Page 11 of Necromance
”No. It’s as though it's been erased. Like a dream slippingaway upon waking.” He looked at me again, something lingering in his eyes, the faintest trace of something… perhaps pain.
The words seemed to hang in the air, weighty and final. The realization that Lucien, himself, had no memory of why he had been cursed to the painting made my heart ache for him in a way I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t explain it, but it made me more determined to uncover the truth, about him, the curse, the castle itself.
Regardless of the reason he had been cursed.
I shifted closer to the edge of the bed, unable to stop myself from leaning toward him, my gaze fixated on his every movement. The way he stood there, so utterly real, so solid, almost made me forget that he was not a flesh and bone man standing before me. His chest rose and fell with each breath, a subtle play of the muscles beneath his dark clothing.
He watched me edge closer, curiosity gnawing at me. I’d never encountered a ghost like this before… one so fully corporeal, one whose presence seemed to vibrate with the heat of life. I reached out cautiously, my fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against his arm, my magic reaching, desperate for it.
The warmth that radiated from him was unlike anything I had ever felt in my line of work. It was solid, real, a contrast to the cold, translucent touch of the spirits I was used to.
As soon as I touched him, his arm flinched just slightly and I felt a spark of pure heat run through my body. I yanked my hand back as though I’d been burned, my cheeks flushing from the unexpected sensation. My heart pounded in my chest as I glanced up at him, eyes wide.
He watched me with that amused, dangerous grin still pulling at the corners of his mouth, clearly enjoying my shock. “What, pray tell, are you doing?” He asked, his voice low and dark with a trace of something playful beneath it.
The flush in my cheeks deepened and I stammered. “I— I apologize. I just… I’ve never encountered a ghost like you before.”
His smile deepened, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Perhaps I’m not a ghost at all.”
I blinked, momentarily speechless, trying to absorb the possibility. Not a ghost? My mind raced, trying to piece together this puzzle. If he wasn’t a ghost, then what was he?
”What are you?” I asked breathlessly, the words escaping before I could reel them back.
He shrugged casually, as though the question didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Aren’t you thenecromancer? Isn’t that something for you to figure out?”
The challenge of his words hung between us, and for a long moment, we simply stared at each other, neither of us moving. I could feel his presence wrapping around me, heavy with an energy that was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t aghost, but he wasn’t fully alive either.
”Yes,” I replied finally. “I am a necromancer, but I tend to deal with actual ghosts…” What could I do with a spirit… or whatever he was… that defied every law I knew? My words trailed off as I shifted away from him, away from that intoxicating scent that was clouding my thoughts.
”You’re breathing,” I pointed out, eyeing him suspiciously as I shuffled back.
He glanced down at his chest and we both watched it rise and fall, rhythmically. “Hmm,” he mused. “I don’t control it. I can also feel my heart beating if that interests you as well. Would you care to listen to it?”
The sarcasm dripped from his tone, but there was a hint of wickedness in his words too. I shook my head, not trusting my voice at that moment. He moved, taking a seat in the high-back chair next to my bed. I watched curiously as he rested his elbow on the armrest, propping his chin up with his hand.
Interesting indeed.
While most spirits had the ability to touch or even hold an object, it took a great deal of energy. I’d certainly never seen any of themsit, not really. Usually if they tried, they would simply hover above the seat. Or fall through.
I tore my gaze away from the hard planes of his body, the muscles straining beneath his finery…
He’s a ghost. He’s a ghost, Mia!
“Perhaps,” I said slowly, licking my suddenly dry lips. “I could help you cross over.”
He shot me a hard look then let out a sigh as he leaned forward, resting his arms on those muscular thighs. One dark brow lifted. “If I’m not a ghost, Miss Arden, how exactly would you do that?”
I bit my bottom lip. He had a point.
”Well you have to be… something.” I gestured at him, trying to accentuate my lame explanation.
He laughed softly, the sound was deep and smooth, and I rather liked it. “Indeed.”
A thought popped into my head just then, remembering the few tomes I’d stuffed in my satchel. Surely there had to be a clue as to what exactly Lord Ravenspire actually was.
I hoped anyway.
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