Beside Anders is Eric Dalton, the local sheriff. I’ve been working as his detective since I arrived and living with him for the past eighteen months. When his gaze flicks to the ice cooler, I toss the ball again for Storm and then play a little fetch myself, getting a beer.
As I pass the bottle over Dalton’s shoulder, he catches my wrists and tugs me against his back. I loop my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, which suggests I’ve reached my two-tequila shot limit for the evening. Public displays of affection are not my thing.
“I’m up against a beholder,” Dalton says. “Any advice?”
“Hey!” says Kenny, head of our militia. “No tag-teaming.”
“Eric’s a necromancer, right?” I say. “He can consult with the dead.”
“Shit, I forgot that,” Dalton says. “Fuck, yeah. Casey’s my spirit guide or whatever.”
“His elven ranger love,” I say. “Taken too soon from this world. Stabbed in the back by her own sister.”
“I am not your sister in-game,” April says. “Nor did I kill you. That was the orc you insisted on facing down single-handedly. I simply chose to use my shamanic skills to slay the beast rather than resuscitate you. I acted in service to the greater good. Your death, while tragic, was not undeserved.”
“Harsh,” Kenny murmurs.
My sister is a brilliant neuroscientist. She’s also almost certainly on the autism spectrum, and learning to deal with her undiagnosed condition. Even sharing an evening game with friends is new for April. Back home, she’d have spent the night as she spent the day: working. I know what that’s like, though my relentless drive can be chalked up to a demon of my own summoning.
Dalton pulls me onto his lap, which proves he has also hit his alcohol limit. This is a rare chance for us to relax, hidden from public view behind our chalet.
“We’re in a cavern, right?” Dalton asks. “Lots of loose stones?”
“No, Eric,” Anders says. “You can’t throw rocks at a beholder. Also, being a necromancer, you could barely lift them. Your strength lies in your dominion over the undead.”
“So where the fuck are the undead?”
“Ooh!” I say. “I can be your zombie soldier. Resurrect me.”
“Your corpse is twenty miles away,” Anders says. “Also, it was decapitated by the orc’s ax, which is why Eric couldn’t resurrect you at the scene.”
“Conveniently decapitated,” Dalton mutters. “Fine. Lots of dead things in a cave. I’ll raise a few.”
“There are no animal corpses nearby,” Anders says.
“Dead bodies, then. I’ll summon them, and they’ll crawl from their final resting place—”
“No dead bodies within twenty miles.”
“Huh,” Kenny says. “Must not be near Rockton then.”
Everyone laughs. Everyone except Marissa, who glances at Anders.
“Remind me why I’m a fucking necromancer again?” Dalton says.
“Because April expressed an interest in playing the shaman, and you agreed to switch roles.”
“In other words, I was being nice. Let this be a lesson to me. Nice guys get stuck in a forest, facing a beholder, without a resurrectable corpse in sight.”
Anders sighs. “Fine. I’ll give you a rabbit. A very mangled, very decomposed dead rabbit is now at your command.”
“One killer bunny is all you need,” I say.
Dalton is considering his play when footsteps pound beside the chalet. I jump off Dalton’s lap so fast I nearly end up in the fire. When I see who it is, I expect a sarcastic comment, but Jen doesn’t seem to notice my lap-sitting or my stumble. She’s focused on Dalton.
“There’s a problem,” she says. “We need you in the square.”
Anders rises. “Conduct issues come to me, Jen.”
His correction is gentle. He has endless patience with Jen, as if he’s made it his mission to take the town’s biggest lawbreaker and turn her into proper militia. I expect Jen to snap back, but her gaze shunts his way, and there’s trepidation in it before she returns her attention to Dalton.
“Will should stay here,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of his night off.”
Again, I know how Jen should say this, her voice dripping with sarcasm, as if the three of us—and Kenny—taking a rare night off together is first-order slacking.
“What the hell is going on, Jen?” Dalton says.
Kenny lifts a hand. “Let me handle it. Eric can take over my barbarian.”
“As the dead player, I can duck out easily,” I say.
Dalton and Anders both still hesitate, but Marissa puts a hand on Anders’s leg, murmuring that he doesn’t need to break up every town brawl. My look to Dalton says the same. We’ve had a shitty month. Dealing with the council shutting down Rockton while we tackle a seemingly endless stream of minor crimes. It’s been three days of relative peace, and so I declared us all in need of a break. One evening off, and we couldn’t even get through it without a fresh fire to put out. Hopefully not an actual fire.
* * *
I see the problem as soon as I get into town. Or I think I do. There’s a crowd in the square long after there should be gatherings anywhere. It’s past midnight. Anders had insisted on working until ten, so we’d gotten a late start to our game. This being a weeknight, the Roc shut down about fifteen minutes ago. If there’d been trouble, Isabel would have warned us.
That’s when I spot Isabel herself, marching from the Roc, one end of a ladder in hand. Phil carries the other end. Both their faces are set in grim determination.
“Move away from the pole.” Isabel’s voice rings out. “Anyone who does not get out of my damn way earns a month’s suspension from the Roc.”
Only one resident—a guy named Conrad—dares turn on her. Before Conrad can get a word out, Phil grabs him by the collar. Conrad straightens, but Phil is younger and taller, and Conrad backs away with a few parting grumbles.
Jen, Kenny, and I are still heading toward the square, and no one has spotted us yet. Jen’s in the lead, and Isabel sees her first.
“What the hell is this?” she says, waving at the pole. “Were you just going to leave that up there?”
“I couldn’t reach it,” Jen says.
“Then find someone to help you. This should have been taken down the moment—” Isabel spots me and stops. Her gaze shoots to Kenny, who follows on his crutches. “Is Will still at your place?”
“Yes. What’s up? Did we have another avian accident?”
The pole was erected earlier this month. It looks like a basketball-net backboard. It’s a projection screen for “midnight movies in the square.” My idea. We strictly limit our electricity use here, but the long summer days keep the solar batteries juiced up, and we hold weekly movie nights in the community center. Now that the sun has started dropping before midnight, I thought it’d be fun to show movies outside instead. Kenny rigged up the aerial screen, only to have a gray jay fatally hit it last week.
No one answers my question. No one even seems to hear it. They’re all watching Isabel climb the ladder. As Phil holds it, he darts a look my way, one I can’t quite read through the reflection off his glasses. His mouth is taut, brow furrowed.
I shoulder through the crowd just as Isabel reaches her goal. It’s looks like a big sheet of paper plastered on the projection-screen panel. I catch the words “Will Anders” before she rips it down.