House of Thorns: Chapter Two

There was something irrepressibly funny about the fact that I had chosen what was ostensibly the ditziest profession in the world and I had been born into one of the most grim duties Destiny had ever conceived of.

Anyone who knew me at all, really knew me, couldn't get their heads around the fact that I was a necromancer by birth and an actor by choice. I couldn't really explain to them that a necromancer was, by necessity, an actor. The first time I'd unexpectedly raised the dead - a neighbor's cat, killed by a drunk driver - I learned that if I didn't smile and act like nothing was out of the ordinary, the men in white coats would come take my mother away.

It wasn't common knowledge that John was only my half-brother. His mother had been my father's mistress, but after Mom got taken away to the funny farm because Baby Gray was raising half-mangled cats off the hot Las Vegas tar, it only seemed right to Dad to marry his little side-show. It was probably for the best, since John had been far more interested in taking over the family business than I ever was. He'd worked hard to get through Harvard, and it was all out of fear - fear that he'd never be good enough for Old Man Hagen, for the man he'd never dared call Dad. He thought he was a disappointment, but he wasn't; he was a fine lawyer and Dad was looking forward to retiring and leaving structured takeovers to John's capable hands. The problem with John, of course, was that his mother hadn't been from the right family, so John, though he inherited the legal and business acumen of the offices of Hagen and Matheson, had not inherited from the House of Hagen. I, on the other hand, had inherited from the House of Hagen in full. Despite John's constant disdainful ribbing about my being a model-turned-actor, I'd studied hard, and I'd taken on my duties as a scion when I came of age.

Of course, so far away from the home base in Vegas, it was easy to forget the restless undead who roamed the nights beneath the casino lights. And the House of Hagen wasn't the only Chantry in Vegas to guard the desert gates - the House of Hawthorne was just as old and just as powerful, and their own scion, Gregory Hawthorne, had been the perfect son - skilled necromancer and skilled lawyer.

He'd died a year ago, and no one would tell me why, but Dad insisted I come home. So here I was, standing in the doorway of Dad’s office and wondering what fate he'd leave me to. I was, ostensibly, at the office to shadow a lawyer in preparation for a part I'd landed in an upcoming indie film. I didn't know that they made indie films about lawyers, but I'd landed the role, and claiming professional research seemed better than just giving in to my father's demands. It also made John a little less hostile - he was sure I was coming home to take over now that Dad was making even more noise about retirement.

"Gray, my boy, how have you been?" Dad swept me into one of his crushing bear hugs, and I winced when I heard my ribs creak.

"I've been great, Dad," I said, and tried to pull back. I had always been too thin and weak for my own good.

"So, a movie about lawyers, huh? I bet they took one look at your old man's pedigree and thought you'd be perfect for the part," Dad said.

"It's a lower-budget independent film," I began, but it was pointless trying to explain anything to him about my career. I was pretty sure he didn't even know the name of the show I worked on regularly. "So, which poor associate have you saddled with me? I know John's got more important things to do than let he follow him around like a lost puppy."

"I picked a lawyer who just moved here from the Summerlin office," Dad said. He finally pulled back and went back to his desk, pressed a button on his complicated-looking phone device. "Janine, send in Emmaline."

Emmaline. The name rang a bell. Why? "Are you sure she won't mind?"

"She's a good litigator and a hard worker, but she's not working on anything too top-secret for now, so it should be all right," Dad said.

"Mr. Hagen."

Her voice was low for a woman's, husky, and sent shivers down my spine. I turned and lifted a hand to wave, ready with a Hollywood smile, but when her eyes met mine, she turned pale.

"Emmaline! I don't think you've met my younger son, Gray, but he's here doing research for a project," Dad said, and led me over to her.

She was staring at me as if she wanted to flay my skin off my spine. Then she collected herself and said, "It's good to meet you. Are you doing research for a law review article or independent research paper or a practical class? What year in school are you?"

I shook her proffered hand, genuinely nervous that she might set me aflame. "Nice to meet you, too. Actually, I'm an actor doing research. For a role."

"I see."

Never had two words been so poisonous.

"Well, Mr. Hagen, I'll be glad to show you the ropes. I'm afraid I'm going to be late for a deposition, however. If you'll excuse me - perhaps we can catch up after lunch." She handed me a business card, spun on her heel, and walked away.

I stared after her, then down at the card.

And my heart plummeted into my shoes. Emmaline Hawthorne. She was Greg's widow.

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