"I always hated December," Gabe thought to himself as he strode down the near-deserted sidewalk, counting the cracks along the way. This more than anything was his way of ignoring the insufferable wailing that was always a constant at this time of year.

It was close to sunset, and a midnight blue waistcoat was thrown about his shoulders in an attempt to keep out the chill. There was a slight breeze fluttering about the leaves that still clung to the permafrost. The same breeze kept blowing Gabe's unruly hair in a golden nimbus about his face, and he was forced to occasionally smooth his bangs down so he could see.

Against his better judgment he glanced behind him to reaffirm his suspicions. He quickly looked away, but couldn't un-see it no matter how hard he tried. This was his most recent cling-on, as he'd come to call them, and it was a tenacious member of a group known for its stubbornness.

He was pretty sure it was female, though God only knows how he could tell. "The girls usually cry more..." he thought as he took longer strides, knowing it was useless.

It/she hung about two to six feet behind him at any given time, and was usually present from the time he got out of bed to the time he was able banish it/her at the witching hour. The only exception, he'd noticed, was that it never followed him into the bathroom. He laughed quietly to himself, "At least it's a modest ghost!"

Thankfully, surprisingly few people seemed to take noticed when he talked to himself, as long as he kept it down, although they did seem to notice when he spent more than an hour at a time cowering in a bathroom stall.

Behind him he heard a strangled sob, and braced himself for what he was sure came next. He muttered a curse under his breath and covered his ears as a blood curdling shriek rent the chill night air. This got him a few puzzled looks from his fellow pedestrians, but nothing more. They were much more likely to suspect his ears were frostbitten than to guess he was a necromancer being hounded by a distraught spirit in denial.

"Yeah," he thought, "this one's all woman!" This haunt was fairly new. It manifested four days ago on the 18th, exactly one week before Christmas. Not surprisingly, this was one of the best times of the year to pick up a cling-on. After all, deaths are always so much more traumatic around the holidays.

For now she was only a patch of distorted air, but it was only a matter of time before she added visuals to her arsenal. Thus far she'd only used auditory stimuli to get his attention, but it was approaching the five day mark, which is usually when they figure out the special effects.

Gabe broke into a jog, knowing he wouldn't be able to just ignore his follower much longer. He began reciting an incantation of banishing when he noticed the crying had stopped. As he rounded the corner of his street he quickly spun and surveyed his surroundings. "Alone, thank God!" He drew in a breath of painfully cold air and quickly released it for a shallower one. His lungs burned as he panted, relishing the sensation in the momentary quiet. Like clockwork, he felt a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature, and knew he was in the presence of his latest Yule-tide stalker. "Enough of this," he said, speaking around his labored breathing, "Who are you, and why can't you rest?" He waited for a reply but didn't expect one. Blatant conversation rarely ever works with the restless spirits of the dead, especially when they're panic-stricken and traumatized as this one seemed to be.

Fortunately, most cling-ons went away of their own accord after a few days. There are theories on this, the most probable being that since cling-ons are usually the recently dead, they simply need time to come to terms with their death. This one however, was proving to be more of a challenge.

A necromancer's power is tied intimately to the dead, and the world they inhabit. While most psychics and clairvoyants have to exert themselves to use their power, Gabe had to make an effort to not communicate with the dead.

When Gabe first discovered he was a supernatural there wasn't much he could do about it. He'd pouted for days as a child when his grandfather refused to show him how to bring his goldfish back to life. "Most things that die are dead for a very good reason," his gramps had advised him. "If you can't control the life you give, then it has a tendency to keep taking until there's none left for you."

Controlling his powers was akin to trying to hold a door shut against an angry mob, except he was the door, and every time he let one in, he was forced a little wider. This is why most necromancers didn't see the age of sixty, at least not with their sanity intact.

It had started small. Gabe would be walking home from school, and, much to his dismay, walk straight through what he'd thought was one of his classmates. Later he swore up and down he'd seen the kid elsewhere, but was puzzled as to why he'd been wearing the school uniform from the sixties.

When he finally did publicly acknowledge his preternatural abilities, it was, of course, to impress a girl. It had been his Junior prom, and the only florist in town already had more orders than it could fill. He'd found a discarded corsage and boutiner in the bin around the back of the shop, both long since wilted, and brought them home. When he came to pick up his date, her and her parents were understandably puzzled and a little dismayed when he pinned a dead flower to his lapel. As he'd slipped the corsage over her wrist he'd opened that part of him tied to the dead, and forced life back into the flowers. They flourished as life coursed back into them, their petals blooming in a rainbow of colors. This was much the desired effect and his date was suitably impressed. Unfortunately he hadn't taken into account the toll the theatrics would take on him and had shortly thereafter slipped into unconsciousness.

He'd learned since then, and managed to do a fair job of keeping the barrier between himself and the dead secure, however despite his best efforts he'd soon discovered that even he couldn't keep the gap in his defenses from widening. He enjoyed the rush of power he felt when he allowed himself to drop his shields, but the truth of the matter never escaped him. If a necromancer doesn't keep his power in check he will be reduced to a screaming wreck, trapped in a realm where the worlds of the living and dead are indistinguishable.

Gabe was acutely aware that he himself was approaching twenty-three, and his clock was ticking. He was pleased, though, with his life and the way it was playing out, with that arrogance that seems to be reserved exclusivly for the youthful. There were other necromancers, but they were exceedingly rare. In fact, his grandfather was the only other he'd ever met. He enjoyed having such a unique talent, even if he couldn't show it off as much as he'd like. In his experience, people mistook an older necro for a more powerful one, though that wasn't always the case. A younger necromancer may be able to attain just as strong a contact with the dead, but simply doesn't want to risk his sanity. Once that door was opened it was almost impossible to close again.

Gabe grimaced, the apprehension already sinking in. He hated having to do this, knowing what it cost him. It wasn't painful; quite the contrary, it felt wonderful, like letting your head hit the pillow after holding it up all day. Gabe let go, and embraced the dead.

The sensation was like opening his eyes to sunlight streaming through a window; it wasn't painful but his eyes needed some time to adjust. The whole world blinked, just for a moment, and then his vision focused and the hyper-reality of the spectral dimension set in. Everything went silent.

All the unobtrusive little noises that were such a part of everyday life suddenly ceased to be. While there was still electricity coursing through the street lamps, it gave off no hum as evidence of its passage. The wind could be seen rustling the leaves on the trees up and down the street, but neither the wind nor leaves made a sound.

With a deft shake of the head to clear his thoughts he looked back to see an older woman, not old, just older than himself. It always struck him, how subtly different everything looked through his new power laden eyes. The woman wasn't looking at him, her eyes downcast as though not expecting an acknowledgement of her presence. She looked to be about mid- to late forties, with a slightly plump figure fit into a less-than-fashionable flora-patterned nightgown. A mop of dark curly hair fell around her shoulders, untouched by the breeze of the human world.

He stood silent for a moment, waiting to see if she'd noticed the transition. Sometimes they did, in fact he suspected all of them could, but most were too absorbed in their own grief to notice immediately. He approached her slowly, eyeing her hands warily. She might not be a poltergeist, but in this realm it didn't matter, those nails could hurt. He reached out and gently brushed the hair back from her face. She gasped, obviously startled. She turned frightened eyes on Gabe, who instantly added another ten years onto his original assessment. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and her haunted expression spoke of unbearable loss.

Gabe met her gaze with a set of piercingly dark eyes, heavy, and glowing with power. 'You are safe now,'� he said, the typical words of reassurance when he comforted the newly dead, 'nothing can hurt you.'�

Some of the fright left her eyes, but was immediately replaced by sorrow. She spoke in a voice thick with tears, even though technically she could appear and sound almost however she wished in the ethereal realm. 'Vic'�Victoria,'� she managed to choke out before dissolving into another wave of tears.

'Is Victoria your name, sweetheart?'� he asked, even though he was almost sure it wasn't. She looked at him, eyes pleading, begging him to understand. 'No'�daughter, she was my daughter, my beautiful,precious Victoria!'�

'Maybe you could tell me what happened to Victoria,'� Gabe quickly interjected, before she got carried away again, 'but you have to calm yourself. It's in yours and your daughter's best interests that I be able to understand you.'�

She looked up at him, bespelled by his words. There was such hopelessness in her eyes, such a void, and Gabe felt as if she was trying to fill it with him, pulling him into those empty eyes.

Necromancy was a two way street. The benefit being he gained a preternatural power over the dead. While it wasn't mindless obedience, his words and demands seemed naturally more appealing to the deceased. Unfortunately, that made him responsible for anything they did under his power'�and more than one necromancer had been known accumulate some seriously bad Karma for things they commanded the dead to do.

A light of comprehension dawned in her eyes. 'Of course,'� she said, and gradually the tears ceased and her speech became more coherent. '�I need you to help me find Victoria. I can't leave until I know she's safe.'�

Gabe sighed and his face broke into an encouraging smile. 'Why didn't you say so, darlin'?'� he asked, relieved to finally be making some progress.

'I did,'� she said, '�you ignored me.'�

'Oh well'�yeah, I guess I did. You have to realize that I get this a lot, and most people come to me bitching about how they've only been dead a week and their wife's sleeping with another guy, or wanting to wreak vengeance on the cat they swerved to avoid when they drove their car into a telephone pole. Needless to say they aren't quite as committed to their resolve as you are!'� He grinned like the jackass he felt he was and pressed on. 'Please tell me what happened to Victoria.'� He braced himself for the worst. No matter how much time he spent among the dead, the death of a child was still heartbreaking.

'She was taken,'� she said, musch to Gabe's suprise, 'stolen from her crib while I was away. She's an only child, and her father's moved on. There was no one else to look after her, and I failed her.'�

She began to sob again but Gabe quickly muttered a calming incantation, and she continued. 'The police declared her case a recovery mission. They said after a month there was no sense in calling it a rescue. I couldn't cope with her loss and I'�'� Her words trailed off into that supernatural silence, the quiet of the dead.

As though the mere thought conjured them, long wounds spilled from the skin along the underside of her forearms. They did not bleed, of course her heart wasn't pumping, and she seemed not to notice.

'I thought I couldn't live without her,'� she said, 'but she isn't here.'�

Gabe blinked at that and said 'Not here?'�

'No,'� she said, '�my daughter isn't here. She has either moved on, or she is still alive. I cannot rest until I know'�I have to know.'�

Gabe's eyebrows furrowed, and a mask of utmost concentration hardened his features. After what must have been an eternity spent in that absolute silence, he stood, and gathered his coat about himself.

'I may regret this later, but I'm guessing you're not going to leave me alone until I find Victoria.'� His teeth bared in a predatory grin, his resolve giving him confidence. 'I'll find your daughter, Miss'�'� He realized he didn't know her name.

'Dockett'�Melinda Dockett,'� she said, her face breaking into a fragile smile.

'Gabe Loring,'� he said, '�at your service!'�



Note* Okay, here's the edited version, thanks to Tendoqueen, and her anal retentive attention to detail which seems to be a must in all good editors(lol!) This doesn't mean i'm not open to suggestions though, so keep em' comin! The title may change soon too, I'm not happy with it and I'm sure a better one will come to me eventually. Thanks for reading, I adore you all,
Kane

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