Victoria Cage Necromancer: The First Three Books (Victoria Cage Necromancer Omnibus Book 1)

by Eli Constant

  I focus on the parchment again, knowing it is my final hope.

  My index finger brushes the brittle paper first. I grip the thinness of it between index and thumb and I pull. It exits his ear with a sigh, like a tomb long closed being opened.

  Before my eyes, his face begins to lose color and grow hard. His eyes lose their personality.

  The great golem dries and dries until the clay is nothing more than ash held together. Somehow, it’s still holding me up; its one hand holding my hip, my feet hooked together at its back. The pain of keeping my legs elevated around the golem is sharp and mind-numbing. I slowly move to stand on the floor, but when my feet touchdown, I realize that I cannot support myself. I fall to the hard concrete, a gasp escaping my lips.

  I do not know why I have not been attacked by Blackthorn or Braeden whilst I fight Sausage Fingers. I do not care. With one shaking hand, I reach out and I push one of the golem’s great tree trunk legs. The entire body crumbles into a small pile of salt, like Lot’s wife looking back at Sodom. I’m still holding the rolled up parchment. It is held in my loose fingers lying against the cool ground. I unroll it. Slowly, the shooting aches in my pelvis attacking my entire body.

  It is covered in symbols. At the bottom of the page, there are lines of bright crimson. Blood that has never dried.

  “Do not let her destroy my son,” it’s Blackthorn’s strangled voice, coming to me from some distance. I shake my head and look up.

  He is standing beside Braeden. I can see in his body language that he wants to rush forward, to kill me where I stand. I know he could do it. With a single stroke. Then again, I could kill him too. I know that now.

  “We will find you a new soul. A new son, Blackthorn. Do not disappoint me with sentimentality.” Braeden is dismissive. His frozen heart makes my own almost feel sorry for Blackthorn. Almost.

  I look once again at the symbol-covered paper. I reach for the undried blood with my new powers. I ignite it. I watch it burn. As the parchment begins to blacken and crumble, I am blown back by an apparition rising from the ashes. It is strong and it is screaming.

  Its howls are scared and animalistic. There are words in the mix, strangled words that are so distorted that they are almost white noise. “I. Am. So-rry, Mr. Black—” the spirit cannot finish the name. He is in the throes of becoming nothing. Soon he will not exist. He does not have the mind or voice for anything longer.

  The scream is so wretched that it makes my chest constrict. It rivals the pain spilling away from my hips to weaken my legs.

  “My son!” The cry that exits Blackthorn’s mouth is so wretched, so full of anguish, that I almost feel guilt for releasing Blackthorn’s soul. Almost. “I will kill you!” Blackthorn rushes forward, his face contorted, his busted arm trying to swing wildly despite the bandage keeping it against his body, but Braeden grabs him by the jacket and yanks him back.

  “How. Dare. You.” Braeden’s voice is a whisper, yet it is also loud. It is dull, but it is also sharp. It is a new filet knife cutting into a fresh-caught fish. It needs no pressure to create a wound in the body. “How dare you go against your Prince.”

  Blackthorn is on his knees. “She has murdered my child. She has murdered my son. My William.”

  “He was a thing. A thing that I created for you. You forget that he was soil and water. He was sticks and thorn. He was no son.”

  “My William,” Blackthorn is sobbing now, leaned forward and only keeping himself from falling to the ground with his one good arm extended to the floor, his palm flattened against the concrete. “This is more than I can bear. Kill me, just kill me and let it be finished.”

  “Your son has been dead a century.” Braeden cocks back his hand and sends it raining down on Blackthorn, catching him across the face and sending him sprawling against the floor. “Your son was a mindless child, even when he died. He was not worth the blood I spilled to bring him back from the beyond, to attach him to a new body. You forget what I have given. You forget what has not been earned.”

  I cannot stand, but I want to. I am understanding now. The golem was not just a thing. It was not just a robot to be controlled.

  I knew there was a spirit, malevolent and empty, attached to the body. What I did not know was that it was once Blackthorn’s son, brought back from the other side. He must have died pure and kind. He must have been somewhere pleasant beyond the ether. It changes the base nature of a soul, to be forced back to earth when it does not wish to be.

  “How?” I call out, hoping to distract Braeden from the grieving father. I do not know why I feel for Blackthorn, he has tried to kill me and he wants to kill me now, but something about Sausage Fingers being his son has changed my opinion of him. I cannot see him only as my enemy now. “How did you bring him back? You’re not a necromancer. I can feel that you aren’t.” Continuing to speak zaps more of what little energy I have left. I can feel the world beginning to shred at the corners, particle by particle.

  “No, I am not.” Braeden’s eyes do not leave the injured Blackthorn, whose own eyes are staring at me, my death shining within them. Still, I cannot bring back the level of hate I once felt for him, despite the murder dancing in his gaze. “But you are not the only necromancer living, Victoria. And, unlike you, many will work for a price. They are not so high and mighty, so morally driven, as you. Royal blood is as good as goblin gold.”

  I can’t respond now, my voice arrested. God, the pain. It is intensifying to the point where I worry I will pass out. What will happen then? What will happen to the girls and to Liam? I know that when I think his name and he does not answer, that he has left the warehouse. He is concentrating on protecting the girls. I am glad for that.

  “No wonder our mother left you. What parent could stand to be around such a simpering, do-gooder? There is not enough love in the world for such irritating morality,” Braeden speaks with such disdain. He moves to Sausage Finger’s destroyed body and he pushes at the clumps of ruined dirt with the toe of his shoe. Blackthorn is kneeling now, his still working hand is in a fist, as if he is once again debating murdering the Black Prince for defiling his son’s remains. He has nothing left now to lose. I would not blame him for trying.

  “You don’t get to talk about our mother. You don’t care about her. You don’t even care that they killed her. I’d rather be a fucking do-gooder than a greedy, power-hungry, nihilist,” I spit the words out, wishing I could shapeshift into some creature that had acid for saliva. Him speaking of her has loosened the prison of my voice.

  “Ouch,” Braeden mocks with a smile, his lips curved deviously. “Words can hurt, sister. Besides, she left you when you were four. You’re just a sad, unwanted thing. Unloved by the world, your mother, your fiancé that would rather drive off a highway and die rather than be with you.”

  “Fuck you,” I want the two words to be as intense as gun fire, yet they’re weak. I want to rail against him, kill him for mentioning Adam… how he even knows about him... God, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I am growing ever weaker. The life brought back by him mentioning our mother was short lived.

  “I’m not one to shy away from a little incest. Tonight, though, I do not feel a sexual desire for the flesh. But Blackthorn here,” he looks down at the man who is no longer grieving, but plotting violence of the worst sort, “would probably like a piece of you.”

  I shrink away from the prospect. All sympathy I had for Blackthorn melts away as he stands with some effort, being off balance with the injured arm tied to his body. I see hope mingling with rage in his expression. “Do you mean it, my Prince?” Blackthorn wants to kill me, but his voice also holds a modicum of lust that makes my stomach roil. Maybe I could bring back the hate I felt for him before discovering the truth about Sausage Fingers.

  “Oh, I forgive you for your silly attachment to the golem. We should not have used your son’s spirit. There was little of him left for such a task and he was much changed when forced from, what I assume was, his pleasan
t life in the ether.” Braeden turns away, then back again. “You won’t cross me again though. Remember who you are and who I am. I will never restore your place at the black court if you cannot be loyal.”

  “Yes, my Prince.” Blackthorn clamps his mouth shut, but then reopens it. “What of my son? What of my William?”

  “Go have your way with her. Find me when you’re finished and we will have words over your son.” He moves away to the doors from which they’d all entered and pauses just as he reaches it. “And Blackthorn, I’ve grown quite tired of this little game. I think it’s time we get out of the trafficking business, no matter how much money it yields for our enterprises.”

  “You’re a bastard,” my voice sounds animalistic, like my pain is forcing me into a corner. Like I am a fox cornered by a hound. I have no course of action but to look as fierce as I can. “You’re a fucking bastard. You can’t play around with human lives like this.” My pelvis feels like it’s in a million pieces and my stomach hurts wondering what his other enterprises could be. Were they more human things? Was he engaged in actions more unspeakable than kidnapping little girls and selling them for god knows what purpose?

  Braeden turns around, casting a long shadow across the double door exit. “I’m involved in many things, sister. All equally nefarious, I assure you.”

  Can all fairies read minds?

  “Not all, but it runs in my family.” He looks behind me and smiles. “Liam can tell you, next time you see him.”

  “Wha—” I try to see if Liam has returned. I am unable to finish my sentence. I can’t. It hurts too fucking much. If Liam and Braeden were family, did that mean Liam and I are also? I didn’t like that thought. Not a bit.

  “Oh, not to worry,” there was a chuckle in Braeden’s voice, “your fairy suitor is related on my father’s side. You are free to… fuck him if you please.” He says the words so crassly that I can feel the heat of blush creep into my face.

  “Fuck you,” is all I can manage.

  “Again, that’s tempting, sister. But I will take you to my bed some other time.” The laugh fades from his voice then. “Now, Blackthorn. Please wrap this up. I’m absolutely exhausted,” Braeden yawns dramatically and shoves his hands into his pants once more. It’s then that I see the black shirt he’s wearing with the suit. I don’t know how I missed it before.

  My fucking nightgown. He’s wearing my favorite fucking nightgown.

  Braeden looks down at his chest and grins, “Yes, I wondered when you’d notice. I had such fun watching you search for it. I nearly gave it back after I’d used it to authenticate your identity.”

  “You’re a son of a bitch,” I snarl.

  “Yes, maybe,” his grin widens. “Thanks for the shirt, sis. It’s nearly softer than fae silk.” Braeden turns to Blackthorn once more, “Blackthorn, the brink of death only. We cannot afford war with the light court after all.” There is something about Braeden’s voice though, something that says he would accept a war if it meant my death.

  The black fairy does not respond to his prince. He is too focused on me, lying on the floor feeling like soupy jello and trying not to lose consciousness.

  Chapter Thirty-Four.

  As Blackthorn moves toward me, I feel desperate. In a way that I have never felt before, except perhaps when I was a child—crying in my bed for my mother to return. I never told Dad that I recalled those times, when I felt so alone that my body ached with grief.

  I was only four after all, when she left.

  Perhaps I do not actually remember at all. Perhaps it is just my imagination filling in the gaps.

  My desperation builds like a tsunami rising in the center of a vast sea with nothing to crash down upon save for more and more water. I close my eyes, waiting for the strike I know will come. And also because I do not want to see the beast that Blackthorn will become, the shark man of teeth and long jaw.

  While I am sitting stagnant and hurt, an unseeing thing, I do see something. I see it within myself. I see the way my blood is rushing about my veins with so much life. I cling to it. I follow it to where it is pooling inside of my body. Internal bleeding.

  Shattered bones.

  Can I reverse my power? Can I, instead of gripping a heart in my hands and squeezing, hold a heart in my hand and encourage it to heal a broken body? When Liam marked me, my body healed itself so fast…

  I know I only have seconds to explore, my head lolled forward, shadowed by the crimson-stained white hair that falls about my face. I feel, deeper and deeper into myself until I find the damage. It is like genetic coding, like being back in college and listening to the professor drone on about genetic variation and the extra-cellular environment.

  A stupid class, taken to finish my stupid degree. A degree I have never used, until now, when I die and none of it matters anyway.

  And then I feel it. A spark. The damage within me begins to repair, fraction by fraction. This is more than the slight encouragement I could once give my body.

  Which means I am no longer only a creature of death and destruction. I am also truly a creature of life and healing.

  I am still caught in the discovery when I am lifted from the ground; my numb legs swaying beneath me like a puppet’s whose strings are not being properly worked. I try to move, jerk myself away and back to the ground. But it is hard to jolt a person’s grip when you cannot properly work the lower half of your body.

  “Let me go!” My hands are still free and I use the one with Liam’s mark to slap across his face. It does nothing except cause a small red spot that fades quickly. It is nearly as if fear has sapped my strength. I won’t be one of those women, the kind that go all damsel-in-distress. I fought for my life at Jim’s, and I’ll fight now.

  “I bet you thought it would not come to this, Blood Queen.” Blackthorn growls into my face, spittle landing on my lips and cheeks. “You are so worthless that your own brother has handed you over to me. He says the brink of death, but I know my Prince. He cannot order me to kill you because of who you are, but it is what he desires. And I won’t kill you quickly. It will be slow. Full of the type of pain you’ve never known.”

  “We may share blood, but he is not my brother,” my voice strengthens, “I refuse to be related to that monster.”

  “Some said my William was a monster, when he was alive.” Blackthorn seems to grow, his frame lengthening until it matches the proportions of his freak-show mouth. He shifts my body so that he cradles me like a baby. He begins to rock me, back and forth, back and forth.

  In the chaos, I have not been able to concentrate on the healing of my wounds. The rocking motion soothes the pains that are seeping back. My eyelids begin to feel heavy. I fight to keep them open. “Put me down,” I say, but it is a feeble whisper empty of any real conviction.

  “He was a large baby when he was born. His mother did not survive the strain of it. I soon discovered that he… he was not like other children, that he would stay childlike well into his adulthood. It made me fiercely protective.”

  I try to focus on Blackthorn’s words as he mimics the feel of the ocean, undulating waves beneath me so very different than the great tsunami that had threatened only moments ago.

  “When his heart gave out, he was still a young man by our standards. A tender century. He deserved longer. He had longer. Until you came along. You are no Blood Queen. The Bager name has been demeaned by your humanity that taints the ancient bloodline.”

  I am getting so very tired. It is then that I feel something sticking into my back, something sharp and pronged. I try and squirm to see what is touching me. There is no way though, not while Blackthorn cradles me.

  A gasp pushes past my teeth as the sharp thing plunges into my skin. I can feel it, pulsing and sucking. Pulsing and sucking.

  It is pushing something into my body while at the same time pumping something out. Fluid for blood. Blood for fluid.

  Like embalming.

  “What… are… you… doing?” I can barely speak.
So tired. God, I’m so tired. And everything feels fuzzy. Like the world is transforming into a great stuffed animal around me.

  A stuffed animal.

  Lilly’s teddy bear.

  Lilly.

  “I’m keeping you only just alive, until I am done with you. Until I am thoroughly satisfied that you have got your punishment.” He leans his head lower to me, our foreheads nearly touching. “The truth is though, son-killer, that I doubt I will ever be satisfied.”

  “You aren’t allowed to kill me,” I choke out the words.

  “What can he do to me now? He will not bring my son back, my William. I felt it in his words. I do not want standing at the court if I do not have my son!” Blackthorn is spitting as he talks and the wetness stings against my face.

  As I struggle, weakly and pathetically, I feel something else begin to move upwards from Blackthorn’s groin to push between my thighs. There’s something sharp attached to it. It comes just high enough that I can catch a glimpse of it.

  It is thick as a small man’s forearm and rubbery in appearance. A small tongue is peeking out of the end; it is sharp, sharp enough to slice through material. I struggle harder, renewed strength in my limbs.

  The thing in my back continues to pulse and pump.

  The thing in front of me begins to lower and push against my pants. I hear the faintest sound of cloth tearing. I feel it pushing against my panties. I scream.

  And I sound like a wraith made real.

  Victoria, you have to be strong. You can’t let fear overwhelm you. You are my Queen. You are Queen of all Fae, Black and Light. Embrace the power fully. Let it feed you. I am almost there. Stay strong!

  It is Liam’s voice in my head. He won’t be here fast enough. He won’t save me.

  Stay strong!

  I turn my head, something magnetic drawing my eye away from the horror that is happening to my body. The way Blackthorn is standing, I am visible to the cage. Liam is not inside it; instead he stands on the opposite end from me, his body segmented by metal bars. The girls are nowhere to be seen.