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I glanced at Eli, who had placed my weapons on a cloth on the floor beside the window.
“Do you have oil I could use? An old rag?”
“Anold rag? For your sword?” Eli looked scandalized when he lifted his gaze from his book and motioned to the bottom shelf of a massive case. “There is a box in the bottom shelf for you. It is labeled.”
“A box . . . for me?”
This time Eli didn’t look at me. His eyes were fixed on the page as he said, “Weapon care supplies. Bone setting implements. Sooner or later, I knew you would be here.”
He had left an opening to talk about so many things, and again, I was not going to take it. Silently, I walked over to the bookcase in question, and there was a wooden crate with a hinge. On the outside, in ornate script letters, were the words “Decadent Golden Cream Delight. Unwrap carefully.”
I looked over at him, and he offered the sort of smile that said he was aware of my response even as I said nothing at all. I wished fervently just then that I disliked him. Hate fucks or casual fucks with him sounded better by the month. Sadly, he wasn’t offering me those. Everything I would enjoy in a man was composed before me, but I had a lifelong “no relationships” policy. Casual sex was lovely. I had only two rules: no dead things and no serious relationships.
Cleaning my sword would take far less time than I’d like, especially since Eli had a well-stocked kit. All I truly needed was to wipe it down, and re-sharpen it. The box on Eli’s shelf held oil, cleaning rags, cotton swabs for the grooves of the inlay, as well as a new whetstone. No unnecessary liquids or fluff that was sold to the unknowing fool. Aside from a spell sachet, the kit he’d prepared was exactly what I would have assembled.
Eli was damn good at the details.
Blood, especiallydraugrblood and flesh, would corrode the blade. Liquids weren’t great for steel either, though. Even with effort and care, my sword would only last a year or so before replacement. Less if not for magic.So, I went through quite a few swords before I started infusing them with various magic.
I considered my weapons as I removed a bit of rotted flesh that had started to dry. I liked to use a two-hander, a single-hander, and revolver as my default weapons. If folks wouldn’t look at me like I was vaguely terrifying and cross the street to avoid me, I might carry a halberd or even a battle axe, too. It might seem like overkill, but I liked to keep a good distance fromdraugrteeth—and venom.
The venom was what worried me.
Not every bite was one with venom; some were even “dry” bites—no venom injected and no blood taken. There was no way to predict that, however, and I had no idea what venom would do to me. In the living, it could kill. It could also reanimate. Enough bites with venom would turn a person. It was incentive for a lot of people to live behind fences, and it reduced the number of people willing to fightdraugr.
It simply made me extra thorough. I could handle what many could not. I’d never come close to being bitten. If I did, though, I wasn’t sure of the consequences.
Humanity had spent billions on injections, surgeries, pills, and every manner of way to deceive the eye and appear younger. Who knew that an old Icelandic magic was the answer so many people had sought? I didn’t think a decade of ravenous mindlessness was worth extra years in the world, butdraugrforgot much of their first decade or two. That was common knowledge. They were stumbling, mindless eating machines.
By forty years post-death, they were fully articulate. They were monstrosities, and I wanted no part of building a rapport with them, as some politicians and religions suggested.
If anything, they seemed more like reptiles. Cold. Borrowed heat from outside themselves. Hunted well in the dark. The only difference was that reptiles served a purpose in the ecosystem.Draugrwere a blight.
Forty years into the reveal of thedraugr, the laws were still struggling to make sense of what it meant. After a few years, they were sentient, but what was to be done between death and sentient minds? Do we let them rise? Do we have social services for the care of the ravenous? If not, were we saying eternity was only for the wealthy? The Re-Animation Advocates had already managed to ban cremation unless pre-planned, notarized in the year prior to death. This modification was valid for the next century “while the legality of life in the post-living is assessed.” The objective, in theory, was to prohibit family members from undoing choices made by the decedent before passing.
The rest of the laws were in flux. What happened to inheritances when the dead were re-animated? Were prenups violated? Could adraugrown property? What about taxes? Do they owe more because they were still sentient? Or less because they weren’t using the universal healthcare?
I would never find out firsthand. I glanced at Eli, only to find that he was watching me. He was the one I’d ask to kill me if I was envenomated. He could do it. He was strong enough to end my existence if I woke up shambling and trying to bite my friends. I just wasn’t sure when—or how—to ask him to kill me if the time came.
Hey, Eli, could you kill me if I wake a draugr? I have money to pay you.
And now, I had a lot more than I used to with all of my recent clients. This month alone I’d had three wealthy businessmen. I finished cleaning my blade and was pondering the uptick in work when I felt Eli’s gaze on me like a physical thing. He still held his book, but he was obviously not reading.
“Stop staring at me.”
“After a job, you are different. It is an honor to see you so.” He lowered his book, surrendering his pretense of reading. “I find myself wanting to procure antique weapons for your hands.”
“I thought you weren’t going to flirt.”
He stilled. “I amnotflirting, Geneviève. I am remarking that you are a warrior in ways that should be honored.”
My hand curled around my hilt as if expecting the appearance of an enemy I could slay. Fighting made sense. Kill. Protect. It felt natural. I could summon anarmyof walking corpses. Violence was in my nature. That was part of why we could never be together.
I slid to the floor and boxed my cleaning supplies, mynewones that Eli had collected. Whatever he was offering, flattery of my work and useful supplies did more than all of his pastry-based nicknames.
I did not look away from the box’s contents as I said, “I don’t know the rules that will make our friendship work.”
“I would ask that you tell me when you are panicking next time rather than refuse my aid.” His voice took on a raw edge as he added, “I would be . . . not be well if you were injured, especially if it were because you are afraid that I cannot observe your rules. I will not force you to accept my affection. I will not plan to seduce you. You can rely on me.”
