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The necromancer sat up, his frown deepening. “I can’t imagine a single necromancer doing this. I’m powerful and I was exhausted after waking up one graveyard. What kind of beast level would this necromancer have to be, in order to raise twenty or thirty throughout the city? If this was a necromancer, it would have to be an entire group of them.”
“You mean a scourge,” Nolan chimed in.
“A what?”
“A scourge.” He stopped and rubbed his chin. “Or maybe a graveyard. A graveyard of necromancers. Or a plague?” He grinned at Sky, who was staring at him as though he’d lost his mind. “I looked it up the other night and discovered that necromancers don’t have a collective noun. You know, like a coven of witches and a basement of vampires. There’s also a gossip of mermaids and a devilry of gremlins. My favorite is a cackle of mad scientists. But there’s nothing for necromancers. I’m trying to come up with something good for your kind.”
The big anime eyes were back as Sky gazed at him. “I love you,” he whimpered. “If you get any more perfect, any freaking sweeter, I’m going to move in with you. There’s no way you’ll ever be able to get rid of me. Even if you try to kick me out, I’ll sleep on your porch.”
Nolan’s heart skipped so hard he could feel it in his throat. He tried to remind himself that Sky was exhausted and not thinking clearly, but they were still the best three words in all the world. Just ahead of “I brought cake” and “I made coffee.”
He folded Sky up in a tight hug, mostly to give him a moment to rein in his tongue that wanted to whisper the same three words in return. It was way too early for that, but the feeling was flourishing in his chest.
“I’ll help you figure out what’s going on with the graveyards,” Nolan promised. He wasn’t sure how he was going to help, though. “But I don’t think it’s only the dead. Your roses out front seem restless. When I walked up, they were rustling and twitching in their beds. I don’t remember them doing that during the day.”
Sky made a noise against Nolan’s chest and lifted his head. “That is weird. They’re never active during the day. I—”
A man’s panicked scream followed by cursing cut off what Sky was about to say. It sounded like it was outside the front door.
They stared at each other for a second; then Sky’s eyes opened so wide they nearly fell from his skull.
“The mailman!”
Sky was on his feet in a flash, dropping his phone and running to the front door. At a guess, the mailman was having trouble with the restless roses. Nolan ran for the fridge and located the special pickle jar Sky had used to placate the roses the night Christoph had come for him. It was a guess that this would help now. At the very least, they’d be prepared.
Picking the jar up from an empty but spotless refrigerator, he held it with both hands as far in front of him as he could manage. He speed-walked to the front door Sky had left standing wide open.
He squinted and blinked against the bright sunlight as he stepped out onto the porch. Thankfully, his eyes adjusted to take in the scene of an older, gray-haired man in a blue letter-carrier’s uniform covered in light scratches. He was using a folded magazine to fend off thorny vines lunging at him. Sky stood next to him, smacking at the roses with his house slipper.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! You never go after the mailman!” Sky shouted at his roses. “What has gotten into you today?” His hair was a golden halo around his head, shining in the morning sun.
“Sky! The pickles!” Nolan called out, hesitating on the stairs. He was using both hands to hold the jar. If he descended to the yard, he’d have no way to protect himself.
It didn’t matter. The roses either smelled the pickles or recognized the word. They stopped attacking the mailman and turned their pink-blossomed heads to Nolan. Yeah, that wasn’t creepy at all.
“Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver,” Sky groaned.
Nolan couldn’t celebrate that minor victory. The rose vines were now creeping toward him from almost all sides. “What do I do? They’re watching me.”
Sky bent over, trying to catch his breath, and waved one hand at him. “Pitch a few into the bushes. They’ll settle down. Try not to spill the brine on you.”
He removed the lid and placed it on the porch. Sticking two fingers into the icy brine, he winced when he squished a pulpy, almost fleshy-feeling pickle. Not wanting to think too much about it, he pulled it out and tossed it into the nearest bush. He repeated the process until all the vines had retreated to the bushes. The sounds of crunching and happy growls filled the early-morning air.
The mailman swore at both of them and ran the second the vines left him. At Sky’s feet were a scattering of bills, junk mail, and pink rose petals. Sky muttered to himself as he squatted and gathered up the mail.
“Ugh. Most of this isn’t even mine,” he complained as he ascended the stairs. “I’ll have to go door to door, giving my neighbors their junk mail. Won’t that be fun?”
Nolan replaced the lid on the jar and frowned at his neighbor. “Sky, the roses? What happened? Are they supposed to be fed regularly?”
Sky sighed and glanced at the pink rosebushes. Now that he’d fed them, they were still, appearing to be normal plants once again. The only sign of trouble was the petals and leaves that carpeted the sidewalk and yard as if Sky had gone wild with a hedge trimmer.
“They get their nutrients from the soil like all plants. The pickles are a bonus. The reason they’re ‘alive’ like this,” Sky stressed, even making the air quotes with a couple of fingers he pried loose from the mail, “is from my brand of magic leaking into the soil. It means that whatever woke up the graveyards must have also agitated my roses.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but is there anything in your backyard that’s in danger of running wild?”
Sky shook his head. “I’ve got some shade plants that benefit from my magic, but they aren’t aggressive like this. The roses are a security measure. However, I need to go to at least one or two of the graveyards that woke up. Find out what’s causing this and make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
“Okay. Let me get my wallet and keys. You get dressed. I’ll drive.”
