Reading, Writing and Necromancy

by Sarina Dorie

  A wheezing breath came out again, a gasp, and then a choking cough. “He poisoned me.” Her voice was thick with an accent I couldn’t place. Her words escaped in a breathy hiss that made it difficult to understand her.

  “Who poisoned you?” I asked.

  Something popped under her skin beneath my fingers. It sounded like a brittle bone had broken.

  “He poisoned me,” she repeated, this time sounding more indignant.

  She hadn’t answered my question. Weren’t necromancers supposed to be able to command the dead? Maybe I needed to sound more authoritative, like a dog trainer.

  I pushed down my fear. I spoke louder, though I sounded just as frightened. “Who poisoned you and why?”

  “He poisoned me, the bastard.”

  This wasn’t going anywhere. I started to draw back, but she continued, “He knew I was a Red. I shouldn’t have trusted him with my secrets.” She coughed. The air smelled like apples and dust. “I should have checked for poison.”

  I fought the urge to sneeze.

  “Tell me about the text you were writing,” I said.

  “The translation. Where is my book?” The chair creaked, or perhaps it was her body. She twisted, and more bones popped. “Did he steal my manuscript too?” Her hand clamped over mine.

  I stepped back, trying to pull away, but her grip was firm. “No. He didn’t get your books. I don’t think he cared about those.”

  “Where are my books? Who has my books?” Something clunked onto the table. The corpse continued to talk, but her words came out in raspy hisses of air. I couldn’t understand most of what she said. I suspected she’d lost her jaw.

  Something crunched.

  She said, “You have it!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Who Has My Golden Book?

  I screamed. This was like that one time my dad had told The Golden Arm story around the campfire when I’d been a kid, and he had grabbed me. Only this was a real dead person. It wasn’t a story.

  “It’s a library. I’m not stealing,” I screamed. “I’m just going to borrow the books.”

  I pulled harder. I tried to use my other hand to detach her fingers without dropping the books. One of her fingers crumbled. I shrieked and tore the remaining hand away. I stumbled back, hoping she was dead again now that I wasn’t touching her.

  I prayed she was at peace now.

  I fumbled my way out of the room, across the hallway, and up the stairs. Repeatedly I stubbed my toes and pitched onto my knees on the steep incline of stairs. The door creaked open and light fell on the stairs. A figure stood at the top, silhouetted in light.

  “Please don’t be Miss Periwinkle about to catch me and close me in this darkness forever,” I silently begged.

  Before I’d even gotten halfway up I realized it couldn’t be Miss Periwinkle. This figure was smaller and didn’t wear a witch hat.

  “Miss Lawrence?” she whispered.

  It sounded like Imani.

  I fell out of the secret passage, gasping for breath. I crawled the rest of the way out and closed the door behind me.

  “Are you all right?” Imani helped me up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened?”

  “The library is a dangerous place,” I said. “I would not recommend going through that door.” If Imani’s powers were anything like mine, she might resurrect the poisoned scribe like I had.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Thatch,” Imani said.

  “Yeah?”

  “He isn’t acting like himself. During classes, I could tell something weird was going on.”

  That was an understatement.

  “Was Mr. Thatch in class yesterday?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “What do you mean, ‘you guess’? Either he’s there or he isn’t.”

  “He was there, but he kept leaving. He said he had students in the detention room, but I know he didn’t. He seemed distracted.”

  What was he up to?

  “Would you check on him? Do you know how to check for curses and hexes?”

  “Um, no.” Duh. I was the least magical teacher in the school.

  Her shoulders sagged. Her eyes filled with tears. I genuinely felt bad she was this concerned.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  I was going to have to go poke around in the dungeon when he was in class. I didn’t know how to do that without drawing his attention since I couldn’t get to the dungeon without passing through his classroom. I might be able to use the mirror hallway to walk into his room and then go through his private quarters and office. One of these days he was going to catch me if I wasn’t careful.

  I no longer saw Miss Periwinkle behind the counter. Vega stood beside one of the tables, chiding a group of students about something.

  My legs felt like jelly as I approached Vega. A student looked up, his eyes wide. He elbowed a friend, who stared at me.

  “Do you speak any Old High German?” I asked Vega, hoping she really did.

  She tugged the books from my arms and perused them. “This isn’t Old High German. It’s Middle High German. That’s more of a Thatch specialty.”

  Of course it was. The students continued to stare.

  Vega eyed me with a frown. “Why is a mummified hand attached to your sweater?”

  “What? Where?” I spun, afraid the scribe had risen from her tomb and followed me. Something smacked into my side, and I squealed.

  Vega sighed in exasperation. She detached the shriveled hand from the bottom of my sweater and held it up. “Finders keepers.”

  “Yeah, sure, take it,” I said. I didn’t want it. Had I not been so frazzled, I would have bargained with her for it.

  “It looks like you found what you were looking for.” Her smile turned sinister. “By the way, you were gone for a total of twenty-one minutes. I’d say that’s equal to another week of covering my duties. Lucky you.”

  I went to Josie in her room to see if she had any suggestions for who could help me translate.

  “I bet any of the Celestor teachers are good at translating,” she said.

  “Not Vega.”

  “But Thatch, definitely.”

  Ugh. Not him again.

  There was Darla, the student who had previously told me she would help me study foreign languages. I had promised myself I wouldn’t involve students in the Fae Fertility Paradox, but this wasn’t about that. There was more to this spell that I didn’t understand, some kind of Red magic. No matter what, I had to be careful whom I shared it with.

  Wouldn’t you know it, as I carried the books toward my room, who should I see outside the great hall? After all the times I had attempted to meet with Thatch to discuss Derrick, this had to be the moment I found him?

  From his resting bitch face, I knew the conversation wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. He marched toward me, students leaping out of his path. His face was red, and a vein bulged in his temples. It had to be about Derrick. He knew I knew. Either that or it was about the books. I couldn’t allow him to get them.

  As my self-defense teacher had said in college, the best defense was avoidance.

  I turned and ran.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Josie’s Revenge

  I didn’t know where I was running to. Thatch could use magic. My powers were limited to minor charms—and now the forbidden art of necromancy. A lot of good any of those would do me. I had to stash the books somewhere safe before Thatch found me. I wasn’t far from my classroom. I locked the door and dropped the books on my desk. I shoved a stack of papers over the books and started toward the closet to make sure it was locked.

  Too late. The door creaked open and out marched Thatch.

  “I wondered what you had done this time.” His wand was drawn. “The moment you skipped our meeting, I suspected you were up to something.”

  I scuttled back. “I d
idn’t skip a meeting.”

  He snorted. “Then you ignored my second and third request for a meeting. I knew you had to be guilty of something. Now I know.”

  He lifted a pair of charcoal gray slacks that I had neglected to notice were draped over his arm. My eyes widened. This wasn’t about the books. He knew I had stolen his pants and had been in his room.

  He unfolded the pants. Pink thread had been sewn into the seat of the pants. That hadn’t been there when Josie had given them back to me, but I had a suspicion the letters she’d embroidered were her doing, not the brownies’.

  The seat of his pants now said, “That’s Mr. Asshole to you.” I took it Josie was a fan of eighties movies.

  I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. I was relieved. He was just mad about his stupid pants.

  “Not funny, Miss Lawrence.” He threw down the slacks on the floor.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of sorry.”

  “I didn’t do it, if that’s what you think.”

  “Do you deny these trousers were in your possession?”

  I hesitated, trying to think of a valid excuse. “Look, I did have your pants, but I didn’t do that. I put them in with my laundry for the brownies to return to you.”

  “And who do you propose did this, then? The brownies? Did profanities appear on any of your clothes during the middle of Saturday detention today?”

  Why hadn’t Josie listened? Hadn’t she realized I would be the one to get blamed? I didn’t want him to think I had played the prank on him.

  I picked up the pants and studied the lettering. Josie was a skilled seamstress. I turned them and examined the pants from the inside. “I could probably pull out the thread if I borrowed a seam ripper from someone.”

  The brand label that had been sewn to the inside waistband was printed with the not-so-subtle message: “Made with love by Josie.”

  Ah, so she wanted him to know the addition had been from her. I held it up. He tore the pants from my hands, his face growing more mottled by the second. What had gone through Josie’s head?

  “Do you want me to try to fix the pants for you?” I asked.

  “No.” He wadded them up. “If this isn’t the reason you’ve been avoiding me, then I expect an explanation. Don’t try to lie to me.” He strode over to my desk and sat down in my chair. “I left one note on your desk and two in your mailbox, which you refused to so much as acknowledge.”

  He leaned an elbow on my desk, his arm touching one of the books. The spines were exposed, and he could easily see them. As long as his attention stayed on me, and not my desk, I would be fine.

  I scooted closer, shifting to the right to draw his gaze away from what was in front of him.

  Thatch drummed his fingers over the papers. “I’m waiting, Miss Lawrence.”

  “I didn’t miss any meetings, and I didn’t get any notes. Every time I go down to the dungeon, it’s locked up and you aren’t around.”

  “You exaggerate. I’ve only kept it locked in the morning.”

  “And after school.”

  “Yesterday, yes. I was checking the Fae traps.”

  I stared at him, confused.

  “Locations similar to the place we found Maddy. I have an inventory of where I find Witchkin students. My alarms go off when a child falls into one of them, just as it does when magic happens out in the Morty Realm.” He tossed back his perfect waves of hair. “I had three false alarms last night and one today that kept me from the staff meeting.”

  “Oh.” That sounded less villainous than it could have. “Yeah, well, I left you a message in your box yesterday, and someone returned it to my box in shreds.”

  His brow furrowed. “I didn’t do that.”

  “Then who did? Could it be your new girlfriend?”

  “Gertrude wouldn’t do such a thing. What could possibly motivate her?”

  “Jealousy.”

  His lips twitched, and he stared off into the distance, getting that dreamy look on his face. “Gertrude? Jealous of me?” His grin broadened. “That’s . . . adorable.”

  His gaze drifted down to the stacks of art projects on my desk that I’d just taken down from the display wall.

  “Um, anyway… .” I coughed loudly, trying to draw his attention. I tried to casually stack the papers and transfer them onto the books. The old tomes still weren’t very well hidden, but I didn’t want to keep fidgeting with papers on my desk and draw more attention to that area. “I wanted to speak with you about that spell. Are you going to tell me what it does?”

  “After you collect the ingredients.” He watched my hands.

  I shuffled a pile of articles for my class the following day, hoping to draw his gaze away from the books. “Why won’t you tell me now?”

  “Because I enjoy infuriating you. Why are you fidgeting so much?”

  “No reason.” I lifted my sketchbook from the corner of my desk. “There was something you were going to confess to me the other day. Something about Derrick.”

  “No. I have nothing to confess.”

  “Stop trying to be purposefully infuriating. I want to know where he is. I’m afraid the Raven Queen has him.” I bit my lip, afraid I’d said too much.

  His brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Are you referring to the recent snatchings? The Raven Court is technically luring them, not snatching them.” He placed an elbow on the desk again, idly stroking his chin with a long finger. “Derrick is somewhere safe. He wouldn’t have any reason to go someplace the Raven Court would frequent.”

  “How do you know? When is the last time you’ve seen him?” I rephrased that. I wasn’t going to let him wiggle out of telling me the truth on a technicality. “Spoken with him?”

  “I’ve seen to it he’s somewhere safe. I’ve been watching over him to ensure he doesn’t get hurt, and that you do not either. It’s possible that we’ve come to a time when you’re ready to see him again without risk of bringing injury to him or yourself. Can I trust you not to do anything rash? Do you think you can control yourself and not touch him?”

  “Maybe. Why?” I leaned against my desk.

  “It will be an experiment.” He offered me a smile.

  Or maybe he didn’t want me to undo his invisibility.

  “Have you talked to Derrick this week?” I asked.

  “I’ve been rather busy. I will go to him tonight and set up an appointment for the two of you to meet.” He stood. “Will this satisfy your wish to see him?”

  I nodded, but I was doubtful. “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning before breakfast, if you like. But, again, I ask that you show some restraint. Do not touch him. Will you do as I ask?”

  I hugged my sketchbook to my chest. I already had touched Derrick. A battle raged inside me: to tell or not to tell? It depended on whether I trusted Thatch or not. This was the same man who had told me his sister was dead, but she’d been alive and well. Did he already know, or was that a lie?

  Thatch stood. “Clarissa? Can you trust me on this?”

  I wanted to trust him. I so badly wanted for Derrick to be safe and for Thatch to be looking out for him. Maybe Derrick was gone, not because Fae had snatched him, but because Thatch had sent him on an errand.

  “You lied to me about Odette,” I blurted out.

  His brow crinkled in confusion. “How so?”

  “I met her in Lachlan Falls. She was with the Raven Court. You said your sister was dead.”

  Thatch crossed his arms, his expression hardening into a mask. “The Raven Queen removed her heart and sent it to Alouette Loraline as a gift. I performed the spell to confirm it truly was my sister’s heart. You are obviously mistaken.”

  I hadn’t been mistaken. The woman had looked like Thatch. He had to be lying.

  His gaze flickered past me, and he smiled. I turned.
r />   Miss Periwinkle rushed through the doorway, out of breath. “There you are, love. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  He strode over to her, so much joy radiating over his face he resembled a different man—someone happy. “I was having a conference with Miss Lawrence.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she glared daggers at me. “I don’t see why it’s necessary to spend so much time with her.”

  “My dearest Gertrude, you do realize I’m Miss Lawrence’s tutor in magic, do you not? I’m going to have to meet with her on occasion. I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting her education of late.”

  He strolled out with her.

  It seemed I would have to wait to find out to find out more about Derrick. Tomorrow was so close and so far away at the same time. I hoped Thatch would be able to clear everything up and Derrick wasn’t missing at all.

  Even so, I doubted it.

  I spent another night tossing and turning. I rose early. Thatch hadn’t named a time or place and there wasn’t a note in my box, but all our previous planned appointments had been in his office. I couldn’t talk to him there, though, because the dungeon was locked. I sat at the bottom of the steps to the dungeon, waiting. Maybe I was early.

  I missed breakfast sitting there, hoping he would show up. I didn’t know if it was Miss Periwinkle thwarting him or he had lied about setting up a meeting with Derrick. I checked again and again throughout the day, but the dungeon remained locked. He didn’t reply to the notes I placed in his box or the ones I slipped under the dungeon door.

  I worried Thatch’s evasiveness was tied to Derrick’s disappearance.

  On Monday, I returned to the dungeon and again found it locked.

  The only time I caught a glimpse of Thatch was when I returned to his classroom during my prep. Unfortunately, he sent me away because he was teaching. After school he was gone. During dinner and afterward he wasn’t around. I even went to the library, hoping I might find him there. Instead I found Pro Ro and Sebastian Reade competing for Miss Periwinkle’s attentions.

  Worry consumed me. He’d promised to bring me Derrick. I had to confront him. I would demand to see Derrick.