It was Em’s turn to shrug as he hopped off Hawke’s desk to go stand at the window. The smudged panes did an outstanding job at concealing the rather dismal view of the alley behind the building, but Em stared fixedly as though he could see through the grime. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Our grand idea just seems like an idea now. And maybe selling out isn’t selling out, after all.” He turned from the window and fixed Hawke with one of his wan devil-may-care smiles. “There doesn’t seem to be much call for Necromantic Investigators in Kryss. It might make the Old Man turn in his grave, but Kryss would probably embrace two cheap spirit mediums.”
Hawke quirked a grin. “Salesmen for the dead.”
“Guides for lost souls,” Em added dramatically.
“Just remember, it’s never too late to make amends with the man you murdered!” Hawke finished off.
The two friends laughed over their old jokes. Hawke sobered. “I think that Varell would like me to point out that he isn’t in his grave yet.”
Em feigned surprise. “I thought that’s where he slept at night.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“No, I am Emmer Samuel Johnson, but at your service all the same.” He executed a flourished bow with a suddenly appearing ridiculous feather hat. “Perhaps I can be of assistance to you in the matters of,” he wriggled his brow, “otherworldliness. I am a certified necromantic mage, you see.”
Hawke couldn’t help but to laugh. “I think that you should be certified insane.”
“I think I am. I’m certified in most everything.”
“Why did I call you in here again?”
Em smiled. “I think because -”
The two stopped speaking as they heard the door at the bottom of the steps creak open.
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