Heroes of Veritas: Necromantic Inclinations (Book 3)

Chapter Seven: Assumptions

“Unholy shiiiiit-” Lydia cried as the hovercraft suddenly lurched up to full speed. She could feel the skin of her cheeks wobbling in the onslaught of wind that had nearly knocked her back. 

If she hadn’t been prepared, one leg forward and the other back, her knees slightly bent, she probably would have been tossed ass over tea kettle over the back fin of the hoverboard. She thanked the Goddess that she’d also had the forethought to pop on her riding goggles, otherwise she was sure her eyes would be streaming.

Harmon gave a throaty laugh, his straight silver hair, which had been neatly combed back whipped wildly around him as they shot down the lane, the low hum of the mana crystals that powered the hovering speedster belying the power which was coursing through it. Dia could feel that power through the thick soles of her black platform boots, adding to the thrill of the wind in her face. It wasn’t the same as the vibration of the Beast between her legs, or the roar of the motorcycle’s engine when it came to life, but it was still exciting.

In more ways than one, really. Lydia had spent a great deal of time studying her grandfather’s work, and through his mountainous volumes of notebooks, she felt like she’d really grown to understand a man who had been dead long  before she was ever a spark in her mother’s eye. If an artificer’s constructs were a window to their soul, a reflection of their creator, then Harmon was obviously much more than Lydia had been giving him credit for. If this was his idea of delaying the inevitable, then Dia couldn’t wait to see what other surprises the lanky lad had in store for her.

The speedster, as Lydia had deemed it in her mind, rollicked through the otherwise quiet streets of the middle suburban Parc D’Or neighborhood of the metropolis of Nouvieux before slowing as they turned the corner onto Rue de Vieux Marché. By the time they pulled to a stop in front of an all too familiar looking shop, Lydia was breathless. She had, at some point, gripped Harmon’s hand. As the claw-like legs deployed, having tucked themselves in when the hovercraft lifted off, the erstwhile necromancer quickly let go of her new friend’s hand, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. Still, she whooped as she hopped down. 

“Now that’s what I call mechanical magic. Hot damn.” Lydia said, spinning a bit with her arms spread wide. 

“I’m glad you think so.” Harmon said, catching his new friend at the elbow as she stumbled a bit.

Lydia steadier herself, and then leaned up, her chest brushing against his as she pushed a strand of hair back behind his ear. “Mmm, not sure that really helped but…”

Harmon glanced into the picture window of the shop in front of them. They could see themselves clearly, as the black curtains in the shop window provided the perfect backdrop for a reflection. The wind had played havoc with the young drow’s hair, but he didn’t seem all too bothered.

“Alas, there are some things that can’t be avoided when racing hovercrafts.” Harmon said, chuckling a little as he ran his hands back through his hair. Amazingly, it fell right back into place, framing his lean face perfectly once more.

“Freakin’ drow…” Lydia muttered under her breath. It was deeply unfair how Elves and Drow could do s**t like that; toss their heads about, and bam - suddenly they look perfect again. What she wouldn’t give to wake up in the morning looking like she’d already spent an hour on beautification rituals. 

Lydia’s hair, like her mothers, was a tangle of curls that required daily routine maintenance to keep in line. Presently, it was swirling wildly around her, as she had completely neglected to tie it up. Well, at least it was dry now. It had been damp still when they left the house.

Dia sighed at her inelegantly windswept reflection as she wrapped a curl around her pointer finger and bit her lip. She used to keep it short, but had let it grow because Killian was constantly whispering in her ear about how much he loved her hair. Now she was wondering if she ought not chop it all off again just to spite him - though she was kind of feeling it now that she’d gotten accustomed to it being long.

Then, she took a step back, her eyes widening as she finally took in the lettering printed across the top of the window. A wide smile stretched her lips as she rushed for the shop door, with Harmon following behind at his usual measured pace.

The door of the Black Magnolia was flung open with such force that the panes of deep purple stained glass shook slightly in their wrought iron frame, which stretched like a spider web emanating from the top right hand corner of the door. The shopkeeper unfolded drowsily from a fainting couch near the rear of the shop, the elf herself somewhat resembling a spider as her long limbs stretched under the silky fabric of her floor length black dress.

“Not you again.” Selene hissed as she took in the unexpected visitors. She was up to her full height in moments, one hand immediately going to her hip. She motioned with the other dismissively. “Especially not if you’ve come here to tell me that you somehow destroyed that gorgeous gown that your i***t of a fiance made me change over and over and over again until it fit his precious vision…”

Selene’s voice trailed off mid harangue as her eyes suddenly shifted to Harmon. For a moment, they narrowed, then grew a little wide.

“I see. Well, that’s certainly interesting.” Selene muttered, her upraised hand settling down to her side.

Harmon looked dispassionately at the psychic seamstress, and tilted his head. Lydia could tell he was confused, but trying his best not to show it. Confusion was a fairly typical reaction for people meeting Selene for the first time. It didn’t help that Dia clearly knew Selene, whose shop was - at present - in the Zircyn Empire, a continent that Lydia had never previously visited. Magic was amazing, but could end up leading to convoluted situations, like this one.

“Do we need to take our custom elsewhere, Lydia…?” Harmon asked, turning his attention to Lydia. “I only brought you here because I heard my mother mention it, but we can go elsewhere if you’re not comfortable.”

“Don’t you dare.” Selene snapped. “I will not be shamed by letting Lydia walk out of my shop dressed in those rags. Come, child. I’ll take pity on you this once…”

What the seamstress muttered after that, so low that only Lydia could hear, made a shiver run up her spine.

“...so long as you give me free reign to design the next wedding gown, anyway. I’m thinking black will be quite chic.”

Dia, who had already stepped toward the seamstress, lifted her chin up in alarm at this. Lydia had already decided, during her drunken binge on the circus airship, that she was never getting married again. As she’d told her Uncle Echo, spinsterhood was looking like a mighty good deal.

“Over my twice-dead body.” Lydia growled through gritted teeth. “You and I both know you can’t see my future, Selene.”

Selene and Lydia had what one might call a complicated relationship. Lydia enjoyed messing with the psychic seamstress, who never knew when she would turn up or what she would be asking for when she got there. While Selene didn’t enjoy being plagued by unexpected visits, she did love the challenge of having Lydia as a client. Dia’s grungy goth aesthetic was one that Selene deeply appreciated, and since she couldn't just pull the design straight from Lydia’s mind it gave her a level of creative freedom that she didn’t have with other clients.

“Mmm, that is true. I can’t see your future.” Selene intimated close enough to Lydia’s ear that she could feel the heat of the woman’s breath.

“Ah, ah, ah...don’t make assumptions.” Selene said, gripping Lydia’s chin lightly between her thumb and forefinger before Dia’s head could turn to look back at Harmon in horror.

“Damnit...now I see why everyone says you’re creepy.” Lydia huffed, irritated that the seamstress managed to get one over on her. It was a rare occurrence. “Can you stop f*****g with me long enough to make me some clothes, or is this going to take all day?”

Selene sniffed at Dia’s impertinence, and shoved the young lady forward toward the platform, which was set in front of a half hexagon of mirrors. 

“Let’s get started.”