The first chapter of the noir comedy (a la Who Framed Roger Rabbit) necromancer Mira AU. (may not be the final version, this is just what came out when I should have been sleeping.)
It all started when she walked into my office. Even if it wasn’t the first time I’d seen her, I still let myself indulge in a long look. Her legs could kill a man, and probably had; her half-smile was as sharp as both her wit and her claws; and her long, purple hair looked soft enough to drown in. (And I nearly had, more than once. What can I say? I always had a weakness for trouble.)
I let myself smirk – it was a safe enough expression for when she walked in, whether she wanted to fight or fuck – and watched as her brows drew in a little. I knew it was the only tell I would get, and it wasn’t enough to determine her mood. She tilted her head a little, eyes narrowed, before she spoke with a voice that could have launched a thousand ships.
“I have a problem for you.”
It took all my years of practice in self-control not to flinch when she tossed something onto my desk. Frowning, I examined it; it was a stuffed turtle, the fabric gone thin in places from years of handling. Raising my eyebrow, I looked back at Rumi.
“I didn’t think gifts counted as a problem.” I fought to keep the confusion off my face and skepticism out of my voice as I glanced back at the oddly charming turtle. “And I didn’t think we were at the stage of giving each other gifts.”
I figured that would needle her enough to make her give me something more to work with. She’d never seemed the sort to settle down easily – it was part of why we had found each other’s company so pleasant in the first place – so implying that she was getting attached seemed like a good way to get her talking. I didn’t expect the much lighter, more cheerful voice that replied.
“Aww, I’m a gift? That’s so sweet!”
A vague white blur rose out of the plushie like fog over the water, and I suppressed a scowl with an effort. A ghost could certainly be a problem, and one I didn’t want to deal with.
“Shouldn’t you be seeing a medium?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice even.
“Well, funny thing, actually, mediums don’t really seem to want to talk to me,” the ghost replied, sounding a bit sheepish. “I mean, I tried talking to them! And some of them had some really interesting things they could have talked about. I think one of them had horns! I actually would have loved to chat with him, especially since he seemed like he would be really nice once you got to know him.” I shot Rumi a look, trying to ask her without words what the Hell she thought she was doing; her usual stoic expression was all I got in response, and I turned my attention back to the ghost.
“Anyways, since mediums didn’t seem to do much, Rumi suggested we try a necromancer. Oh! Does that mean you can bring me back in a body? Could you bring me back in a turtle body? That would be so cool, I could explore the oceans and – ”
“Reanimation of endangered species isn’t allowed for anything but scientific or educational purposes, after the Endangered Species Reanimation Act of 1997,” I interrupted, and the blur that might have been her face twisted into what looked suspiciously like a pout. “But, back to the medium – aren’t mediums legally obligated to help child ghosts? Or at least, direct them to a state-sponsored –”
“Hey!” the girl yelled indignantly. “I am NOT a child! Just because I’m short and talk a lot and….” She paused for a moment, collecting herself before continuing. “Okay, I see why you think I’m a kid, but I’m not! I was 25 when I was killed, I’ll have you know! Why does everyone always think I’m a kid? I swear –”
Rumi was biting her lip a little; I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to hold back laughter or just trying not to yell at the girl to get to the point already. (If it was laughter, I didn’t want to know which one of us was amusing her so much. I had a suspicion that it wouldn’t work out in my favor.)
I blinked, sighed, and tugged a thread of power out of a loose corner and fed it to the ghost girl. Her image sharpened into a pretty thing, all freckles and smiles – and of course she was, Rumi was no better than I when it came to tears on a pretty face – and I realized I’d missed about five sentences while I’d been staring. Given her previous conversation, I doubted I’d missed much. “Miss,” I interjected, trying for placating and probably landing somewhere around irritated.
“Zoey,” she said.
I blinked at her, and she smiled. “My name is Zoey Choi.”
“Alright, Miss Zoey,” I said, trying to get my conversational feet back under me. “Why, exactly, did you – both of you – come to me?” I asked.
“Oh! I didn’t say? I’m sorry, I got a little carried away,” she said, ducking her head a little and making me fight to keep from trying to wrap her in my arms and squeal. How the Hell was a dead girl this cute? “I need to figure out who killed me!”
“You were murdered,” I said slowly, trying to catch up with the sharp left turn the conversation had taken. Who would murder a girl who was sunshine and cuteness and waned to be a turtle?
“Yep! And I can’t go – well, wherever I’m supposed to – unless I figure it out. Guess I’m just too curious for my own good!” she quipped cheerfully. I suppressed a groan. If mediums couldn’t help her, this was not going to be straightforward, and I doubted it would pay well either.
But I did owe Rumi a favor, and working with this Zoey was probably going to be more interesting than trying to catch yet another spouse in adultery to get more alimony for the aggrieved party. “Alright,” I said, going for my most charming smile. If the little noise I heard from Rumi and the way Zoey went completely still for a moment were anything to judge by, I’d hit my mark. “I’ll see if I can help. We can talk more when I’ve strengthened you a little, okay? I don’t want you fading before we solve this.”
Zoey emitted a squeak of what sounded like pure joy, before wrapping herself around me in what would likely have been quite a nice hug, if we could actually touch. “Thank you so much! You are a big softie, Rumi was right,” she gushed. I shot a glare at the taller woman, who was a bit redder than I remembered her being. “I’ll go sleep for a bit while you get ready. Just let me know when you want to talk!” With that, she condensed and faded back into the plushie, sitting on my desk and looking far too innocent for something that housed that sparkplug of a spirit.
Once Zoey was out of the way, there was nothing stopping me from giving Rumi a look that often had grown men nearly pissing themselves. Rumi, of course, seemed not to notice. “Why,” I gritted out, “in the name of all that’s holy, did you bring her to me?”
Her eyes flashed with something I’d never seen from her before, something fierce and wild, but then her usual cool mask slammed back over any hint of emotion. “Because you’ll help her.” She reached over, grabbing the plushie and throwing it at me so I had to catch it if I didn’t want it to smack me in the face. Turning gracefully, she stalked out of my office, closing the door behind her.
I gently set the turtle on the desk before burying my face in my hands with a groan. This was going to be trouble.
