The Necrodancer

Chapter 6- Zombie

 The evening of the following day, Cicero sat in the sitting room with a cup of tea and the newspaper for the day, which they didn't get to read this morning because of classes. Of course, they only read the obituaries, as it was the only section of the newspaper that directly affected them. "Hmm... one of the Vandivers just died last night," the reaper called out as they scanned the obituary.

"Oh, wow!" Tilde shouted back from the kitchen, where she was baking brownies.

"Don't care!" Reyna screeched from the morgue in the basement, sounding highly annoyed, preoccupied, and stressed about whatever she was doing.

"Wilbur Vandiver," Cicero muttered to themselves, "elder son of Quincy S. Vandiver Jr., died in a car accident, leaving behind a wife, now widow without children... it appears Jacques will be the only ones succeeding the family name and passing on the bloodline." They let the newspaper flop onto their lap. "I thought I felt a more-powerful-than-average witch's soul come through while I was asleep." They shrugged indifferently as they folded the newspaper up and whipped it onto the coffee table, the smooth surface of which the paper proceeded to slide off of and onto the carpet. Cicero groaned and rolled their eyes, not caring enough to pick it up.

Suddenly, Reyna screamed from down in the morgue. "DEMON, OUT!" Glass shattered. Cicero jumped to their feet and grabbed their scythe before stumbling through the house and down the basement steps into the morgue, only getting halfway before a demon rounded the corner to head up, causing each other to fall back into the basement. Cicero shoved Carlisle off of them, as he had fallen forward onto them, stood, and raised their scythe in the form of a truncheon.

"What the Hell are you doing in our house?!" Cicero yelled.

"You know this vermin?!" Reyna shrieked, still backed up against the wall with a second jar of embalming fluid; another one had its glass shattered on the floor, the fluid of which covered the demon.

"That's a discussion for later!" Cicero shouted, not taking their eyes off of Carlisle as he sat up and combed his hair back and wiped his face off with his sleeve. "Explain yourself."

Carlisle took another moment for himself to regain his composure before stating, "I apologize for startling..." He looked to Reyna.

"You may call me Ms. Stemple," Reyna grumbled.

The demon nodded. "I apologize for startling Ms. Stemple," he said as he stood, now looking down upon the reaper. "Transporting here is rather difficult when this house is heavily protected."

"For good reason," Reyna mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as she headed up the stairs.

"Ms. Stemple, please," Carlisle stood, "I only come with peace in mind."

Cicero's truncheon faltered, their arm slowly falling to their side. "Well, uh, let's get you cleaned up."

"No need." He stood up on his own and he was clean in the blink of an eye, no evidence of ever having a jar of embalming fluid smashed against him present.

"Why are you here?" the reaper asked, turning their scythe back into a cane.

"We clearly got off on the wrong foot," he explained solemnly, "and I would like to make amends between us so we can work together in harmony during our time together."

Cicero clicked their tongue. "Well, it wouldn't do us any good if we are at each other's throats on the job, now, would it?"

Carlisle wore a small grin as he nodded. "No, it would not."

The reaper smiled. "You're the first demon to have ever been in this house."

"I think I'm honoured?" He phrased it as a question.

Cicero chuckled. "It's definitely a feat to take pride in. Would you like tea?"

"Please."

Reyna and Tilde were standing at the bottom of the grand staircase when Cicero came back upstairs with Carlisle following close behind. The reaper stood in front of the two retired ones with a demon behind them in the foyer, as if standing behind them for protection. "He comes peacefully. He serves one of my professors. He is threatened by my presence, so he threatened and blackmailed me into complying with his demands. I am under an unofficial contract with him." Carlisle frowned with guilt, feeling sorry for the reaper about what his master has done and is doing, but Cicero couldn't see.

Tilde nodded solemnly, looking a little concerned. Reyna's eyes narrowed with disappointment. "I suppose you'll be wanting to talk in the sitting room," she mumbled.

"Please," Cicero requested.

"We're going to be playing poker with the ladies down the street if you need anything." The two women skirted around the two and left the house, Tilde looking over her shoulder and smiling reassuringly before closing the door behind herself.

The reaper and the demon were left alone in the large house. "Right. Follow me." Cicero headed to the kitchen, not checking if Carlisle was following behind, but they could feel his gentle, steady footsteps behind them.

"I know you disguise your scythe as a cane for it to appear normal when you're out and about, but is it decorative, or do you actually need it?" He bit his bottom lip awkwardly. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."
Cicero sighed quietly. "I actually need it."

"Is there something wrong?" The demon sat down at the kitchen table to watch the reaper approach the spice cabinet, where they kept the tea.

"Having a physical form is strange," the reaper commented. "I'm sure you're aware."

"Indeed."

They plucked a bag of earl grey from its tin and walked over to the sink, the end of their cane knocking lightly against the wooden floor. "A little fun fact about me is that every one of my joints are hypermobile, now except for my right hip and right knee."

"What happened?"

"Well, it's really a laughing matter now, but I was hit by a train while on the job about five years back," Cicero answered, plopping the bag into an empty tea cup, "shattering my whole right leg. I replaced the bones all fine, but joints are difficult to get right." They started filling a kettle with hot water. "Naturally, I fucked them up, and they haven't been right since. Sure, I could go back in and replace them, but I'd need an organ-donating body to come into the morgue." They put the kettle on the stove before sitting down at the table, leaving an empty chair between themselves and the demon. "I suppose it works in my favour; makes things real so I don't have to act."

"I suppose, but does it cause you any pain?" Carlisle wondered, sounding genuinely intrigued and concerned. "For me, I feel pain as humans and witches do, but I can heal in a snap. You... you can just open yourself up, fix things, and close yourself back up like a torn teddy bear?"

Cicero shrugged. "I feel the pain... and I guess that analogy works. It leaves scars, makes me look like Frankenstein's monster, but I can't die... it's kind of like being a zombie."

Carlisle scowled. "What is a zombie?"

The reaper's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "A zombie is an undead person that feeds on the living. They don't die unless you burn them, or chop of their head... whatever." They looked up at Carlisle to see his wide, terrified eyes. "They're fictional." The demon relaxed. The tea kettle began whistling. "Tea's ready."