Icy claws scraped down Merritt’s spine when the ghost tried to touch him.  Why in the devil the dead always fondled his neck, he’d never know.  Perhaps it had to do with the protective collar he wore, or the hideous scars beneath that no magical salve could ever heal.

The lights flickered.  

Another ferocious rumble of thunder shook the courthouse, and Merritt grasped the table before him like it would anchor him.  Something sinister swept over him as he peered around at the clueless vampires around him.  How could they not feel that?

Rain pounded mercilessly against the rooftop, and hushed whispers from the vampires in the jury box flooded his ears.  He tried to drown them out.  He tried so desperately to pretend that the ghost was not hovering behind him doing everything possible to garner a reaction out of him.

Merritt knew Bloodworth was a no nonsense type of lawyer and wouldn’t tolerate him fleeing from the middle of court.  Or whispering to a ghost nobody else could see.  The last thing he needed was for his new boss to think he suffered from a severe case of madness. 

The lights flickered again, and dread pooled in Merritt’s stomach as he took a few calming breaths.  He would not mess things up.  He would not make a fool of himself in front of his new boss. Despite how persistent that ghost was, Merritt would prove to be more resilient.  She would give up on him eventually if he continued to ignore her.

No matter how hard Merritt tried to convince himself of that, he barely heard their opposing counsel give their opening statement to the court.  Words fluttered through one ear and right out the other.  He couldn’t concentrate with a literal ghost breathing down his neck.  

One glimpse at Bloodworth beside him sent shockwaves of panic through Merritt when he realized the vampire’s intimidating gaze had shifted to him.  Merritt hurried to turn his head in the direction of the vampire defense lawyer as he concluded his opening statement.  

While Bloodworth didn’t utter a word to him, he had a horrible feeling he’d already upset him.  Merritt inhaled a sharp, shaky breath when Bloodworth rose to give his own opening statement for the case.  However, that ghost proved to be a wretched nuisance.

“I know you see me, boy,” she rasped against his ear. “You tell that bloodsucker my granddaughter didn’t kill her husband.  She loved that idiot more than anything.”

It was not the first time Merritt had to force himself to ignore a ghost, and he doubted it would be the last.  Despite the chills that raked his body, he remained focused on Bloodworth. He never let his gaze even shift near that ghost while he spoke.

“You will hear testimony from the defense about how much the defendant loved her husband, but we are not here to prove how much Elspeth Fontain did or did not love the man.” Bloodworth’s stentorian voice cut through the courthouse like a knife, never wavering on a single word. “The evidence we will present will prove she took Alfred Fontain’s life, then staged his body down in the basement for a sadistic devil-worshiping ritual.”

Something about Bloodworth’s rich, mellifluous voice soothed Merritt.  He found himself able to loosen his ironclad grip on the table as he listened, transfixed as he finally concluded his opening and returned to his seat.  He merely sat there in content as if he’d already won.   

Tendrils of light azure embers floated around Merritt, smelling of the oceanside.  A strange sense of calmness washed over him, and his pounding heart slowly returned to a steady beat.  Those anxieties faded, not forgotten, but no longer at the forefront of his mind. 

Beside him, Bloodworth remained as calm as the summer sea.  His focus remained on the judge, but light sparks of magic still danced on the tips of his fingers.  A silent charm of some kind, most likely.  He must’ve noticed how tense Merritt had gotten when that wretched ghost appeared.

Shame burned Merritt’s cheeks as he sat up straighter and adjusted his polka dot tie.  He wouldn’t let that happen again.  While Bloodworth didn’t acknowledge the spell, Merritt took it as a silent warning not to let his anxieties best him again.  He’d forgotten how in tune vampires could be with mortal fears.

Thankfully, they managed to get through opening statements without the ghost making any genuine interference in court.  Merritt knew he was the only one who could see her and hear her at the moment, but was well aware of the danger a rogue spirit could cause.  Much to his relief, he’d noticed fresh ward markers on the courtroom doors, so the ghost likely wouldn’t be capable of doing much. If anything at all.

Merritt wondered if that was why only he could even see her.  With their warded magic, it likely restrained any and all powers she had.  She probably couldn’t even reveal herself to the defendant, who she’d much gratefully returned to hovering behind.  Better to make her freeze than him.

“For the prosecution, may we have your first witness?”

Bloodworth rose from his seat, standing ever tall and confidently as he said, “Yes, your honor. We’d like to summon the victim himself. Alfred Fontain.”

Cases where the victim could be summoned to the stand were typically open and shut.  However, something about the way that ghost was so certain her granddaughter’s innocence left a hollow, dreaded feeling in the pit of his gut.  Was she just trying to protect her own kin?  Or was she telling him the truth?

He almost wished he could talk to the ghost.  Just to hear what she had to say and why she was so adamant about her granddaughter being innocent. Maybe she just couldn’t believe her granddaughter was capable of such a heinous crime, or maybe there was more that went on behind closed doors than they knew.

Merritt supposed it didn’t matter, as Elspeth Fontain would be charged with murder soon enough.

When the doors to the court room cracked open, a portly little old man with a silver beard hobbled in.  Bloodworth cursed under his breath, startling Merritt as he muttered, “Crystal balls, not him.”

Was there something wrong with that legal necromancer? Merritt would have thought someone with such experience was exactly what he’d desire in court.  

The old man hobbled up to the stand with his wooden cane and a sack full of summoning supplies.  He reminded Merritt much of his own grandpappy, and he smiled sadly to think about that man continuing to work in his old age likely to keep his family protected.  

Merritt could probably summon the dead by spellwalking by now, but he always found it so fascinating to watch others perform their craft and magic.  As much as he found his own abilities a curse, he could not deny how fascinated he was with death magic itself.

When the little old necromancer approached their table, he offered a polite smile as he dumped the contents of his summoning supply bag out in front of them.  Merritt’s eyes widened when a literal purple toad leaped out at him.  Bloodworth zapped it with a freezing spell before it had a chance to hop off the table or into Merritt’s lap.

“Can you please keep your colorful pets at home, Sylvester?” Bloodworth grumbled.

“Apologies for that, sir.” Sylvester scrambled to collect his salt and candles with shaky, gnarled hands.  The terror in his eyes pained Merritt as all he could do was watch him pack his stray belongings back into his bag.  

Every necromancer across the seas knew the importance of concentration when summoning spirits.  Any negative energy could severely impact whether the ghost would appear for them.  It was a relief the poor old man had no intentions of summoning any demons because they weaponized a spellcaster’s emotions and fed off negative energy like a buffet platter.  They would devour his poor old soul in a heartbeat.  

However, Merritt understood the poor old man’s reservations.  He’d nearly bolted out the courtroom when that ghost breathed down his neck.  When he applied to Bloodworth’s internship, he didn’t think he’d be anywhere in the vicinity of spirits, but no matter where he went, it was like they followed him.

Judging by the way Bloodworth cursed when Sylvester entered, he’d likely had some issues with summoning in the past.  It made Merritt wonder if he messed up again, would they fire him?

Some vampires in the gallery behind him snickered when Sylvester accidentally knocked one of his candles over with his foot.  Why he chose to summon off the ground was beyond Merritt, because it would have been much easier to contain the spirit to the actual witness box instead.  It was hard not to lean over to whisper some advice to the old man.

Finally, Sylvester got all his candles sorted in the midst of the floor.  The circle’s size itself did not need to be so vast, but it wasn’t Merritt’s summoning salt being wasted.  Perhaps his magic just flowed better with a circle of that size.  Once the candles were lit, Merritt coaxed a little magic from underneath the table to stabilize them. 

Wind magic was his speciality.  He could easily keep something held in place without it being seen by the naked eye.  Merritt’s faith in the necromancer was dwindling with each passing second, but he knew some witches and wizards just had their off days.  Perhaps that was his situation.  He’d try not to judge him too harshly for it. Minor mistakes happened.

Merritt just wasn’t sure if he trusted the poor old man not to burn them to the ground.

The room had fallen dead silent, only the sound of Sylvester’s footsteps echoed in his ears as he poured his salt to connect the candles.  None of the other vampires paid him much attention. Not like Merritt did.  

Much like with the candle accident, Sylvester tread through his salt and left a tiny opening.  Any necromancer knew the importance of containing their summoning circle.  Merritt tried so hard to chalk it up to him having a seriously rough day as he sent a gust of spellwind across the room to close the circle completely with the salt.

Such magic did not go undetected by Bloodworth.  He merely raised a brow at Merritt, who offered up his most saccharine smile. Thankfully, his new boss didn’t question it.  

Just when Merritt thought all was good, Sylvester frowned at the salt he’d patched up and gave a timid glance around the room.  Merritt reached down to pet Bandit’s head, acting as though he weren’t watching.  But he was.

So when Sylvester took his foot and smudged the salt again, Merritt cast the same spell.  One with much more force behind it that time.  It was enough to garner both a reaction from Sylvester himself and Bloodworth, but Merritt remained composed and most importantly quiet.

What in the hells was that necromancer up to?