Chapter 12 - Grover Northrop

“His name is Grover Northrop.”

Big Jacky had straightened up and turned toward Darius, but he glared at the corpse in the chair as he spoke.

“At the time we found him, he was going by the name North. He was the man who built and lived in our mansion.”

Northrop lunged to the front of his chair. “Our—our—mansion? You murdered me, then stole my house? And you, law enforcement! You live with this man?”

Jacky said, “I didn’t steal it. I bought it at auction.”

“Oh, I see. It’s a killer housing market—is that it?”

Big Jacky turned back to Darius. “He was a sorcerer, known and wanted by every Torr in the world.”

“Oh?” Northrop said. “Those poor fools in China must have had a devil of a time looking for me.”

“He faked his death and left England. We tracked him to America, but it took the better part of three years to locate where his house was.”

Northrop raised his voice, “I never did anything wrong!”

“Shut up!” Darius snapped. To Jacky, he said, “What was he wanted for?”

“Reanimating the dead.”

Big Jacky and Darius both looked at the corpse.

“All right,” Northrop said, “I did do that. But I maintain that the laws of the Torr are the problem—not my studies. I mean,” he made a face and let out a huff of laughter, “it’s not like I killed anyone!”

Big Jacky was leaning over the table again. There was no one in the room who wasn’t supposed to see Big Jacky move like that, but it bothered Darius all the same.

“Cora Markwardt,” Jacky snarled, inches from Northrop’s face.

Northrop didn’t flinch or back away. His hum turned into words: “No. Sorry. I’m not familiar with that name.”

“She was a promising young witch who’d barely arrived in America. Her mother was Ada Markwardt. Fynn Markwardt was her father. He died on the journey over. She offered to investigate the rumors surrounding Quicholt. She needed the money.”

Northrop shook his index finger in Jacky’s face. It was one of the ones that only had bone at the tip. The tattered flesh still on the finger hung like a stretched sweater. “You must mean the trespasser.”

Big Jacky’s voice grew deeper and louder: “You set up a ward that would kill any magician who crossed it!”

“A man is allowed to protect his property!”

“You were protecting yourself! You knew we would come for you!”

“I thought it was possible. I also thought the Torr would send a whole crew after me—not some sneaky assassin in a suit! I’m still trying to figure out how the hell you managed to get past that ward.”

Big Jacky leaned in further. “I’m not a magician.”

Northrop’s eyes widened.

Darius took a quick step forward, grabbed Jacky’s arm, and pulled him over to the side of the room.

“Mr. Noctis—” he said.

But Jacky was staring over his shoulder at Northrop.

“Jacky. Jacky.”

Big Jacky finally turned his head. Darius’s shoulders relaxed. When he spoke, it was only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

“I understand that there’s a lot of history between you and Mr. Northrop, but I need you to calm down. We have to focus on what’s happening here and now.”

“I am calm,” Jacky grumbled.

“Are you?”

“I’m calm!”

Darius gazed at Big Jacky. The vampire’s mouth was stern, but his eyes were sympathetic.

Big Jacky muttered an apology.

Darius asked, “What are the chances that Northrop’s being here has something to do with the missing mansion?”

“Damn near guaranteed, I would think,” Jacky said, “though, I couldn’t tell you how or why.”

“Do you think he would know?”

Big Jacky glanced toward Northrop. “I think it’s possible. His memories certainly seem to be intact.”

“So he was dead?”

When Big Jacky looked into Darius’s eyes, the vampire had to resist the urge to step back.

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“I killed him myself and stood over his grave as they buried him.”

Darius shifted his gaze from Big Jacky to anywhere else. It happened to land on Northrop. A second later, his hand went to his face, and he rubbed his jaw.

“Buried him,” Darius said. “In the Quicholt cemetery? Here in town?”

“Yes.”

“In 1895?”

“Yes.”

Darius inclined his head, motioning to the un-interred corpse. “That body should be dust.”

“Yet it isn’t. If you’re trying to ask me why, I can’t tell you. We should ask him.” Jacky added in a bitter tone, “It’s a lucky chance we have to speak with an expert. There are few necromancers in this world.”

“Will he be willing to work with us? He doesn’t seem to like you much.”

“I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual.” Jacky crossed his arms and lowered his head to think. “We’ll have to ask him. He may be the only person who can figure out what happened to the mansion, and he will certainly be the fastest source of information.”

“If he’s responsible, he may not be willing to admit it. Especially if—” Darius’s voice cut out. He had to look away and swallow before he could force himself to finish the sentence. “Especially if it involves the death of six people.”

A tense silence settled between them.

“We don’t know that they’re dead,” Jacky said.

“Is it possible?”

“We don’t know they’re dead,” Jacky insisted.

Darius pressed his lips together and nodded. He was often frustrated or dismayed by his inability to relate to Big Jacky’s perspective, but, in this matter, he knew exactly how his friend felt.

“Do you mind if I talk to him first?” Darius asked.

“Be my guest,” Jacky said.

Darius led them back over to the table and sat down in the chair across from Northrop. Big Jacky stood behind Darius.

Before the vampire could say anything, Northrop adjusted himself so he was centered on his chair and motioned to Big Jacky. “Won’t you introduce us, Agent Vasil?”

Darius’s eyes narrowed. He kept them fixed on Northrop, but he tilted his head slightly. “I understood that you two had already met.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Northrop said, “but his grounding in etiquette is also somewhat lacking. He failed to give me his name before he killed me.”

“Why do you want to know his name?”

“Would you prefer if I refered to him as ‘that murderer?’”

Jacky said, “My name is Jack Noctis. People call me Big Jacky.”

Northrop looked away, giving Darius and Jacky an excellent side view of his straight-line smile. A huff of air, something like a laugh, left his nose. “Ah.” He looked back. “It’s you. The rumored fifth. The unknown man in the room. I know who you are.” He pointed at Jacky, then returned his hand to his lap. “You’re death.”

Darius and Jacky stiffened.

“I was killed by death himself.” Northrop took a deep breath that could only be for drama. “That makes me feel important.”

“How do you know who he is?” Darius demanded.

“Oh, let’s see. His surname is the Latin word for night, and he actually adopted the nickname given to death by us.” Northrop peered up at Big Jacky. “You weren’t exactly being subtle about it, were you?”

“That doesn’t explain—”

Big Jacky interrupted: “Darius.” When Darius looked over his shoulder, Jacky said, “There are more important things right now.”

The vampire sat back in his chair and scowled at the table top. No matter how obvious Jacky’s name was, no one should’ve been able to guess his nature. His existence was a secret. Only the torrmen and a handful of people who knew Jacky personally knew about him, and every torrman was under a vow that, if broken, would lock down their magic and split their tongue up the middle. Either someone out there had discovered the information by unknown means, or there was a mute and powerless torrman who needed to be hunted down.

But that torrman could be a hundred years dead. Iset and the others might still be alive.

Darius composed his face and looked up.

“Mr. Northrop,” he said, “the secrecy laws you’re familiar with from your…original lifetime…are not only still in effect, but they’ve become more strict and bureaucratic.”

“Ah,” Northrop drawled, “so that’s how law and order evolves. I should’ve guessed.”

“As you’re aware, your appearance is problematic. If any mundane sees you, they would know instantly that there’s something supernatural about you.”

“Why? Being dead is a supremely natural state.”

From the way the corpse was grinning, Darius understood that Northrop was playing a twerp. It was a role that seemed more natural to him than being dead.

Darius continued, “That means that we can’t let you go.”

Northrop’s smile faded. “I can’t stay here, Agent.”

“Yes. You’ve said that you’re eager to be on your way. Is there any chance that you’ve changed your mind about telling me where you’re so eager to be off to?”

Northrop only stared at him.

“We can make arrangements for you to leave,” Darius said, “but it would have to be in our custody.”

“‘Our custody’ being the Torr?” Northrop said. “You are a member of the Torr, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Well, as polite as you’ve been, I highly doubt that the Torr, or this man,” Northrop jerked his head toward Noctis, “would see fit to help me. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to kill me again.”

“I can’t kill you as I did before,” Big Jacky said.

“How comforting.”

“I would have to destroy your body, piece by piece.”

“You’re a charming man. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Jacky,” Darius said.

Big Jacky crossed his arms and looked away.

Darius said to Northrop, “I can’t make any promises about what will happen in the future, but the Torr is more likely to be positively disposed toward you if you’d be willing to answer a few questions.”

Another putrid grin spread over Northrop’s face. “You need my help, don’t you? Oh! This. This is a delight.” He scooted to the front of his chair and put his hands on the table. “Tell me how the people who hunted me down and murdered me need my help.”

“I’m afraid your position is not as favorable as you might be imagining.”

“Agent Vasil, I’m a half-rotted corpse that can’t be seen in daylight, and I’m in the custody of my killer and the group that gave him permission to kill me. I find it hard to imagine how my position could be worse. Would you rob me of this one spark of joy?”

“The reason we need your help is probably because of something you did.”

“Yes, that does dim the thrill a tad. If the game is to have me help you while you and the Torr find new and exciting ways to punish me, I’m not inclined to play.”

Darius couldn’t allow himself to react, not in front of Northrop, but he felt the disappointment hit his chest like a punch.

That’s what he’d been afraid of. Northrop had no reason to help them and every reason to resent them. The only way he’d be willing to work with them was if they could offer him something he wanted in return.

“Er, Agent Vasil,” Northrop said, interrupting the vampire’s thoughts, “what was I supposed to have done that would cause you to require my help?”

Big Jacky said, “Almost a full square mile of ground and everything on it, including your mansion, is missing.”

A quiet “ah,” escaped Northrop’s lips. He sat there, head lowered, eyes fixed on the place where his hands rested on the table.

“I think, gentlemen,” he said, “that you should take me there. To have a look around.”

“You know what happened.” Big Jacky’s tone made it clear it was an accusation, not a question.

Northrop raised his head. The anomalies in his movement were becoming less pronounced, but there were still traces of them that drew attention to how unnatural he was—not that one could forget it when they were looking at him.

“I have only just returned after a prolonged absence,” Northrop said. “If you want anything at all from me, I need information. Now, do you want my help or not?”