Finn Fancy Necromancy

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Authors: Randy Henderson
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preferred to think it was real, that his spirit had been able to breach the wall between Realms thanks to some spiritual aftereffect of all my Talker training with him and the resonance that had built between us.
    Pete sipped loudly at his cider. “Did you remember the time we climbed up on that billboard with Dawn and ate a whole box of Ding Dongs?”
    I smiled. “Yeah, I remembered that.”
    â€œAnd the time I dumped Walter Ryan in the trash bin because he called Dawn the N word?”
    â€œYes, Petey. I—”
    â€œAnd the time Grandfather told Mort to do your chores all summer, and Mort made me do them instead, and Grandfather gave him a pimple potion the first day of school as punishment?”
    â€œPete, I remembered everything.”
    â€œAnd the time I got stuck crawling through the attic and we found Mother’s journal hidden up there?”
    I sat up, cider sloshing hot onto my hand. “The time we did what?”
    â€œWe found Mother’s journal in the attic and you had to pull me out, and I got splinters on my belly?”
    I cleaned my hand, and frowned. “No. I don’t remember that. Are you sure I was there?”
    â€œYeah. Remember, Mother had drawn Kimba? Do you remember Dawn’s dog? Mother was all worried because Kimba was a Doberman pinscher, and they were supposed to be mean, but Kimba was really nice.”
    â€œYes, I remember Kimba.” But not the journal, or Pete getting stuck in the attic. “Where’s the journal now?”
    â€œI think Grandfather burned it after Mother died, ’cause it was private.”
    I thought the Fey had summoned every last memory of mine, repeatedly, but I didn’t remember anything about Mother’s journal.
    Had something gone wrong during the transfer, even more wrong than just not getting the changeling’s memories? Had I lost some of my own memories somehow? Memory was a very tricky thing, especially when you had two beings using the same brain.
    But wouldn’t I remember remembering it in the Other Realm, even if I didn’t remember it actually happening, or … something? So did that mean the memory was somehow blocked or destroyed before my exile?
    The only memories that should have been officially blocked were related to my necromancy training and use—the ARC didn’t want the Fey to learn any more about our magic than could be helped. But those blocks had all dissolved naturally once my spirit reentered my body. I knew, because I could remember every boring necromancy lecture from Grandfather.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Petey said. “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about Mother, or Grandfather. I know you were their favorite, you all being Talkers and everything.”
    â€œFavorite?” I heard Mort’s influence there. “Petey, Mother loved us all the same. And Grandfather—I’m not sure he even liked me some days.” Grandfather gave me more attention and focus than Mort, Pete, or Sammy, it was true, and I loved him. But Grandfather’s brand of favoritism had been less a prize and more like catching the Eye of Sauron at times. I’d tried everything to earn his respect, and still wasn’t sure I ever did. “Enough about me, it’s your turn. How have you been? What have you been up to while I was away?”
    Petey shrugged. “Nothing special or anything. Well, I did go to Waerfolk Anonymous for a while.”
    â€œReally?” It made me uneasy thinking of Pete being around so many feybloods. It would be just like them to infect him with their waer curse for real, and claim it was an accident.
    â€œYeah, but the leader, he said I graduated and shouldn’t come to their meetings anymore, because it made the others feel bad, not being as good at controlling their animal spirit as me.”
    â€œOf course he did. Well … congratulations.” I took a sip of cider, and let the steam and smell of cinnamon

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