Page 17 of Necromance
He gave me a sideways look. “We’ve already discussed this. My memory is rather lacking.”
I exhaled sharply. “Yes, yes, I know that. But surely you remember something.”
Lucien hummed, looking ahead as we stepped through a wide archway into what must have once been a grand ballroom. The ceiling stretched high above us, domed and painted with intricate frescoes that time had cracked and peeled away. Faintly, I could almost hear the echo of music, laughter… remnants of the past clinging to the bones of this place.
His gaze flicked upward, but if it stirred anything in him, he didn’t say.
I changed tactics. “Fine. Then tell me, where did you go this morning? When I turned to look at you, you were gone.”
That seemed to get his attention. He glanced at me, considering, before finally answering. “Back to the painting. Back to the void.”
I frowned. “You mean… you had to go back?”
He nodded. “It’s where I exist.” He paused, watching me closely. “Until you summoned me, I’d been trapped there for… a long time.”
Something in his tone, something raw, buried beneath the usual teasing lilt, made my stomach tighten. I looked at him more carefully now, taking in the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.
“How long?” I asked softly.
Lucien’s lips parted, but he hesitated, as if reaching for an answer that refused to come. Then, finally, “I don’t know.”
A shiver ran through me. He truly didn’t remember. Not just how he had been cursed, but how long he had been here. Stuck. Alone.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “That must have been…”
“Dreadfully boring,” he finished with a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I didn’t smile.
“Tell me,” he said, tilting his head. “Why do you care so much?”
His question caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure how to answer. Because it was tragic? Because no one deserved to be trapped between life and death for eternity? Because, despite his arrogance, his smirking, his games… I could see his pain?
I didn’t know.
So instead I said, “Because I want to help you.”
Lucien studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. “How strange you are, witch.”
“Enough about me,” he said, his voice lighter now, almost forced. “Tell me about you.”
I glanced at him warily. “What about me?”
He raised a dark brow at me, stuffing his hands into his waistcoat pockets again as we walked. “Oh, I don’t know. What drives a young woman to dabble in the dead? Most people spend their lives avoiding ghosts, yet here you are, chasing them down.”
I hesitated. Not because I was unwilling to answer, but because the question itself felt… personal. Which was ridiculous. My life wasn’t a secret. If anything, it was an open book to those who cared to listen. And yet, the way Lucien looked at me, as if he truly wanted to know—it unsettled me.
Still, I answered. “I was born with the ability to sense spirits. Even as a child, I saw things others couldn’t. At first, I thought I was imagining it, shadows in the corners, hushed voices in empty rooms. But when I realized they were real, that they wanted to be seen, I learned to listen. And once people discovered what I could do, well…” I gestured vaguely. “Word spread. Some wanted my help. Others feared me.”
Lucien hummed thoughtfully. “And which did you prefer?”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He grinned, tilting his head. “Did you prefer their gratitude, or their fear?”
The question sent a chill down my spine. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I did.
I turned away, pretending to examine a long-forgotten side table as we passed, its wood warped with time. “I don’t care what people think of me,” I said simply.
