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Hold Me Closer, Necromancer by Lish McBride - Fiction
Sam leads a pretty normal life. He may not have the most exciting job in the world, but he's doing all right—until a fast food prank brings him to the attention of Douglas, a creepy guy with an intense violent streak.
Turns out Douglas is a necromancer who raises the dead for cash and sees potential in Sam. Then Sam discovers he's a necromancer too, but with strangely latent powers. And his worst nightmare wants to join forces . . . or else.
With only a week to figure things out, Sam needs all the help he can get. Luckily he lives in Seattle, which has nearly as many paranormal types as it does coffee places. But even with newfound friends, will Sam be able to save his skin?
Hold Me Closer, Necromancer is a 2011 Bank Street - Best Children's Book of the Year.
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From the book
Hold Me Closer, Necromancer
Dead Man's Party
I stood in front of today's schedule still holding my skateboard, still drenched from the ride over, and still desperately wishing that I hadn't dropped out of college. But wishing wouldn't erase Sam from the counter slot and rewrite it under the grill slot. No matter what, my job kind of sucks, but on the grill it sucks less. On the grill, you don't have to handle customers. Something about the fast food uniform makes people think it's okay to treat you like crap. Personally, I'm always polite to anyone who handles my food. There are lots of horrible things that can be done to your meal before it gets to your plate.
Maybe I could switch? No, the schedule told me Ramon worked grill today. Nothing short of fifty bucks and a twelve-pack would have made him switch, and I didn't have either of those. I groaned and leaned my head against the wall.
Someone walked in after me and slapped me on the shoulder. "Should've stayed in school," he said.
I recognized Ramon's voice without opening my eyes. Not surprising, since I'd known Ramon since sixth grade. I wasn't shocked by his lack of sympathy, either.
"You didn't drop out, and yet you're still here," I said, rolling my head to the side to look at him.
"What, and leave my man Sammy all alone? What kind of friend would that make me?"
"A smart one."
He laughed and tossed his black hoodie on the coat hooks, trading the sweatshirt for an apron. I did the same, but with much less enthusiasm.
Ramon was the only person who called me Sammy. Everyone else called me Sam, even my mom, except when she was pissed and did the full-name thing.
I signed on to my register slowly, glad that nobody stood at the counter waiting to be helped. While the manager, Kevin, counted and checked my till, I stared at the pictogram of a burger nestled between similar representations of shakes, sodas, and fries on the front of my register. I wondered why humankind seemed so dead set on destroying all of its accomplishments. We draw on cave walls, spend thousands of years developing complex language systems, the printing press, computers, and what do we do with it? Create a cash register with the picture of a burger on it, just in case the cashier didn't finish the second grade. One step forward, two steps back--like an evolutionary cha-cha. Working here just proved that the only things separating me from a monkey was pants. And no prehensile tail, which I wish I had. Oh, the applications.
My name is Samhain Corvus LaCroix, and I am a fry cook. I tried to take some pride where I could. If I was going to be a dropout loser, then I was going to be the best dropout loser. That pride came with some complications because it always depressed me to spot anyone, short of a manager, working fast food over the age of eighteen. I didn't look in any mirrors until I got home and out of my uniform. It was better that way.
"There you go, Sam." Kevin shut my till and wandered off. We had a bet going to try and guess what it was he did in his office. Frank was pretty sure he was into some sort of online role-playing game, Ramon thought he was planning to take over the yakuza, and Brooke was convinced that he had a crippling addiction to romance novels. These all sounded plausible, except for Ramon's, though he insisted he had proof, but I didn't think Kevin could be that interesting. He probably just slept. Kevin also had the misfortune of sharing his name with my biological dad, so Ramon referred to our manager as the Lesser of Two Kevins. I slapped on my name tag and settled in.
I had my mom to thank for my name. My dad took his...
Hold Me Closer, NecromancerBy: Lish McBride