Page 42 of Necromance
The bones in my pocket warmed… or perhaps I was just now paying attention to them. Realization struck me like ice, cold, water. It wasn’t him.
It wasn’t him…
His skin—now that I really looked—was too pale, waxy, almost porcelain. His pupils didn’t dilate, and there was no breath, no heartbeat in the body that held me suspended like a rag doll. Just an eeriestillness and that chilling smile.
The bones in my pocket ignited. They burned like live embers, scalding against my thigh through the fabric of my dress. A warning too late. Panic bloomed. I fought harder, my legs kicking, my lungs burning and desperate for one breath of air. Stars burst behind my eyes.
My gaze darted to the thing’s face—Lucien’s face, but not. The more I looked, the more the subtle wrongness screamed at me. The cheekbones were too sharp, the mouth too wide…
I didn’t summon him.
I hadn't called his name, I was certain of it. How had I been so foolish?
Tears blurred my vision. I reached down, fumbling desperately for the dagger at my waist. My fingers brushed the hilt—hope flared—and then slipped away.
No!
The dagger clattered uselessly to the floor.
The imposter’s grip tightened. My mouth opened in a silent scream as blackness tunneled the edges of my vision. I could feel my magic slowly recede from my body, leaving a hollowness deep in my core. I was dying.
An image of my father flashed through my hazy mind. My mother’s cold, undead hands gripping his throat. Tears burned my cheeks as a silent sob ripped out of me.
The thing leaned in close, his breath like frost against my cheek. “You can’t save him,” it mocked.
A raw, violent terror surged through me. With every last ounce of strength, I twisted my body, raked my nails across his face, and bucked against him. His grip faltered… just slightly… just enough. I sucked in a desperate breath and screamed.
”Lucien!”
The last thing I saw was the trickster’s face crack, just slightly, like glass under pressure. Serena’s icy blue eyes stared back at me.
And then, everything went dark.
**********
Warmth.
That was the first thing I noticed. A gentle golden warmth curling around me like a blanket, brushing over my skin and pulling me toward sleep even as something deep inside of me screamed not to let go.
I stirred, my limbs ached, dull, heavy pain that sank deep into my bones. My throat felt raw, like I’d swallowed fire. I winced, curlinginstinctively into myself as I became aware of the soft pressure of a mattress beneath me. Smooth, cool sheets tangled around my legs and my pillow smelled faintly of flowers and ash.
I was… in my bedchamber?
I blinked up at the dark canopy, dazed, my heart pounding though I didn't know why. The last thing I remembered… my chest clenched violently… the mirrors. The imposter—that thing.
My hand flew to my throat. It throbbed beneath my fingers, sore and tender, the skin definitely bruised. The memory came rushing back in a flood. His face, his voice, those hands wrapped around my neck…
I gasped and bolted upright, but a sharp jolt of pain stopped me.
”Mia…” His voice was a low rasp.
I turned my head slowly, every movement stiff and slow, and found Lucien sitting beside the bed in the chair. TherealLucien. Shadows pooled under his eyes and his dark hair was slightly disheveled as though he’d been raking his hand through it for hours. It was odd the way his phantom form could appear so real.
Relief hit me like a crashing wave. “Lucien… you came,” I croaked, my voice barely there.
The moment our eyes locked, he moved, rising from the chair to sit next to me on the side of the mattress. His eyes searched mine with quiet intensity, his hand brushingagainst my arm as if he needed to make sure I wouldn’t vanish.
”You called,” he said, cupping my face against his palm.
