(Collab with Atrophy)
 
 She didn’t care about the undead man’s confusion. She didn’t care about the questions Sander would ask or the answers he would receive. She didn’t care about finding out who Nichole was, or even who this man was. She only wanted to watch. To see how he moved, how he reacted, how he ticked; if he fell apart, if he burst into flames, if he turned into dust. She needed to consume everything, so she watched and she listened. Her look was one of fascination lined with silver twinges of hope. Perhaps this would be the one. Practice, hard work, and dedication would be her path to success, as it was for the necromancers who had come before her. A smile flickered on to her face as the spirit recognized that he was no longer in the blissful dreams of death, but in the dank morgue of Sander’s abbey. He was of a sound mind, good, good. Panicked, confused, but aware. That was fortunate. She couldn’t help but beam as a wave of giddish fluttered through her body.

[i]I think I finally did it; I think I finally…[/i]

 The eyes. Her own went wide while his went white. She half-started up to her feet before freezing, a hand clasped across her open mouth. [i]No, no, no, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,[/i] she thought as the body rocked forward. [i]Just a flight of dizziness. Not unheard of, he’ll recover, he’ll--[/i]Gravity took over what the spirit could no longer control. The body landed face-down on the hard floor with a wet thud; Valorie followed suit. Crumpling to her knees, the woman stared with disbelief at the corpse as a dark cloud of emotions swirled over her. Hands shaking, lips trembling, she folded into herself, her gaze becoming muddled with tears as it fell to the ground at her knees. She was upset. Angry. Embarrassed. With magic there was always room for error, always a chance things wouldn’t go right. Regardless, that sentiment made her feel no better. She wasn’t improving. Hell, she was getting worse. Why? Why was she trying so hard if this was what her efforts got her?

 It pissed her off that she was pissed off. Any good occultist would brush this off as an experience, as an exercise, but she could only see it for what it was: a failure. She was a failure, and she did not want to admit that. She certainly did not want others to know it. She also didn’t want others to see her frustrated or upset, but she couldn’t help it and that made her only more distraught. [i]Give up,[/i] she thought. [i]Go home. Go back to college. Get a four-year degree. Marry some boy. Be miserable working for forty years. Have a kid or two at some point. Die alone and unloved in Florida.[/i] 

As if she could go back. As if she could give up. She couldn’t have been getting worse. [i]That’s an impossibility,[/i] she thought, trying to She looked for a fault. There had to be a fault: maybe the circle was slightly misshapen. Perhaps the runes were smudged. She hadn’t used enough blood or she had used too much blood. There were chemicals from the embalming throwing everything off or there were chemicals from the drugs in her system throwing everything off. Something. Anything. If not her, something else. Sander had fucked something up. Blinking away salty tears there were no revelations, only further frustrations. She had just failed and that was that. She’d have to accept it.

 But she wouldn’t have to do so gracefully.

 “God fucking damn it,” she screamed, punching the ground. She heard something pop and felt a pain in her hand. Good, maybe she’d do better next time; she hit the ground again. Dragging herself on her knees over to the body, she punched it while whispering obscenities hotly under her breath. She hit it again. It looked like and was as immature and unfathomable as a child throwing a tantrum over a toy that they themselves had broken. The gauze on her arm darkened with her own blood as she aggravated her cut. The hushed obscenities grew into a guttural roar as Valorie stumbled up to her feet and threw one final hard kick against the back of John Doe’s skull. For her effort, all she got was a throbbing foot. She angry chuckled at her own behavior. She didn’t feel any better, but she did feel exhausted. That was better than nothing.

 As Valorie unleashed hell on the now inanimate corpse, Sander decided not to interfere and slunk back to his previous spot on the barrel. She was beyond words now; he knew that look. To be frank, he had no words of comfort to offer her. That, and he didn’t trust himself to be standing close to another human being at this moment. Not after what happened earlier. 
 
 Sander had seen glimpses of his unwelcomed passenger before. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, black smoke and shadow would coil and twist at the corner of his vision. Often, he would solve it by getting shit-faced on a weekday. Marco used to rant about it, but well, he was dead now. He knew something got into his head during the ritual, but seeing as it barely did much than making him hallucinate vividly, he hadn’t paid it much mind then. Then this happened. It was like the thing was getting tired of the backseat so it began riding shotgun and wrestled for the wheel. To think he had come this far, only to get his metaphorical car highjack by some entity that might not even be real. But it didn’t. Sander looked down at his hands, and unclenched his fists, just because he could. He still could. He would be fine. No damage done. It was probably just a slip; his brain finally went haywire after inhaling too much magic residue or whatever. Maybe he shouldn’t stand too close next time Valorie came over to do her dark magic voodoo thing. Maybe he shouldn’t be in the same room. It wouldn’t happen again. 
 
 He pushed that particular train of thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t that hard. He had had practice when it came to running away from things he couldn’t deal with.
 
 [i]Coward[/i], came a thought he barely registered. 
 
 He was going to leave then room. Then Valorie was done with the corpse. 

 Putting on her sunglasses, she turned and gave Sander a half-smile. She couldn’t think of anything to say. No quip, no apology, nothing. She didn’t even bother to wipe away the tear stains that escaped from below the rims of her shades, lick the blood dripping from where she had bitten her lip in rage, or tame the wild mess that had become of her hair. She didn’t care. She was too tired to feel ashamed and too beat to be embarrassed. Sander had already seen her fail to bring the John Doe back for more than minute, there was no point in saving face. Valorie wouldn’t be surprised if he never talked to her again, never called her again, never wanted to see her stupid bitch face again. Hell, she would have been okay with it, too. If all of her practice was going to get her to this point every single time, then fuck it. She could barely handle disappointing herself; she didn’t need others hating her too. 

 Turning away from Sander she wiped the muck on her hands off on the white sheet and threw it in a ball on top of the dead body. Without looking back she stomped up the stairs, out of the basement, and out through the front door. She called a cab as she collapsed on the stoop, lit two cigarettes, and inhaled one of them with such a force that she nearly swallowed it. As she nursed the second one her face fell into her hand as she massaged her temples. If she couldn’t give up on her path, then she could at least give up on the day. She sent out a text. Ether wouldn’t be strong enough of a medication anymore. Fairy Dust shouldn’t be too hard to find. After her shopping trip, she’d go to her apartment and sleep it off with Sammy. At the very least her dog would never hate her. 

 Sander sidestepped as she ran pass, and for a moment, he considered returning to his room and took a day off. In the end, he didn’t. Having a Rat owning him favors had been useful; he didn’t intend to lose that edge yet.

 
 He opened the door, just a crack at first. She still hadn’t left yet. So he stepped out, closing the door with a little more force than he would have liked. Then he realized why. His hands were shaking. He dug nails into his palms to make them stop and let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
 
 “You have never done that before.”-He said simply, flopping down next to her. The gesture felt casual enough, but he was keeping his distance from her, as much as the stoop allowed. He doubted she would notice. Eyeing the lit cigarette in her hand, he snatched it up with a quick movement and took a long drag before she could protest. It helped. –“Look, it’s…fine. The guy talked. That’s something.” 

 At first it appeared as if Valorie did not even notice the man. "It's not fine," she said, finally, without raising her head. Her voice was shaky; weary. She held out her tiny hand that was still stained with grime in anticaption of Sander returning her cigarette, a sigh escaping from her lips. "Do you know what happens when you die?" 

 Sander breathed out. The smoke was still the right color. But then, why wouldn’t it? He sighed and took another drag, quietly ignoring Valorie’s outstretched hand. This one was for the mess down in the basement. Still, the weariness of her voice did bother him somewhat. He had no trouble dealing with the bratty, sarcastic Valorie; the defeated girl next to him was a stranger. At her odd question, Sander simply shrugged, only to then realize that she probably wouldn’t see it.

 
 “Think you can remain dead long enough to find out?”-He half-smiled, a note of humor found its way into his voice.
 
"It was a serious question," Valorie said as she pulled another cigarette out of her pack with her teeth and lit it. Her hair fell over her face as she studied her feet. "I'm not worried about finding that out, either. I'm worried about finding out what happens when you die again. I just ripped that guy's soul out Heaven, Hades, The Summerland, I don't know what else bullshit, forced him back into his body, and then watched him die again because I can't even raise a proper fucking corpse. It's not just like I can bring him back once I take a breather, I can't. He's gone. All because I..." Her voice broke. 

 “I know. Sorry.”- He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, the cigarette held in his left hand promptly forgotten. But if she really felt this way about her ‘hobby’, why keep doing it? The reasons escaped him. But he digressed. He needed her necromancy, encouraging her self-doubt would do him no good. –“But if you really can put a soul into a dead body, what about, say, a live body? Can…two souls share the same body?”

"Huh?" It was a question she hadn't been expecting.  Of course, she knew the answer. It had come up several times in the PDFs of old necronomicons. "Well, yeah, they can," she said, slowly, as she rose her hand and gave Sander a curious look. "But eventually one wins out over the other, like a twin consuming its other half in utero. Why do you ask?"
 
 “Just curious.”- He said, a little too quickly. His gaze fell to the curb beneath them, and for the longest moment, you would think he was admiring the patterns within the concrete. After a short pause, he began again, turning to Valorie, his expression purposely blank –“ Which one will win? The souls, I mean.”
 
"The stronger one?" she said, uncertain herself. "I don't know, really. There aren't that many documented cases of two souls in one body. If the original soul wins they very rarely say anything, because who would believe them? Likewise, if the parasitic soul wins they would certainly never say anything, because why woulld they tell others that they had just destroyed a loved one?" 

 She waved her hand dismissively. "All I know is that most exorcists are frauds. You, er, you aren't planning on branching out your business, are you?" she asked, her face slightly brighter than before. "Because I don't think I can really help you fake possessions. Or create real ones, for that matter."
  
 Sander had nothing more to say to that. So he laughed, though it came out sounding more like he had something unpleasant in his throat. Fortunately, a yellow taxi came into view right then and he took his chance-“Looks like your ride is here.”- Heat bit his knuckles, so he dropped the cigarette and snuffed it out with the sole of his shoe.-“Feel free to give me a call whenever. I will set something up.” –He put on his practiced smile, before giving her a small pat on the back.-“Good bye.”
 
"You're not very good at this friendly priestly thing," said Valorie, smirking as she got up and hopped in the cab. "Just saying."