The Demands of the Dead
Finger to her lips, the necromancer leaned over the doll lying motionless on the table.
“Shhhh... I know you can hear me, and you need to stop that silent screaming. You’re disturbing the yurei.”
Ayame straightened, let her head fall back and sighed audibly before her gaze shifted right. There was nothing visible, nothing to indicate the joint presence that she sensed, but she could hear the two spirits.
Yes, I want him repaired. He was my husband.
Was, Lady Kyako. No longer. You know he has another.
I am aware, Shiori. You do not have to remind me.
How long do you remain with us, lady?
Another day and night. Will he be on his feet by then?
The question was directed to her, and Ayame tried not to scream her anger at the two dead women. Swallowed it, tasting how bitter her own willingness to be so used was. “Perhaps, Lady Kyako. If I am able to concentrate.” It was a thinly veiled hint; if the two would shut the fuck up she might be able to finish the delicate repairs.
No reply was forthcoming, and Ayame rubbed her eyes, careless of the blood griming into her skin. She’d almost been away, almost been out the door to get back to Kai when the message had come. A Kurosawa did not ignore the summons of the generation’s shrine maiden, and Ayame had gone hastily to Lion’s Arch, had retrieved the damaged doll and worn herself out in bringing it back to Ambergris Hall.
Of course Eiji would have to shoot Radaj in the head. Of fucking course.
The physical repairs she could manage were simple: draw out the arrow, fit replacement bone, stitch the flesh over. All of the other damage, however...
With another weary sigh, Ayame turned to the lit display and examined it. Radaj had trained her in the use of the asura-designed machines he had commissioned, but channeling so much of her own energy into healing him would leave her unconscious for days. She hesitated. Had, in fact, been hesitating for an hour.
Could they afford for her to be unavailable for so long?
Eyes closed, the Kurosawa hung her head and exhaled. She turned away, drew Shiori’s bracelet from her bodice and smeared her own blood across the gold. The yurei hissed, but she was drawn to the object and to Ayame’s cold voice.
“Go to Kai. Tell him I am yet again detained.” The diminutive Canthan sighed. “I will come to him when I can. Offer my apologies.”
Although Shiori’s very presence resisted the command, the Kurosawa blood on the bracelet that had been the very cause of her death spurred her into obedience, and the yurei faded from the room. Only the shrine maiden’s spirit, lingering in the last hours of the festival that should have celebrated her sacrifice, was there to witness as Ayame turned back to the machine and activated the feed to drain her own life energy and restore the white-haired doll.