senses grevane

I thought I heard a noise.
I lifted a hand, forestalling whatever Butters was about to say.
The sound didn't repeat itself. There was only thunder and rain.
I put a finger to my lips and Butters nodded. Then I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, slow and careful. For the barest second I felt my thoughts brush against a stirring of cold energy.
Necromancy.
I drew back from it with panicked haste. "Butters, get out."
The little ME blinked up at me. "What?"
"Get out," I said, my voice harsher. "There's a fire exit at the far side of the gallery. Go out it. Run. Get out of here and don't stop until you're someplace safe. Don't look back. Don't slow down."
He stared at me, his eyes huge, his face deathly pale.
"Now!" I snarled.
Butters bolted. I could hear terrified little sounds escaping his throat as he sprinted toward the far end of the gallery.
I closed my eyes and concentrated again, drawing in my will and power as I did so, casting my senses about in an effort to find the source of the dark power. I touched the necromantic working again, and this time I didn't even try to hide my presence by pulling away.
Whoever it was had come in through the door I'd broken open. I could feel a slithering sort of power there, mixed in with a cold kind of lust, a passion for despair.
I walked to the railing of the gallery and looked down into the entry hall.
Grevane stood below, trench coat wet and swaying, water dripping from the brim of his fedora. There was a half circle of dead men standing behind him, and he beat a slow rhythm on his leg with one hand.


Dead Beat Chapter 36, Page 326-327