I. The Dead Beat

As Victor’s mind drifted sweetly toward unconsciousness, thanks mostly to the filthy wraith throttling him against a wall, he remembered something his parents used to say:

“The baker never turns into a cake.”

It was their way of discouraging his interest in necromancy. “The bricklayer never turns into a house. The cobbler never turns into a boot.” The subtext, of course, was that messing around with ghosts, zombies, vampires, and other spirits of the beyond was a surefire way to get oneself killed—and join them.

Your Humble Scribe feels he must note that once, a cobbler DID turn into a boot. As expected, a witch was involved; their temptation for irony was classically too much to bear. But that was not important right now. Right now, what was important was that Victor Graves, Freelance Necromancer, 4th Class, was about to choke to death if he didn’t think of a way to convince the large, muscular, undead creature in front of him to ease his grip.

“I don’t have your tombstone, Jim,” he spurted between the tiny breaths he could handle, “ …and I’m not sure who told you that I did, but they… are lying. I don’t have it, and no, I don’t know where… it is.”

Victor’s spectral assailant pressed him tightly against the wall of the alley, the cold invisible hand wrapped around the entirety of Victor’s neck, knuckles against the wall. What air Victor could intake provided the distinct odor of vermilion. Victor disliked most wraiths, they were the lowest form of ghost in his professional opinion. Today, he had forgotten that not all of them were fond of him either.

“I don’t believe you, Graves.”

The untended street in Ashtown would have been quite a sight now, were anyone but Victor and Jim (the Wraith) present. To the average passer-by, it would appear Victor Graves was floating in mid-air, his long brown jacket dangling in the wind. Now, that would have indeed been interesting. The reality was that most people cannot see wraiths, which is fine. Those who can will assure you they are not known for their beauty. But Victor, as you will hear quite frequently over these next pages, was one not “most people” and could indeed see Jim. He wished he couldn’t. He could see his tattered clothes with bones jutting through well-worn holes. He could see his sweaty, muscular arm lifting him by his shirt. So while not as interesting as a man floating in mid-air, Dear Reader, Victor certainly wished he were in a much less interesting situation.

“S’always the same, Graves. Every time sumfin’ fishy goes down with us wraiths, it leads back to you.”

Vic snorted, insulted. “You know that’s not true, Jim! Come on!”

The wraith sneered. “Fair. If it’s not you behind it, it’s your wife.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s a bit more accurate.”

“Maybe SHE knows! Maybe I’ll put a few bullets in her to loosen YOUR tongue.”

Jim loosened his grip, allowing Victor a chance to change his mind and speak.

“Bullets? As in shoot her? First of all, people have tried, and I don’t recommend it. Secondly, who would be stupid enough to give you a pistol?!”

The wraith grinned, skeletal teeth floating next to Vic’s face, his breath like a dead mouse in a trap for days. As he held Victor against the wall, he casually pulled an ethereal revolver, from within his ribcage and cocked it under Victors chin with disheartening click.

It was a cold, not the cold of a northern wind, but of a deep grave.

“I ain’t without my own resources, Graves.”

Victor’s hands went in the air, as he was finally losing a bit of calm. Jim seemed serious now. And while the gun was invisible, the bullets inside were not, assuring him Jim’s weapon, while ghostly, was indeed loaded.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait! I never said I couldn’t find it! I just said I don’t currently know where it is! Finding things like that is what I do!”

The wraith grinned. Victor wondered if he had lost all of those teeth before or after his death.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“For a highly discounted fee of…”

The barrel of the floating revolver tilted up Victors’s chin.

“…zero gold sovereigns, I’d be happy to help out the wraith community.”

Jim uncocked the revolver, and Vic could feel the invisible-to-most-people-but-visible-to-Victor-due-to-his-poor-life-choices field of force release his shirt and pull back from the wall.

“Good. I called ya lots of shit over the years, Graves, but ya ain’t ever been stupid. You have until… URK!!

The skeletal head of Jim, the now ex-wraith, left his shoulders and transformed from translucent aether to solid bone before it hit the ground. It rolled along the cobblestone with a clatter, empty sockets staring up in what would have been shock. The rest of his bones soon solidified and collapsed in a crunkly (and now quite visible) pile at Victor’s feet. He sighed as he looked at his wife Edith, dagger gleaming in her outstretched arm, smiling after a blow well struck. Her wide shoulder muscles pulsed tightly in victory.

“Hey, darling. Wraiths? again?”

She seemed more amused that her husband had failed to learn a lesson than the fact that he had recently been threatened with murder.

Victor pretended to adjust his tie as he gasped desperately for breath. He finally coughed out a response, leaning his thin hand on her stable shoulder.

“Sadly so. I’m…I’m happy the… Saltblade works as advertised. Well worth the money, Spooky, you were right.”

Many women, married to a man for as long as Edith had been with Victor, would hav relished in the moment of contrition from their spouse. Edith was in fact more excited to talk about the weapon in question. She displayed it proudly for him to look at up close.

“It absolutely is! Look at this handle! Perfectly weighted. And it matches like, three outfits. I was thinking…”

“I have had enough weapons in my face today, darling. Can you tell me…”

Victor’s knees buckled a bit, and she held the entirety of his weight under her shoulder now.

“…when we get home?”

Edith dragged her husband down the alley, his steps weak and small, her Saltblade still in hand to fend off any further spectral threats.

“Of course. We’re having cheese sandwiches. I bought cheese.”

Victor looked up at his wife with an admiration she didn't notice in that moment.

“Excellent, my dear. Just excellent.”