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Jericho Blade held the map up again, squinting his eyes as he leaned forward, trying to follow the thin red line.
"A left up here..." He murmured, but he didn't sound convinced. Skulduggery tilted his head.
"Are you quite sure? You don't sound very sure." Skulduggery said in return, slowing the Bentley down slightly in case his partner changed his mind. Jericho tutted.
"A left." He snapped. Skulduggery sped up, turning left, secretly hoping that Jericho was wrong just so he could be smug. He wasn't wrong. Skulduggery took in the surroundings, not knowing what to say. He thinks he likes Jericho. After all, Skulduggery reflected, he was in peak physical condition. He was charming, charismatic, clever. The problem was, he was cold. And it wasn't just necromancer magic. Jericho was icy in every sense of the word. But perhaps Skulduggery just hadn't warmed up to him yet. This was their first mission together, after being thrust together under the Sanctuary's command. It was an important case, a group of rogue necromancers were experimenting and it wasn't ending well. However, they needed a necromancer to get onto the grounds because it's sacred, or something of that matter. The Grand Mage had emailed him, of all things, saying there wasn't enough time for a proper debriefing. Hence, Jericho Blade. He kept his magic in a small, pitch black dagger that he wore in a black, leather thigh holster. He was always mindlessly rubbing the hilt of the blade. They drove in an awkward, uncomfortable silence the rest of the way, long stretches of road with no options but straight meant no need for directions, so no need for speaking. The flat fields started to gradually swerve up into rollings hills, and it wasn't very difficult to find the necromancer's position, as the grass around it had been drained of life and color.
"Not very... hidden." Skulduggery observed as he drove onto the dead grass. Jericho shrugged.
"It took us hours to find here, I doubt mortals will just happen upon it." He said, uninterested.
I don't think I like him. The small thought appeared in the back of his mind, and he brushed it away. Now wasn't the time. Skulduggery stopped the Bentley and checked his gun for bullets, then his pockets for extras. He adjusted his hat and looked over at his partner.
"Ready?" He asked. Jericho shrugged. The two men got out of the car, the familiar locking beep sounding out. They both crept round the small, stout building. It was bare, just cement with one door and two small, rather pathetic excuses for windows. Skulduggery went left of the door, and so did Jericho. If Skulduggery could, he would have frowned. He begrudgingly moved to the right of the door, and held up three fingers. Jericho nodded. Skulduggery lowered one finger, then a second, then the third. Then he blasted the door open. He had his pistol in one hand, a flame in the other. He took a step in, then another. Then the floor lit up and he screamed, falling to his knees, the flame going out, the pistol clattering to the ground. Jericho quietly shut the door behind them. Six robed figures stepped out into the light, passing a black robe to Jericho who silently put it on. Skulduggery clutched his chest. It felt like he was being ripped bone from bone.
"I don't- understand!" He gasped.
"This is all for you, Mr Pleasant. It's alarmingly easy to fake an email. Technology, huh? What can you do?" Jericho said, smiling an unsettling smile. Skulduggery lurched forward, writhing, gasping. He was in an odd in-between state of living and dying, alive and dead. Flesh was flickering on him, his past self. Pale skin and blue eyes and brown hair, but with it came all of his wounds, and the pain of them. Then he was a skeleton again, then flesh again. Flickering like a candle.
"What- are- you- doing- to- me?" He choked out.
"Draining you of what is rightfully ours. A necromancer surly must have given you this. You were dead. We are alive. We will be immortal, Mr Pleasant." Jericho said. He clasped hands with the six figures, forming a circle around Skulduggery. He couldn't speak, he could barely think. He screamed, his back arching. He was becoming fully alive again, staying that way for a lot longer than skeleton. He gritted his teeth, he had to focus, he could feel himself getting weaker by the second. He reached his hand out, with great difficulty, and slowly reached for his gun. They necromancers had closed their eyes and were chanting, their voices rising steadily. Skulduggery clutched his gun, still screaming, and fired a shot at one of them. The woman's eyes opened as the bullet hit her between the eyes and she lurched back. Skulduggery didn't have time to ponder as he unloaded another two bullets, hitting his mark each time.
"No!" Jericho screeched, lurching forward. He crashed into Skulduggery, his dagger in hand. Skulduggery felt his strength flood back to him, and he took full advantage of it, summoning a fire ball and pressing it to Jericho's shoulder. He shrieked again, then rolled off of him. Skulduggery stood, ready to face the other two, but they had left. He breathed heavy, picking his hat up and fixing it before putting it back on. Jericho was on the ground, whimpering, clutching his injured arm.
"What I don't understand," Skulduggery said, taking his phone out and sending a text for a clean up team, "Is you said immortal. Why would a group of necromancers want to live forever? I thought the whole point was to die?" Skulduggery said lowly.
"We could make an army of immortals." Jericho hissed. Skulduggery tilted his head.
"I don't think I understand. Either you didn't do your research, or I didn't."
"We don't want to die-"
" 'We' as in you and your group of extremists or 'we' as in necromancers as a whole?" Skulduggery asked.
"My group and I don't want to die. If we became immortal we could destroy the earth, feed off of that death, that coldness. Do you know how strong we would be?" Jericho asked, a slight whine in his voice. Skulduggery shrugged.
"I always thought when you pick a path of magic, you were at least supposed to have vague idea of what it's all about. I guess I was wrong." Skulduggery pondered, more to himself then Jericho, and Jericho decided now was a great time to lunge. It wasn't. Jericho had the dagger in his hand and screeched as he ran at Skulduggery. Skulduggery grabbed Jericho's wrist and bent it, forcing the dagger back, into Jericho's forehead. The necromancer's eyes went wide, then he collapsed. Shadows swished and swirled around the dagger, evaporating into nothing, until the dagger was just a plain silver blade with a faded handle.