Necromancy Read online

  About Necromancy

  Can a book animate the dead?

  * * *

  When dead bugs start flying and a ghost becomes corporeal, all signs point to yes.

  * * *

  The effects of the book are contained…for now. Europe’s other world policing agency, frantic for a way to stop the effects of the book’s magic before it spreads, turn to the library’s most promising spell caster, Lizzie, for help.

  * * *

  But can Lizzie wrestle the evil book into submission before it sparks an undead uprising?

  Necromancy

  A Lost Library Story

  Kate Baray

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Also by Kate Baray

  About the Author

  The Disappearing Client Excerpt

  1

  Inter-Pack Policing Cooperative Library, Prague, The Czech Republic

  What was that saying about cake and eating it? It had never made sense to Lizzie. Of course if you had cake, you’d want to eat it. It was cake.

  But right now, she got it. Today, in this moment, it was crystal freaking clear.

  She’d made a trade.

  Her special talents were to be applied to a particular problem, and in exchange, her boss Harrington would apply his special talents to her best friend Kenna’s problem.

  At the time, it had seemed reasonable. Okay…not reasonable, but it had been her and Kenna’s only option. Kenna’s mom Gwen—a truly badass lady—had been kidnapped. Harrington had agreed to exert what influence he wielded as one of the top brass in the Inter-Pack Policing Cooperative to resolve the situation.

  And all she had to do was solve a little problem for IPPC.

  Since IPPC was her sometimes employer and she loved Gwen like a mother, there hadn’t been any debate at all. She’d said yes.

  She’d done it willingly and without complaint.

  “You sorry, bastard! Die. Die, you sonofabitch!” Her throat burned from screaming.

  Maybe she should take it down a notch.

  Nah. She was having a few regrets about that hastily struck deal, and screaming her lungs out was a great tension reliever. Which reminded her of the other kind of tension relieving she wouldn’t be getting anytime soon, because her fiancé was stuck in Texas.

  While she screamed bloody murder in a small, dark room in the basement of an old house in Prague, John was kicking wolf butt in Texas and making sure the Pack minded their Ps and Qs.

  She could be oversimplifying the job of Alpha, but she was also cranky. She hated wasps, and the nasty dead-and-alive-again creatures were currently dive-bombing her. “I am going to smear your innards across the wall, you flying menace!”

  And this was where the cake and the eating of cake came in. She was realizing she wanted her cake (Harrington’s help) and the eating of it (a really easy, quickly resolved IPPC job, preferably with John nearby to help). An impossibility.

  Harrington would never have negotiated her help in exchange for an easy job. Harrington didn’t do small jobs. And on the off chance she was wrong and he lowered himself to resolve the more menial of IPPC’s crises, he certainly wasn’t calling her in to help.

  Maybe, one day, in a far-distant and rose-colored future, Harrington would call her in for a different kind of case. The kind without dead things coming alive again, with no evil geniuses in sight, and no masterminds plotting to take over the magical world.

  “Take that!” she snarled as she hopped on one foot and smacked the wall and an undead wasp with her shoe. This would be a lot easier if they had more than the dim emergency lights.

  “Lizzie, yelling doesn’t help.” Pilar’s exasperated voice echoed in the barren chamber.

  “It makes me feel better.” And eased her frustration ever so slightly. Even though Lizzie knew that an easy job for IPPC didn’t exist, that didn’t make her frustration disappear. As for the cake-eating imagery…she was hungry. She wasn’t a pleasant hungry person in the best of circumstances. “Die, you flying little shits. Die!”

  Yelling definitely helped. Hopping on one foot, not so much. She stopped to put her shoe back on and then crushed one of the earthbound bugs.

  “Honey, I think we can safely assume these things aren’t dying anytime soon.” Pilar directed her flashlight toward the latest victim of Lizzie’s rampage.

  It had been a beetle, until she’d smashed it. Was still a beetle. A squashed zombie version of its former self, but a beetle nonetheless.

  “We’ve squished them, flattened them, and beaten them.” Lizzie winced at the whiny turn her voice had taken. She cleared her throat, which made it ache all the more, and said, “They should be dead a few times over.”

  “Will you finally fess up and agree that the zombie apocalypse is upon us?” Pilar asked.

  The way she said “zombie apocalypse” in her precise and only slightly accented voice reminded Lizzie more of cute get-togethers with matching linens and scones than the end of the world as they knew it.

  She flicked a desiccated, unidentifiable bug away with her toe and swatted away yet another fly. The thing only had one wing. How could a one-winged insect fly? “You were talking about a bug-zombie apocalypse. It just didn’t seem like a thing.”

  “It’s a thing.” Pilar swung her flashlight around the enclosed chamber, illuminating a number of flying insects and several of the crawling variety, all in various stages of decomposition—or regeneration, depending on one’s point of view.

  “Yeah, you’ve convinced me. Bugpocalypse is a thing.” Lizzie flicked her flashlight beam along the lines marked on the wooden floors. They moved out in concentric circles from a point in the middle of the room. Each line represented the passage of six hours.

  Why six? She didn’t know. What she did know was that bugpocalypse was spreading. At an even and not particularly fast pace, but certainly spreading. That was the purpose of the circles, to track the spread of necromantic magic. Someone—not Pilar, perhaps Harrington himself?—had come up with the fabulous idea of seeding the room with the corpses of dead insects. She’d initially hoped they weren’t being murdered for that purpose, since there were plenty of the naturally occurring variety lying about.

  Even though they were bugs, it still seemed cruel. Or so Lizzie had thought before they’d started to crawl on her, fly into her hair, and generally make aggressive nuisances of themselves. Killing the little buggers sounded just fine to her now.

  Her scalp crawled, and she patted her hair—just in case. She’d tossed it in a ponytail, per Pilar’s advice. Seemed to be clear, but she’d likely have nightmares about undead bugs getting tangled in her hair for days.

  With a shiver, she returned her attention to the lines on the floor. The furthest mark was still several feet from the walls or door. Thankfully, bugpocalypse hadn’t breached the walls of this small, hidden room. This particular chamber had been constructed specifically for the purpose of housing and studying the more dangerous books. It was located in the basement of the IPPC building, next to the supposed secret library that was becoming less secret all the time.

  With any luck, the powers that be at IPPC (primarily Harrington) could continue to keep this top-secret research room under wraps. Keeping bugpocalypse confined within its walls—or, rather, stopping the undead uprising of insects—was Lizzie and Pilar’s job.

  Her beam traveled over the smallest circle and then further to the podium in the ce
nter of it. An old book rested on the flat surface. Black, leather-bound, plain. Nothing special, other than its age and, oh yeah, its ability to bring dead stuff back to life.

  “Tell me who thought it was a good idea to poke around inside a book on necromancy?” Lizzie asked. She knew the answer, because who else could it be?

  Unlike Kenna, Lizzie tried to give Harrington the benefit of the doubt. He was a good man. Deep down, under a thick layer of ambition that he harnessed to pursue IPPC’s goals. Deep, deep down.

  He’d yanked her away from the love of her life just as they were establishing a fine balance between the commitments in each of their lives. And he had also pulled her away from her best friend in a time of extreme crisis.

  Extreme crisis, doubled: Gwen’s forthcoming trial and Kenna’s very unexpected pregnancy.

  Yeah, really, really deep down, he was a decent guy.

  Pilar shot her a knowing look. “Harrington approved it, but it wasn’t Harrington pushing for the work on that book. I know it’s hard to believe. He approached the project with caution and only approved it after assurances from the transcriber convinced him the risk was minimal.”

  “Oh.” Lizzie pushed away the prick of guilt she felt. She shouldn’t feel bad. The blame for all things IPPC and overreaching could usually be laid at Harrington’s door. He was the man behind the curtain, when it came to any activity geared toward increasing IPPC’s power and knowledge base.

  “She was convinced there was no danger,” Pilar said, “and there weren’t any problems initially. She worked on it for several days without incident.”

  “What changed?”

  Pilar sighed. “Nothing that we know of. One moment she was unlocking some text, and the next we had bugs coming back to life. And before you ask, the text was some simple biographical data, not a trap, so far as we can tell.”

  Lizzie nodded. She’d worked with spelled books enough at this point to know that the record keeper working on the transcription would have felt the magical rush if she’d sprung a trap. “I’d like to talk to her. Can you set up an interview?”

  “Not possible. That particular record keeper is taking a lengthy vacation, from which she will return to another posting.”

  “Harrington’s doing?” Working in the library was a plum job, and only the most qualified and trustworthy record keepers were included in the rotation of staff. To have access to all the awesomeness of the library and then…not—that was a harsh punishment indeed.

  That was the second time she’d leaped to a negative conclusion about Harrington. Kenna’s dislike of the man was wearing off on Lizzie. And it didn’t help that she missed John.

  “More a requirement for her continued mental well-being. She wasn’t handling the situation very well.” Pilar clicked her flashlight off. “You ready to get out of here? This place makes my skin crawl, and I’m amazed I’ve managed to avoid a bug up my nose this long.”

  “That, or we could get stung by a zombie wasp.” Lizzie held her flashlight under her chin. “Would that turn us into zombies?”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  Lizzie grinned at her friend and mentor. Bad as zombie bugs were, they’d at least partially distracted her from the more personal catastrophe that was currently unfolding. The grin slipped away as the full weight of Gwen’s kidnapping settled on her again. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve seen enough to be convinced, and I need to check on Kenna.”

  “You don’t want to examine the book?” Pilar asked.

  “And risk triggering an even worse event than bugpocalypse? I’ll think I’ll hold off for now.” Lizzie’s stomach grumbled. “Pilar, how do you feel about cake?”

  2

  Turned out Pilar wasn’t so keen on cake for breakfast. She passed quite forcefully when Lizzie mentioned it.

  Elin, IPPC’s eager intern from Norway, caught Lizzie and Pilar debating the merits of cake for breakfast and didn’t even try to contain her amusement.

  “Cake or eggs for breakfast?” Lizzie asked the girl as they passed.

  “Cake, of course. It’s too good to refuse at any hour.” Elin grinned, revealing a dimple.

  The rosy cheeks, the dimple, and the yellow-blonde hair combined with her enthusiasm made her seem even younger than her sixteen years. If Lizzie hadn’t met her while she was helping Kenna with research and seen her proficiency as a spell caster, she’d have questioned the presence of such a young girl on the premises.

  “Your internship is going well?” Pilar asked. Sneaky woman. She wanted to escape a crushing defeat in the cake-breakfast debate and was diverting the conversation accordingly.

  “Yes, very well. Thank you.” Elin blushed, and her gaze skittered away. She clasped her hands together, squeezed them tight, and then blurted, “Am I going to get a chance to see the book?”

  She looked like a little girl asking for confirmation that Santa was real and fearing the answer might be unpleasant. Lizzie didn’t want to crush the girl’s dreams; better to let Pilar do that. She turned and waited for Pilar to respond.

  “You know you don’t have clearance. I’m sorry, Elin. You should be grateful that you get to work with the less dangerous books. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

  The girl’s smile didn’t hide her disappointment. “Yes. I’m thankful for the opportunity.” She bit her lip, clearly wanting to say more. She hesitated then shook her head, and the moment was lost. “Lizzie, Mr. Harrington just finished debriefing Kenna, and I think he wanted to speak with you.”

  Elin and Pilar headed down to the main library to do what research they could on the bug problem. Not that they hadn’t already searched, but the library was vast and, as yet, not fully catalogued, so there was still hope that a nugget might be buried amid the old tomes.

  As Elin and Pilar headed off to dig through the archives, Lizzie headed to Harrington’s office and contemplated cake.

  Not everyone could handle all that sugar so early in the day. That and her ability to practically consume her own weight in bacon were two of Lizzie’s favorite non-magical talents.

  First cake, now bacon; she had food on the brain.

  And apparently couldn’t keep it to herself, based on Harrington’s greeting when she arrived. “Why are you mumbling about bacon?” Harrington peered at her from behind his monstrosity of a desk. “Do I need to have a tray sent in?”

  While Pilar had been giving Lizzie a firsthand look at her latest assignment, Harrington had finished briefing Kenna on the help IPPC would be giving her as she attempted to retrieve her kidnapped mother. Even thinking about it made Lizzie break out in a sweat. Thoughts of cake and bacon and disappointed Norwegian interns fled.

  She would not let the pressure get to her. She never let the pressure get to her.

  The beauty of being inundated by one crisis after another, she supposed. Since she’d joined the magical community, her life had been a whirlwind. In good and bad ways, but she’d not been alone through any of it, and she wasn’t now.

  Harrington’s help was the reason she was here in his office now.

  Typical of his usual management style, he’d moved on to the next crisis: bugpocalypse. The man switched from one emergency to another like he was flipping channels on a TV.

  He shook his head then retrieved an energy bar from his desk drawer. He tended to assume an air of exasperation whenever she or Kenna was near. A subtle air, because Harrington was still Harrington, closed-off emotions and all.

  “Catch,” he said a split second before chucking the bar at her.

  She did, one-handed. Then ripped into the snack like it was the cake she’d been fantasizing about all morning. As she swallowed the last bite, she considered whether she should add improving her diet to her mental to-do list. When she considered the sweet, buttery goodness of cake and the crisp, savory awesomeness of perfectly fried bacon, that decision seemed unlikely.

  She blinked. That was a lot of food love, even for her. Maybe she was more than a wee bit stressed. And tire
d. Unlike Kenna, she hadn’t slept on the plane for more than a few minutes at a time. “Uh, thanks. I might have been a little hungry. So, what were you were saying about paying Gwen’s ransom?”

  He so hadn’t said that. He’d said exactly the opposite of that.

  He steepled his fingers. “Not happening.” She took a breath, readying herself to make a pitch, but he nipped her ambitions in the bud. “We don’t have access to most of the assets, and regaining control of them would require more stealth and time than I possess. Those assets now reside in the hands of mundane law enforcement.”

  A pinch in her chest made her breath catch. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already known or expected, but it still sucked. When she could speak, she said, “You can’t let anything happen to Gwen.”

  “I’m helping. I said I would, and I am.”

  The implication was clear: he stuck by his word, and it was time for her to do the same.

  “Tell me everything you know about bugpocalypse, just in case Pilar missed something.” She sent a silent apology out to Pilar. If anything had been missed, it had been because a sleepy, hungry Lizzie had zoned out a few times. But only up until they’d entered the freaky room of dead things. Then she’d been completely awake. “And send for coffee. I definitely need coffee.”

  Harrington raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on her switch from tea to coffee. At least she hadn’t requested hot chocolate. That usually meant she was two seconds from a meltdown. She didn’t envision Harrington dealing well with tears, sobbing, and hysterics.

  After making a quick call down to the kitchen, Harrington proceeded to give her the background for bugpocalypse. He skipped the part where the book containing necromantic magic was originally discovered, since she’d been the one to discover the secret library’s even more secret stash of dangerous books. Death magic, blood magic—Vampyrs were the worst—and necromancy, three sorts of magic that most magic-users wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.