#vague plot

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Vague Plot

Vague Plot is made up of New York City avant-indie regulars, veterans of other bands, who got together to make driving, moving, long-form instrumental music a la Can and Popul Vuh during the pandemic: Zachary Cale, Uriah Theriault, Phil Jacob, Ben and John Studer. Of their debut Crying in 9 from earlier this year, Jennifer Kelly wrote, “Vague Plot’s jams shimmer like highways melting in the heat, running straight on through Kansas or Nebraska until they disappear in the undecipherable distance. Which is to say, they go on for a while, repeating the same short grooves ad infinitum, with modest changes, until the measures blow by like mile markers and the journey transcends itself.” All five members contributed picks to this wide-ranging listed.

Phil Jacob (sax/keys)

King Tubby meets Lee Perry — Megawatt Dub, 1997

In my late teens I started getting into dub, particularly King Tubby and Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry. It’s tough picking one album, but this is the compilation I keep coming back to over the years. My favorite Tubby track, “Termination Dub,” isn’t here, but the giddy feeling I get from “Come By Yah” and “Perfidia” has no equal. And these are some of my favorite Lee Perry selections as well, particularly “Rainy Night” and “Open the Gate”. There’s an attention to melody here that often gets lost on dub remixes, even while these two are digging deep and pulling everything apart. Every delay drop seems to happen exactly when I want it to, leaping out of the speakers. A lot of the genre classics make me feel locked to the couch in a smoky haze, but this collection pulls me into a dance of dub ecstasy.

Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band — Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller), 1978

Possibly the best music education I ever received was playing in a Beefheart tribute band. The emphasis on polyrhythms as arranged by Don Van Vliet and John French on Trout Mask Replica made me feel music in an entirely new way; that it’s best if things don’t always line up at the beginning or end of a bar, a tension I enjoy searching for. TMR does it so often and with such ferocity that it grows exhausting over the length of the 79-minute album. On the other hand, Shiny Beast manages to incorporate some of those ideas into layers and layers of infectious hooks. From the driving bass line of “Floppy Boot Stomp” to the loping funk of “Tropical Hot Dog” to the stately guitar lines of “Owed T’Alex” to the existential spoken-word closer “Apes-Ma”, every track perfectly highlights a different aspect of what makes Beefheart so unique to my ears.

John Studer (drums)

Slint — Untitled EP, 1994

When I first heard the song “Glenn,” it changed the physicality of my body. Britt Walford has an impressive skill to subtly shift around beats so they gently roll and slide over themselves. It’s as if he’s repeating the same line of poetry but with different punctuation to give it fresh meaning each time.

DJ Shadow — Endtroducing, 1996

The surprisingly refreshing choices around arrangements and samples on this album highlight their unexpected connections. Repetitive, hypnotic rhythms combine with soothing layers of instrumentation and allow every special moment to shine appropriately. Endtroducing then delicately transcends these distant connections to create an entirely new space.

Zachary Cale (guitar)

Sonic Youth — SYR 1: Anagrama, 1997

The music on SYR 1 consists of four instrumentals. The first song “Anagrama” has a beautiful winding arc to it. Over the span of nine minutes, you can hear the band searching and expanding. When I first heard it in 1997, it broadened my sense of not only what guitars could do but also the importance of listening when playing within a group. There's structure but it's extremely loose, there's playfulness but not without restraint. That's a big part of what Vague Plot is about. One thing about Sonic Youth I've always appreciated is that even though they “jam,” they never get trapped into a traditional blues or one-chord vamp freak out. It's modal. Sometimes that can lead to dissonance, but that dissonance has always rubbed against something highly melodic.

CAN — Ege Bamyasi, 1972

I once had a summer job painting dorm rooms at the college I went to. One day I found a discarded CD with no jewel case or artwork. It was Ege Bamyasi. I took it home and put it on not knowing anything about the band. I was completely taken off guard upon hearing it. I could not place it into any known quantity. The inscrutable lyrics, the infectious rhythms and the mystery and sonics of it all; it cracked my brain wide open. To me CAN’s mission was always to find the pulse, vibrate with it and then ultimately dance around it. Vague Plot uses some of that same framework in our music. A singular idea to keep extrapolating on. Now that I know more about music history I can hear Fela Kuti, Stockhausen, disparate folk music as well as 1960s psychedelic rock all mixed up in this record. CAN has always seemed genreless to me in their fearless exploration of style. That’s something we as a band all aspire to. All gates open.

Ben “Baby” Copperhead (bass)

The Staple Singers & Curtis Mayfield — Let’s Do It Again, 1975

Let’s Do It Again is a soundtrack album composed by Curtis Mayfield and performed by The Staple Singers. A few years ago, I had the honor of performing a benefit concert for Little Kids Rock. I was playing guitar in the backing band and one of the singers was Hozier who wanted to do the title track “Let’s Do It Again”. Mavis Staples was also on the bill. It was an unforgettable evening. After the concert, I bought this record on vinyl and it’s been on heavy rotation ever since. The string arrangements are absolutely magical. The whole album is a beautifully recorded masterpiece with Curtis Mayfield and his stellar band backing up The Staple Singers. What more can you ask for?

Ornette Coleman — Change of the Century, 1960

Change of the Century was the first Ornette Coleman album I bought when I was in college. I was interested in the world of “free jazz” and Ornette and his band were the pioneers. Surprisingly, all of it is incredibly melodic with bebop-style phrasing, which I wasn’t expecting at the time. All the musicians have incredible ears to be able to pull this off. Ornette Coleman used the harmolodic system which allowed contrapuntal movement during the solos to avoid a key center. Charlie Haden and Billy Higgins were masters at this and could make any soloist sound great by deep listening, feel and support.

Uriah Theriault (guitar)

Dirty Three — Ocean Songs, 1998

My first exposure to Mick Turner came through this album, which introduced me to a broader range of guitar styles than the folk music I had been listening to. Unlike Fahey’s intricate picking patterns, Mick Turner’s guitar work resonated as lyrical phrases more than prose. Often open and spare, other times stormy and erratic, his guitar created atmosphere and conveyed emotion without relying on virtuosic solos. He and drummer Jim White crafted moody mise-en-scenes for Warren Ellis's main character, and l found myself drawn to the visual storytelling more than the narrative itself. Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to see Mick perform in various forms, but the tour for this album stands out due to a specific memory. During a live performance of “Authentic Celestial Music,” my then-girlfriend passed out right in front of the stage. A stranger and I caught her and moved her to the side. When she came to, her only remark was, “Great song.”

Popol Vuh — Hosianna Mantra, 1972

I was familiar with Popol Vuh only as Herzog’s house band until I heard this album, and it cut immediately. I listened religiously to this enigmatic album over the span of a few years, whenever I took a shower so that my attention was undivided. Defying easy categorization, the collection spans classical, ambient, and krautrock. The title track was haunting, calling back to the only music I knew growing up, Catholic hymns. The guitars, oboe, and harpsichord weave sinewy webs of harmony — more chamber music than rock bravado, more conversation than monologue. The ecclesiastical tenor of the Hosianna Mantra (Hosianna, or "please save") sits uncomfortably amongst its dancy krautrock contemporaries, but the slow-burn nature of this album is anything but stiff. If deep attention is akin to prayer, as suggested by Simone Weil, then to me, this album is a dozen rosaries — penance not required.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Zachary Cale :: The Aquarium Drunkard Interview

Head over to AD right NOW to read my recent conversation with the great singer-songwriter Zachary Cale. Zach's new one, Next Year's Ghost, is a total beauty that you're going to want to spend some time with. You're also going to want to spend some time with Vague Plot, the new-ish instrumental band that he plays guitar in — great jams! (PS: We've also re-upped Zach's very sweet Lagniappe Session, which features inspired covers of the Stooges, Eno, Peter Laughner and JJ Cale.)

Aquarium Drunkard has been publishing loads of fascinating Q&As over the past few months ... Mark Neeley's chat with Cornelius! Jennifer Kelly's deep dive with Will Oldham! Jason Woodbury's convo with John Carpenter! Healing Potpourri's give-and-take with Sean O'Hagan! If this kinda thing is your kinda thing, consider subscribing to the ongoing online magazine that is AD ...

[xxplastic-cubexx]

brain please wake up and draw

bonus :

[gipsyjr]

Batfam playing "Never have I ever" for family night:

Tim: Never have i ever... been presumed dead.

Everyone: Groans

Batman: Takes a shot

Jason: Takes a shot

Dick: Takes a shot

Damian: Drinks his orange juice

[northstarscowboyhat]

i need you to do a deltarune yellow interpretation. I have seen NOONE do anyhting that would do it justice. PLEASE

Gosh, that's extremely high praise! A lot of this art is super old, but I might as well post what I had done for this concept! Lots of rambling below!

In this version/AU, Hometown is a very small impoverished farming community. Despite the recent struggles of losing many businesses to the larger human city nearby, it's still a close knit community of everyone knowing everyone! The Sunnysides own the biggest farm in the town and are very well known by all the residents - especially after Starlo, the eldest son of the Sunnysides, takes in Clover, a young human who wandered into the Sunnyside crops, disheveled and dirty with barely the clothes on their back. Aside from remembering their name, Clover claims to not remember anything else, such as where they came from or why they seemingly ran away from home.

Starlo takes Clover in, but Clover is a human in a town full of monsters that they've suddenly been thrusted into, without the history with one another everyone else has. Not only that, Clover's a bit of a troublemaker (at least in appearances), picking fights with bullies and struggling to connect to anyone. The only other monster they've connected with (aside from the Sunnysides) is Martlet, who is a college student in town. She started out as a babysitter looking for extra cash hired by Starlo, until she and Clover began a genuine friendship! They're besties and hang out all the time.

(Ignore that god awful Martlet design... I tried to make her resemble Berdly and oh god. Regret.)

Eventually, Clover stumbles upon the Dark World, and in it, a strange flower darkener who claims to be the prince of the Dark World. Very quickly, the Dark World becomes an escape for Clover. In the Light World, they're a weirdo outcast who has no friends their age. They feel like they only cause problems for everyone, especially Starlo, who has to work twice as hard in order to financially support them. But in the Dark World, they can be a hero, just like all the cool cowboys in their favorite Western films! All the Darkners love them and praise them as a hero, and Clover gets to rescue them from outlaws and save the day. The more time they spend in the Dark World, the less problems they're causing in the Light World, so it's a good thing, right? Flowey and his people need a hero!

(Basically, the Dark World would be a concept that's already established in universe in Chapter 1. This is sort of meant to parallel Starlo's North Star persona in UTY, because you guys know I love my Clover + Starlo parallels.).

(Bonus for all my fellow Starlo fans) Most of Starlo's time, when he isn't working at his family's farm, is spent doing part time jobs in order to raise Clover. He works part time at the local diner at the beginning of the story, leaving very little free time for himself or his interests. RIP bozo having to take responsibility (Orion and Starlo's dynamic would be flipped here, as Orion is the one with a lot more freedoms. He's a college student Martlet's age, and is very busy with his studies and extracurricular activities that he isn't home often, meanwhile Starlo is saddled with a ton of work).

The real story would begin when part of the Ketsukane family (freshly divorced, sorry) move back into Hometown after living away in the city. Chujin's ex wife Ceroba moves back into town with their daughter Kanako, who is the same age as Clover. The two... do not get along right away, which only irks Clover as Starlo is particularly close to Kanako. Kanako is instantly popular and well liked among their peers, and she might have some unchecked biases against humans she picked up from their father. Maybe journeying together in the Dark World would help them grow closer...?

(Again, please forgive this ugly old style. Was trying to go for a superhero theme for Kanako's Dark World design since she's a comic book fan.)

Some other things I didn't have art for

Dalv is the town's librarian! He's also on good terms with Clover, but he's also a bit of a reclusive and doesn't interact with people much.

Chujin was living in Hometown prior to Clover showing up, trying to bounce back from his divorce with his wife (it was on fairly good terms, but still, a massive life change). He claims to work remotely for an important company of some sort, but is secretive about the details. While he's well liked by the town, he's also very outspoken against humans.

Ceroba would also be recovering from the divorce, as she was a housewife her entire time with Chujin, and now needs to find herself as well as a career to support Kanako. She moves back into Hometown in hopes of reconnecting with her old friends and to give Kanako a much calmer school environment.

There have been an influx of missing children reports in the general area around Hometown. Strangely enough, they all seem to be young human children around Clover's age...

Also these guys in the Dark World..... Eh, I'm sure they're not important in the slightest.

[zipsunz]

brosweek2024: day 5 - AU

bring in the pinch hitter 🐹⚡️

(written by @sunkitty143)

[thimblings]

viago "fashion police" de riva

[wheneverfeasible]

Because I’m terrible and the plots won’t leave me alone, I’ve now got an idea based on this post about a demon who feasts on pain and suffering being a medical practitioner for the chronically and terminally ill and the patients fully loving it. And then my brain rot had to say “make it Steddie” because I’ve lost all control of my life.

—

cw: terminal illness, minor and major character death (with a happy ending tho)

But imagine it. Eddie is a demon, a low ranking one at that originally. He gets a job at a medical facility for the chronically/terminally ill. Over time at the happy and consensual feasting he really does become one of the strongest demons because he’s constantly fed to the brim and he even has human worshippers, not that they’re traditional worshippers.

No, his followers are little old senior citizens who slip him butterscotch candies and other sweets they’re not supposed to have, which technically count as offerings. They thank him for his work, because he does actually take care of their bodies as well and even listens to their life stories, which count as praise and worship. They love and are devoted to him and they bring in their friends and family who are suffering too and Eddie’s accidental cult grows.

One day, things change. A young man, an anomaly in his youth, is brought in by parents who no longer wish to be burdened by their disabled son. Steve just shrugs it off and moves in with a smile, seemingly fine with being abandoned by his parents because he dared to be anything other than perfectly healthy.

He puts around the facility in his terry cloth robe and slippers on some days, others he dresses up in polos and slacks or even jeans when he’s feeling more casual, and always with a smile on his face. He makes those around him smile and laugh too, and his cheeks get pinched and he’s slipped candies too and he listens to others’ stories and he seems happy and content.

But Eddie feeds on his pain and suffering all the same, knows that behind that smile is a young boy who was told he probably wouldn’t live to see 30, who listens to the older folks knowing he would never get to live a life like that. Eddie knows that sometimes Steve cries himself to sleep at night.

Over time, Eddie and Steve grow closer. Steve hadn’t believed that Eddie was a demon at first, had thought it all just a joke, until one night Mr. Wozniak was laying in his bed, and Steve hadn’t meant to overhear, but he was passing by and the door was cracked open.

“Will I go to Hell now?” Mr. Wozniak was asking, but he seems peaceful all the same, like the thought wasn’t the terrifying ordeal so many people thought it was.

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie was saying, but his voice sounds a little off, huskier, like…like brimstone sat in his throat. “I’ve never claimed your soul. It’s still your own. Go find Irena. She’s been waiting for you for too long.”

Irena, Steve knew from speaking with Mr. Wozniak, was his young wife who had died decades earlier.

“Will I get to see you again?”

Eddie’s long fingers reach out, his nails long and sharp, dark in a way that was not nail polish. He lightly and gently strokes the papery skin of Mr. Wozniak’s cheek. “You will be at peace. You will find the afterlife is so much more than this Good-vs-Evil rhetoric so popular in this plane of existence. Go in peace, my child, and should you wish it, perhaps one day we might meet again.”

Mr. Wozniak smiles at that, and he closes his eyes with a softly whispered, “Irena, I’m coming…”

A moment later, he was gone.

Steve watches as Eddie seems to grow smaller, appear more normal, and though he knows he should be terrified, he isn’t. Instead he continues on his way, letting the knowledge of more percolate in his brain, though by the next morning when news of Mr. Wozniak’s passing spreads and Eddie assures everyone that he passed away peacefully and in no pain, Steve knows Eddie speaks the truth and he realizes that nothing has changed. Eddie is still Eddie.

They continue to grow closer. He spends more time with Eddie, lets Eddie in fully on how much he hurts, and tells the demon that he wished things had been different and that they could have met under better circumstances.

Eddie tells him that he never enjoyed the taste of regret. It was far too bitter.

They fall in love, encouraged by their friends in the facility new and old, who don’t seem to care that he is a mortal with a short life expectancy and Eddie is an immortal demon lord. What is all that in the face of true love?

And then it happens, and Steve is the one lying in bed, knowing his time has come. He smiles up at Eddie and decides not to regret any of it, not wanting their final moments to be flavored with bitterness.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers mournfully, and he’s beautiful. It’s not his full true form, but his eyes are a dark blood red, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and his pale skin veined with reds and blacks. Horns curl out from his curly hair.

“You said once that I get to be with my loved ones after this,” Steve says, still smiling, and he reaches up to cup Eddie’s jaw with a weakened hand. Eddie nods against him, and Steve wonders if all demons can cry, or if it’s just his. “Then take my soul, darling. It already belongs to you.”

Eddie flinches back, like Steve knew he would, because souls are not little things. Eddie had explained before, after everything, that he didn’t even actually deal in souls, that that wasn’t the sort of demon he was. Steve had asked if he could, on a technicality, and Eddie had paused because saying yes, any demon could, but souls were priceless. When you gave one up to a demon, you gave up everything. You would be theirs until the end of days. Eddie had said he wasn’t that sort of demon.

“Baby, no,” Eddie breathes now, shaking his head gently enough not to dislodge Steve’s hand. “You would be—”

“Yours,” Steve interrupts. “But I already am. You already own my heart. I now willingly give you my soul. All you have to do is accept it.”

And Eddie protests, at first, because Steve is giving him complete control over him for eternity. Steve gives it freely with open arms, and in the end, Eddie can do nothing but accept it. He tells Steve that he doesn’t know if demons have souls or not, but his belongs to Steve just as assuredly as his own heart does.

Steve’s final mortal breath is gifted into Eddie’s crimson mouth, full of peace and love and the understanding that this thing between them will always beat eternal.

It turns out that, whether it was still unknown if all demons had souls, Eddie was the sort that does.

And it also turns out that, when you’re gifted a demon lord’s soul, you become a demon too.

Eddie’s cult ends soon after, disbanded into non-existence. In its place, however, rises a new one that worships not just one demon caretaker, but two as Eddie is soon joined by another with floppy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes that for once smiles without hidden pain. They take care of their charges, gently coax them into eternal rest when it’s their time, and together prove that true love is forever.

[twifairy]

I see your "do you think Majima was happy Saejima was there for him this time" and I raise you "Saejima must be happy Majima's there for him too"

[lilybug-02]

Wow. That could not have turned out worse.

Part 23 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

This comic will be on Holiday Hiatus this December and January! While on a cliffhanger? What a scam! >:/

[dustedmagazine]

Vague Plot — Crying in 9 (Island House)

Vague Plot’s jams shimmer like highways melting in the heat, running straight on through Kansas or Nebraska until they disappear in the undecipherable distance. Which is to say, they go on for while, repeating the same short grooves ad infinitum, with modest changes, until the measures blow by like mile markers and the journey transcends itself.

“Moto” which opens, metes out the time in sharp, strummed intervals, a little syncopation marking irregular edges in the tick-tocky flow. And within that context, a sax can wail, a guitar can howl, a lick can bloom and fade and collapse in distortion. There’s order so that disorder can grow, a white picket fence around wild tangles of vegetation.

Vague Plot is made up of New York City avant-indie regulars, veterans of other bands, who got together to make driving, moving, long-form instrumental music a la Can and Popul Vuh during the pandemic. The one you’d probably pick out of a line-up first is Zachary Cale, here one of two guitarists, alongside Uriah Theriaultof Woodsy Pride. Phil Jacob of Psychic Lines plays the sax sometimes and a keyboard otherwise, while Ben Copperhead plays bass and John Studer drums.

The music grows contemplative in blues-tinged “Haunted Head” before spinning off into psychotropic grooves, like some weird mesh of Loren Connors and Om. It attains purity in the slow-evolving tones of closer “Windswept” which has a bit of Kluster in its crystalline lucidity.

You might think, with Cale involved, that there’s be a rustic rocker thread in Vague Plot’s aesthetic, a little Neil Young crashing through the motorisms. There mostly isn’t, sorry to disappoint, except oddly enough, on the tape’s best cut, “Cyclic.” Here Jacob’s sax wanders in and around a heavy groove that’s ever so slightly shaded with country rock tones. It’s a puzzle palace, a metronomic experiment in extended pulse, but with a ragged heart, and it’s the wildest and most excellent part of an excellent little album. Fuck the cowbell. Let’s have more guitar.

Jennifer Kelly    

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Vague Plot - Mama Tried 06​.​24​.​23

This one popped up with little fanfare earlier this summer — but it deserves a little fanfare! Vague Plot (Zachary Cale, Phil Jacob, Ben Lee, Uriah Theriault, John Studer) are a new NYC-based instrumental combo and as far as I can tell, this live EP is their first offering. Very sweet stuff, crisp angles and sleek styles, sweet twin guitar interplay, groovy sax and synth. Something about its mood and melodies reminds me of the self-titled Television reunion LP from the early 1990s. Hopefully this Plot will continue to thicken.

[mwahhnal]

✧･FAKING IT! (TILL WE'RE BOTH SCREWED) ✧･

"Yᴏᴜ ᴋɪssᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ. ɴᴏᴡ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ."

ˢᵞᴾᴺᴼˢᴵˢ

Y/n, a teyvat high student who wants to prove her best friend Mualani, that she has moved on from her ex and is dating. with no way to prove it, y/n mindlessly kisses the first man she sees— who is none other than Malipo Kinich. a blunt, head student council pres.

y/n begged to let Kinich and her to fake 'date' just to save dignity, and surprisingly— the broody council president agrees. if only she knew how down bad Kinich already were for her.

•a Kinich x fem!reader SMAU•

ᴳᴱᴺᴿᴱ: a bit fast paced(?) depends, highschool au, modern au, fake dating, forced proximity,

ᴬᴰᴰᴵᵀᴵᴼᴺᴬᴸ ᴺᴼᵀᴱˢ:

To all the great smaus I've read so far, it really inspired me to make one of my own.

slow updates. I'll probably delete this smau as a scrap? maybe??

the plot for this smau is HEAVILY inspired by 'the love hypothesis'

dividers by: @fic-dumpster

• MASTERLIST •

AP Heartbreak 101 ( y/ns group! )

dumb bitches anonymous ( kinich's group )

CHAPTERS: tba

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𓇼 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𓇼 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

TAGLIST!

(ask to be added or removed)

(white means I can't tag you!!)

|| @jiminscarmex @kokoscutie @tamikahoshiko @sassyflapcookieland @hikari-star @sweetdoll22 @toeekejejeieiiew @hhrtfelt @yuukuririix

[bixbythemartian]

50+ Ways to Annoy the Death Witch

Chapter 2- Actually do a Necromancy

<<Ch. 1

Callahan insisted we go back for his broken side mirror, which he fortunately found quickly enough that I didn't get too aggravated about the sideline, and then we headed to the gas station.

By the time we got there, the sun was high in the sky, as the day heated up. My eye throbbed, and exhaustion was quickly catching up to me, so I headed in to put five bucks in the boys’ tank, and grab an energy drink.

When I headed back out, Callahan was chatting with the boys, who'd already started fueling up.

When I got to the truck, he pulled me into the conversation, even though I was kinda hoping I could just jump into the truck and ignore them.

I'm not great with people, is the thing, they seemed like nice enough kids.

“This is Miss Tabitha Greene, by the way. Tabitha, this is Jacob and Dylan Matthews.” He pointed to each kid.

Jacob was the older one with pinky-peach hair, and Dylan was the younger one with the box dye black look.

“And you two do this kind of thing a lot,” Jacob said, apparently continuing their earlier conversation.

“About once or twice a year,” Callahan said.

I nodded. “It’s for the whole country, not just here,” I said. “It’s not that common. And it’s mostly just sad people who miss people they love, and that’s usually pretty easy to rectify.”

“Well we didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “And there wasn’t much love lost between Mom and them, before you ask.”

“You don’t have any aunts or uncles on that side?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jacob said.

“But it wasn’t us,” Dylan said.

“Just because your mom and grandparents did get along very well- death can change people’s priorities,” I said.

“I’m not saying Mom didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “I’m saying, if she did, it wasn’t out of love.”

Dylan nodded.

“Now, you don’t know about-”

“I’m real sorry to hear that,” I said, running over Callahan, who was definitely about to some whole ‘don’t you love your mother’ spiel that I was happy to spare the boys. “Is there another reason you can think where she might wanna talk to her folks again, though?"

The brothers glanced at each other. “Mom thinks that they had a bunch of money that nobody found,” Dylan said, after a minute. “Like, buried in the yard, or something.”

I nodded.

“Do you still live at your grandparent’s?” Callahan asked.

“We sold it a while back, to pay for the nursing for Grandma,” Jacob said. “Grandpa died last year, and she wasn’t doing okay on her own.”

Callahan turned and looked at their pretty new, fairly nice SUV. “Was there money buried in the yard?” he asked, turning back to them.

Both boys looked at each other.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the answer.

“I genuinely don’t give a damn. But if she has good reason to think there’s money buried in the yard, we should probably go to your grandparent’s place first, and see what there is to see.”

“Using the dead as free labor and sources of information is also really normal,” I said.

“I’ll give you the address,” Jacob said, after a minute. “We’ll show you the way.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Callahan said.

“Do you know the folks who live there now?” I asked.

“Nah,” Jacob said. “Grandma found someone who sold it, and told us where to dig before we moved everything out. I don’t know what she did with the taxes, but I think it was the last spell she had in her. Everything was all smoothed over. Then... she just kinda faded, after that. Mom can’t know about the money, though, she’ll never leave us alone. It’s supposed to take care of us for a while. Hopefully long enough for Dylan to get through school.”

“We won’t say anything,” Callahan promised. “Do you know where she is?”

Dylan shook his head. “We haven’t heard from her in a few months, most of a year. But that’s- I mean, she disappears for a while, shows back up. Sometimes she swears she’s cleaned up, but if she is, she never stays clean for long.”

“What’s her thing? Meth?” I asked. I wasn't trying to be mean, it's just really common.

He nodded. “Among other things, but mostly meth.”

“How long do you go without hearing from her?” Callahan asked. “Is this normal?”

“Months, sometimes a year or more. She kinda just shows up when she needs money or a place to crash,” Jacob said. “But we don’t let her crash with us anymore. She’s got to find somewhere else." He sighed. "I’m not even sure she knows Grandma’s dead, actually.”

“I tried to call her,” Dylan said. “But her phone was cut off again. I mean- I hope she’s okay, but- she’s not our job, you know?”

“I know,” I said. “Get us that address, we’ll meet you there, okay?”

Callahan dug his phone out so Jacob could recite the address to him, and then we headed out.

I can’t tell you how long the drive was, I fell asleep basically as soon as we were on the highway. Next thing I knew, Callahan was shaking me awake, dragging me out of sticky sleep.

I hadn’t even opened my Monster.

“C’mon, Tabby Cat.” “Are you allergic to calling me by my name?” I asked, rubbing my face. I just wanted to go back to sleep. “Fuck.”

“Is it such a crime for me to express my fondness for you through whimsical nicknames?” he asked. “Here.” He held his hand out.

I looked at him, struggling to keep my eyes open, not sure what he was offering.

“I can give you a little boost. If you want. You look half-dead yourself, and we’ve got a lot of day left.”

My first instinct was to say no, but he’d never offered this before. Although I think it’s the first time he’s been around me after I’ve used a lot of juice, so it probably just hadn’t come up before. “Do I just take your hand?”

“Nobody ever done this for you before?” He asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m basically a hermit.”

“Yeah, take my hand, and a deep breath.”

I was very uncertain but, as much as he’s annoyed me over the years, I did trust that he wouldn’t hurt me.

I took his hand, and the breath wasn’t really voluntary.

It wasn’t quite like being electrocuted, but it wasn’t not like that, either. It was like you could be electrocuted by a cold wind, maybe. It was like being electrocuted, if that felt like swallowing a mouthful of crushed ice very suddenly.

It didn’t hurt, but it was very sudden, and bracing in a way I hadn’t expected.

It made me shivery all over, for a second.

“Alright?”

I nodded. “I’m awake, now,” I said.

“Good.” He squeezed my hand before he let go, and we got out.

It took an act of force not to shake my hand or rub it or be weird about it, I just grabbed my backpack and stuck the offending hand in my pocket.

Been a long damned time since anybody’d held my hand, and I wasn’t going to have weird feelings about Callahan, for Christ’s sake.

Just a little touch starved, that’s all.

The boys were waiting, looking nervous. “Stay right here,” he told them, and we walked up to the house.

It looked like your bog standard ranch style house, built sometime in the 70s. They’re really common out here. The brick had been painted with some sort of off white, which did sort of personally offend me, but what the hell? It wasn’t my house.

Had one of those high wooden privacy fences for the immediate back yard, it looked pretty new.

There were what I would bet used to be flower beds that ran along the front of the house, but they’d been filled in with pea gravel and nothing else, not even the odd decorative stone. I probed to see if I could sense anything, but there was nothing.

The porch had an old straw Welcome mat, and the door was painted a sort of powdery gray blue. There were no other decorations, which I thought was a bit odd.

I did see one of those hide-a-key rocks up in the corner of one of the flower beds, just poking up through the gravel. I don’t think I’d have noticed it if I hadn’t been marveling at the lack of ornamentation. The flower beds were edged in stone, and this was kind of tucked under the stone.

There was also one of those doorbell cameras, and a security camera was hanging under the light on the garage. Light looked to be on a motion sensor. There was also a security sticker in the window, but on further notice, it was just a warning that there was a doorbell security camera.

Callahan walked right up to the door and knocked. He did prefer the direct approach but, in fairness to him, it usually paid off. I followed, mostly because I’m nosier than I am anti-social.

A tall woman who looked to be- well, look, I don’t know. Maybe ten, fifteen years older than me? I’m not good at guessing ages, but maybe in her mid fifties?

She had that kind of golden pearly blonde hair color that ‘ladies of a certain age’ dye their hair to disguise that it’s going gray. It looked fine on her, she carried blonde well. Kinda tan, blue eyes. Pretty, older woman who wasn't quite elderly.

She sneered as soon as she saw us.

Callahan, however, is not now nor ever was a man to be deterred by someone who is not pleased to see him, as I can personally attest. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I know this is an odd question, but has someone come around, and tried to break into your backyard?”

She blinked at us, taken aback enough that it knocked the sneer off her face for a second.

I could see, in her eyes, she knew what we were asking about.

“Yes,” she said, after a long moment of looking us over and deciding dealing with us was acceptable. “Some crazy woman, a couple of times, right after we moved in. That first month. I called the cops, but she left before they got here. That’s been it. Why? That’s an oddly specific thing to ask about.” She gave me a particularly hard look.

Hm. I wonder if their mom is short.

“Well, their mom is… we’re trying to figure out where she is,” he said, pointing to the boys. “She’s kind of hard to get hold of, but we need her to sign some paperwork. You haven’t seen her, lately? Or have anything odd going on in your yard?”

She crossed her arms, shook her head. “What’s her obsession with the yard?” she asked.

“Her folks used to live here, and they buried a time capsule in the yard with some beanie babies or something in it, she thinks it’ll be worth a damn if it’s dug up,” he said. “Have you seen anything lately? Even just… you know, someone lurkin?”

“Nobody’s been here who shouldn’t be,” she said. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

“If I leave a number with you-”

“If I see her, I’m calling the cops. You can deal with her then.” She shut the door.

“Well,” I said. “Huh.”

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said.

We headed out to the truck- we’d parked on the street. When I looked back at the house, she was on the phone, peering out a window at us.

She twitched the curtain shut when she saw me glance.

“I bet I know why the cops took a while to get here,” I said.

“Yeah, she definitely seems like she likes to chat to dispatch, don’t she?” Callahan asked, as we came close enough to talk to the boys without yelling.

“Nothing?” Jacob asked.

“No, and she’s definitely the kind of person who’d kick up a fuss about strangers digging in her yard,” I said. “Apparently your mom was out here a couple of times right after they moved in, but-”

He sighed. “That sounds like her. But not since?”

“No.”

“Sorry, boys. This is a dead end. We’ll meet you at the graveyard,” Callahan said, and we got back in the truck and headed out, though he waited to start driving until the boys pulled out.

He’s that kind of guy. He’s never dropped me off anywhere without waiting until I was in the door before he left.

“We might have to come back and check her yard in the dark,” he said. “Depends on what we find at the cemetery.”

“Oh, joy,” I said. I agreed, though. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve snuck into someone’s yard. Or the second.

A lot of people panic and bury bodies in the yard or basement or whatever.

“Yeah. We’ll probably need to do some spell making, I don’t think I’m kitted out for a break in.”

I nodded. “I have a couple of ‘don’t look at me’ spells, but nothing more complicated than that, and I saw at least two cameras out front, she could easily have more,” I said. "Probably not tonight."

“Yeah, it’s a look before you leap kind of situation.” There is some magic that interferes with cameras, but glamours of any kind don’t work on them- cameras don’t have a mind to be altered, they tended to see reality. You have to block them, or disable them. “High fence around the back yard, did you notice?”

“Yep. Looked new, I think. The flower beds were all empty, nothing decorative, just the gravel.”

“No root systems, or nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing that I could feel. Could be they had some kind of minor disaster and just ripped everything out and are waiting for the spring, or something.

He nodded. “I think once we hit the graveyard, our next priority has got to be tracking their mom down. We’ll save the yard for last resort.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that really feels like the key to this whole thing.” Also, I hated nothing more than talking to the cops, and that was basically guaranteed if we had to get into this lady’s yard.

We lapsed into silence, as he drove, following the boys.

“Does it really bother you when I call you Tabby?” The question seemed to burst out of him. “It’s hard to tell when you’re genuinely being mad at me, but we’ve known each other for years. I’m just being friendly.” He really seemed upset about it.

I was kind of taken aback by how upset he was, actually. “It’s hard to take someone being that familiar with me when that person regularly accuses me of atrocious things,” I said. “You call me a necromancer and accuse me of doing foul things to my neighbor’s chickens out of one side of your mouth, and call me by nickname out of the other? It doesn’t feel friendly, it feels patronizing.”

“I’m- I swear, I’m jokin, mostly.”

“Mostly,” I said.

“Well-”

“Like I haven’t had people say that shit to me my whole fuckin life. It’s not funny, Callahan, it pisses me off.”

“But it’s me! I don’t mean anything by it.”

I cannot stand that whiny ass thing he does when he’s wrong and he knows it. “Yes, you do. You may not mean much by it, but you do mean something by it. You do think that one day I am gonna snap and start doing heinous shit. So you always ask, you always gotta get your digs in, you always gotta make sure I know that you’re a fuckin threat to me. One call to the council and I’m bound up, yeah?”

“Oh, come on, Tabitha,” he said. “That’s not-”

“And we haven’t ‘known each other for years’. We’ve spent about 2, 3 months in each other’s presence over the course of… I don’t know, 7 or 8 years, I guess? We don’t hang out, and we’re not friends. You don’t even call me when you’re gonna come out to visit, because you think I’ll take off, or some shit. You treat me like a murderer in waiting, not a colleague, not a friend. No, I don’t like it when you call me Tabby.”

“Well,” he said. “Fine!” He sounded really upset. "Then I won't!"

I tipped my head back against the seat, fucking annoyed. Of course, this is somehow my fault.

Look, it’s not like I hate him or anything. I actually think he’s overall a decent guy, and once I’ve told him it wasn’t me, he drops it. He always believes me.

I trust him, to the extent that I trust anybody.

But the fact that we have to do the same damned song and dance every fuckin time, and then he acts like I’m being a big old grouchy bitch for fun, instead of being genuinely frustrated that I have to drop everything on no notice to help him out after being accused of raising the dead.

He has my number! He could just call me and ask me to drive out to Macomb and give him a hand. I would, I could use the money! I always do it even when he's pissed me off, if he asked me nicely, I think we might actually manage to get through a job without at least one of these little fuckin tiffs.

So, obviously, I spent the rest of our drive quietly stewing, and I think it’s a fairly reasonable guess to say the same was true of him. But we did get to the cemetery.

It was a dinky little cemetery in the middle of nowhere. It’s just a flat spot where they bury people between pastures, to be quite honest. There’s a fence, chain link, but not particularly tall. Both entrances had signs over the entrance, and there were fences they could gate shut. A particularly determined toddler could scale this fence without too much trouble.

I could see the graves in question- I was pretty sure, anyway. It wasn’t a large graveyard, and there was police tape set up on some of those metal stakes, though the police tape had already started to tatter in the wind. There was also a mound of earth right there.

It’s May in Oklahoma, what can you do? Wind’s gonna blow.

The boys turned into the cemetery, and we followed. I gently probed at the magic in the area.

It was sloshing like crazy, churning and shifting and moving enough that I almost immediately got motion sick, which never happened to me. I’d never seen this before, usually something like this felt more like an open would, bleeding and painful.

Before I got the chance to tell Callahan to stop so I could get out, he was stopping, and I scrambled for my belt, dropping out of the truck and falling to my knees, gagging in the grass besides the little bitty ‘road’ (grassy lane with twin lines of worn in tire tracks) that we were on.

“Shit a brick,” I heard him say, and it wasn’t a second or two before he was next to me, rubbing my back as I gagged and spat and gagged and spat, and finally puked up a little bit of bile.

I hadn’t even had the damned energy drink, I remembered.

I sucked magic in, trying to soothe myself, trying to settle the churning. Pushing magic back out. Like breathing, in and out.

“Do we have water?” I asked Callahan. My voice was hoarse, and I fucking hated how close to tears I sounded.

“We got some, Miss Tabby,” Dylan said, running back to their truck, and coming back with a kinda cold bottle, unopened.

“Bless you, hon,” I told him, rinsing and spitting, before gulping several big gulps, and taking some deep breaths. “So, bad news,” I told Callahan. “This is a new thing, I don’t know what this is, but this is new feeling, the magic’s- it made me motion sick, it’s heaving and churning and-” I sniffed. I was not gonna cry in front of these boys.

He nodded. “You feeling up to looking at the graves?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I wasn't sure, but I needed to, anyway.

“Here,” he took my arm, helped me stand up. He kept his hand on my back as I walked over to the graves- he’d never done that before, but I’ll admit, I took comfort in it.

The graves were- they were null. Like a dead battery. No leaking, no remnants- gone.

They were rectangles left in the dirt- the cops had scooped out the coffins, it looked like, or the boys had had them pulled out, so their grandparents could be reburied.

But that wouldn’t do it. There’d be lingering magic, here, and in the dirt. Not just of the grandparents, but of all the other things in the dirt- bugs and such.

Not from the bodies, they were sealed up, but. You know. It’s dirt. There’s bugs, often dead ones. There should have been something.

But it was gone.

Someone had, with extreme care and precision, extracted every last drop of death magic from those two graves, and nowhere else in the cemetery.

This wasn’t some upset kid or a teenager who’d gotten into some old books. This was the real deal.

This was a Necromancer.

<<Ch. 1

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[skyrim-forever]

This is where I live baby

[sualne]

your body isn't your own