The assassin drives us to another restaurant. The sign says “Dandy Lion Diner.” With a lion wearing a suit and holding up a platter of food.

“Thought you said diners are shitty?”

“I said the diner we were at before is shitty. This one’s okay.” She takes out her phone and calls someone. “Yo, Larkspur, I’m at Dandy Lion Diner. Come pick up the motorcycle and drop off the car. Thanks. Bye.”

We enter the establishment, there a few other people here. We sit opposite each other in a booth towards the back.

The assassin looks out the window, a neutral expression on her face. The death she caused and witnessed doesn’t seem to be on her mind.

I can’t get the sound out of my head. It’s just the same as-

“Welcome, I’m Rhonda!” A waitress interrupts my thoughts. “I’ll be your server today, let me know when you’re ready to order!” She hands us a couple of menus.

“Thank you, Rhonda,” Hollyhock says, with a voice so polite it almost surprises me.

“Thank you,” I follow suit. The waitress springs away. Hollyhock leans back and rests her right arm on the seat while looking through the menu.

“How do you do it?”

“You just pick what you want to eat from this catalog of food.”

Her insinuation that I don’t know how to order food at a restaurant immediately pisses me off. Though, I’m not being clear on what I mean.

“...I mean how do you...do what you do, without it disturbing you?” She nods, understanding.

“The first few times it did disturb me. Hell, the first time I ever did it I threw up. But that day was a lot of firsts for me.” She recollects with an uncomfortable look. “Ugh. Anyway, don’t get me wrong, the people I’ve killed aren’t saints. Each one was a monster or helped the monsters. But I never attach a feeling to causing their deaths.”

She looks out the window.

“You know how you see a sunset, and it’s the millionth time you’ve seen it but you still feel…”

“Small” “Whole,” we say simultaneously.

The assassin presses on.

“No matter how many times you see it, you still feel that way. But I don’t let myself feel anything when I kill, not rage, disgust, pride.” She shakes her head. “Nothing. You don’t attach feelings to something like that, and you do it more efficiently.”

I’m not sure if I completely agree, but it seems to work for her.

“You have any allergies?” She asks, changing the subject.

“That depends on what those are,” I reply.

Hollyhock narrows her eyes.

“Now I know that you’re fucking with me. There’s no way you don’t know what allergies are.”

I shrug.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” I start looking over the menu. “What’s an ‘IPA’?”

“Some kind of beer,” she answers. “Don’t change the subject, you know what allergies are, you’re a doctor.”

“You changed the subject first, and I'm a witch, a big difference.”

“I changed the subject ‘cause it’s not exactly lunch conversation.”

The waitress comes back, placing two cups of water for us and utensils.

“You ready to order?”

“Yes, Rhonda,” the assassin speaks politely again “We’ll take two cheeseburgers, make mine a double.”

“I’ll have a double also,” I add. Hollyhock lifts an eyebrow at me.

“With waffle fries and orange juice. Y’know what? Make it an orange soda, it’s been a long day.” The assassin says with a smile. “I’ll work out later.”

“Sure thing, dear. And what do you want to drink, hon?” She turns to me.

I didn’t really look at the menu.

“I’ll have the mint tea.” I vaguely recall that being on there.

“Ok, darling. Anything else?”

“Is the pecan pie any good?” Hollyhock asks.

“Made it myself!”

“Well, in that case, I’ll definitely take a slice, warmed up with some vanilla ice cream, please.”

“Okay, dears, should be in ready in about 15 minutes.”

Hollyhock nods and hands her back our menus.

“Look, you’re clearly asking about it because of some issue that you don’t want to address. I’m sorry if death makes you uncomfortable but I did make it clear that’s what I deal in.”

“It’s not death that’s necessarily the problem. It’s just…” It’s been years, I’ve thought about it countless times, dreamt about it, and I can barely say it. She looks at me with concern slowly tightening her face.

“Don’t talk about it if you aren’t ready. Let’s change the subject again. What’s to be done about the undead guy walking around, stealing bikes?” She picks up the knife and twirls it between her fingers. “What’s your first step to tracking down whoever did this to him?”

Happy for the change of topic, I start hypothesizing on ways to do that.

“Necromancy isn’t my strongest school of magic.”

“Naturally,” Hollyhock replies.

“But it works like any other magic; it always leaves a trace. Problem is that his reanimation must’ve happened a while ago. There isn’t too much of the original magic left to track. At least, not on the outside.”

“You saying that you’d have a better chance if you dissected him?”

“Not dissection exactly, it’d be more ripping the energy out of him destroying anything along the way.”

“That sounds good, do that.” Her knife twirling is at an alarming speed.

“No, I’m not doing that. For several reasons. No, I’ll try something else.”

I snap and a few books I need appear in front of me.

‘Intros to All Schools of Magic. Vol. 1’

‘Glossary of the Undead: Know Your Corpse!’

‘Beginner's Guide to Necromancy: Start With the End’

“It freaks me out when you do that,” Hollyhock comments.

“And I find your knife spinning unsettling.” With a defiant look on her face, she flings the knife from one hand to the other, spinning it as soon as she catches it. Hollyhock then stops and places it on the table.

“Okay, no more knife spinning. I’m here to help you, any way that I can. What can I do?”

“I’m getting a few ideas, but I need to check some things,” I reply as I open my books.

🌿💀🌿

I lean forward to look at her books, but I can’t seem to focus my eyes on the words. The letters move about the pages, and the images stretch and distort the more I stare at them.

“Am I having a sudden, severe attack of dyslexia, or is something wrong with your books?”

“Neither,” the witch answers. “It’s ocular magic, only I or permitted people can read this.”

“Oh, I’m not a ‘permitted’ person?”

“Do you know how to read traditional Mandarin or ancient Greek?” She asks.

“...Do you know how to break a man’s neck without him noticing you?”

“...No.”

“Then we both know things the other doesn’t then, huh?” She rolls her eyes at me.

“I could track the caster if I could find another person they reanimated. Have you heard about anyone else acting unusual?”

“This is Oleander City; everyone is unusual. But the Bay Leaves have contacts in a few morgues. I’ll see if any of them have noticed any dead bodies that have gone missing,” I offer.

“That would actually be very helpful,” Witch-Hazel says. “Ask if any bodies have turned up with any yellow discoloration on their heads.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sign that a body was unsuccessfully resurrected or is no longer reanimated,” she explains. “Whoever is doing this might be running experiments, there’s bound to be some discarded ones.”

I take out my phone and text Kadupul, our resident liaison.

                          'Yo, can you put out a feeler with your friends in the morgues?'

'They’re not my friends but sure. What are they looking out for?'

                                                   'Bodies that have gone missing or with yellow discoloration on their heads.'

“How big will this discoloration be?” I ask Witch-Hazel as she closes one book.

“It’ll vary, depending on different factors. But it’ll mostly be on top of the head,” she clarifies.

                                                                                      'It’ll be on top of their heads.'

'What is this about?'

                                                          'Kinda hard to explain. Just let me know, ok?'

'Fine. I’ll ask Xyla to keep an eye out.'

                                                                                                                              'Xyla?'

                                                                                                         'You still see her?'

'She’s definitely disturbed. She doesn’t even do us favors for money. Think she just likes seeing dead bodies.'

                                                                                                                'Y’all fucking?'

'….Goodbye Holly'

                                                                                                                           'See ya.'

“I asked so that’ll cover any recent bodies, what’s your plan for any that are buried or disposed of?”

“Hmm, I have an idea but it’ll take some time.” She closes her books and snaps them back wherever they were. “In the meantime, why don’t we eat?”

Rhonda comes back with our food, placing our items before us. The smell of hot oil, sizzling meat, and the scent of Witch-Hazel’s mint tea find its way to my nose.

“I’ll bring you your pie in a little while, honey.”

“Thank you.” The witch stares at her tea like it just asked her a hard math question. “What’s wrong?”

“Why is there ice in this cup?”

“It’s iced tea,” I answer.

“Why would anybody want ice in their tea?”

“It’s 91 degrees outside. She probably thought you’d want it cold.”

“What’s the point of drinking tea cold? That practically defeats the whole purpose of drinking it.”

“I think it’s more refreshing that way,” I comment. I sip my orange soda, the ice cubes clink against each other as the bubbles pop making a pleasant sound. “I could ask her to bring you a hot one.” The witch dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand.

“No no, I don’t want to trouble her. Besides, wouldn’t be much point in leaving my home if I didn’t have a lot of first times, right?” I lift up my drink to toast.

“Here’s to a lot of firsts.”

“To a lot of first,” she repeats. We clink our glasses together.

                                                      Pt. 1 End