Thirty years ago, in 9:22 Dragon…

“Well? You tore me away from an experiment for this, Volkarin.” The shorter necromancer caught a hissing monster of bone and dried gristle in a skein of light. A twist of her hand, and it was ripped apart. “What does the wretched thing want?”

Emmrich Volkarin adjusted his collar pin. “Just a moment, Johanna.”

“Fine.” Johanna Hezenkoss scowled at the skull cradled in Emmrich’s hand. “Anything to stop that howling.”

The skull had started screaming, ceaselessly screaming, inside its niche in the Cobalt Ossuary of the Grand Necropolis. An attendant had noted it, informed the Mourn Watch, and a pair of necromancers had been dispatched.

They came to a junction. Emmrich placed the shrilling skull on a plinth. “What insights on the dead it could—”

“You already told me about your paper.”

“Come now!” Emmrich turned. “What sort of passion drives one spirit above the rest? What tangle of thoughts and heart returned this soul?”

“Mawkish drivel.”

“You must admit it’s an interesting variation on possession!”

The skull’s shrieks bounced through the corridor.

“It’s only some petty spirit too weak to become a demon.” Johanna ducked under a collapsed lintel. Statues of corpses lined the passage. A flick of her hand, and a green bolt of light smashed into a lanky shape lurking at the end. The demon twisted up, wreathed in smoke, as another volley hit. It gnashed its teeth and collapsed into itself.

“There. It should be safe for your corpse whispering.”

Emmrich closed his eyes. Whispers came, and when he spoke, the air vibrated. “By breath and shadow. By endless night. Tell us what haunts you.”

The skull’s sockets flared green. “Divided. Cold. Two graves where there should be one!”

“Twaddle.”

“Johanna!” Emmrich cleared his throat and turned back to the skull. “Tell me: what will grant you rest?”

“Take this one… to sunken black walls… by silver flames…” The skull’s glow flickered, faded. It resumed its earsplitting shrieks.

“You possess a grand talent, Volkarin.” Johanna gave the smallest inclination of her head. “And you’ve honed your command of sub-astral manifestation.”

Emmrich beamed. “Why thank you.”

“But what does this wailing nuisance want down in the Crescent Fane?”

***

Emmrich leaned over a coffin ringed by bowls of silver fire. He placed the skull next to the body of an old woman, humbly dressed but crowned with white roses. The screaming stopped.

“Mathilde…”

“Your wife left gently, in her sleep, last midnight.” Emmrich smiled. “The records confirm she also wished to be interred together. You’ll not be parted again.”

There was a sigh. Did the old woman’s mouth quirk, or was that the dancing flames?

Johanna snorted. “All that fury, ending in another grave.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Emmrich ran a hand along the coffin’s snowy marble. “It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection. Besides, you did see this through.”

“Someone had to ensure you weren’t beheaded while chattering with the dead.”

“I am grateful for enduring friendships, as well.”

“Bah!”

They made their way back up the Grand Necropolis in companionable silence.

(Illustrated by Albert Urmanov)