Spells and Necromancy: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  She sighed. That was probably wishful thinking on her part.

  It was also assuming the mess with the necromancy-bit was easy to take care of. It wouldn’t be. She had a feeling.

  Chapter Three

  Valerius did not like being at the beck and call of some woman mage. He also did not like the way Tamlen smiled at her, watched her go with a smug expression on his face. As if the man thought they shared some secret, simply because both of them were mages. He hated it.

  Camaraderie among mages? Mages always believed they either suffered together or were given the worst lot in life. There was no mage truly happy with his or her position. They always wanted more. Magic made them greedy.

  Of course, Valerius could not fault the mages for it. Wanting more, that unavoidable hunger, made him beg Midas for the runes in his skin. He wanted to be the hero that defeated the near-unstoppable Tamlen Grey, to destroy his unite-the-eastern-seaboard scheme and end the stupid idea of having a mage rule it all. Mages could hardly contain themselves. They were a risk to others around them when they weren’t trained, and even a higher-level mage could fall prey to a Demon’s snare. After defeating Tamlen, he naively thought Midas would reward him, make him…

  It didn’t matter now. That time, apparently, was long gone. Midas was dead, and Valerius’s revenge plot ended before it even truly began.

  He was a thrall to an unaware, inconsequential necromancer. Honestly, Valerius didn’t think his life would end up quite like this. Sheer awful luck. And to be stuck with his worst enemy? To watch him try to woo the woman who was their, for lack of a better word, master? Torture.

  Valerius glared at Tamlen. He held the woman mage’s bag, and he thankfully used it to cover up his cock. That was something Valerius did not want to see, regardless of what the other man might insinuate. The dagger he’d retrieved felt cold in his hand. How easy it would be to kill Tamlen again, but where would that get him? What would that get him?

  He should let it go, let the past go. He should not be hungry for revenge, but that was the thing about Hunger: once it touched him, it never let him go. Valerius could feel that the tagalong in his mind was gone. It was not a Demon, but a spirit. He knew not the specific differences between the two, but Hunger was able to exist in this world without a body. Demons needed to possess.

  Even though Valerius was the hero in the tale between Tamlen and King Midas, it didn’t stop him from making questionable decisions in the name of victory. Accepting Hunger’s bargain was one of them. It wanted to live through him, experience things only humans could, and it offered power. Without its urgings, it was very possible that Valerius might never had gotten the runes, might never had finally told Midas how he felt—

  Hindsight, of course, told him that those thoughts were wrong. He would’ve had it done anyway.

  What was done was done. Valerius should not linger on it. Who knew? Perhaps this second chance at life would be even shorter than his first.

  “So,” Tamlen started, tossing him a glance. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”

  Valerius scowled. “I don’t want to talk about the weather.” What he wanted to talk about was the woman mage—where she went, how long she’d be gone, what would happen if someone stumbled upon them, mostly-naked. Granted, it looked as if they were in the middle of a forest, no roads in sight, so the chances of that were slim. But, still. Better safe than sorry.

  “Then what do you wish to speak of? Apologies, but anytime you were in my vicinity, all you attempted to do was try to kill me. Forgive me if I don’t know what you enjoy talking about,” he spoke dryly, tossing him a dirty look. A dirty look coming from an equally dirty man. They all smelled like death. They needed to wash up and trim the mops that were atop their heads.

  Maybe then Valerius would start to feel like himself.

  “I didn’t only try,” Valerius muttered.

  “Right. You succeeded, too.” Tamlen traced the scar near his hip, a white line in his flesh. “Yet here we are, alive and well. As well as we can be, considering.”

  Valerius harrumphed, not saying anything.

  “You’re going to brood this entire time, aren’t you? How irritating.”

  “I am not brooding. I am simply—”

  “You’re brooding,” Tamlen cut in, smug. He crossed his arms, his muscles bulging. He was an impressive sight, for a mage. Usually mages were not the most physically adept people; they preferred their robes and their books, not armor and swords. Tamlen liked the latter, even with his magic, and it showed on every inch of his body.

  Doing his best not to look at him, Valerius said, “I am not brooding. I am standing here, wondering why this had to happen, why it had to be you, and why—”

  A third voice, light and feminine, chimed in, “Why I left you guys here to fend for yourselves?” The woman mage appeared, dusting herself off. “For some strange reason, I figured you could handle yourselves, and look. I was right.” She went to reach for her bag, but stopped short as she noticed it covered Tamlen’s privates. “You’re right. You should keep that there. Don’t need to see any more of that.”

  Her words caused Tamlen to frown and Valerius to laugh. “What?” Valerius said. “It was funny.”

  “Funny, no. Untrue, yes.” Tamlen turned to the woman, laying on the charm. He might’ve winked at her, or there was something in his eye. It was very possible a bug flew in there, for the woman was unimpressed.

  Good. Perhaps she wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she and Valerius would get along, accidental necromancy aside.

  Tamlen couldn’t take no for an answer, for he asked, “Are you going to tell us your name, beautiful, or shall we simply call you Master?”

  She coughed, turning as she said, “Just call me Lena.” Her eyes, a remarkable violet, flicked to Valerius. “Like I said before.”

  No, Valerius thought back. What she said before was Celena, then Lena…oh. Right. Now Valerius understood. One was a shortened version of the other. Hopefully she’d forgive him for the slight, seeing as how his brain was overcoming being brought back to life. She must think him stupid for how he reacted to her before.

  “My dear Lena,” Tamlen spoke, his voice like honey, “what will you have us do? You have two stallion-like men at your disposal—be creative. I’ve never been submissive before. It’ll be a learning experience.”

  Lena shook her head. “No, no. Just…no. I’m not—we’re not…” She looked to Valerius, wordlessly asking for his help, but he said nothing, for she was kind of cute when she was flustered. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.” She bit her lip, thinking.

  Valerius muttered, “What is it?”

  “It’s just,” Lena started, reaching toward her hair. She must’ve wanted to twirl a finger in it but forgot that it was pinned up. Her hand dropped back to her side. How old was she? Was she a woman, or was she a child? She looked like a woman but acted like a sheltered child. “I came here to study the runes in the crypt—but now I have you two.”

  Tamlen was beside him in an instant, slapping Valerius on his back, harder than he should’ve. “You still have runes right here.”

  Stepping away from his hand, Valerius said, “What, then? You’ll study my runes and then let me go?” He didn’t care what happened to Tamlen one way or another. “You won’t send us back there, will you? I don’t…” His gaze fell to the grass. “I don’t want to die again.”

  The two men before Lena were a good distraction from her nightmare, and from the white wyvern that acted strangely attached to her. The moment she saw them, spoke with them, she completely forgot her worries and how disgusted she felt after that nightmare.

  “I don’t want to die again,” Valerius whispered, serious in every way. Granted, she hadn’t known him for long, but it was a new side of him, the opposite of his strong and tough exterior.

  Oh, Gods. She couldn’t sentence them to die again, could she? That would be cruel—giving them each a glimpse of what life was like before ripping it from
their grasps. Lena wasn’t that mean. She liked to think she was a nice person, accidental magic use aside.

  Lena found herself stepping closer to Valerius, slowly reaching for the dagger in his hand. After hooking it through her belt loop, she said, “You won’t. At least, not from me. I won’t do that to you.”

  The old Valerius was back, saying sharply, “You accidentally rose us from the dead. What if you accidentally send us back?”

  Lena’s jaw clenched. “That won’t happen.”

  The man laughed, not looking too assured. Whatever. He could go on believing whatever he wanted. Lena didn’t care either way—she wanted nothing to do with them. She couldn’t go around advertising the fact that she was an accidental necromancer. And, she realized with horror, she couldn’t let the men go. While Valerius wasn’t recognizable, Tamlen was. Some would know who Tamlen Grey was. There were portraits of the scarred man in the history books. If he cut his hair, maybe, but after the horrid things he did? Lena wasn’t sure if she trusted him to go off by himself. What would stop Tamlen from starting another war?

  No. For now, both men had to stay with her. Maybe Ingrid would know what to do.

  Ingrid was definitely going to kill her.

  They made their way back to the small camp Ingrid had set up, finding that Ingrid was still gone, off collecting whatever data on the green-feathered sparrow. Who knew? Maybe she encountered the white wyvern, too. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t back yet. Maybe she rose her own pair of undead men, too. That was wishful thinking on Lena’s part. The only one stupidly raising the dead was her.

  “Tell me this isn’t your camp,” Valerius spoke, sour considering he was the one who had a tomb and Tamlen was the one buried unceremoniously beneath him. His bare foot nudged Ingrid’s bag. “It is pathetic. This is how you are traveling through these woods?”

  “No,” she told him, biting her lip when she remembered how naked Tamlen was and how close to it Valerius was. The only thing Valerius wore were pieces of armor, whatever underclothes long frayed and decayed. The bits of metal were tarnished and dirty, just like his body. Hopefully none of them had contracted any diseases in that place.

  Tamlen dropped to his butt, stretching out in the grassy clearing. The bag slipped from his groin, revealing his…well, Lena shouldn’t look there, even if it did call to her attention. Whatever force had gotten into her head still lingered, for she never would’ve stared so unabashedly at a naked man before.

  What got into her?

  “We aren’t the only ones in this forest,” Lena told them. “I came with a large group of people, and my friend Ingrid.”

  “Why would you come to the wilderness in a caravan and split from them? Seems counterintuitive,” Valerius said, crossing his arms. As he made the movement, one of his shoulder pads slid off, falling to the grass. Both shoulders were now free of armor, and they were very wide and very nice to look at.

  “We didn’t come to travel. The King is hosting a hunt. If someone can capture the white wyvern, they’ll get riches, land, and a title.” Lena ran a hand over her pulled-back hair, making sure she kept enough distance between her and the two men. If she got close to them, there was no telling what her crazed-up mind would force her to do. Like in her dream, with Bastian—Gods, his memory was tainted now, wasn’t it? “Ingrid and I came to study, not to hunt.”

  Tamlen grinned. “And yet you’ve caught yourself two men. Funny how that worked.” He scratched his inner thigh, utterly at ease even though every inch of him hung out, not caring that the bag now sat next to him instead of on his lap. Were all men like that? No wonder the first time could hurt.

  By the Gods, Lena had to get her mind away from such inappropriate thoughts.

  “Technically I didn’t catch you,” Lena said. “I rose you—” A startled yelp interrupted her, and she and the two men turned to view Ingrid, returning from her data-gathering, a lot dirtier than she was when she left. Her brown hair was mostly undone, her tunic covered in grime. The journal and inkwell were on the grass, because she’d dropped them.

  How did she get so filthy while studying birds?

  Lena decided to ask, temporarily forgetting that Ingrid didn’t know who the two men near her were, “What happened to you?” Her appearance was so awful, it was funny. Almost. She was still beyond gorgeous, even covered in so much dirt.

  Rushing to her side, Ingrid snaked the dagger from Lena’s hip, holding it out to the two men, standing between them. Her other hand clenched into a fist. A wraith-like wolf appeared at her side, her familiar, her go-to summoning. The wolf stood as tall as her waist, floating in and out of existence, with golden eyes and pure white fur. Lena lept back, away from both her friend and the spectral wolf. Ingrid knew how uncomfortable she was around such magics.

  Valerius didn’t react to Ingrid’s stance, and Tamlen didn’t even stand. He didn’t even move to cover himself. He just laid there, bare as a baby—the very opposite of a baby, really—and said, “Another mage. And a pretty one, too.”

  A pang of jealousy coursed through her, but Lena shook it away, for it was true. Ingrid was pretty. The two men might’ve been her thralls, but they were not hers to command. Not in that way, anyway. Valerius and Tamlen could look at any woman they chose to, even if said woman was her friend.

  Still…Lena didn’t like it.

  When neither man moved to attack, Ingrid hissed, “I need to talk to you.” She pointed at her ghostly familiar. “Stay here. Should either of them move, stop them.” The wolf pawed at the ground, its translucent claws digging into the grass. It might’ve looked ghostly, but it was as corporal as any of them.

  Ingrid wasn’t happy. “What’s going on here? Who are those guys?” she asked, firing away as soon as they were a good distance away. “Why are they naked? Not that I’m complaining, they’re both very nice to look at, but still!” Her features were twisted into a frown.

  “It’s a long story,” Lena said, dragging her feet about telling her friend the truth. But if anyone had to know what happened, it was Ingrid. Ingrid was smart, reactive to situations instead of inactive, like Lena.

  “Try me.”

  “I may have brought a map of the area. During my readings, I found an old tomb of heroes, lost sometime in the Dragon Era. That was the last time runes were used to instill magic into non-mages. I thought I’d do my dissertation on that after studying it. I figured, trace some rune-sketchings on the graves, memorize the layout—nothing too fancy or dangerous. But then I may have…risen the dead.”

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t so long of a story after all.

  Ingrid’s brows flew to new heights as she said in a harsh whisper, “Those guys are dead? You have thralls? That’s impossible! You’re…”

  Lena felt a puff of resentment. “You remember how I wound up at the College, don’t you?”

  With a sigh, her friend nodded. “Of course I do, but setting a fire, even a big one, is kingdoms different than raising the dead. Lena—necromancy is forbidden by the College. If the High Enchanter gets one whiff of what you did, he’ll send you to the King to be executed.”

  Setting a fire. That wasn’t what Lena did. Not even close. But Lena didn’t argue with her, for she knew she was right. High Enchanter Gregain could not learn of today’s events—but that left her with the question of what to do with the two men.

  “I wasn’t going to march into his chambers and tell him,” Lena said. “But I can’t leave them here, Ingrid.”

  “Why not? You don’t know them. They’re dead.”

  “They’re my responsibility. I rose them.”

  “Exactly. Un-raise them. Lower them.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Why not?”

  Lena was exasperated. This was getting nowhere. She said, “I can’t do that because I don’t know how I did it to begin with.” She didn’t tell her friend about the book, and since it was only a book, Ingrid did not put two and two together. “And they listen to me. They’re not dangerous.”
>
  Ingrid shook her head. “That’s exactly what thralls do. They listen to their master.”

  Scoffing, she said, “You make it sound so dirty.”

  “Says the girl who has two naked men after her.”

  “Only one of them is naked.” Gods. Why did Lena feel the need to remind her friend of that?

  Ingrid blinked, saying, “Trust me, I’m well aware of who’s naked and who’s not. Even if they look like a fun time, you can’t keep them. They’re not puppies. You can’t have them following you around in the College.”

  “What am I going to do?” Lena felt her emotions take over—a bad thing. She didn’t feel like crying. She didn’t want to cry. Breaking down was the last thing she wanted to do, the last thing she needed to do. It was pointless. No amount of wishing would change her current circumstance.

  Ingrid’s stern exterior melted, and soon her friend wrapped her in a hug. “It’s okay, Lena. I know you didn’t do it on purpose—hard to believe you’re an accidental necromancer, but in all of history, you can’t be the first.” She sighed as she pulled away, tapping the hilt of the dagger on her chin. “We do have to figure out what to do with them, though. They can’t come into the College with us. They can’t even come back to the city with us if they’re not clothed.”

  An idea came to Lena’s head. All those nobles with their tents and their dogs and their carriages. They had to have brought extra clothes to this hunt. They wouldn’t wear dirty garments longer than they had to. “What about the all those nobles?”

  Nodding in agreement, Ingrid said, “You’re right. Their carts will be loaded.” She paused to think. “I don’t remember seeing any lord with the same build as either of those two men, but I can try to find something that’ll fit them. Who, by the way, am I busting out a camouflaging spell for?”