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He was a Schrödinger’s Necromancer. A Schrödinger’s lich. And a lich was apparently a really fancy form of a zombie. She snickered. Schrödinger’s cat was totally a zombie.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing, sorry. Long story.”
“Hm.” He smiled. A comfortable silence fell over them for a few minutes until he broke it once more. “This is nice.”
“What is?”
“Sitting here in the shade, in the grass, drinking coffee. Chatting with a friend.”
“You’re my psychiatrist.”
“Technically, you were late to your appointment, so we’re off the clock. That makes this less of a professional conversation.”
“Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re my shrink.” Which is also why the fact that I’ve inserted your handsome ass into my hallucinations is super awkward. She sipped her iced coffee. He wasn’t wrong, though. This was rather nice. He was easy to talk to—probably a requirement of the profession—and it was lovely out. Even if she did wish the traffic would go away.
“I suppose.”
They fell into comfortable silence again. She fought the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. She bet it would feel nice. It would also get her into a great deal of trouble. Luckily, fate spared her the awkwardness as his phone rang.
Fishing it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen and sighed heavily. “Damn. I am being summoned, I fear.”
“I should go home and clean my hovel, anyway. Your home visit is tomorrow, and I can’t have you finding all the dead hookers and blow.” She pushed to her feet and offered him a hand. He eyed her, bemused, and with a shake of his head, put his hand in hers and let her help him up. He was twice her size—not hard to do when she was so small—but she was surprised at how heavy he was. He must be more muscular than he looked under the fancy clothes.
Damn.
“How chivalrous.” He smirked down at her. He had a lopsided, playful expression that came over him easily. It hinted that there might be another version of Gideon that she didn’t get to see as his patient. A smarmier one. She was kind of disappointed she hadn’t had the chance to meet that version. Yet.
No, no “yet.” There is no “yet.” He’s your damn doctor, for fuck’s sake.
“And yes,” he interrupted her thoughts. “It’s probably best to dispose of the corpses and hide the drug paraphernalia. You may leave out anything pornographic, however. I should catalog your personal tastes. You know.” He tugged on the bottom of his suitcoat, straightening it. “For science.”
She laughed hard at that. Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she smiled up at him. “Thanks for cheering me up, Doc.”
“Gideon, please.” He smiled back. His silver eyes were glinting with something akin to affection. But he seemed to tamp it back down as soon as it had come as he reached down to the ground and scooped up his cane and his coffee. “And you are very welcome. I will see you tomorrow, princess. Ta.”
“Bye.”
She watched him stroll away, heading out of the graveyard and back toward his office across the street. Was he just flirting with me? No. Wasn’t possible. He was her doctor. He’d know better than that. He was just playing along with her off-color sense of humor.
Picking up her sketchbook, she headed home.
But she did head home with a smile on her face for once.
He might be eccentric. He might possibly be, but was definitely not, a necromancer. But either way, he was pretty damn good at cheering her up.
