Necromancy Read online

  “Lizzie!” Pillar poked her in the side. “Pay attention. She’s over there muttering some incantation I’m not familiar with.”

  “She’s attempting to deconstruct the shield.” Harrington rolled his right shoulder and winced. “That or she’s attempting to deconstruct us. It’s hard to tell. I’m only catching every few words.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” Lizzie stared at the ward she’d only seconds earlier cobbled together. It didn’t feel different from the wards she’d cast in the past. All magic had a feel to it, and this felt like hers.

  Harrington took a deep breath, winced, schooled his features into a mask of calm, then began to speak to her like she was a baby spell caster. Even worse, she appreciated it. “Both your sensing ward and your shield tapped into the wellspring. Consider what you did when you cast those wards.”

  She nodded. Easy. She’d mindlessly thrown a bunch of magic in a fit of peevish anger.

  He looked at her expectantly. His nostrils flared, and he said, “Perhaps you could share with us what that difference was.”

  “Quickly,” Pilar added with a nervous glance at the still-muttering Elin.

  “Right. I was frustrated, impatient, and not thinking very clearly. For whatever reason.” Lizzie skipped over the whys and went straight to the result. “I didn’t carefully craft a goal or target for my magic. I let my intent run a bit wild and sort itself out.”

  Harrington blinked. “Sort itself out.”

  She nodded.

  “You threw magic out into the ether…and hoped it would work out.” Harrington looked heavenward.

  At times like this, Lizzie wondered if he was praying, asking forgiveness for his sins, begging for patience, or if he just liked to stare at the ceiling when she (or Kenna) tried his patience.

  “In my defense, I had sensing ward on the brain before, and there wasn’t much floating around in my grey matter besides not dying when I cast the shield ward.”

  Pilar snorted. “I didn’t teach her that.”

  “No,” Harrington replied, then turned to Lizzie and said, “Do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Whatever you must to stop Elin. She’s seconds from finishing her deconstruction incantation. Pilar’s and my magic is useless against her.” And in true Harrington fashion, he added a touch of intimidation at just the right moment. He wrapped his left hand around her arm and squeezed hard. “Now, if you’d like to live.”

  So she did.

  11

  Lizzie struggled with moral choices. Meaning she wanted to make them, but there seemed to be an awful lot of grey in what many saw as black and white.

  Right, wrong, or the winding road between the two. She didn’t always know where she landed, just did her best to make the right choice in that moment when the choice had to be made.

  She preferred to walk the straight and narrow, but her mate broke human laws with few qualms. She chose to love him. Right, wrong? It was the right choice for her. She believed it when she made the choice, and even more so now.

  Lizzie had wanted to help Kenna save her mother, yet here she was dealing with a nymph possession, bugpocalypse, and a zombie Lycan. She had no idea if Kenna was safe, if Gwen was still alive, or if they’d all come home safe—but here she was, miles and miles away. Lizzie hoped it was the right choice, but it was the best one she could make.

  And then there was Elin. A young woman from Norway, innocent of the heinous acts the nymph had perpetrated. The nymph had dabbled in the taboo magics of re-animation and mind control, certainly, but had also quite possibly committed murder. Ewan’s staff had yet to reach Elin’s aunt Emme, and they feared the worst.

  All of these thoughts existed in a hazy swirl in Lizzie’s brain as she once more forcefully thrust her magic upon the world with no clear intent formed. Magic, hell yes. She had plenty. And will? She wanted to live, so that was abundant.

  But to what end would her magic be used? Murky, poorly clarified intent yielded…what?

  Something completely unexpected. Bizarre, since the idea must have come from somewhere in her head.

  Elin collapsed in a graceless heap on the floor—but only after an ethereal, vaporous, vaguely humanlike figure separated from her.

  If that didn’t make Lizzie’s mind spin, the image of a dragon—a very large, scaly dragon, one with monstrous claws and wicked fangs—appeared as a superimposed image over the familiar human form of Ewan.

  In her head, a voice whispered, “Drop the shield, Lizzie.”

  Like her head wasn't jacked enough as it was. Whether it was exhaustion, stress, or baby brain, she hadn’t been in tiptop form lately, but until now she hadn’t been hearing voices. Voices telling her to make herself vulnerable to attack. Um…no.

  “It’s Ewan. We need you to drop the shield,” the creepy voice in her head said while she watched the silvery, human-shaped fog drift further away from Elin. “Now!”

  Bullshit that was Ewan. It had to be a ploy by the nymph. She’d probably possess one of them once the shield was dropped.

  “It’s not bullshit, and stop screaming. You’re making my head hurt.” The voice sounded grumpy…and a lot like Ewan.

  Lizzie laughed hysterically, and then she dropped the shield.

  The moment it flared, a flash of dragon fire surrounded the nymph’s form and she…evaporated? Fell apart?

  Lizzie couldn’t quite figure it out, and it seemed like an awful lot of effort right now. Her head wanted to float away, and the edges of her vision were narrowing with alarming speed.

  Shit. She was going to pass out.

  12

  Lizzie woke up in a familiar place, in her bed in her assigned room at the IPPC library in Prague. Which would normally be fine—good, even—and yet it felt all sorts of wrong and she couldn’t remember why.

  “Hey.” The deep rumble of John’s achingly familiar voice made her heart tumble.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here, she was pretty sure. She was also sure that hearing him and looking at his tired, unshaven, but still impossibly handsome face shouldn’t make her cry.

  But it did. Big, fat tears fell down her face, then they fell even faster when she couldn’t figure out why she was crying.

  He didn’t say anything. He sat down on the edge of her bed, gathered her up in his arms, and held her.

  Eventually, the tears slowed and then stopped. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

  He tucked her head under his chin and rubbed slow circles across her back, but he didn’t say anything.

  After a few minutes of silence, it dawned on her that she’d probably upset him. He hated to see her cry.

  She nuzzled into his chest. “I’m fine. Promise.”

  “Um-hm. What’s the last thing you remember?” he whispered in her ear, like he was afraid his raised voice would trigger more tears.

  “I don’t know.” Which was odd. She didn’t remember going to bed. Didn’t remember walking up the stairs, what she ate for dinner…why John was here. “Wait, you’re supposed to be in Texas.”

  That much she knew. He was in Texas, and she’d taken an IPPC case in Prague. She’d taken the case outside of her normal schedule when John couldn’t travel with her, because… She grabbed at the elusive memories. “Right! Because of Gwen. Oh, Gwen. Did Kenna—”

  “She’s fine. Kenna, Gwen, Max, and their team—everyone’s home and fine.”

  Lizzie’s memories came back in a flood. “The nymph, Elin…”

  “Elin’s fine and the nymph is gone.” When Lizzie leaned back so she could look at his face, he added, “For good.”

  Something was off. About him and the way he was acting. He was too subdued. Restrained, quiet. And when one last precious memory clicked into place, his odd demeanor assumed a newly ominous meaning.

  “Our baby.” Her hand flew to her stomach, and she looked down—as if there would be some evidence there of the horrible truth. “Oh my God. I lost the baby, didn’t I?”

/>   Huge, racking sobs tore through her body, and she reached blindly for comfort. She clung to John as a horrible, tangled mix of guilt and sorrow consumed her.

  “Lizzie!” John shook her. From the look on his face, she’d guess it wasn’t the first time he’d call her name. “You didn’t lose the baby.”

  “What? What!” She smacked his arm. “And you let me sit here and bawl like a…” Like a bereaved mother with megawattage guilt, but she couldn’t say that out loud.

  John was eyeing her intently. “You want to be pregnant?”

  He looked heartbreakingly hopeful.

  “I don’t know, sneaky scent sniffer. What do you think?” She might be playing cool and calm, but she was a bundle of nerves.

  This wasn’t at all how she’d envisioned John finding out she was pregnant.

  Hell, she hadn’t even been sure she was knocked up until she’d seen the look on his face. She’d wanted them to take the test together. To find out together, as a couple.

  “Um, if I’m A-okay, then what’s with the fuzzy memory and the passing out?”

  A grim look replaced his happy daddy face. “Remember when you faded further than any sane person would attempt?”

  Oh, yeah. She remembered that. Using too much magic at once was a really bad idea. It wiped a gal out, laid her up in bed for ages, and… “Oh. Oops. I used too much magic?” She peeked up and flashed him a sheepish grin.

  “Yes.”

  She nodded.

  Fair enough. She deserved a few grumpy looks. Though she hadn’t done it on purpose, that wouldn’t matter to her if the roles were reversed and John showed up in an equally sad state. She’d still be peeved.

  “Wanna tell me why you were so stressed when I woke up?”

  He bumped her over in the bed. When there was room for him to stretch out, he pulled her into his lap and hugged her close. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her lightly. “I wasn’t sure how you felt about…” He shoved his nose against her neck and inhaled, then sighed.

  “You were afraid I wouldn’t be happy about having your baby?” She leaned back to look at his face. Unlike some, she didn’t have the ability to smell emotions. What she saw floored her. He looked uncertain, worried.

  “We haven’t exactly discussed a timeline.”

  “No, that’s true.” She pulled his head down and kissed him.

  When their lips met, she told him the best way she knew how that he was everything. That their baby was a cherished gift. That she couldn’t be happier, planned or not. That she loved him with all her heart.

  Sometimes with Lycan, words didn’t quite cut it.

  She suspected they’d have done a little more than kiss if she hadn’t been laid out by magic overuse and they both didn’t have some serious follow-up meetings to attend to downstairs. But she thought it was enough.

  When he grinned down at her, she was sure of it.

  “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “Not happy, thrilled. Ecstatic. Over the moon.” She leaned against him and snuggled close. A deep sense of contentment filled her—right up until her tired brain did a logistics leap without her consent. That was when her heart started to race, her palms sweated, and her mouth went suddenly dry. “Oh my God. My parents.”

  “It’s fine. We’ll bump up the wedding.”

  She snorted. “You think I’m worried about the wedding?” She laughed with the hysteria of the truly panicked. “John, I’m going to have to tell them you’re Lycan.”

  His sharp bark of laughter held a good deal more amusement than hers had.

  13

  Not five minutes passed after Lizzie’s horrid discovery—that priority for “the talk” with her parents had been shifted to code red—when Ewan knocked on her door.

  “The boss would like to debrief you before you leave.” After John gave him the nod, Ewan grinned and extended his hand. “Congratulations on your news.”

  Her hand hovered briefly over her stomach as she shook his hand. “Thank you.” Turning to John, she asked, “Are we leaving soon?

  “Plane’s on standby,” he replied. “Frank wants to check you over one more time before we leave, answer any questions you might have—”

  “We might have.”

  John’s lips twitched, but he just nodded and wrapped an arm around her.

  “All right, then. Let’s get this over with. I want to go home.” She hadn’t meant to sound quite so pathetic with that last bit, but it was what it was: she was homesick.

  When they entered the library, it was to find Harrington decked out in a sling.

  “Don’t tell me you pissed off Frank,” she said. She could have bit her tongue. Not only was the statement rude in the general sense, but as soon as she said it, she realized why Harrington hadn’t been healed. Frank had expended all of his magical reserve speeding along her recovery. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in a mood for days now.”

  Harrington chose this moment to act the complete gentleman. Naturally, when it would make her feel like a complete heel. He offered his left hand and hearty congratulations.

  Once Ewan and Harrington had toasted her pregnancy with obscenely expensive thirty-year-old Laphroaig (John refrained, since she couldn’t join in), they got down to business.

  Ewan gave her the quick and dirty details. He and Tavish had come running the moment they’d heard her panicked cries for help via telepathy.

  “I know,” Lizzie said. “I think too loud.”

  Ewan shrugged. “A saving grace in this instance. When we arrived, we found you’d managed to separate the nymph from her host.”

  “And Elin, she’s…”

  “Quite well,” Harrington replied. “Thankfully, she has no memory after she was possessed up to the point the nymph released her body. She’s already home with her family.”

  “How did you know to separate them?” Ewan asked. She shook her head, confused by the question, so he clarified. “That’s the only weakness Matylda could discover: a vulnerability to water and fire in their natural state.”

  “Oh! Matylda! How is she? Where is she?” Illogical as it was, Lizzie had the urge to scan the room for signs of her corporeal or ghostly forms.

  “Gone. She left a note for you.” Harrington retrieved it and slid it across his desk. “I found it on my desk.”

  It was strange to see her own name scrawled across the envelope in Matylda’s handwriting. She tucked it in her pocket for later.

  “How did you know, Lizzie, to separate the nymph from her host?” Ewan asked again.

  “I didn’t. I just didn’t want to hurt Elin. I also think my magic has been on the fritz since a certain Lycan knocked me up.”

  John’s lips twitched again. If she knew her guy, he was getting a kick out of being reminded he’d impregnated his mate. Yeah, he was a Neanderthal, but only in the most innocuous ways. Also, the guy had super sperm. They’d had unprotected sex once. One time. She shook her head.

  “I have a theory about that,” Harrington said.

  Lizzie blushed, but then she realized he hadn’t read her mind. He was talking about her magic and not John’s super sperm.

  “Do tell,” John said in a way that made it clear he had a good idea what she’d been thinking. He clasped her hand and twined their fingers. “Tell us all about Lizzie’s magic.”

  She shot him a warning look, which he returned with an oh-so-innocent “who, me?” look.

  “I think it has something to do with carrying a Lycan child. I think your magic might be altered while you’re pregnant.”

  “But not after?” Because she might just decide to go on a little sabbatical from magic, if that was the case.

  “I’m not sure, but that’s my guess,” Harrington said. “Frank agrees, but again, we’re not certain.”

  Lizzie knew that Lycan didn’t interbreed with non-Lycan often, but they did. And when they did, it was usually with spell casters. Specifically, record keepers, her particular type of spell caster. So there shouldn’t be any bi
g mysteries…but with magic, who knew?

  “When are you guys going to get to the good stuff?” Lizzie asked. She was a homesick pregnant gal, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to properly greet her soon-to-be-husband yet. This show needed to get rolling. She crossed her arms. “Zombies? A wellspring that’s sprung a leak?”

  “Ah.” Ewan nodded. “The zombies self-resolved. No nymph, no zombies.”

  “Right, so it’s all magically okay?” She groaned internally. She was getting punny. Or was that just bad humor?

  “No,” Harrington said. “It’s all been managed with good planning and an excellent eye for detail. That is how some of IPPC’s employees operate.”

  Lizzie rolled her eyes. Okay, not really, but she thought about doing it. Someone’s delicate sensibilities were offended by her hastily constructed wards. It wasn’t her usual MO, but it had worked.

  Ewan filled in the blanks when Harrington didn’t: “We’ve moved the book to another—highly classified—location, away from the wellspring.”

  “As for the wellspring, we’ve engaged the help of the witching community to contain and study it.” Harrington couldn’t hide his excitement over the prospect. He was an IPPC recruitment machine. Larger geographic areas, greater numbers, new magic-using communities added to the fold—all goals that Harrington worked tirelessly to achieve. He’d love to get the witching community more involved with IPPC. The not crazy ones, anyway.

  “Gwen?” Lizzie asked. Because it sure as hell wouldn’t be any witch with a Coven of Light affiliation.

  “Yes,” Harrington said. “And her people.” He paused, considering Lizzie and John. His gaze skimmed quickly over their clasped hands. “If you don’t have any other questions, I’ll consider this debrief concluded.”

  He and Ewan wished John and her safe travels.

  Once they were in the hallway, John tugged her hand until she stopped. “Read it now.”