The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic : The Complete Series

by Helen Harper

  I wasn’t foolish enough to drive up the same track where Winter and I had gone previously on the bike. I parked as close to the graveyard entrance as I could and sprinted through the heavy gates, ignoring the ominous shape of the mountain looming over me. The one small mercy was that the cemetery was at the bottom of the damn hill rather than the top. All the same, I was panting by the time I reached the first of the gravestones.

  I doubled over, trying desperately to catch my breath and imagining Winter in my ear snarking at me for not doing anything to keep fit. That was when I heard footsteps.

  Staying low, I edged round the neatly manicured pathway. There was a slight rise over to the right – and there was definitely a figure walking towards it, silhouetted against the night sky and with hands in pockets and slumped shoulders. I scanned round. This was no zombie; neither were there any other signs of nightmarish creatures. All the same, I half expected to hear Vincent Price’s voice booming about darkness falling across the land. Somehow I didn’t think I was going to be treated to an impromptu Thriller dance.

  I decided that the element of surprise was the best thing going for me. Taking my time, I moved forward following a circuitous route to where the figure, presumably Gareth, was standing. He still hadn’t seen me. That was good.

  I licked my lips and swallowed, wishing my tongue didn’t feel quite so furry. I should have had a last supper. Even condemned criminals got that much.

  A gust of wind blew my hair, plastering it across my face and temporarily obscuring my sight. At the same time, an owl hooted. My fear increased; as far as harbingers of death and disaster went, that was one of the best. Winter might scoff at my superstitions but look at what had happened to Belinda after smashing that mirror.

  I drew in a ragged breath. There was nothing wrong with being scared; that was only natural. It didn’t mean I should turn away and run. Nobody visited a graveyard in the dead of night unless they were kids on a dare or they were planning something evil. Gareth might be young but he was no kid – and as the few clouds obscuring the moon passed, his face was momentarily illuminated. He’d stopped moving and was standing stock still, staring down at one of the graves.

  The intelligent thing would have been to cast a rune to knock him dead right there and then. I might never have drawn one to cause immediate death before but that didn’t mean I didn’t know how. But I was no stone-cold killer, more’s the pity; I couldn’t strike him down without giving him the chance to speak first. I’d probably end up regretting it but I needed to be sure.

  I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to attack me, however. I wasn’t completely stupid.

  I skirted round until I had a clear line of sight. As I watched, he withdrew one hand from his pocket and ran it through his hair. A strangled whisper drifted over. ‘You little idiot.’

  Rather than trying to decipher who he was talking about, I prepared. If I could do this while drawing blood at the same time, I would know how far I’d need to take this. A double-handed rune to bring him down, swiftly followed by a second to cut would do the trick.

  I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting my own blood. It was now or never. I raised my hands. A half second later, my phone rang.

  Gareth whipped round. He took a few running steps towards me, his eyes squinting as he tried to see who and where I was. I fumbled for the bloody phone, doing everything I could to silence it whilst staying in the shadows. As it mercifully stopped ringing, Gareth shouted, ‘Alistair?’

  Eh? Who the bejesus was Alistair? I frowned, flummoxed. Did Gareth have a partner? Were there two necromancers instead of one? Horror poured through me. I could stop one but I doubted I’d have any chance against two. There wasn’t any further time to waste.

  Knocked off my equilibrium, I breathed in and cast the runes I’d originally intended. The ground shook, a localised disturbance directly under his feet. Gareth fell forwards onto his hands and knees. As my phone started ringing again, I jabbed out the second rune, turning the very air molecules against him and slicing open his cheek. Gareth cried out, one sharp howl of pain. I had to trust in my magic. It was too dark to see whether I’d actually drawn blood.

  I dragged myself forward. The combination of the spells I’d cast, along with the last vestiges of the spell that had slammed into me earlier, was taking its toll. I felt mind-numbingly exhausted.

  ‘Sleep when you’re dead,’ I muttered to myself. Not my normal catchphrase, of course, but given that I might soon be in that state, it seemed apt.

  Ignoring the incessant ringing of the phone, I reached Gareth, my hands extended and more than ready both to defend myself and finish him.

  He arced his head up towards me, pain mingled with something indecipherable in his eyes. Whoever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t me. His mouth dropped open. ‘Ivy?’

  I kept my distance on the off-chance that he might try something. ‘Why, Gareth? Why did you do it? Was it the power?’

  He stared at me. ‘Wh – what?’

  For good measure – and because I had to ensure that Gareth didn’t get up again – I cast my next rune, pinning his body flat to the ground. If he’d been an Order witch, he probably could have countered it. Fortunately for me, death magic appeared to be rather limiting. With my safety assured – for now – I stepped closer to him as my phone rang off again once more.

  ‘Who’s Alistair? Is this your partner in crime?’ I knelt down to get a better look at his face. I’d definitely managed to draw blood but it was still too dark to tell how much, beyond the fact that it was wet and dribbling down his cheek. ‘Tell me where he is.’

  Gareth’s jaw worked uselessly. He was trying to talk – even I could tell that – but my last spell must have hit him harder than I’d realised. Either that or he’d already set the next raising in motion and he was exhausted from the effort.

  With one eye on him, I scanned round anxiously. There was police tape around one grave, a mound of earth next to a gaping hole and the name emblazoned on the headstone was Mark Fulwright, rest in peace. Then I spotted more police tape a metre away around one of the graves on the next row. Swallowing, I took a step over to see. Scott McGuthrie.

  Wrinkling my nose, I focused on Gareth. ‘Why these two?’ I asked. ‘Why did you raise these two men as zombies?’

  ‘Unghhh.’

  Arse. I wanted answers. Unfortunately Gareth was in no position to give them. ‘Unghhh,’ he repeated, his eyes flicking to the right.

  I followed his gaze, finally noticing that the untouched grave next to Mark Fulwright and in front of Scott McGuthrie belonged to someone who had once been Morag McAllan. Born 1761. Died 1799.

  Suppressing a chill, I closed my eyes momentarily. In terms of necromancy, Gareth was a baby. He’d been aiming for Morag, one of his direct ancestors; instead he’d brought up two strangers whose only crime was being buried next to her. The catalogue of mistakes that had brought both of us to this point was staggering. I slumped down beside him.

  ‘You fucked up,’ I told him frankly. I leaned over, holding my breath as I slid my index finger along the blood on his cheek and held it up to the moonlight to get a better look. ‘So did I.’ I sighed and reached for my phone once again. ‘You don’t really have any idea about what you’ve unleashed, do you? No matter what your blood reveals, you’re a dead man. There’s no other option. Necromancy is too powerful and too uncontrollable. The only thing that remains to be seen is whether I’ll be joining you.’

  Gareth’s expression was clouded with confusion. I turned on my phone to use its light and breathed out. His blood was a pure, beautiful red. That meant there was only one thing left to do.

  ‘I’ve been so focused on my own impending doom,’ I told him sadly, ‘that I’ve not really thought about what it’ll be like to end the life of another human being. If there were any other choice, I wouldn’t do it. If you hadn’t been such a damn good liar and hadn’t managed to take things so far already, maybe there would have been another way out
. But by raising two dead bodies, you’ve abused too much necromantic magic, Gareth. Whatever your reasons were, there’s no way to contain what you’ve done now other than by killing you. I really, truly am sorry. I’ll make it as swift and painless as I can.’

  The confusion in Gareth’s eyes was rapidly changing to terror. ‘Unnnnngh!’

  I ran a hand through my hair. I could do this. I had to do this. If I wasn’t going to get a full explanation from Gareth then I’d have to deal with that. But there was one answer I had to get first.

  ‘Blink once for yes and twice for no. Is this Alistair working with you?’

  ‘Puh-lease,’ drawled a voice behind me. ‘I wouldn’t work with that loony loser.’

  And then something hit me on the back of the head and everything went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When I came to, it wasn’t just the pain from my head where I’d been hit that was pulsing through me. I was hogtied, my ankles and wrists bound together, and the chafing of the rope, not to mention the uncomfortable position and the hard, damp ground, did not make for a happy Ivy. I was also incredibly disorientated. My vision swam and I had to shake my head to try and see properly. All that did was to make me even more dizzy.

  As I gradually returned to full consciousness, panic and fear rushed through me. It wasn’t a trickle, it was more like a deluge. It was still dark so I couldn’t have been unconscious for long but it was long enough. I was in deep trouble.

  Twisting around, I tried desperately to see what was going on. There were heavy grunts and mutters off to my right. To my left, there was another body. I craned my neck and spotted Gareth, trussed up just like I was. His eyes were on me, warning reflected in their depths. It was too late: my captor had already realised I was awake.

  ‘Stop that,’ he yelled. ‘Or I’ll hit you again!’

  I blinked, focusing on his face. When I saw who it was, my mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  ‘Yeah,’ he sneered. ‘You remember me. Well, I remember you too. And I don’t like being treated like a fool.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled packet, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it, his boyish features momentarily illuminated. ‘You’re not going to set these fags on fire,’ he told me with a snort. ‘You’re not going to do anything.’

  I stared at the teenager, the one who’d told me where to find Gareth when he was in the gym. It didn’t make any sense. Neither did the fact that I’d been bested by a damn kid. So much for my supposed magical talent.

  ‘Alistair?’ I asked.

  His lip curled. ‘Yeah. You didn’t really think that gormless Gareth was behind all this, did you? He’s useless.’ For good measure, he kicked Gareth’s legs. The force he used was considerable and Gareth’s sharp moan of pain attested to its violence.

  I didn’t understand. My gaze swung from Alistair to Gareth and back again. ‘But…’

  Interpreting my confusion for what it was, Alistair laughed. It was a humourless sound but I didn’t think I imagined the tremble in it. ‘Calls himself a McAllan. But he’s not really. Tell her what you really are.’

  Gareth mumbled to himself.

  ‘Speak up,’ Alistair yelled, his fury growing. I realised that this wasn’t teenage angst expressing itself in a particularly ugly manner. The necromancy he’d already conjured up was taking root within him. Veins were bulging across his forehead and his eyes had a peculiar glazed look. How on earth had he managed to slip through the net? But I already knew the answer – he was a kid. The Order and the police wouldn’t have given him a second thought. I doubted he’d even been interviewed.

  ‘I was adopted,’ Gareth said, his voice still barely above a whisper.

  ‘His mother didn’t want him. Ain’t that right? Even when you were a baby she knew that you’d turn out to be nothing. Gave you up the first chance she got.’

  I glanced at Gareth. ‘You’re brothers?’

  Alistair answered for him. ‘We are not brothers. The only reason Mum and Dad didn’t get rid of him when I came along is that they felt sorry for him.’ There was another long-drawn-out snort. ‘He’s a waste of space.’

  Bloody hell. This was like a gender-swapped Cinderella. I wondered if my role was supposed to be that of the Fairy Godmother. Somehow I didn’t think glass slippers and a pretty gown would do the trick.

  ‘I should be grateful to him. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have learned what I’m really capable of.’ Alistair paused and gazed down at his hands. ‘I can do amazing things. I will do amazing things.’

  ‘Alistair, what you’re doing is highly dangerous,’ I said, shifting round and trying to get into a position where I could wriggle out of my bonds, or at least move my hands enough to cast a rune. ‘The magic you’re using comes at a high cost.’

  ‘You’re just jealous. When did any other witch manage to talk to the dead? When did anyone else do what I can do? At first it was just a bit of fun. I found an old book with her name in it.’ He pointed towards the grave. ‘And spells for stealing sheep. You’ve no idea how much fun it was watching him running around the countryside after those stupid creatures. Got him out of my way as well.’ Alistair smiled in smug self-satisfaction. ‘And he got the blame for losing them.’

  I felt sick. This was what happened when magic appeared without the Order around to keep it in check and to make sure it wasn’t abused. What had begun as a few cruel pranks had escalated into something entirely different. No one expected someone like Alistair suddenly to show magical talent, despite his ancestry. He’d kept it quiet and been able to use it for his own vindictive ends.

  ‘Then you switched things up, didn’t you?’ I said, doing what I could to keep him talking so he was focused on himself rather than me. Bit by bit, I was managing to free my fingers. My right pinkie was loose but what I really needed were both thumbs. Right now they were bound tightly against my palms. I just needed a bit of wiggle room and I’d be able to get both Gareth and myself out of this. ‘You used some kind of herblore on the sheep to cause hallucinations.’

  Gareth started and stared at me but Alistair let out a crow of delight. ‘You noticed?’ He crouched beside me, an eager expression on his face that revealed his youth. ‘What did you see? What happened? Was it really trippy?’

  Deciding that he’d be disappointed if I told him it was just a bloodstain, and hoping that happy Alistair was more controllable than unhappy Alistair, I used Mazza’s tale and embellished it further. ‘I saw the devil,’ I said, my eyes wide as if to convey my horror. One of my middle fingers slipped out of the bindings. I was almost there. ‘He had horns and glowing green eyes and he tried to attack me with blood. I thought I was drowning. There was so much blood.’

  A distant, wistful expression crossed Alistair’s face. ‘Blood. It took me a while to realise how important it could be. Old Morag’s book kept going on about it. She didn’t call it blood, though, she used the word ichor. At first I didn’t pay it any attention. But then I got curious.’ He smiled. ‘Google is a wonderful thing. With ichor, I can do whatever I want. I’ve used sheep up until now but that’s where I think I’ve been going wrong. Sheep’s blood isn’t good enough. Human blood will be much better. I was going to use Gareth’s. I won’t take too much. I won’t kill him.’ He paused, desperation leaking into his voice. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want the magic that Morag can teach me.’

  He looked at me. ‘You’re a witch. Your blood will be stronger than his. I can use it and this time I will succeed. It will be Morag herself I bring up, not those others. Then she can teach me more about who I really am and what I’m capable of.’

  Given how long old Morag had been in the ground, I doubted she’d be teaching anyone anything other than how to run away very, very fast.

  Thinking quickly, I looked Alistair directly in the eyes and tried to convince him that what he was doing wouldn’t work. At the same time, I shifted round with small jerky movements. I’d almost freed my thumbs but th
ey wouldn’t do me any good if I started cramping up after being tied like this. I had to be ready to attack.

  ‘Blood won’t help. You know that the first body you raised killed someone. By doing what you did, you caused the death of an innocent man.’

  ‘That wasn’t my fault! He shouldn’t have been up here!’

  Ignoring Alistair’s desperate attempt to blame his victim, I persisted. ‘His name was Benjamin Alberts. He had his whole life ahead of him and your actions meant he died alone and in pain. It was a brutal way to go. Gareth will tell you that.’

  ‘I’ve got more control now! That won’t happen again.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, Alistair. You have less control now, not more. You’re an inch away from the magic taking you over completely. You’ll destroy yourself in the process. You were talking about blood. What colour is yours?’

  Alistair’s eyes were shifting from left to right. I could see from the expression in them that he wasn’t going to believe me. He didn’t want to believe me. ‘Red, of course.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I pressed. ‘Because I wasn’t lying when I said that necromancy was dangerous. If your blood has even the faintest tinge of black then it’s already too late. The power you’ve unleashed will destroy half this land. Not just me and Gareth, but your parents. The town of Tomintoul and everyone around it. You’re releasing hell, Alistair. You need to stop.’

  What I didn’t mention was that whether his blood was black or not, it was the end of the road for him. I doubted that would go down well.

  Alistair spun round with a flounce. The momentary freedom from his gaze was exactly what I needed. With one last jerk, I managed to get not only my thumbs but also my fingers free enough to perform the rune I required. In three heartbeats, my bonds were loose enough for me to escape fully.