific, special target for the Grim Reaper, it makes sense that thoughts of Kane would elicit a response. Rowan paused her notes to grasp her amulet and lift it up to inspect it. The onyx inset had a luster in the candle light, but did not luminesce. Why are you not acting now, as I think of him? Is it because there is no emotion? You didn't react when I was longing for him hours before. Of course then, I still had my mental barriers actively holding you back…
"Rowan, what are you thinking?"
"Remember I said that I wondered if the Grim Reaper had a specific target, but wasn't sure?" Rowan glanced at Emmaline and she nodded. "Well, Emma, you're a genius, because thanks to you I've finally figured it out." Emmaline titled her head to the right and smiled slightly at the rare compliment from Rowan. "Your insightful thinking about emotions led me to compare instead my thoughts at the time of every transformation."
"So it's not based on emotions, but on thoughts?"
"It's rude to interrupt me when I'm lecturing," Rowan scolded her, wagging a finger. Emmaline still kept that smile, but returned to her cornflakes quietly. "This examination led me to conclude that my thoughts have no effect on how powerfully the Grim Reaper exerts himself." At this announcement, Emmaline regarded Rowan quizzically. Where did her genius come in? "But a subject of my thoughts is very relevant to the Reaper, and he gets very excited –if not empowered- by this subject. So excited that, when I climaxed and for the briefest of moments lost focus on my mental barriers, he was poised to move from my subconscious to my consciousness and try to overtake me." Emmaline's eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed as Rowan looked away from the girl, flipped to a new page in the notepad, scrawled a message, and ripped it from the book.
"The person you were longing for last night," Emmaline murmured.
"Is the target of the Grim Reaper," concluded Rowan, waving the paper and whistling for Zeus. The little black dragon glided into the room, red wings slowing him enough to allow a delicate landing on the table. "Zeus, I need you to deliver this letter to Miguel Spellblade. It is urgent, so best to do it now during morning tea time." Zeus trilled and clutched the letter in his front claws, nodding towards the window to the front porch. Rowan waved a shimmering hand and the window opened, closing again when the messenger had flown through.
"Wouldn't it be faster to use a speech sphere spell?" Emmaline asked, still looking at the window.
"Miguel does not like speech spheres, so has wards against them," Rowan explained to the girl. "He finds them intrusive, conspicuous, and inhuman. He prefers personal or written correspondence." Rowan shrugged. Speech sphere spells were handy, and Rowan personally loved using them to communicate with her sisters after dinner when they would all be home. But she could understand why a Marleybonian-raised wizard might be unsettled by floating spheres arriving without warning to send you a message with the disembodied voice of your friends. At least a telephone gave you a warning. "Plus, you need to have a rough knowledge of where the target of the message is to cast it, and his job could have him covertly located pretty much anywhere at any time. Working for the Queen may grant you office space, but that doesn't mean you'll always use it." Emmaline gave an affirming hum and nod.
"Guess I should go to the enchanter's and get another necklace made," she stated aloud, thumbing her own simple adornment.
"Oh, no need," Rowan assured her, shaking her head, "I'm not informing Miguel so he can give the man protection, Emma, just telling him he doesn't have to worry for the rest of the family."
"So you aren't worried about your lover's life?" Emma looked stunned at Rowan's complete calm concerning this subject. That stunned look grew to horror when Rowan stood up from her chair and shamelessly undid her pants and dropped them to the floor. Emmaline quickly turned away, screaming at Rowan. "What the hell Rowan?!" Once again the images in her mind re-surged, and the poor girl fought hard to incinerate them in that cleansing mental fire.
"Oh Tree Bark and Raven Feathers, it's just bare legs Emma. I've still got underwear on," Rowan snapped, though was smirking. "I had to remove them so you could really understand why I do not fear for his life. You won't believe this if I just tell you, I'm sure of it."
"I'm not looking at you in your knickers, Rowan!" Emmaline shouted back, keeping her eyes shut even though she was looking away.
"Fine, I'm blocking all but my leg with my pants, now let me show you why he needs no protection." Rowan lifted her left foot onto her chair, and held her pants like a curtain, showcasing a toned thigh that was marred by a sickly greened gash along its circumference, the severed skin held together by thin leather strips. Emmaline slowly turned, one hand shielding her eyes, until she saw the wound.
"Oh wow," she was clearly awestruck, but what Rowan most noted was that she didn't flinch, wince, or even show some form of empathetic sympathy for her grievous wound. Instead, Emmaline reached out and touched the laceration, her finger parting the flesh and entering Rowan's thigh until it hit newly rejoined muscle and stopped. Rowan blinked, not hurt by the intrusion but caught off guard by both the action and the strange new sensation.
"Do you mind?!" Rowan roared indignantly and smacked her hand away. Emmaline retracted it without flinching.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Emmaline looked away from Rowan and examined her finger; she was intrigued as she watched some of Rowan's ectoplasm evaporate into the netherworld from the tip of her finger. "You don't have blood, you have ectoplasm."
"Yeah, I'm undead, that is kinda what makes up all undead beings." Rowan snapped and rolled her eyes. "Two weeks ago, the last time I escaped this mansion and killed two people as the Angel of Death, I also fought him and attempted to kill him. He retaliated by cutting off this leg with a Life-imbued sword. I know he survived our fight despite taking two deep wounds because no one in the Spirit Realm has seen him yet. I checked. I was the Angel of Death when he did this to me."
"Damn…" Emmaline whistled, "guess he doesn't need much protection. You were right though, that has to be seen to believe it." Emmaline tilted her head to examine the leg from a different angle. "You said he severed it."
"Being undead means I heal faster and better than mortals. Any damage to my body will repair if given time. My bone has healed, and most of the muscle has, but a few layers and skin still remain separated."
"Did it hurt?"
"Uh… yeah," Rowan replied with a quizzical glance at the girl. She was starting to get a little uncomfortable with the way Emmaline was analyzing her thigh. It was like she was committing the wounded leg to memory, trying to imagine how it must have felt. Rowan decided show-and-tell was over and hastily redressed.
"Do all undead feel pain?"
"Those who have flesh, and presumably a nervous system in some state of decay, most likely do," Rowan replied, noting the girl's eyes looked spacey as she listened to Rowan. "Skeletal and ethereal undead most likely don't feel physical pain, but spiritual pain when their forms are harmed. But even though I feel pain, I know it is not as severe as a mortal."
"Interesting…"
The rest of the day following that morning did not get any less weird or uncomfortable for Rowan; a fact that irritated her since today was supposed to be about making Emmaline uncomfortable. And yet, for some reason she could not understand, the events of this morning had been an invitation for Emmaline to voice her thoughts more frequently. Apparently one conversation with the girl about masturbation and amputation was all it took to make her believe that intrusive personal inquiries were now acceptable.
"Does your leg still hurt?"
"Can you reattach your own head?"
"Do all undead feel physical pleasure as well as pain?"
"What about paper cuts? Or burns?"
"Do you get headaches?"
"Can you feel the temperature, even if it doesn't make you uncomfortable?"
"Do you have to cut your hair, or clip your fingernails?"
All day, at random times, Emmaline would field these questions Rowan's way, often interrupting reading, or a puzzle, or a mediation session. But there was one question, while they were reading together in the library -Rowan at her oak desk, and Emmaline on the couch in front of a slowly dying fire, unaffected by the watchful stares of Professor Dworgyn and Malistaire above the mantle- that really got under Rowan's skin.
"Do you ever feel guilty?"
Rowan stopped reading and slowly lowered the book, glaring at the back of Emmaline's head. Yet again, an interruption.
"Clarify." Her voice was deep and harsh, daring Emmaline to continue. Rowan could feel both a rising anxiety and a deep, dark guilt emanating from the student. It made her eyes glint with predatory interest.
"For what your unique condition has meant for your family. The challenges that being you must have brought for your mother, and your sisters. Everything they have been through, that –if you were normal- they never would have dealt with," Emmaline elaborated solemnly, her voice heavy with a sadness that was uncharacteristic of her, but also reduced the bite of her insulting interrogation slightly. "Does it ever make you feel guilty? Can an undead being feel guilty?"
Rowan seethed with silent anger behind her desk, her amulet glowing as that rage gave fuel for death magic she desired strongly to use but was desperately keeping at bay. The nerve of this child, this impotent wannabe wizard, to suggest that Rowan was nothing more than a burden to her family, was infuriating. For her to insinuate that Rowan should possibly consider feeling guilty for something she had no control over –for being herself, with all the pros, cons, and in-betweens that came with it- was beyond disrespectful.
"I understand if you don't want to tell me," Emmaline spoke again, "because it is very personal. But I would like to know, someday. For… personal reasons."
Rowan wanted desperately to make Emmaline as uncomfortable as she felt in this moment, and purposefully dropped the room several degrees.
"Someday is not today," Rowan replied softly. Emmaline mumbled an acknowledgement, and then fell silent. Rowan's displeasure continued to manifest as a drop in temperature within the room, ice crystals starting to crawl along surfaces away from her. She knew at some point Emmaline would get too cold to stand it any longer. Then she'd leave Rowan alone for the rest of the night, smug in her satisfaction at making Emmaline join her in misery.
The temperature continued to drop for twenty minutes before Rowan began to wonder just how good Emmaline was at pyromancy. Could she really feel comfortable in so cold a room? Rowan got her answer when she saw the back of Emmaline's head tilt forward slowly before increasing in speed and disappearing altogether, followed by a deep, wooden thud. Rowan sprang up immediately; years of training resulted in a habitual response to what she already knew must have happened.
She hastened to the front of the couch, kneeling down to Emmaline's prone form sprawled on her side. Her eyes were open but glassy, seeming to stare beyond Rowan, and she gave Rowan no response when she was spoken to or when Rowan touched her forehead. She feels cold! Rowan knew that her own body ran at least 6°C below that of humans, so if Emmaline felt cold to her, she must be well below that temperature.
"I… I…"
"Emma, keep trying to talk to me," Rowan instructed her, gently getting her arms under the girl. Any sudden moves at this level of hypothermia could stop Emmaline's heart altogether, so she had to be careful. But she also had to move her; thanks to her stupid antics, the room was so cold now that slowly raising the ambient temperature back to normal would achieve nothing. "I can't heal you, so I have to get you someplace a lot warmer."
"Wh… why?" Emmaline asked the question at a whisper, her eyelids heavy and difficult to keep open. She was limp in Rowan's arms, the undead woman's supernatural strength allowing her to lift Emmaline easily.
"Because I can't cast Life magic without injuring myself, and my only healing spell that works on other people that I can cast is necromantic, so your damn amulet won't let me," Rowan explained. "Now keep those eyes open. Don't fall asleep on me." Rowan moved out of the room, kicking the door open in the process. "HENRY! GET ME EVERY THICK CLOTH IN THIS HOUSE; TOWEL, BEDSHEET, BLANKET, OR EVEN RUGS! MEET ME IN THE BASEMENT ASAP!" Her voice echoed like a banshee's wail throughout the house, which disturbed the building and made it shake. Rowan growled at the peak of a shuddering staircase. "QUIT THAT RIGHT NOW OR I WILL TURN YOU TO RUBBLE!"
The house complied, having never been threatened by Rowan before, allowing Rowan to swiftly but smoothly descend and then move down a side hall to the back gallery, where the door to her basement resided. Rowan kicked down that door as well, descended that staircase with equal smoothness and care before arriving in her basement. Briefly Rowan acknowledged there was new décor and the room had been cleaned, but it was forgotten in her automatic quest for warmth. She instead turned her attention to a large steel furnace that towered over her and dominated one wall of the room. The large cylindrical structure sported three grates at its front -two small ones above and one large one below- that gave the impression of a face. The two top grates were bent into sharp triangles, and the lower grate looked like a scowl.
"Yeah, I know you don't like me, but I need you to crank up the heat in here," instructed Rowan, lowering herself and her patient/victim to the floor a few feet from the furnace, "and fast. She's hypothermic and will die if we don't warm her." At the mention of Emmaline's condition, the possessed furnace's 'eyes' bent into half-ovals with an awful screech of wrenched metal before returning to their previous shape. A moment later the furnace belched out gouts of flames as its already burning fire increased in size. A few minutes later Henry arrived with all three of the blankets Rowan owned, and several towels. Rowan proceeded to wrap Emmaline up in them.
Once fully swaddled, Rowan rested Emmaline across her lap and cradled the girl, looking her over and feeling her forehead to check her temperature. Even though Rowan ran colder than mortals, the process of extracting energy from the Ether was producing more heat in her body than Emmaline, so for now she could help warm the girl.
By now, Emmaline had fallen unconscious despite Rowan's attempts to keep her awake, so Rowan's only option was to wait and hope she got her temperature up. Rowan took this time to inspect her basement, which had formerly been her potions room. Emmaline had managed in the last week to remove most of the dirt from the floor, revealing grey and musty cobblestone tiles, and had bleached the dark grey brick walls to remove any mold and mildew that had grown on them. The shelf on the wall to her left suspended by chains and formerly holding her ingredients, now held various pictures and several vases with bright pink carnations bursting out of them. Rowan could not make out the pictures very well, but she could tell that some of the figures photographed were Polar Bears. From the walls bright pastel pink banners hung down like wallpaper, and on the wall to her right an equally pink and purple oval carpet was laid out beneath a twin size bed dressed in salmon pink sheets. The only thing not pink was a trunk beside the bed, which was crimson. Atop the trunk sat a white stuffed bear the size of a large man, with a red heart on its chest. Rowan cringed at the distasteful décor, but endured for the half-hour of silence until Emmaline came to again.
"Uh… ugh… h-hi…" she stammered quietly, clearly still too cold to manage smooth speech. Her eyes were still slightly glassy. "Am… I… dead?"
"Still alive, Emma," Rowan assured her, "no thanks to me of course…" Rowan grimaced. "I'm sorry, Emma. I just wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never meant to kill you." Emmaline smiled softly at this, then said something that brought Rowan little comfort, though Emmaline likely meant for it to comfort her.
"It'd be… 'kay… if I… died…" the young girl reassured her, voice shaking even though she wasn't shivering at all. "A'ways… wonnered… how it'd…. feel."
"You're still young, Emma," Rowan responded solemnly, "and have years of life to experience before you move on to the next stage of being. Don't rush it." I'm considered morbid by most people, but this girl is apparently way more dark, Rowan contemplated, a little bit disturbed by how pleasantly this girl was handling nearly dying, even for a necromancer. "Besides, killing my students would ruin my career," she jeered, chuckling softly. Emmaline returned the chuckle. "Now that you are awake let's get you drinking," Rowan instructed, turning to shout over her shoulder. "Henry, get Zeus to warm up a stein of Emma's milk!"
After twenty more minutes of slowly drinking warm milk while bundled up, Emmaline was feeling warm to Rowan's touch, so the girls had stopped snuggling to instead sit beside each other, with Emmaline propped against her relocated school trunk. Though she had regained some motor function, she still needed Rowan to help her drink the warm milk.
"Wanna hear ah sea-crit?" Her speech had improved, moving from staggered to slurring. Rowan glanced at her, though Emmaline wasn't really looking at Rowan at all so wouldn't notice Rowan's disinterested glance. Instead she carried on, reaching shakily for her now untied hair, which fell straight down to the small of her back and cascaded over her shoulders to hide in the depths of her blankets. "I'not plat'num blon'da. Peepal jus' don' 'lieve a lil' girl cood 'ave wit 'air, so I tell 'em it plat'num blon'da. But it is wit."
"Ooookayyy…" Rowan sighed, "that's not much of a secret but whatever. It's a lovely color regardless."
"Tank ya…" Emmaline smiled lazily, "it maches ma daddy's 'air. Daddy's ah Poler Bear."
Rowan perked up at this, taking renewed interest in the girl. As Rowan decoded the slurred words her eyes widened, and she immediately rose and moved to examine those photographs she noticed earlier. There were indeed Polar Bears in the photos, and one particular male was repeated in three of the photos, each of which also had Emmaline present in various stages of age.
"You're a Hybrid…"
"Uh-huh," Emmaline nodded slowly. "Momma met daddy en Polaris, they fell en love an' 'ad me in sea-crit. But… I prone ta hippotermia, so I 'ad ta leaf Polaris an' moove ta Marlabone. Wet-her warmer here." Emmaline lost her smile and her hair fell in front of her face. "Daddy couldin fallow, 'cause it too wurm fer Poler Bears." Rowan could feel a tidal wave of sadness wash over the girl, and could sympathize with her, since she was also separated from her father. This also explained at least some of the strange things about Emmaline, especially the social anxieties.
Hybrids were a rare occurrence in the Spiral, but were also an inevitable result of having so many sentient species living together. It was guaranteed that at some point two separate species would want to take their relationship to the next level. She had researched the phenomenon years ago when she had taken… interest… in a Wolf from Grizzleheim, wanting to know how common such romances were. Most recorded Hybrids were of two mammalian species; non-mammalian species had significantly less biological compatibility with each other and even less with mammals, while most mammalians were at least somewhat compatible. Every recorded case predominately inherited the mother's species, with a few trace characteristics of the father. But even still, all Hybrids that were known and recorded had significant medical problems that made their lives difficult.
What she found was scant records and research though; no two cross-pairs ever seemed to result in similar medical conditions, but then the medical research also had a very small population size for analysis. The number of Hybrids was suspected by scholars to be larger than recorded but, due to discrimination socially and politically, those Hybrids that survived to adulthood most likely chose to remain hidden. In fact, the vast majority of medical records were of children, and nearly half died in late adolescence. Their small numbers and isolation meant there was little the medical community could do to help them.
And that discrimination was widespread, in every world and their governments, so it was no wonder Emmaline had such social fears. Politically no one was certain who a Hybrid swore allegiance to, so they were immediately detained –if known- and questioned when war broke out. Socially they were never trusted, often considered poor-mannered due to their 'other half' and likewise legally not allowed to marry if identified, so as to keep their 'damaged blood' from continuing to the next generation. Rowan suddenly felt both honored, and bothered, that Emmaline had shared such a heavy secret with her.
She was bothered because she'd nearly made Emmaline one of those fifty percent. Rowan moved back to the girl and knelt beside her. She gave the girl a sad smile before pulling her into a hug. "I'm so sorry. For everything."
"How moch longer 'til I wurm?" Emmaline asked into Rowan's shoulder. Rowan backed away for a moment and frowned.
"I don't have a thermometer so I don't know what your temperature is now," Rowan explained. "But you are showing signs of improvement, so I'd give it maybe an hour or so." Emmaline began rummaging in her blankets, then grumbled and threw them open awkwardly.
"Lift pucket," she mumbled. Rowan nodded and reached into the pocket of Emmaline's pants, pulling out a small mercury thermometer like the ones used by Marleybonian physicians. She didn't need further instruction, placing it in Emmaline's waiting mouth. After a few minutes she looked at the reading.
"30 degrees Celsius," declared the necromancer, sighing afterward. "Still life threatening hypothermia, but improving. Let's put you to bed and let you get some rest. Now that you are in a warm room you shouldn't be in danger." She picked up Emmaline, who began protesting in mumbles. "Emma, I've been well trained in treating hypothermia. You'll be fine."
"I dun wanna, I dun wanna!"
Rowan knew this was just confusion, and the paradoxical aggression that came with it, but she was not about to be deterred from keeping her student alive. She was surprised by how hard Emmaline managed to hit her when she flailed, but it was nothing Rowan couldn't handle. She definitely hit stronger than a normal girl of such small stature though. I bet her paternal bear qualities include stronger muscles. She still managed to place the girl in her bed, and tucked her in sturdily enough to make escape difficult.
Once Emmaline was in bed, Rowan dragged the school trunk back to sit on it beside her bed; she was going to make sure that girl slept and stayed warm. Just as she sat down, a large black scarab with a deep violet carapace crawled out from under Emmaline's bed, and snuggled itself beside the girl.
"Hi, Scout," whispered Emmaline, lulled into sleep by the warmth and her fatigue. Rowan raised one brow and smirked. So she did sneak in a pet.