The Mage and the Bear Ch. 04

4

Swan Point Cemetery was at the north end of Blackstone Boulevard, a very ritzy section of Providence. H.P. Lovecraft is buried in a smaller cemetery just a little further to the north, a stone's throw over the wall in Swan Point.

Nettie brought us toward the family plot but had to stop a couple of small paths away. I could see the crane that was normally used to lift the cover of the vault over a large section of the plots. A group of three angels stood guard over the section that the crane was overseeing.

Maintenance men -- known in another age as grave-diggers -- were standing around. Nettie parked the car and got out of it. At first I told her not to bother, but I glanced back at Roger. He only shrugged and got out. I was the last one.

Roger and I walked a little bit behind Nettie. I pulled out what looked like a small stick, about three to four inches long. It was the length of my palm, and I tucked my right index finger on top of it. The index finger is a finger of power, which is why it's used for pointing. It's assumed that if you point, your power would expend from that finger. That was very true.

I tucked my middle finger under the stick and rested my ring finger on top of it. The ring finger is that of Apollo, and would give added power to the index finger. With that, and the measure of my palm, I could sense disturbances at a distance easily.

We got to where one of the maintenance trucks was parked and I jerked to a stop. Nettie kept right on going. She was yelling at them. Roger stopped with me. "What is it?"

What is it? It was a slight disturbance of darkness that felt like colder air. I put my hand into it, and it was like putting my hand into a tub of cool water, that got colder the more I put my hand into it. If the limit of that darkness was here, about maybe twenty feet from the graves, then I could imagine what a chilling feeling it would be for a normal person. Even for mundanes, it would be a sense of "I don't want to stay here."

I walked the perimeter, trying to sense the extent. It bled out toward the north wall, to the other cemetery. Roger stayed close to me, and would put a hand on me to reassure me. Nettie came running over. "Did you find anything, Tam?"

I waved my free hand at her. "Shh." I walked into that cold stream of darkness.

Roger was right behind me. "Something's wrong here," he said.

"I know," I said, and followed the stream toward the wall. As I did, I looked down. There were indentations in the ground. They looked like a ball and four bars above it. I turned on Nettie. "How long were they dead?"

"Ten, fifteen years?"

I looked at the prints. "These are a skeleton's foot print."

She gasped and stepped back. I moved my hand around, trying to find if there were more footprints. I saw boot tracks, sunk deep into the mud, along with the skeleton. Then I walked sideways, trying to keep those two in sight, before I finally saw the skeleton disappear and just the boots. Before us was a thick layer of thorn bushes, used to discourage wall-jumpers. Papers, Styrofoam, and other urban trash had also been caught in the thorns, as well as clothing.

I used my left hand and grabbed at a piece of yellowish clothing. I unhooked it gingerly from the thorns, and then took in its scent.

Definitely from the grave. I looked around for the boots, but didn't see them anywhere, except just before the thorns.

Roger watched me, curious. I started thinking out loud, like I did normally when I was alone. It was like a prayer. Sometimes something answered.

"Our necromancer couldn't have jumped over these thorns and the wall, not without help. There's no magic but dark magic, and it's very, very recent, like within the past three days."

"I TOLD you they dug up my grand—"

I held up the yellowed fabric. "Do you remember if she was wearing white when she was buried? And second, she couldn't have decomposed into a skeleton that quickly." I pocketed the material. "I know Hef, his people make damn sure you look all nice and pretty come Judgment Day."

She said nothing.

"What would your family have? An heirloom. Or one of their members is a witch?"

Nettie looked around. "Not in my immediate family."

Roger asked, "Who else is buried at that grave site?"

"Four generations are buried there. My grandmother was the last one in that plot."

"Then it might not be your grandmother they're after." I held up the fabric. "I'll find out, but if I do, then that necromancer's going to know I'm finding out. If that necromancer's holding that person's soul—"

Nettie asked, "Necromancer?"

"Raiser of dead. Would you rather I refer to dead people in your family walking the earth as zombies and him as a zombie master?"

She bit her lip. "I guess not."

Roger suddenly put his arms around me, wrapping me in a strong embrace. He sighed for a moment. I could smell him, earthy, like the ground before me. I could smell the sea wafting from the east, as Swan Point was just on the banks of the Blackstone River. He seemed to encompass all those smells, and I felt him press his hardness into my back. I was surprised, though I tried not to register it.

As soon as he hugged me, though, I became almost overcome with lust. I wanted him right then and there, even if Nettie was watching me. Roger leaned into me, "I need to get out of here," he whispered huskily.

Nettie glanced at the two of us, then glanced just a little further down the road. She looked at us again and grinned. "You guys got it so fuckin' bad," she said. "I'll meet you on the other side of the wall."

She wasn't even out of line of sight when Roger turned me around in his arms and kissed me hard. "All these smells," he said, and started leading me off the beaten path and deeper into the woods. "I used to sneak away back home and jerk off in the woods." Our eyes scanned the ground for a relatively flat and hidden piece of land, someplace we could stretch out.

He finally found it and stopped, kissing me and thrusting his tongue into my mouth, searching, exploring. God, he was such a good kisser. The world fell away, and only his scent of earthiness and raw, musky sex filled my world. He somehow got our pants off, and was lowering me to the ground. He'd already started getting thicker hair.

"Since you've seen me," he said, "we can do it this way." He knelt at me for a moment, bending down and then taking my cock in his mouth. I groaned, my head lolling back. I looked down at him and saw that he was stroking himself even while he sucked me. God, I wanted to suck him right now.

"Roger," I moaned. "Let me suck you."

He moved his body around without letting go of my cock with his mouth, positioning his hairy body over me. He dripped pre-cum, and I licked that off of him. He growled, not moaned, and sucked me hard. I grabbed him by his ass and pulled him closer, my nose in his hairy balls. He smelled so good, and he kept on sucking me. I was losing myself in him feeling him suck me like a pro, and my mouth was around his cock, but not doing much more than sucking and moaning.

I heard a thump above me, something flat hitting Roger's back.

My eyes snapped open. I heard a low, angry growl from Roger that made his body vibrate. I felt him get up from me. I watched as he moved slowly. He wasn't a full bear, and he wasn't totally hairy like he had been last night. He was just a little thicker than he was normally. He had his back to me, and beyond him was a man with a shovel.

I scrambled up, my pants to my knees and I tried to pull them up. Roger had no pants on, and his shirt was stretched to the breaking point across his back. The man with the shovel held it crossways. "Get back!"

Roger roared and went after the man. I reached over and tried to grab him, but he was way too big, and way too heavy. He grabbed the man's shovel, snapped it in half in front of him, and got in his face, letting out a huge roar. I was relieved to see the man run for his life, not bleeding or suddenly lying there with his throat torn out.

Roger swung his bulk to face me. He was still hard, amazingly enough, and his face looked more like someone hadn't shaven -- everywhere. His blue eyes were dancing with lightning.

He stalked over to me. I will admit, I was scared at first, but he reached down and grabbed me by the shoulders, yanking me to my feet. My pants fell -- trust me, I had nothing to show now -- and then he kissed me. It was sort of like kissing fur, but his kiss wasn't of dominance or anger. It was long, slow, and passionate. I put my arms around him and returned the kiss, and felt his mass deplete, his broad shoulders not be so wide, so hard. When he finally pulled away, he was mostly Roger.

I took a deep breath, my hand trailing down his shirt, no longer stretched to the limit. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I should ask that about you. I'm sorry I did that."

"We really should talk more, about when exactly you change."

He smiled. "Later, babe."

"Yeah." I pulled up my pants and said, "Right now, we have zombies to catch."