Grave Magic (How To Be A Necromancer Book 4) Read online

  Grave Magic

  How to Be a Necromancer: Book Four

  D.D. Miers

  Graceley Knox

  Chaotic Press, LLC

  Grave Magic Copyright © 2018 by Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Edited by: Lorraine Fico-White - Magnifico Manuscripts

  Cover Design by: Rebecca Frank

  Praise for Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  “The dawn of a new age of vampire.” - Crafting Geeky Bibliophile

  "Thirst is the first in a new series from the writing team of Graceley Knox and D. D. Miers. Whatever they are doing, they are doing it right because Thirst had me riveted." - Tome Tender Book Blog

  "The premise for Thirst is so unique... And these aren't just vampires, they are Kresova." - IB Book Blogging

  "A CRAZY, WILD, INSANE RIDE THAT KEPT ME ON THE LEDGE" - Marie's Tempting Reads

  “If you haven’t read any books by Graceley Knox or D. D. Miers well get busy because you are missing out on two very gifted story weavers!" - Goodreads Reviewer

  Dear Reader,

  First off, thank you for choosing to read Grave Magic! We can’t express how much each one of our fans (new and old) mean to us. Without you, there would be no stories to be told or shared. You keep this journey going for us.

  We’d like to let you know that unlike some of our other stories, this is a Slow Burn Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy. (Boy that’s a mouthful!) What does that mean? Well, this is the fourth book in a five-book series with a kickass heroine, a powerful enemy, and series of lovers dedicated to our leading lady.

  If you’ve never tried a reverse harem, this is the perfect series to start with! There’s a great story, exciting, mysterious, and sexy heroes, and an enticing adventure awaiting you!

  Happy Reading!

  D.D. & Graceley

  Contents

  Praise for Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  Dear Reader,

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  The Draugur

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Thank You!

  Also By Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  About the Authors

  Chapter 1

  Once upon a time, Death had a godson.

  The boy's father was poor and knew that if his son was going to have any future, he needed someone looking out for him. God and the Devil appeared to the father, but he turned them both away. God and the Devil, he decided, inflicted sin and suffering on poor, good people just for trying to survive and turned a blind eye to the cruelty of wealthy men. This was not fair, he thought. Death, on the other hand, treated everyone the same—young or old, rich or poor. Death was fair. He asked Death to be his son's godfather.

  And Death accepted.

  Years passed, and Death came to his godson, now a man, and told him he would be a doctor.

  "If you go into the ailing person's room and I am standing at the foot of the bed, then they can be healed. Give them this magic herb, and they will be well. But if I am standing at the head of the bed, then it is their time and you must do nothing."

  And for a while Death's godson was obedient and prosperous. He became wealthy and well-known enough that when the king fell ill, Death's godson was brought to the castle to treat him. When the doctor entered the king's room, he saw Death standing at the head of the bed. It was his time to die. But the king was well-loved, and Death's godson feared being blamed for his passing. He ordered the king's bed to be turned around so that Death stood at the foot of the bed instead. He healed the King, who was on his feet within the hour. Death's godson was celebrated and showered in prizes, but Death was very unhappy.

  "Death comes for everyone at their allotted time. I cannot spare even kings. But I am fair, and you have been obedient all this time. I will take someone else in the king's place and forgive you this once, but never again."

  And Death's godson promised it would never happen again. But that very same night the king's daughter was struck with the same illness that killed her father. The king begged the doctor to save her, promised him all the gold in the castle, promised him even the princess's hand in marriage if he could heal her. But Death stood at the head of the Princess's bed, and the doctor knew it was his own fault. A life was meant to be taken tonight and Death, in infinite fairness, had chosen her. Death's godson stood by the princess's bed with Death before him and the king behind him and made a decision.

  "What did he decide?"

  Have you ever woken up somewhat abruptly in the middle of a dream, just as you were saying something, and in the confusing moment between being asleep and awake, you heard yourself speaking those words aloud? Maybe it's just me. I'd never slept well. Lots of nightmares, occasional sleep paralysis, always waking up a couple of times in the middle of the night. I fixed some of it with a rigorous sleep schedule and some prescription medicine, but it still happened from time to time. I'd open my eyes and hear myself saying something that doesn't make sense, in a voice I almost don't recognize.

  That's how it felt to come back to life after dying.

  The mumbled question on my lips made no sense. Disoriented and confused, I tried to get my bearings.

  I was . . . standing, maybe? I wasn't sure I had legs to stand on. I was in a long, dark hall-, not like a hallway but like a banquet hall made of stone and shadow and filled with candles. Stone steps lined the walls as far as the eye could see, and every inch of every step held a candle. No two were the same. Wax of every color and type carved into every shape imaginable. Beeswax, tallow, and soy candles burned with the same bright-blue flame. As I watched, one of the candles reached the end of its wick in little more than a melted puddle. The flame did not go out but jumped to a taller, unlit candle nearby. The melted candle cooled for only a moment before growing into a new candle, its color and shape changing. A moment later, a flame jumped from another dying candle to light the new one. All over the hall, candles were dying and being relit, a thousand a second, so the fire constantly leapt from place to place.

  I realized I'd been here a while and held a candle. It wasn't the Candle of the Covenant, the one that had killed me. It was the particular shade of black you see when sunlight hits a black cat's fur, golden brown at the edges. Warm. And it had an interesting spiral to its taper. It felt familiar.

  "I think you know what he decided."

  I realized I was not alone. A person stood in front of me, and in the way of dreams, for a
moment I couldn't tell what he looked like. His features slid off my brain like water. And then all at once, I did know who he looked like.

  It was Great Uncle Ptolemy, who died almost two weeks ago. I had cleaned and prepared his corpse myself.

  "I don't know what's going on," I said. My tongue thick and clumsy and my mouth full of cotton, causing my words to be muffled.

  "You do," Great Uncle Ptolemy assured me. "I was telling you a story, remember?"

  It took me a minute, but he was right, I did know.

  "Godfather Death," I said, remembering.

  "Yes," Ptolemy replied and smiled. "And do you remember how the story ended?"

  I looked around at the hall, at the candle in my hands.

  "Yes," I said. I should probably have been worried, but I wasn't. I was already dead.

  "You are not dead," Ptolemy replied, though I didn't think I'd spoken. "Not yet. You have a lot of time, still."

  I looked down at the candle in my hands and held it a little tighter.

  "Of course," Ptolemy said. "That can change. The candles are only a metaphor. A long wick does not necessarily a long life make. It isn't predestination. It's only a way of balancing things."

  "Fairness," I said, still looking down at my candle.

  "It is . . .. a kind of fairness," Ptolemy agreed. "Are you ready to go back now?"

  "I'm not sure," I admitted. "I don't really know what to expect."

  "That's life," Ptolemy said, and smiled.

  And suddenly I was rushing upward. The wind tore the candle from my hands and spun me away like a leaf on the wind, fragile and insignificant. I flew forever and shattered like glass against the borders of infinity.

  And then I was back in my body. Almost.

  It's not easy to explain if you haven't had one of a very narrow range of experiences like sleep paralysis or locked-in syndrome. Maybe if you're familiar with disassociation?

  I was there, sort of, in my body. Or maybe just a little to the left of it. But it wouldn't respond to me. I couldn't move my arms or open my eyes. I couldn't feel anything. If you'd ever slept on your arm long enough for it to go completely dead, it was like my body was one big dead limb. In case you don't know, it is fucking terrifying. I would have screamed my lungs out if I could. But my throat was as unresponsive as every other part of me. I became very afraid I had really died, my body was dead in a grave somewhere, and my dumb-ass ghost was trapped here still inhabiting a corpse. I couldn't think of anything more horrifying.

  And then I heard something. Distant and muffled, like I was listening from a neighboring apartment. I tried to listen harder, but there was nothing to strain, nothing to push against, no way to struggle when with a last panicked thought in a brain gone dark. I tried to reach for my magic, to focus on it, but there was nothing. My magic just didn’t respond, it was like it wasn't there at all. I shoved down the panic, which made the voices a little clearer, so I tried harder.

  "—defensive hex of some kind. I'm surprised it didn't kill her."

  "Can you fix it? Please tell me you can do something."

  If I'd had any control over my heart, it would have leapt. Ethan!

  "I'm not sure. The state she's in doesn't make sense. The more I look at this, the more sure I am that she should be dead."

  It took me a minute to place Julius's voice. Were we back at the bar?

  "Well, she's obviously not." Gwydion sounded impatient. "So, there must be a way to fix it. And remove the hex from the candle as well."

  "I'm going to do my best," Julius said, calm and reassuring. "But I can't make any promises. She just took the magical equivalent of a shotgun blast to the face. It wasn't artful or complicated, it didn't have any rules or caveats. It was just a big angry blast of magic meant to kill anyone who tried to take the candle. It's not a spell I can break or undo, you understand? The damage is done."

  "But she is still in there, right?" Ethan asked, his voice growing a little louder like he was moving closer. "She's not a . . . a vegetable or anything?"

  "I believe her consciousness is still present," Julius said, and the particularity of his phrasing made even me nervous.

  "Can we talk to her?" Cole's voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. "If she's still in there, is there a way to like . . . make her hear us?"

  Julius was quiet for a moment. "Maybe," he said finally. "I'll look into it. But we need to talk about . . ."

  His voice started getting too quiet to hear. Were they leaving the room, or was I just losing my ability to hear them? There was no way to tell. The thought of being left alone like this filled me with panic. I focused harder, trying to find my body, willing it to move. I had to get back out there! I needed to help them!

  For a moment, as I tried my hardest, I heard footsteps and the AC running. And then, like a rubber band snapping, I was flung away, my physical self vanishing like a last glimpse of the sun as I fell down a deep, dark well.

  Chapter 2

  I lost track of my body completely, falling forever, losing myself down in the darkness of my own consciousness.

  It was terrifying for the first interminable length of time, then merely stressful after several more endless uncountable hours, then finally beyond tedious when hours seemed to become days. Days of falling without an end in sight.

  Not that I was even really falling. I didn't have a body that could fall.

  I screamed into my mind, “Just stop already!”

  And suddenly—it did.

  Rock bottom was not a physical place any more than I had a physical body to inhabit it. I stood in a vast, dark room, the darkness under my feet solid and infinite. There was no ceiling or walls, no light source, but oddly enough, I could see. See the nothingness.

  This wasn't a place. There weren't locations. There was no meaningful measurement of time or distance. I didn't even really have legs. But that didn’t stop me from walking—or moving. So I walked, because it was better than doing nothing.

  It could’ve been minutes, or forever and a day. And with no real end in sight, I had time to really process some things. Half of which I still didn't even understand.

  First off, I was magically bound to a candle—and it was the sole source of all necromantic magic on Earth. On the crazy meter, this was definitely high up there.

  Secondly, my ancestor, Aethon Tzarnavas, the original Necromancer and a real pain in my ass, was apparently a lich. And, for reasons I still didn't know, he wanted the candle and was willing to kill to get it. Crazy meter? Probably top two.

  Aethon had been in the middle of torturing Ethan to convince me to give up my connection to the candle willingly (as though I even knew how) when he'd had a phone call and left.

  We were that inconsequential to him.

  Torturing and maybe killing me and the people I cared about mattered less than taking a call.

  We—by which I mean me, my Aunt Persephona, Ethan, Cole, and Gwydion. All of whom I'm romantically involved with (except my aunt, obviously). We tried to figure out how to get the candle back, if only because my life force was still hooked to it. Something that powerful in the hands of psychopath like Aethon was a bad idea.

  But we couldn't locate it. And then, Ethan’s curse had been accelerated by my necromancy. Good job me! And trying to stop it from happening got us thrown around a dozen different magical worlds, all of them fairly bullshit, and resulted in nothing as far as progress on fixing Ethan's curse goes.

  Instead, it got us into a pile of trouble with a bunch of Fae, which is, as you can probably imagine, not spectacular. We were under two separate time limits for two different Fae last I heard, one of them the Queen of the Seelie, with death for one or all of us pretty much guaranteed if we failed. Which is extra bullshit considering time doesn't work the same in any of the Other Lands. This one probably took the crazy meter off the scales.

  Sure, she said we had a fortnight, but that could be a day or six years on Earth, let alone all the other stupid universes we bounced
through. All Fae can suck my dick, honestly. Including Gwydion. Especially Gwydion. I bet he'd be phenomenal at it. Last time he did this thing with making his tongue feel like ice.

  A metaphysical coma dream is no place to be fantasizing about getting eaten out. Even if it does sound amazing and there's really nothing else to do in here. Still, I put it out of my mind. I needed to focus on finding a way out of here. I searched the last things I remembered for some kind of clue.

  I remembered being lost in the Dwarven Undercity, and Ethan wolfing out. It was the first time I'd seen him go through a full involuntary shift. When he changed intentionally, he was just a big friendly dog. That thing, on the other hand, had been a bloodthirsty monster, with not a hint of the man I'd fallen in love with. The dwarves had been working on some kind of massive portal, something powerful enough to permanently bridge two universes (Don't ask me why. Just dwarves being dwarves, I figure.) and I'd powered it up to help us escape. And then . . . then things got fuzzy.

  Did I remember a hospital? Maybe? White tile, the smell of antiseptic. A private room, deathly silent, with sunlight coming through the windows. E. Bellefonte. The man in the bed, on life support. Both the mundane kind and a more magical variety. The Candle of the Covenant was sitting on his bedside table. Just sitting there. Wiring magic into him to keep him alive.