The crisp night air was a sharp contrast against the overwhelming heat inside the tavern. Rhea pulled her coat around her closer and tied the long wool belt to keep in as much warmth as possible. Not long after being summoned to the Baron’s manor the three had decided it was in their best interests to make it an early night. These days they rarely made an allnighter out of their daily meetup, though Rhea had intended on dawdling a bit that evening. She couldn’t really be upset about her loose plans being cut short, the promise of a good amount of coin would be a necessary windfall.

There were a lot of ways to use necromancy to make money, but most of them were clear cut immoral or downright evil. It was the magic of choice for crazed cult leaders and dark liches alike simply because if you threw all respect for other beings aside you could be near unstoppable. Raising an entire village’s cemetery to rampage it through the town looting and killing could make a single necromancer very, very rich and powerful in just one night with just a bit of preparation and careful strategy, which made it appealing for the magically inclined who also lacked ethics.

Rhea found using necromancy in the “traditional” manner abhorrent. Any type of magic, regardless of origin could and had been used for ultimate evil, just some forms of magic either seemed to attract the wrong kind of person or it was just easier to use for evil purposes. She exclusively used necromancy to carry out the final wishes of the dead and to benefit the living. Unfortunately those wishes usually involved her needing a decent amount of coin for her ledgers and little opportunity to make a profit. Even if she could get enough people to agree to have their bodily fats rendered to make soap, she was certain the town would not look kindly on the opening of a new boutique soap shop with their loved ones being an integral ingredient.

Her money making ventures were much more mundane. The biggest asset in her business was the abundance of free labor that never tired, but it came at the cost of the presence of such labor distressing the living. It would have been simple to perhaps send a few of the undead to work a normal job in a shop or the back room of a butcher, but no normal shop owner would ever risk their customers seeing an undead snipping the loose threads on a tailor’s final creation or kneading the bread for the day’s loaf orders. She had standing arrangements with a local farmer to have two undead workers muck and clean the barn in the dead of night, a couple others at the same time went off to their jobs doing basic pest control for warehouse, and another who cleaned out the back of the wagons that transported the dead to the cemetery. She had negotiated decent “wages,” but the agreements were all tenuous and could end on any single night. All it would take is rumors to start or one of the workers being identified as undead for the employers to cut ties and call off the deals.

Most of the money earned by the few that went out at night was sent right back out to the families still under contract. What very little was left was added to the savings, but there had been times where that had required money to come out every day instead and at least once where she had very carefully considered doing some less than ethical necromancy to be able to make the monthly payments out to the families, but she had been able to make it work by the skin of her teeth. She had learned to be much wiser in how she saved money and had streamlined most of her own needs to be covered by her free labor, but even still some months were shaved much closer than she would like.

“Going to rain soon,” Oliver remarked, then took in a deep breath of night air. “I love the smell of the impending rain in the air.”

Rhea breathed in deeply, closing her eyes to really take in the scent. There definitely was the clean, yet deep scent of rain in the air.

“Hopefully it will hold off until we make it home,” Cedric commented. “Though the sound of gentle rain on the roof and the wind through the trees makes prayer and meditation all the more peaceful.”

Rapid footsteps down the alley next to the tavern revealed a harried teenage boy who looked uncertainly between the companions before his eyes fell on Rhea.

“Miss Mortis?”

“Yes?” Rhea answered. She barely kept the sigh held in her chest. A panicked person sent to fetch her at night always only meant one thing and she already knew who it would be.

“Oh thank goodness, Mrs. Hughes sent me to fetch you.”

The boy did not stick around after giving her the news and with a small bend at the waist he disappeared back down the alley. By the grimace he had been struggling to keep off his lips when she confirmed who she was, Rhea was certain his swift exit had a lot to do with her being the town necromancer.

“Well so much for getting some rest tonight,” she sighed.

“Would having some help make it go a bit faster?” Oliver offered. “I had no other plans other than a book to keep me company.”

Rhea smiled and nodded. “It would, but it is not pleasant work. I understand if you’d rather not know what my career entails.”

“I fully intend to never find out.” Cedric said with a sniff. “I will pray for you both.”

Without another word, Cedric turned away from his friends and disappeared down a side street towards his home.

With a roll of his eyes, Oliver turned to Rhea and said “Don’t pay him any mind.”

“I never have and never will,” Rhea dryly replied while motioning for Oliver to follow. “Follow me if you’re joining, I anticipate this will be a short death at least.”

Rhea pulled the newest contract from her satchel and unfurled it under the glow of the streetlamp outside of the tavern. Her mind lingered over how cruel it was that the ink had barely time to dry, but it was tempered by the follow up thought that at least he had been able to make it long enough to sign the contract and secure his family’s future. She checked the address written into the contract, then they began to make their way together towards the poverty stricken neighborhood, the street lamps slowly becoming far and few between.

The stone buildings with tiled roofs gave way to more flimsy wooden houses with thatched roofs, then finally to little more than shacks thrown together with whatever scrap materials people had found laying around. Occasionally they heard hushed voices, groans, and other less than savory sounds as they passed the tight and unsightly homes and makeshift alleys. People did what they had to on this side of the village to survive.

“I don’t think I’ve really explored this side of the village,” Oliver commented as he flicked his fingers together and a small glowing orb appeared between them with just enough light to make the walk more comfortable. “It’s very.. Austere.”

“Destitute is the proper term,” Rhea corrected. “I find myself here quite often. Sometimes I think those that sign my contracts are a bit grateful for their upcoming death as it may be the only viable way their family gets a way out of their circumstances”

It was obvious which house was their stop by light spilling out of the open door and the little boy, likely no more than five sitting against the splintered wood wall next to the door drawing aimlessly in the dirt with his finger. His expression was a mask of confusion and sadness, the turmoil of uncertainty that often plagued children during their first experience with death. He did not raise his head as the pair approached, though his aimless drawings ceased.

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Without prompting, the sphere of light Oliver had summoned flickered into darkness and he approached the child slowly, kneeling down to sit in the dirt before him. The child looked up in surprise and his eyes immediately darted over to the scar on Oliver’s face, his eyes widening slightly.

“Hey there, having a rough night?” he asked the child in a gentle, low tone.

“Umm…” the little boy said uncertainly, eyes never leaving the scar. “My dad is sick.”

Oliver nodded his head solemnly. “I heard that, why I came to give you a toy to cheer you up. What’s your favorite bug?”

While the boy was distracted, Rhea stepped back into the shadows just out of the glow of the candlelight from within and pulled on the leather strap that held a small carved bone pendant that hung around her neck. She had carved it herself from a small portion from a rib of one of her most used undead, Elias. With a surge of magical energy rising from the center of her chest to her fingertips she filled the pendant with her intent and it glowed a soft blue in response. In a few minutes Elias would arrive to help prepare and move the body. Until then, it would be the hardest part of her job, facing the grieving family.

“In-inchworm,” the boy replied. “Um, did you fall down and get that?”

Oliver laughed softly at the boy’s inability to prevent himself from pointing out his scar. “Something like that. I didn’t listen to my mom when I was little and played where I shouldn’t have, so remember to always listen to her, okay?”

The little boy’s eyes widened again, but he nodded. Oliver stuck a hand under his jacket and fumbled through the many small pockets sewn on the inside. After a moment he pulled out a small block of wood about the size of a thimble. With an incantation spoken so softly that even the boy next to him couldn’t make out any of the words, the wood elongated and wriggled into the shape of a small worm. He placed it on the dirt between them, then gently tapped it with his fingertip causing it to start to wriggle itself upright and inch along like a real inchworm. The boy let out an excited gasp as his attention snapped to be fully on the new toy.

“Time to go in,” Rhea whispered behind him.

He stood and dusted himself off. The boy seemed to be content to be lost in something other than what was happening inside. Rhea was relieved that he would not be underfoot and around to see everything that would happen. Death was a fact of life that the child would have to come to grasp, but the finer details would only unnecessarily haunt him. It was always best in her opinion for small children to have a grace period to have a sun and roses view of the world.

Inside the pair was greeted by the deep, rattling wheeze of someone near death and his soon to be widow replacing cold rags on his forehead with shaking hands. The wife’s long brown hair was haphazardly thrown up in a bun to be out of the way while her dress was stained with vomit and other unfortunate messes that came with the end of life. Her eyes were dull, but glassy from the tears she had long cried out.

There was very little in the home aside from the deathbed, a few cooking implements, a makeshift stove, a dilapidated table and chairs, and the candles that illuminated the space. His desperation to make it to Rhea and sign a contract made sense seeing how little his family was being left with. Without help, they seemed to have nothing to sell and would likely have been pushed towards begging very swiftly.

“Thank you for coming,” the wife said in a shaky, hoarse voice. “He said he needs to speak with you before…”

Her words trailed off and she shook her head and looked away, letting fresh tears fall.

“I understand,” Rhea comforted. “I am here now and will take over. Please let my friend here help you go have a seat and make you a cup of tea.”

Oliver sprung into action and put a hand on the woman’s arm, taking the wet rag from her and placing it in the bucket by the bed. He led her to a chair next to the stove and set to work figuring out tea. Rhea approached the bed and was surprised to see Mr. Hughes’ eyes open to a slit as she knelt down. She had thought that surely she was too late, but it was often surprising how hard the near dead fought to complete their last request.

“They… they…” He was struggling to get air through this throat and his mouth and tongue was so dry that his words sounded like the wind through dry autumn leaves. “Will… be… taken care of?”

“I will make sure they will survive,” Rhea said with comforting conviction. “I will not let them starve.”

With no other sound or movement, the man’s eyes bugged in their sockets and his mouth fell open. The ragged breathing abruptly ceased and a soft wail escaped his wife’s lips. Oliver stopped his work getting the water ready to boil and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and murmured his sympathies.

After a cup of tea and time to quiet her sobbing, the woman tried to rise to her feet to go prepare her husband’s body, but Rhea stepped between her and the corpse.

“I would not advise helping with this part,” she said softly, leading the woman back to the chair. “You have likely been tending to him tirelessly since he’s gotten sick and you are exhausted. Seeing what happens next is not pretty and not something you want to keep in your mind. It is best to try to keep the memories of him alive and healthy as fresh as possible. I won’t stop you if you insist, but I do think it’s best if you go have a quiet moment with your son while this part is taken care of for you.”

She looked toward the bed for a drawn out moment, then rose onto shaky feet and stumbled out into the night to find her son. Oliver and Rhea went to work assessing which bedding was soiled beyond saving and found that pretty much the whole lot would need to be replaced. That was often the case and while some doctors and undertakers would advise that linens and blankets could be boiled and used again, she felt it best to get rid of them and start fresh. No one wants to pull a death shroud over their face before sleep.

They wrapped all the bedding around the body and tucked it in tightly so that all of it could be carried as one bundle and perhaps not be overly gruesome if anyone ran into the scene on a late night walk. Rhea felt the pendant on her neck tremble as Elias arrived, his head down in a sign of respect. She had never instructed him on how to react during this part, but he seemed to have retained a good bit of his sense and humanity, knowing instinctively how to react in these situations. While still obvious that he was of the undead, he was perhaps the best preserved of all the bodies at her disposal and given a dark enough room and a hood pulled tight enough around his face he could pass as perhaps just sickly. With little effort, Elias gathered up the body and placed it over his shoulder, then nodded wordlessly to Rhea to indicate that he would place it in the preparation area.

Once Elias left, the wife and son returned, both of their faces wet and puffy from crying. She looked to the bed and was dismayed to see all of the bedding gone.

“It will need to be replaced, the mattress as well,” Rhea instructed. She dug through her satchel and pulled out several coins. “Take this and get them replaced, consider it a gift for my condolences. Did your husband explain the contract he signed?”

The woman looked at the coins in her hand and fresh tears spilled over her cheeks. It was likely the most money she had held at one time in a long time, if ever. She shook her head and put the coins in the pocket of her dress.

“I am sure you’ve heard my name whispered around town, much of which is exaggerated, I assure you. The only part you need concern yourself with is at the first of every month you and your son will receive a small payment directly from my accounts to help with your upkeep. It should be enough to keep the both of you fed and clothed until your son is married.”

“He did that?” Her mouth went slack in shock and her eyes darted back and forth as if combing through her memories of him. “I didn’t think he cared what would happen to us.”

Rhea sighed in sympathy through her nose and clasped her hands over the woman’s to steady their shaking.

“Knowing death is coming changes people. Their deeds weigh heavy, even if they remain stubborn to the end. Many want to make right their wrongs in the only ways they know how.”

The woman nodded and looked up at Rhea with sincere gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Wordlessly, Rhea drew the woman into a hug, then gave her a soft smile and stepped towards the door. Oliver bowed, then turned to the boy and quickly produced a second inchworm from within his coat which was met with less enthusiasm, but the boy managed a half-smile through his sniffles as he took the toy.

Outside the rain had started falling, quickly wetting the pair as they walked towards the general direction of the village center where they would part ways to their own homes. Many times each glanced at the other, considering starting some conversation, but every time they thought better. There was much to be said, but nothing felt worthy of breaking the solemn patter of the rain on the cobblestone. It felt a fitting end to such a night.