The Grave Keeper

Ward

Sorry about the late chapter!

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The next few days were odd, to say the least.  Not only did I have rotating roommates, but the town itself was changing.

Spooks kept flooding in, houses that had been vacant for years suddenly had new occupants, and quiet understandings to not talk about certain things were being pushed.

Like, for example, how the Grave Keeper was banishing fiends every month.  I hadn't gone and done that yet, which was a problem on its own.  People were going to start grumbling about the little spirits, and it wouldn't take long for a passing mage to put two and two together.

One of the reasons the local hedge mages hadn't questioned my use of spirit magic was that they weren't all the most educated in what was normal or not. 

It wasn't that uncommon for a magically homeschooled hedge mage to do a difficult piece of magic because they didn't realize it was supposed to be hard. 

Magic was weird like that.

The other reason was that the hedge mages here mostly minded their own business and expected others to do the same.

I was taking care of the fiend problem, and no one had felt the need to look deeper than that.  The mage clans were far less likely to have such a laissez-faire approach.

So I needed to find a way to explain how I took care of fiends fast.

So, two days after we got back, I was sitting in my living room trying to carve an explanation for my fiend banishing.

My werewolf guards rotated. The first day, it was Blair and Laurel.  Blair, predictably, came prepared with her own mattress and bedding.  Laurel had just opted for the couch and a blanket. However, Blair had offered her the bed.

Tonight it was Bobby and Simon. Ben was also here, absently reading a comic book in the corner. 

I turned the crude carving over in my hands.  It was supposed to be a cat, but right now, it was more of a lumpy mass with cat ears. 

"What are you trying to make?" Simon asked.  I waved the carving at him with a groan. "A cat.  It's supposed to be a cat.  But..."

He pursed his lips.  "It's like a blob with cat ears."  I smiled.  The guy was soft-spoken, but that didn't hide his sense of humor.

"May I?"

I shrugged and handed it and the carving knife over.

"Simon's a wizard with the intricate stuff," Bobby said.  The man was currently sprawled upside down in my armchair, looking over his phone.

"Though he usually uses those gifts for explosives."

I blinked.  "What?"

Bobby nodded. "Yep.  That's most sane people's reaction."

Simon frowned.  "It's not that weird for werewolves," he mumbled.  "If I blow off a few fingers, they'll just grow back."  The words were so softly mumbled that I almost didn't catch them.

"I'm sorry, blow your fingers off?"  I turned to Bobby.  "Is this normal for werewolves?"

He waggled a hand.  "Not fearing injury as much as humans? Yes.  Playing with explosives and blowing one's fingers off? No."

I looked between the two.  "I didn't even realize you guys could regrow fingers."

"Fingers, yes," Simon said.  "But if you lose a limb that won't grow back unless you're older than a hundred, minimum. Though they are easier to reattach."