by Apryl Baker
“I went for a walk in the gardens and met Kristoff. When Aleric brought me back to my room, he told me. I take it walking around in the middle of the night isn’t a good idea either.”
“Indeed.” Madame’s gaze skates to the vampire in question. “He didn’t tell me you’d already met.”
Kristoff shrugs, bored of the conversation. “I thought she was some mute you’d collected. The girl never spoke a word to me.”
“She is not some mute, Kristoff. She’s a necromancer, a very powerful one who’s just come into her gift. You are lucky, mon chere, to be alive.”
I can feel Kristoff’s burning gaze on me, and I turn to look at him. Open fascination stares back at me.
“I’ve never met a necromancer as young as you, sweetling.” He licks his lips, and I lean even farther back in my chair. My skin crawls, and I want to go take a long shower. I feel dirty just from hearing him speak. Not in a good dirty way like when a hot guy looks at you, but imagine a pedophile undressing you with his eyes.
“Aleric, I’m surprised she escaped the house without you knowing.”
I cringe at the accusation in Madame’s voice. There’s no doubt Aleric has pissed her off and is now in trouble. I can see it in the way his entire body hardens in apprehension.
“Forgive me, Madame.” His eyes remain downcast, and it unsettles me. I hate that submissive card he’s playing. He is not a man to be a submissive. What has been done to beat the alpha out of him? I laugh silently. Alpha. I’ve been around the shifters too long. I’m starting to see everything in terms of alphas, submissives, and packs.
“We will discuss it later, chere. Now, Saidie, let me introduce you to my family. This is Lucien and Antonio. You’ve already met Kristoff and Aleric. The woman beside you is Grace.”
Lucien’s blond hair is almost silver, it’s so light. His gray eyes, so like my own, are void of any emotion. Antonio is his complete opposite, his Spanish heritage evident in his dark good looks and the laughter dancing in his deep brown eyes. His posture and Aleric’s are so different. Is Aleric the designated whipping boy of his brothers?
“Hello.” I offer the only greeting I am capable of. Early mornings and I do not mix well. If she expects me to engage in polite conversation, she’s completely off her rocker. She’s lucky I can manage one word sentences at this ungodly hour.
“Saidie, our cook has prepared a variety of breakfast foods for you to choose from. I wasn’t sure what you would prefer, so I ordered it set out buffet style.” Madame gestures to her right, and sure enough, steaming plates of food are sitting there. How did I miss that?
The nest of vampires I’m currently sitting with, that’s how.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve been studying Aleric more than the rest of the room. I can’t get past how familiar he looks to me. I just don’t know why.
Madame picks up her plate and moves to the food, and I do the same, noticing Lucien’s nose flares slightly when I near him. Does he have some kind of super sniffer power? Wait, what if my blood smells really yummy like Bella’s did for Edward in Twilight? Dammit. How to combat that?
My eyes widen at the amount of food. There are eggs, toast, sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, pancakes, and grits. My all-time favorite breakfast food!
Madame laughs at my shocked delight. “Cook wanted to impress you, ma chere.”
Never one to be shy about food, thanks to the four mile run I typically do every morning, I pile my plate with eggs, bacon, pancakes, and grits. Kristoff laughs when he sees it, and I shoot him a dirty look. Don’t mess with a starving woman.
“It’s good you have a healthy appetite, ma chere.” Madame takes a sip of her coffee, and I notice the others have finally started to eat…or drink, as it were. Well, except for Grace. She’s still sitting there still as a statue. “You will need all your energy. We have a long morning ahead of us.”
“We do?” I savor the warm burst of flavor from the grits. I could die and go to heaven. I need to find this cook and get her to tell me the recipe. Best grits ever.
“Oui, child. Grace shall help us this morning, as Aleric and his brothers must sleep.”
Grace? I pause with the fork halfway to my mouth. “Help us?”
“Grace has been summoned from the earth, child, just for you.”
Summoned from the earth? “She’s a zombie?”
Madame’s rich laughter rings out, making my skin crawl. “Why do you sound so surprised, ma chere? We are necromancers. The dead are the currency we deal in.”
“Currency?” What is she talking about? Death is not a currency.
A sly smile teases Madam’s lips. “Necromancers are in high demand. We are able to pull secrets from the grave. People will pay for that service, and pay us well.”
“But I don’t want to do that. I just need to be able to control this thing so I don’t inadvertently raise all the neighborhood pets and scare everybody.”
She’s crazier than I thought if she thinks I want to make a living out of this curse.
“We shall see, we shall see.” That sly smile never leaves her face.
She’s banking on me craving the power of life and death. I do crave it, but there’s one big difference between us she’s not counting on. She places no value on life, and I do. To take a life for no good reason is the same as pulling a soul who is at rest from the grave for no good reason. It’s immoral and deplorable, and I won’t freaking do it as a career.
I’ve also gained the attention of the vampires. All four of them are watching me, judging me. I have no clue what they see, but I don’t care. As soon as I can control this, I am so out of here. Even if I have to swim in the swamps.
Well, maybe not swim. Those gators I’d seen on my way in would probably eat me, with my luck.
The rest of the meal is continued in silence. I keep my head down, but I can still feel them watching me. Why are they so focused on me all of a sudden? Vampires do not need to be eyeballing me, thinking God knows what.
Madame calls the meal to an end just as I’m about to snap and ask them what the hell their problem is. I’m relieved when they all leave the table. Only one pair of eyes remain, the ones that seem to go straight through me. Aleric looks worried. His mouth thins out, but when Madame clears her throat, he too gets up and departs, throwing me one fleeting glance before he goes through the door. What was that about?
But then, he did just leave me alone with the necromancer.
Maybe there is something to fear.
Chapter Six
I trail along behind Madame and Grace as we weave our way deeper into the first floor. When she finally stops, the room I find myself in is not what I expected. The voodoo queen stereotype kept rearing its ugly head, and I expected some dank, dark hole with all kinds of creepy things hanging from the ceiling and for the place to stink to high heaven.
Not what I got.
The room is painted in a soft beige that could almost be white, and a bay of windows flow on the wall opposite the door that lights up the room without ever having to turn on a lamp. The room holds an entire wall of shelves filled to bursting with containers of all shapes and sizes. The clear ones only hold liquid or different types of powder. It’s the solid, dark containers that make my skin crawl. What kind of nasty things reside in those? Two long tables take up most of the middle of the room, with a large pedestal dominating the last wall, this one overflowing with books of all sorts. In any other circumstance, I would love this room.
But knowing it’s where Madame goes to do her necromancy? Uh, no. It goes from homey to creepy as hell in about two-point-five seconds.
“Now, ma chere, a few things you need to know.” Her French accent seems to have disappeared. Her voice is bland, nothing to tell me a thing about where she’s from. “You need to stay away from my boys. They are dangerous on their best days, even Antonio. Their thirst drives them, and having you here, your scent haunting them, I might not be able to control what happens. Do you understand?”
“So, stay in my room while they’re awake?” She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I don’t want to be food for anyone. “Got it.”
She smiles, and for the first time since I’ve met her, it reaches her eyes. “The only one I trust with you is Aleric. He may be the youngest of the group, but his control is far superior. He’s also the most dangerous, even more than Kristoff, but he will not disobey me. If you must go out at night, make sure he is with you. None of them would dare harm you while he’s there.”
So, if I want another late-night walk, I have to do it with the one person who’s told me they’d rather see me dead than alive. And the one Madame has just assured me is more dangerous than the one that scares the stuffing out of me. Yippee.
“I know you have not had time to read through that book yet, but do you have any questions I can answer for you?”
What questions don’t I have for her?
“Well, my Gran used to tell me about being a necromancer. She was proud it ran through our bloodline.”
“As she should be.” Madame motions me to sit, and we both take a seat on the bench I hadn’t noticed earlier. It was partially hidden by the table. Grace remains statuesque by the door. “I know you see this as a curse. I was the same when my gift first surfaced. It was the worst thing that could have happened to me. I was seventeen and in love.” A haunted look creeps into her eyes, shadowing the rare warmth that had been there. “When one wakes up in the arms of her lover surrounded by the dead…trust me, ma chere, I understand.”
Maybe she does understand. The pain in her eyes is as real as the pain I’m feeling thinking about my mom’s reaction to my new “gift.” It cut deep when she refused to so much as look at me or say goodbye.
“Your family didn’t understand?” She takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. When I shake my head, she nods. “It hurts, I know, but you are with me now, Saidie, and I will help you through this. I promise.”
My instincts kick in and tell me to run, but the sincerity she showed makes me question my judgement. Am I letting my own fears project on this woman? She seems to honestly want to help me.
“Sabien said your grandmother’s surname is Blackwater?”
Madame’s question snaps me out of my thoughts. “Yeah, or at least that’s what it means, loosely translated. She was from Bulgaria, and they changed the name to Blackwater when they migrated to the States. It was easier to fit in, I guess.”
“Yephaboaa is a mouthful.”
“You know Bulgarian?” She doesn’t look old enough to speak so many languages.
“That name is an old one in our circles. We all know it.” Madame gets up and goes over to the shelf where she pulls out another very large book and brings it back to the table. It takes her a moment to find what she’s looking for. “Here. This is what I have been able to trace back over the years. The name Yephaboaa is as ancient as there is, dating back to the very beginning of the written word. It was one of the first families who were given the gift of necromancy. Your bloodline is a powerful one, ma chere.”
No wonder Gran sounded so proud of her heritage. Her family could claim to be one of the original necromancers. As much as I don’t want this cursed gift…just wow.
“How did the whole necromancy thing start?” I ask, looking through the list of names she has written out in some kind of weird family tree. Only these people aren’t necessarily related; it’s only necromancers she has listed.
“It began with a woman who grieved for her lover so much she bartered a deal with Hades, god of the underworld.”
“Greek mythology?” I glance back down at the pages. The date she has listed as the birth of the first necromancer is long before the gods came into play.
A full-on belly laugh catches me by surprise. “Ah, child, you are a treasure. The gods have been around for as long as time itself. Just because there is no account of them until writing was invented doesn’t mean they weren’t here. Cave drawings that date back before Greece was even thought of portray great deities who changed the lives of man.”
“I don’t really believe in all that.”
A smile very much like that of the Cheshire Cat breaks out. “If only it were that simple. Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it doesn’t believe in you.”
Now there’s an uncomfortable thought. My mom dragged us to church when we were little, and we still go to mass on Easter Sunday and Christmas Eve, but I’ve never been a big religious person. I understand the concept of religion, but to me that’s all it is, a concept.
“What kind of deal did this woman make?” Best not to think too hard about the whole religious aspect of it all.
“He agreed to give her one more night with her lover if she agreed to worship him for the rest of her days.”
“That’s all he wanted?” That’s a stupid deal. He could have asked for so much more.
“The gods’ power comes from the number of followers they have.” Madame rolls her head from side to side, rubbing at the stiffness in the muscles. “The more followers they amass, the stronger they become, until eventually, the Greeks gave them what they wanted.”
“So, he gained a little power? That doesn’t sound like a big deal.”
Again with that damn smile. I hate that thing. It’s creepy. “No, Saidie, not just a little power. He gained a foothold here on this realm.”
I cock my head. What is she talking about now?
“He did indeed give her one night with her lover, but it was Hades disguised as the man she loved. He left the woman with a gift of his own—his child.”
The daughter of the god of the underworld. And just like that, it clicks. He deals in the dead, so his children would have some of his powers. To raise the dead.
“Ah, I see the wheels turning in that head of yours.” Madame leafs through the book a little more and stops on the hand drawn photo of a woman.
Who looks exactly like me.
What. The. Hell?
“This drawing has been passed down in every necromancy family I’ve been able to trace. It is said to be the image of the very first necromancer.”
Who freaking looks like me!
“It is a remarkable resemblance, oui, cherie?” Madame closes the book and looks me right in the eye. “There has been a fight about which was the original family for as long as I can remember. Seeing you now, I don’t think there is much more of an argument to be had. I would hazard a guess to say your family is descended directly from that First Daughter.”
The wild but calculating gleam in Madame’s eyes sets off every internal alarm I have, and my fight or flight instinct screams flight. Why is she looking at me like that?
“You’ll be able to read more about the accounts of the First Daughter when you start going through the journal I gave you last night. It’s a recounting of her life. I am not sure if it was something passed down through the generations or if it is an actual account from her own life, but it will help shed some light on questions you probably don’t even know you have.”
Which means asking Aleric to read it to me.
Madame stands and waves for me to follow her. She collects a small stone jar, very much like the one from last night that held the smelly stuff she smeared on my face.
“This, as I explained last night, is an ointment of sorts. It helps us focus our power, our strength, and channel it into the dead.”
“But didn’t you say last night it was to help the spirits?”
She smiles. “Yes, child, but it is much more than that. The spirits, as we call them, are simply the balance of nature. When the living die, the balance of life is even. When we pull the dead back, we throw the circle out of balance.”
“Like a witches’ circle?” Yes, I picked up some of Bree’s magical nonsense talk.
“Very good, ma chere.” Madame’s grin widens. “I had thought you were unaware of the paranormal since you have no ideas of your own gifts, but I suppose being a family friend of the Blackburnes, you would
be well-aware of their bloodlines.”
I am more than aware of the bloodline my best friend is a part of. Not only is she the daughter of what might possibly the most powerful witch in that world, she’s also a shifter. Who just hasn’t shifted yet. I’m also friends with a daughter of one of the three magical families of the witching world. So, yeah, I know a little.
“The witches’ circle is a good analogy. They invite the elements into their circle to help center their gift and utilize the magic inside of them. The spirits we deal with are the forces roaming this earth that rule over the ghosts on this plane. They require a death for the rebirth of a life.”
“Rebirth?” I interrupt. Pulling a dead corpse from the ground can’t be any kind of rebirth. They are zombies, for cripe’s sake.
“Yes, chere, a rebirth. When we stitch the dead back together and breathe life into them with our gifts, we are bringing them back to life, even if it’s only a shade of their former life. Look at Grace.”
“Grace?” My attention swings to the woman in question. Her pale skin almost glows in the sunlight, but her eyes are downcast, and she hasn’t moved a muscle since we arrived.
“How long do you suppose she’s been dead?”
My eyes have to pretty much be bugging out. Grace is a zombie? I want to deny it, but it oddly makes sense. She doesn’t move unless Madame tells her to. I just thought maybe she was terrified of the woman, because she sure as certain doesn’t look dead. Her skin isn’t decayed at all, and her hair is soft and the color vibrant. It’s only that unnatural stillness that gives off the creepy vibe that had me inching away from her during breakfast.
“I don’t know. A couple days? She looks…er…fresh?”
Madame chuckles. “No, child, she’s been dead longer than a few days. It takes a great deal of skill for a necromancer to rebuild a body this long buried into her natural state before death. What I want you to do is taste her.”
“Taste her?” I can’t help the freak-out tone in my voice as I shout the word and cringe. Ewww! I am not licking dead skin.