Malevolent (The Puzzle Box Series Book 1) (20 page)

Below us, the Necromancer looked up at us and grinned. Then he focused on Mal, and wadded a chunk of blackness in one hand like a missile.

I reached for Mal with all my willpower. "Watch out!" I tried to scream, but here my voice didn't work the same way. My thoughts echoed around us instead.

"He's not satisfied with killing me," Mal's thoughts reached me, heavy with bitterness. "He must destroy my soul as well."

We tried to drift upward, but there was a barrier keeping us near the treetops. I bounced off it and recognized the feel of my own magic. "It's my circle!"

It had formed a dome over the dead orchard, keeping our souls from escaping. Like two balloons, we floated to the top of the dome and collided.

The Necromancer hurled his ball of death at us.

I grabbed Mal, somehow. He grabbed me, somehow. We each tried to shield the other from oncoming destruction.

At least, we meant to. Instead, he merged into me like ink into water. His thoughts blasted in my mind--"No! No!" His emotions flowed into mine--his fear, and anger, and tenderness, and an embarrassing amount of love directed at me.

Crap, if I was feeling him this way, what was he feeling from me?

"This should not happen!" our voices whispered together. Then we plunged out of the ether back into my warm, heavy body.

Our spirit trip had happened in the space of time between the Necromancer stealing my soul, and my body collapsing.

I opened my eyes and filled my lungs in a long gasp.

I was dead.

I was alive.

She'd captured my soul.

We lay side by side where we'd fallen as we died. She looked at me, panting and beaming, her hair in a tangle across her face. My own soul looked back at me out of her eyes.

"This isn't possible," I whispered.

"Oops," she whispered back.

When our souls combined, I felt her so deeply--her passion for life, her ferocity that had kept her alive while fighting the sickness, and a vast ocean of affection toward me. It astounded me that another living being could love me. My own father had just attempted to kill me--I had accepted that I was, in some fundamental way, unlovable.

Then my accursed brother noticed us. "Hey Dad, they're still moving."

The Necromancer had been studying the sky with a confused frown. Now he spun toward us and bellowed, "WHAT?"

I leaped to my feet. Strength surged through my limbs. Libby still carried the orchard's life inside her, and all that life was mine now, too. It was like stepping into a storehouse of golden treasure.

Magic. So much pure, living magic. I lifted my arms and light streamed from my fingertips.

I felt the magic around us, surging like the tide. A powerful current sucked into the skull in the Necromancer's hand. Beyond that was a warm, shining barrier that kept the skull from consuming the life of the ranch beyond us--the death magic's pull swirled in eddies and whirlpools all along the barrier.

Bees patrolled the barrier, tiny soldiers of light. They had kept it from collapsing. My wonderful, faithful bees.

I would have been a Marcher. And this is how it would have felt.

The books I had stolen all those years ago leaped to life in my memory. Magic theory and practice. Control and chaos. Necromancy.

Robert and the Necromancer hurled black spells at us. But in my supercharged state, they were like two flies threatening a bus.

I stepped in front of Libby and lifted a hand. The black magic splashed against my palm and fizzed away as my life magic consumed it, as plants convert dead things into fuel. Then I fired a jet of my own magic. The orchard--the ranch--the bees--Libby's feelings for me--combined into a fire hose blast.

I struck the summoning skull and it shattered. The magical inflow ceased. Good riddance--Dad had used it for decades to commit magical atrocities. I blasted my brother. He spiraled so tightly into himself that he doubled up and screamed.

However, I did not shoot my father. His black magic would have gobbled up every last mote of mine. Instead, I did the last thing he expected--I dashed forward and punched him in the face.

He flew backward fifteen feet and smashed through a tree's branches. Robert charged me from the side, but I roundhouse-kicked him across the dead orchard. It was glorious--I was stronger than they, for the first time in my life.

"Mal!" Libby called. "What about the zombies?"

"Zombies?" Oh, she meant the thralls. Hopefully she never encountered a true zombie. The thralls gazed at me with empty eyes. They would attack if the Necromancer commanded, but thralls aren't known for their expert fighting techniques.

Libby yanked my father's bag out of its tree, rummaged through it, and produced the diamond bottle. "Here--I don't know how to use this."

I'd seen the Necromancer use it often enough. I uncorked it and waved it under the nose of each person. They gasped and awoke as if I'd given them smelling salts. Tiffany was one of the first. She straightened and stood perfectly still, staring around. "Libby? Where are we?"

"It's okay!" Libby exclaimed, running to her and giving her a hug. "It's our orchard. Everything is okay now." Tiffany held onto her and whimpered.

"What is this?" said another girl as she awoke. "Why is it so dark? Libby, what are you doing here?"

"Where are we?" whimpered the teacher. "Why is there blood all over my clothes?"

The other students huddled together, blinking and murmuring to each other.

"It's okay, everybody," said Libby, waving an arm to attract their attention. "We're only out at my ranch. We'll get you all home as quick as we can. Do you have your cell phones?"

She never mentioned what they were doing here. Instead she distracted them with the minutiae of phone calls and car rides. My fondness for her doubled.

But my new senses told me that the blackness of my father was stirring. The quintessential movie monster was preparing his final attack. The dead orchard began drawing in life like a vacuum, seeking to siphon away our power. The students moaned and doubled over.

"Mal, something's wrong." Libby laid a hand on my arm. The life inside her--our combined power--wavered like a candle in a breeze.

"I know." I built bricks of life magic around us--absorbing the oncoming death magic. But with enough death draw, they would collapse. "He's attempting to slaughter us all. Huddle together, everyone!"

The people did. Tiffany pushed forward and wrapped an arm around Libby. Libby hugged her with one arm and held me tighter.

I did not want her to release me. I had not had time to process the implications of our kiss, or her capture of my soul. But I was raw and tender inside, and any space between us was too much.

The death magic was building like a tidal wave, ready to crash over us.

I threw my life magic into the air and shaped it into a sphere--part overhead, part under the ground beneath us. The draw on our life stopped. People sighed in relief.

The Necromancer's power exploded around us in a splash of blackness, blotting out the moon and stars. It ate at the shield like acid. I threw more magic into the spell, but the death magic devoured it.

Even drawing on Libby's power, the Necromancer was stronger. Despair weakened me. After Libby had saved me, we were still going to die.

That's when the bees arrived.

They had been patrolling Libby's barrier all this time. But now, sensing our danger, they swarmed through the darkness, glowing like fireflies and singing like angels. They surrounded the shield and began to radiate light.

Sunlight. Warm, yellow sunlight--captured by flowers, and distilled by the bees into liquid gold that nourished and healed.

For a moment the blackness was pierced by a galaxy of yellow stars that sang for pure joy.

The blackness vanished. My father and brother fled with a swarm of magic bees surrounding them. I felt my father hit Libby's barrier. Our combined magic strained, then snapped. Pain spasmed through my chest. Libby gasped, and her arm tightened around me.

I held her as the pain diminished. "They broke your circle."

"I noticed," she said breathlessly. "Jerks."

Three bees settled on my arm, glowing like coals. "All is well, Mal?"

I glanced at Libby, who clung to Tiffany and me. She shot me a grin.

"Yes, my friends," I replied. "All is well."

We helped the poor ex-thralls out to the road, where various parents or siblings arrived to pick them up. The thralls that had stopped outside the barrier had not had their souls taken, and had awakened much sooner than the others. They had already summoned cars, and there was much grumbling about being way out here in the middle of the night. Nobody asked why they were there in the first place. It was as if they all sensed the Necromancer's call, and they didn't want to talk about it.

Tiffany and I went back to my house. We looked pretty bad by that point--the bruise on my head had turned the color of a ripening plum, and we were dirty from kicking around the orchard. We collaborated on a believable story out on the porch, first.

"I don't really understand what happened," said Tiffany. "First the wreck, then I woke up and we were in the orchard, then I woke up and you and Mal were there ... what happened, anyway?"

I patted her shoulder. "Play it up as a concussion. I'll explain once things calm down."

She arched an eyebrow at me, but finally agreed.

The moment we walked in the door, my parents freaked out. We explained about losing control of the car and crashing in the mountains, then made up a story about hitchhiking home. When quizzed about why we hadn't called, we produced our phones. Tiffany's battery was dead, and mine had an interesting spiderweb of cracks across the screen.

Mom called Tiffany's parents, who rushed her off to the emergency room. My mom wanted to take me, too, but I insisted that I was fine. She checked my pupils and quizzed me on names and passwords. Finally, doubtfully, she let me take some painkillers and go to bed. By this time it was about two AM, and I was exhausted.

I got in bed, and found out that I was too tired to sleep properly. I dreamed about forests, and green fields, and a tall, gabled house I'd never seen. Then it turned dark, and I was in the dead acre again. Over and over, I crept through the trees and faced the Necromancer.

I was glad to wake up and see daylight through the cracks in the blinds. I got up and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I had bags under my eyes, as well as the messy bruise on my forehead, and I needed of a shower. No sign of the extra soul. Yet inside me, there was extra depth, as if a wall had fallen away and revealed an unexplored cavern. It made me shiver. Mal was in there--everything that made him a person. I mentally built a barrier between me and that new space. I had enough to deal with right now, without slipping into that unknown territory.

My parents were awake, having coffee before chores. I had a cup with them and recounted the car wreck--a modified version where Tiffany lost control on a curve. My parents took notes, then Dad went off to call the insurance. I had to get Tiffany's insurance information, and then give it to our insurance, along with a detailed description of what had happened. It was dreary and stressful, and by the time the phone calls were finished, my brain was so tired, I could only sit and stare out the window.

Suki sat against my knee, anxiously poking her nose into my palm until I stroked her head. "Good thing you weren't there last night," I murmured. "They'd have killed you outright."

Slowly thoughts trickled into my head again. The wreck had been the least important thing about last night, and I could only talk to one person about it.

I excused myself and ran outside. The bee station, which used to seem miles away, was a mere five minutes's jog. The orchard hummed with bees, although the flowers were almost finished blooming and the nuts were set. Soon the blueberries would bloom. Would Mal hang around?

I wanted him to stay so badly, my stomach ached.

He was puttering with his bees, talking to them and checking frames. His hair was tousled, as usual, but he had shaved, showered, and looked ... human. His eyes were green-brown hazel, and his smile weakened my knees. It overflowed with warmth and tenderness, softening his pointed chin and cheekbones. "Hello, Libby." His voice was soft, with an affection that Robert had never dreamed of showing me.

"Hi, Mal." I hugged myself and tried not to stare at his lips. My own lips tingled with the memory of his touch.

Mal had always known how to break the ice. He displayed a frame covered with thick brown wax, each cell nearly capped. "Look at the amount of honey they have produced! I shall install the supers today." He nodded toward a stack of hive additions waiting nearby.

I grinned and danced in place. "Excellent! Will there be enough for all those enthralled people?"

"Definitely. The trick will be persuading them to eat it."

He returned the frame to the hive, then walked to me and took one of my hands in both of his. Cold, as usual. "Libby, do you understand what you did last night?" His eyes turned sea green and very serious.

"Um ... when we died? And our souls kind of ... merged?" The memory was crystallized in my head. If I forgot everything else in my life, that moment would never fade. It both upset and thrilled me.

"Yes. You are now my phylactery."

I gulped. "I am?"

He looked at the trees and sky before meeting my eyes again, as if searching for the words to explain. "A living person is not the best vessel for another being's soul. You will feel what I feel. You will share my memories. It could harm both of our minds."

That explained the weird dreams of the house and fields, and the frightening cavern inside me. "I do have something ... different. I don't know how to describe it." My voice trembled, and I cleared my throat to conceal it. "Will I be able to read your thoughts?"

"The mind and the soul are two different things." He gave me another of those smiles, and this time I felt as if I'd taken a huge gulp of hot chocolate that warmed me from the inside out.

"The longer you remain my phylactery, the more uncomfortable it will become. But there are ways of extracting my soul and placing it in a new vessel."

"Can you put your soul back inside you? You know, stop being a lich?"

He nodded, slowly, eyebrows furrowed. "It is possible, but very difficult."

"I want you to be human again. I'm going to figure out how to do it." I gazed at my hand in his, and that warmth lingered inside me. He loved me--it resonated from his soul. I knew, now, that I loved him. "You know, that kiss last night? That wasn't for show."

His fingers tightened around mine, and eyes turned amber and sad. "Libby, I shouldn't. You're my phylactery." His eyes devoured my face. "Our feelings for each other will be artificially stronger, and we now share intimacy we didn't work for. We must be very careful."

He made sense, and I didn't like it. "You think I'll walk out on you, after all this?"

He bowed his head. "I know that I am not functioning rationally right now, and neither are you. Plus you are a Marcher, and I am a lich."

I started to object, then his words sank in. "Oh gosh. Will the Marchers abduct me or something?"

"They will likely contact you soon for recruitment. Consider it like a trade school. I believe the training lasts only a few months. However, your condition may be a problem. I don't know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've never heard of a human phylactery before."

A school for magic? That sounded unbelievably awesome--like one of the better fantasy books on my shelf. But Mal continued to hold my hand, and his touch muddled my brain. I stepped a little closer. "Kiss me again. Please?"

He gazed at me and sighed. Then he gently pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips against mine. It was awkward and not quite what I expected. At the same time, it was the sweetest thing I'd ever experienced. The other kiss, last night, had barely been a peck.

He drew away. "I've never kissed anyone before."

I wanted to laugh. "Me neither. The movies make it look easy."

He released me and backed away a step, keeping a cautious distance between us. He handled this attraction so much differently than Robert had--instead of smothering me, he maintained our personal space, except when invited. It hurt a little, especially since I felt from his soul how badly he wanted to hold me. He was right--the soul thing was going to make this relationship a lot harder.

Mal inhaled and straightened a little, and his eyes brightened. "I have decided to stay the summer, if your father doesn't forcibly expel me."

So much joy flooded me that I turned giddy. "Oh, he won't, he won't! I'm glad! I'm so glad!" I grabbed his hands and danced in place. A rosy flush flooded his cheeks, and he beamed at me. He must feel my joy, and it spread to him, too. Again I seemed to see him as that sparkling, golden being, beautiful despite his deformities.

A thread of seriousness spread through his happiness, and I caught it and stopped dancing. "What is it?"

"I'm staying to protect you. My father and Robert may return." His fear was a heavy, dark thing that squelched our happiness.

For a moment I shuddered along with him. Then I drew a steadying breath. "Like you said, I'm a Marcher, and you're a lich. We'll be ready for them."

Love replaced his fear, as light erases the darkness. He drew me into his arms at last.

The end