#tysm anon!! though idk how much of the necromancers voice ive got in this one lmao its a lot of description

[kirnet]

For the micro story prompts: 12. candles 🕯 or 49. nightfall 🌃 with the necromancer☠️??? I love the voice you write for them!!!

1.5k words about the necromancer and henry bc they intrigue me

Los Angeles may be the City of Angels, but its summers were hotter than hell.

The heat was oppressive, burning the air and turning it stale even as the sun settled low near the horizon line. Everybody across the county, maybe even the whole lower part of the state, reacted the same way. Windows were pushed open as far as they could go in a desperate attempt to funnel any slightly cooler air through security bars and cut up bug screens. Shirts and pants were shed in favor of underwear and blankets were discarded on the floor as people settled into bed. If the nighttime air wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t, then AC units were pushed to their breaking point, with every device across every home and apartment building straining to keep up with the heat.

You were in a no different position. Nightfall brought little relief, but you dutifully opened every window and stripped to your undergarments as you tried to ignore the stench of sweat that had adhered itself to your skin. Running your head under the tiny kitchen sink of your studio apartment helped somewhat, leaving rivulets of water running down your back as readied yourself for bed. Your upstairs neighbors, most likely their young kids, were shaking the ceiling, rattling your collection of knickknacks as you pulled back the covers and reached for your deskside lamp.

You didn’t need to. The light flickered off before you could turn the knob.

A cacophony of sighs and obscenities permeated through your thin walls as every air conditioner in the complex switched off, the weight of their collective strain finally catching up to them. The darkness was no matter, however, you were going to bed anyways. You blinked your eyes closed and turned to get comfortable, doing your best to block out the screaming kid a few feet directly above your face. 

You should have remembered that you were you. After a few moments of strained silence, you sat up and pulled yourself out of bed. Blackouts like this happened often enough that you kept a few lighters and candles on hand. You brought a candle out of your stash, a small gardenia-scented one that you had snatched from your brief stint as a Bath & Body Works cashier. It did the job well enough, and a tiny amount of warm light illuminated your corner of the room.

Shit. You rubbed your neck, grimacing at the sticky residue it left on your hands. Insomnia was a curse, but insomnia without electricity to power your television or provide lighting for your increasingly growing pile of failed hobbies was a fresh hell. Maybe you could light a few more candles and pretend that you were some Regency-era romantic protagonist who had to read by candlelight for historical accuracy. The noise around your apartment didn’t lend well to that fantasy, however.

You picked up the candle and stumbled towards the kitchen. If you were lucky, the power would come on soon and the only headache would be resetting the time on your microwave. If it went on for too long, though, it would burn through everything perishable you had in your fridge. Better to get a head start on that coffee-flavored ice cream before it could meet that tragic fate.

A noise near your door stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t like the steady complaining or fumbling you heard around you as everyone tried to find their collection of candles and flashlights. No, it was a scraping sound, one right at your door. One that you were familiar with.

You set the candle down on your small dining table and dropped into a crouch, inching towards the door with your hands balled into fists. Your pocket knife was somewhere else in the room, probably lost in your discarded jeans pockets, but you wouldn’t need it if you were quick.

The door creaked open, and the intruder entered, submerged in shadow as they stepped into the threshold of your home. You waited a few moments for them to close the door silently behind them before you lept out from your dark corner. You threw yourself straight into their torso, knocking them to the floor with a loud grunt. Within moments your arm was around their warm throat. 

You tried to squeeze, but a burst of electricity trailed from the base of your spine to your limbs, paralyzing you before you could move. The intruder pulled your arm off of them and let you drop to the floor. Pain shot up your shoulder as you hit the ground, but the muscles in charge of your mouth didn’t allow you to make a sound.

“Seriously, kid?” Henry pulled himself to his feet and straightened his jacket, because apparently demons weren’t affected by the heat like normal folk. You could only loosely trail your eyes after him as he strutted around your apartment. “Do we need to brush up on your self-defense skills?”

After a few moments of you not answering, Henry must have remembered that you were still in the room. He snapped, and the paralysis that held you fell away, causing you to flop against the floor as you tried to regain your fine motor skills. “You picked my lock?” you managed to shout after a few labored breaths.

“If I knocked on the door, would you have answered?” You ignored Henry’s outstretched hand and pulled yourself to your feet, the residual effects of his technique causing your muscles to twitch. Henry shrugged beelined to your kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

“Please, make yourself at home,” you scoffed as you stumbled to the table. Henry grabbed a cup from your cabinet and opened the freezer. He paused as he extracted the ice tray. “Why do you have a Ziploc bag of frozen mice in your freezer?”

“For reasons. Why do you care?” He should know to expect your necromantic eccentricities after all of these years. You plopped down on one of your mismatched dining chairs, arms crossed as you watched him struggle to pop an ice cube from the tray. “Whatever you want from me, the answer is no.”

Finally victorious against the ice cube, Henry filled the cup up with tap water. He let it fill for a few moments, watching the uninterrupted darkness outside. “There’s a job,” he eventually murmured. “I’ve been hired to steal a body from the police precinct. Pay’s good, if you’re behind on rent.”

“I just said I’m not interested.” The gall of this asshole. Apparently listening to your previous sarcastic statement, Henry pulled the chair opposite from you out and sat down, his legs spread fall apart. “Henry, I have a job now, ok? I’m going legit, and I’m not blindly walking into whatever deathtraps you’ve managed to get yourself hired for.” Not deathtraps for you, but for whoever had the misfortune of being Henry’s foe. He had taken advantage of your childhood naivety and eagerness for any familial relationship for far too long. If he wanted a lackey to clean up his messes, then he’d need to find somebody else. “Now, can you get the fuck out of my apartment?”

“Freezer looked pretty empty,” he said instead, dark eyes glimmering in the candlelight. “So what’s the job, huh? Or have you lost it already? Be honest with yourself, you can’t hold onto any job that doesn’t have you in combat or life-or-death situations.”

“I don’t know. Retail is basically combat.” You couldn’t meet his glowing eyes. Of course he had found his way right to the truth. Money was tight ever since you had put your foot down during your last blood-soaked mission and cut ties with him for the umpteenth time. Henry, as awful and neglectful as he was, never allowed you to starve, and no job had ever held your attention like exorcism and theft. A drop of sweat rolled down your temple to your cheek.

Henry leaned forward, causing the table to creak under his weight. “Job’ll be a hell of a lot more complicated if I do it alone. Your involvement would avoid any bloodshed, since you’re apparently so squeamish about that now.” The ice cubes jostled in the cup as he brought it to his lips. “Easiest route is to have that corpse walk itself right out of the door.”

You could ask him the details of who hired him and why, and hell, he might even tell you. Maybe it was some powerful sorcerer with skin chock-full of cursed energy, or maybe it was a John Doe who somebody wanted to keep unidentified. It could even be a case of organ harvesting. The more you thought about it, the less you wanted to do it, but the thought of replacing all of the groceries in your melted fridge was even more unappealing.

You reached across the table and snatched the cup from his hands before bringing it to your lips and taking a long drink. Henry’s face split into a wide grin, his coffee-stained teeth afire under the candlelight. “So,” you finally said after you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, “what’s the pay?”