Page 40 of Necromance
We were close. I could feel it.
I stepped into the corridor, the air thick with the spirits that hung around, but never revealed themselves. They were always watching… possibly waiting for me to solve the curse. The shadows stretched long across the stone, cascading with the uneven glow of my candle. I moved cautiously, listening.
Somewhere deep in the castle, a door creaked open.
I froze, heart hammering, before forcing myself to press forward. It was just the wind. Just the way old houses settled at night. Just—
A soft whisper, distant and echoing.
I swallowed hard, desperately trying to ease my nerves. I was so used to having Lucien with me tuning out the cursed castle that I’d almost forgotten the sounds that death and decay made.
Room by room, I searched. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, but I checked the faded tapestries, the paintings, the empty shelves gathering dust. Nothing useful. Every room felt abandoned, the air thick with disuse.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
I told myself it was just my imagination. That I was only on edge because Lucien wasn’t here, but something about the castle felt different tonight. It was almost as if it knew I was alone… vulnerable.
I turned a corner and came to an abrupt halt.
Lucien’s portrait loomed before me, his dark gaze seeming tofollow my every movement. A chill curled around my spine. I swallowed and stepped closer, raising my candle. The light cast a soft, golden glow over the canvas, illuminating the details—the fine brushstrokes, the sharp angles of his face, the shadows that had always made him look more brooding than he truly was.
And then I saw it.
My breath caught.
The faded patch I had noticed before had spread.
It wasn’t just a small, pale corner anymore. The discoloration had crept further along the bottom edge, reaching up toward the folds of Lucien’s painted coat like rot slowly consuming the image.
A heavy unease settled in my chest.
I leaned in, my pulse quickening. Was I imagining it? I blinked, staring hard. No—it was real. The paint was changing.
Call him forth with careful thought, his time shall never be bought.
The thought made my skin prickle as my grandmother’s words played over and over in my mind.
The candlelight wavered as if caught in a sudden breath of wind. I exhaled shakily and took a step back.
Something was happening to the painting.
And I had a terrible feeling that whatever it was… it wasn’t good. What would happen to the painting—to Lucien—when the painting was completely destroyed?
I moved further away from it, tilting my head. Maybe I was imagining it… I stared at Lucien, what was left of him at least, for a moment longer before forcing myself to turn away from the piercing gaze… and the churning guilt bubbling inside of me.
Further down the hall, I pushed open the door to a room I couldn’t remember ever seeing. Inside was… nothing. No furniture, no books, no dust even. Just mirrors. Dozens of them.
Tall and looming, they lined every wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. Their ornate gold frames were tarnished, twisted—some warped into sharp edges, others curled like they’d been half-melted. The room should have been filled with light from their reflections, but instead it seemed darker—like the mirrors swallowed the candlelight whole.
”How strange,” I murmured as I stepped inside the unusual room. I moved toward one of the full length mirrors, raising my candle to inspect it. My reflection stared back. It was definitely me, but something seemed… off.
I tilted my head to the left. So did she.
I raised my right arm.She raised her left.
My breath hitched.
Her mouth began to move. Slowly… too slowly. A grin stretched across her face—wide, unnatural, grotesque. It pulled too far, tearing at the edges of her lips. Teeth emerged, sharp and too many of them crowding her mouth like a predator’s.
