Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) (20 page)

“Which he will,” Rodas said.

Ward rolled his eyes, placed a hand on Celia’s back, and urged her toward the sitting room. Turning his back on Rodas was foolish, but they’d otherwise have bandied insults until Celia lost her temper and stabbed someone, which wouldn’t help their plans.

Inside the east wing, the parlor was dark and empty. Sconces were lit in the hall to the chamber where Enota had failed to turn the bounty hunter into a vesperitti. Whatever Macerio planned for this morning, it involved magic…and blood.

What if Macerio was using one of the two grimoires?

But there was nothing he could do about that. For Celia, it didn’t matter. Her goal was the library and however many grimoires where there.

Even with the added light, the hall pressed around Ward. There were only two means of escape that he knew about: the front door and the door at the back of the workroom. Once Celia and Allette left, five minutes, then make his excuse to get away.

Sweat slicked his palms. Five minutes.

They stepped into the doorway to Macerio’s workroom. All the candles in the candelabra were lit, filling the room with wavering light. Macerio stood on the raised area at the back with Lyla at his side. Off the dais to his right stood Allette and Val. The man glared at Ward, and he prayed he’d never be left alone with him again.

The other vesperitti were also gathered, standing behind Macerio, dressed in their evening finery even though it was almost dawn. No, not all of his vesperitti. Ward only counted ten. Two were missing.

The table in the center of the room was bare, and Ward didn’t see a grimoire anywhere. Allette’s plan was still possible, Macerio’s still a mystery.

Macerio motioned for them to take a position along the right wall. “Good, you changed your shirt, but you’re still late. Although, I can see why you’ve been delayed.” Macerio eased toward him, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve taken someone’s soul magic.”

Ward didn’t know if Macerio could sense it was Allette’s and if he was offended.

Macerio smiled. “I like initiative.”

“I take initiative, too,” Rodas said, taking position on the other side of the table. “I’m ready for my test.”

“I’m sure you are.” Macerio snapped his fingers.

The door at the back of the room opened, and his remaining two vesperitti came in, dark, burly men radiating danger. They carried a body wrapped in a dirt-coated tarp and set it on the table. The tarp slid back, revealing bloody blond hair plastered around the hole Ward had drilled into the skull.

Quirin.

Ward glanced at Val. His eyes widened for a heartbeat then narrowed, a sure sign he was surprised.

“Tonight, I welcome another blood mage into the illustrious brotherhood of Innecroestris.” Macerio studied Quirin’s corpse. “Excellent choice, Lyla my dear.”

Lyla’s lips quirked up at one side. She knew something.

His heart skipped a beat.

The other vesperitti shifted closer to her, as if Macerio’s praise to her might rub off on them.

“You used such interesting technique to create your first pet. Your soul chain is so subtle, even I can’t see it.” Macerio picked at the blood dried in Quirin’s hair. “But then, you would be different…you’re a de’Ath.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Ward’s mouth went dry. Celia stiffened but didn’t reach for the dagger hidden in her bodice.

“You look a lot like your grandfather. We played together once, did he tell you?” Macerio asked.

Goddess, they were dead. Macerio was going to kill them.

“It must be difficult being so weak in a family of such powerful necromancers.”

“Why do you think he turned his back on them?” Celia asked.

Macerio flicked a clump of blood on his nail to the floor. “I’m not entirely convinced you’ve abandoned them.”

“You can’t trust him.” Rodas’s eyes were wide, a mix of surprise and dark determination painted across his face.

“Of course you can,” Celia said. “He made me.”

Macerio raised a finger, and Celia snapped her mouth shut. “And you lied to me about who you were.”

“Would you have trusted a de’Ath?” Ward asked, fighting to keep his voice even.

“I don’t trust you now.”

Rodas chuckled. Macerio glared at him, and he shrank back.

“Prove yourself to me. Prove you’ve completely turned your back on your namesake and make a proper vesperitti.” Macerio yanked the tarp the rest of the way from Quirin’s body. “Become everything your family despises and everything that’s powerful. Join me and become a full Innecroestri.”

That was a line Ward couldn’t cross. Celia had been a mistake. She wasn’t a real vesperitti—Macerio had just said so.

Maybe he could cast a wake. That would give him fifteen minutes. But just the thought of waking the man he’d killed churned his stomach. And surely Macerio would be able to see the difference between a wake spell and a false resurrection.

Macerio patted the table. “I know you want this. You even gathered the power in preparation. I can see it radiating around you.”

Ward couldn’t do this. But there was no way Celia and he could escape otherwise.

“Use your stolen magic and prove yourself worthy to be my apprentice.”

Ward forced himself to step forward. There had to be a way out of this. He couldn’t become a monster like Macerio.

“Edward.” Macerio’s voice darkened.

Ward inched closer to the table. If he refused to bring Quirin back, he was dead. If he did anything but make a vesperitti, he was dead. He yearned to glance at Celia, but that would make him look weak, and she couldn’t say anything, anyway.

Macerio slid his hand across Ward’s shoulder and drew him close, turning him to face Celia. “This is a great moment for you. For both of us. The de’Aths have denied the necromancer’s true power for generations. Seize your true destiny. No one will overlook you because of your limited internal magic again. Show them what you’re really made of.”

Ward nodded. If he spoke, his voice would surely give him away.

“You started it with this stunning creature.” Macerio captured a lock of Celia’s hair between his fingers.

She looked calm, almost at ease. “Are you going to look at me all morning, or are you going to make a vesperitti?”

Macerio threw his head back and laughed. “Spectacular. Now, embrace the darkness completely.”

Ward’s stomach flip-flopped. Celia gave a slight nod. She understood he had no choice. “Shall we get started?”

Rodas snorted, but sweat dripped from his pale face. Macerio stepped back. Not as far back as Ward would’ve liked, but he wouldn’t ask for more room.

“The grimoire with the spell?” Ward forced out.

“You’ve done it once before.” A hint of a wicked smile pulled at Macerio’s lips. “Do what you did with the lovely Celia, except do it right this time.”

If Allette had told him the truth, he had enough magic within him to cast a spell. Just not this spell. There had to be another way.

He picked a chunk of blood from Quirin’s hair, but it wasn’t damp enough to draw a goddess-eye. Ward was going to have to do without. His heart tripped with fear.

“Not sure what you’re doing?” Rodas asked.

Ward ignored Rodas and stayed focused on Quirin. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on Quirin’s forehead and heart. The key to any spell was concentration. Chants helped focus concentration, spell components helped focus magic. Blood helped add more power. But he had no components, only whatever magic was left within Quirin’s blood, and the magic Allette had given him.

Unable to sense his power, he drew on his imagination to see it coiled deep within him. It pulsed, a miniature sun, straining to break free.

No. He wouldn’t perceive the power as something untamed and difficult to control. It was supple to his command, sturdy and sure.

The magic flared, exploding into a frenzy of power. He struggled to contain it, but it was too strong, and he was too uncertain. It raced through his veins and poured from his hands. He wrenched it around. If he couldn’t hold it in, he had to drive it to weave the spell he needed.

It snapped, sparks flying through his imagination. He twisted it again, forcing it into a heavy rope. His pulse beat through his temples, fast and painful. His fear was acid to his mental control.

He shoved doubt aside. The magic whipped around Quirin and him.

Now. He had to open the veil now.

He tried to imagine the gauzy veil between worlds, but all he could see was magic streaming from him, ferocious and wild.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. It didn’t matter if he could see the veil or not. His heart raced because he was trying too hard, not because of the energy pouring from him. His skin tingled because he was panting. He’d done this hundreds of times. It was just like a wake, except, when Quirin returned, Ward would lash his soul to his corpse and chain Quirin to his will.

More magic poured from him, encasing Quirin in a pulsing mesh.

His soul would come.

Ward had the power. And the will.

Fire burned through his veins. The veil would open. It
was
open. Quirin would return, and he would stay.

Someone gasped.

Ward opened his eyes. Quirin stared back at him, confused. He reached for his head, but the hole Ward had drilled in it was already sealing shut.

Energy crackled at the edge of Ward’s imaginary senses. Ghostly memories of reality. His heart still pounded, not with fear but exhilaration. He’d done it. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done, but he’d done something. And he didn’t feel tired. He felt alive, more alive than he’d ever felt before. His stomach lurched—this had to be the lure. He wanted…no,
needed
to cast again, to prove he could repeat what he’d done. But at what cost? It hadn’t been
his
soul magic that brought Quirin back.

Macerio leaned over Quirin, whose dazed gaze still slid over the room. “Not what you did with Celia. The spell is crude, but it shows great promise. You’ll learn better focus as my apprentice.”

“What?” Rodas demanded. “I’m better than him. I have stronger focus. Let me prove it.”

Macerio raised an eyebrow, and Rodas inched back. “Why would I waste my time? Edward’s unique. A treasure because he’s a de’Ath. He may not have innate power, but he certainly uses someone else’s to full advantage.”

“But I’m stronger,” Rodas said.

“Strength doesn’t matter. It’s who you’re willing to sacrifice.” Macerio cocked his head to the side. “And now, you’re just magic waiting to be taken.”

Rodas stumbled back. “No. I’m—”

“And you’ll make an excellent meal.” Macerio snapped his fingers.

Lyla rushed at Rodas. He scrambled toward the door, but she was faster, inhumanly fast. She grabbed the back of his robe and yanked him off his feet.

He toppled to the ground. His head slammed against the floor, and his wig flew across the room. With a flick of her wrist, she sliced his cheek with her nail. He screamed, and she seized his head. Blood trickled down his cheek, pooling in his ear.

The other vesperitti surged across the room, Allette and Val among them.

“Not you.” Macerio pointed, and Val staggered to a stop. “You still need to learn obedience.”

Sweat slicked Val’s brow. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he dropped to his knees.

The other vesperitti clawed at Rodas, drawing blood. He screamed and writhed, but they were too strong. His blood splattered the wall and door behind him and pooled on the floor. It stained the vesperitti’s clothes and smeared on their hands and faces.

Macerio glided to Celia’s side. “You should join them.”

She turned to Ward, ran her hands up his chest, and leaned against him. It drew a shiver entirely inappropriate for the situation. “May I, please?”

Rodas howled, somehow still alive. The vesperitti were a writhing mass, biting and sucking, fighting with each other for position. He couldn’t tell where one creature ended and another began.

“Please.” There was something in her eyes, a yearning…a need for understanding…

Ah. This was her opportunity to slip out of the room and steal the grimoire. No one would notice her in the chaos.

“Enjoy,” he choked out.

A disgusting, joyous smile lit her face. It was all an act. Please, let it be an act. But he couldn’t continue to watch her. He needed to distract Macerio, keep him focused on something else.

On the table, Quirin groaned and sat up. His gaze locked on Ward, really locked on him this time, and his eyes went wide. He scrambled from the table and rushed to the door at the back of the room.

Macerio flicked his hand. Val lurched into Quirin, grabbed him, and pinned him to the wall.

“Tell me how I might refine my spell for—” Ward sucked in an unsteady breath. “For next time.”

Five minutes. That was all Celia said she’d need.

“Given that you weren’t working from a grimoire, I’m surprised it isn’t rougher.”

Ward stepped closer to Val and Quirin. Please let Macerio join him. “In what way?”

Macerio pursed his lips. “The net of energy around the corpse to keep the soul in place is actually an elegant, if not wasteful, choice. An anchor, while harder on the attached soul, is more magically efficient.”

Ward nodded, the words rolling over him. He didn’t care what Macerio said as long as he kept his attention away from the door. Just five minutes.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Celia raced after Allette up the stairs to the top floor. Macerio’s vesperitti had ripped Rodas to shreds and drunk his blood like the monsters myth claimed they were. And, Goddess, she’d left Ward in that room because that was the plan. Everything within her screamed leaving him alone with Macerio and his vesperitti was bad.

The top of the stairs ended in a door. Allette threw it open and dashed inside. Celia followed into a towering maze of bookshelves wreathed in darkness. Allette stood on the threshold facing three passages. Pre-dawn gray lit the smoky-glass peaks in the ceiling, offering just enough illumination to see the shapes of shelves and pedestals, but no specific details.

“Do you know which one it is?” Celia asked. Ward had said the spell books were at the back of the library.

“This one.” Allette chose the passage on the right, but she didn’t sound sure.

“Any traps?” If this were Celia’s library and she a powerful Innecroestri, she’d lay traps.

“It’s guarded by a dozen vesperitti. Traps aren’t necessary.”

“I suspect that’s enough of a deterrent.”

Allette looked back at Celia, her pupils large with only a hint of white visible. “It usually is.”

Celia glanced away. It wasn’t a good idea to reveal she wasn’t a vesperitti. “Let’s get these books.”

They rushed through the passages, their footsteps loud in the eerie quiet. They rounded a corner into an open area. Three wooden pedestals stood in a semicircle near the far wall, their bases and posts carved into an intricate mass of writhing vines. On the outside ones were leather-bound books with a closed goddess-eye branded on the front and a dark symbol drawn below it. The one she recalled from Enota’s failed test; the other was identical and just as narrow. Not the tomes she imagined a spell book should be.

Allette hesitated.

“Sure there aren’t traps?”

“No.”

Wonderful. Now was not the time to realize they were missing information. “And you know which book you need.”

“Yes.”

There were a number of tests for a trap that was likely magical, none of which Celia had at her disposal. And, regardless, knowing there was a trap didn’t help her get around it. “What are our options?”

“I go. You wait. If there’s a trap, it’s better Macerio catches me.”

“But you’ll be—” She didn’t want to imagine the tortures Allette would face if she were caught.

Allette shrugged. “My only escape is death. You and Ward still have a chance.” A sad smile pulled at her lips, and Celia realized Allette was truly tired of being Macerio’s creature.

“All right.” Celia didn’t like the plan, but they didn’t have time. Hopefully, Ward was already making excuses to leave.

Allette took another tentative step toward the spell books. The quiet pressed against Celia’s senses. She strained to hear a creak or click, anything indicating a trap had gone off. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Hurry
. But caution had saved the life of an unlucky thief before; she wasn’t going to make Allette rush.

Two more steps and Allette stood before the first pedestal. Her hands trembled as she reached for the book. Just a little closer. The first touch and removing it from the pedestal were the last two possible triggers. With a jerk, she jabbed it with a finger.

Nothing happened.

Allette blew out a loud breath, the muscles in her back relaxing, and she grabbed the book.

Still nothing.

Not trapped. For once, the Goddess was watching over them.

Allette turned, hugging the book to her chest. Her expression said hope, freedom, and it drew a warmth into Celia. Was that what Ward felt every time he helped someone? She strode to the other spell book and reached for it.

A
boom
roared through the room, leaving her ears ringing.

“What was that?” Allette asked, all hope replaced by wide-eyed fear.

Celia waited, holding her breath, but didn’t hear anything but the boom echoing in her head. “I don’t know.”

But there. Something. A hint of noise.

She strained to hear it, recognize what it was.

It drifted to her, jagged, sharp, then smoothing into a deep, sultry laugh.

“I know you’re in here, Allette. Wait until the master finds out you’ve disobeyed him.”

Lyla.

Celia grabbed the other spell book. “Tell me there’s more than one way to the door.”

“I don’t know.”

“Looks like we’re going to have to find one.”