Page 45 of Necromance
I groaned at the last part. She couldn’t have left out the ingredient for that? My skin heated at the thought.
Swallowing hard, I stared into the fireplace. I hadn’t told Lucien about the potion. I knew exactly how he would react—he’d pace and brood and argue until I gave up the idea entirely. He’d rake his hand through his hair and tell me how much he didn’t like it… but we were running out of time. The curse was eating him alive and if this helped, if it gave me even a glimpse of how to break the curse or find his body, then I was going to do it.
I closed the book gently, my hands resting on the worn cover.
”I’m sorry, Lucien.” I offered to the stillness. “But I have to know.”
I sat there staring out the window, waiting until the sun had fully risen, until the castle had settled into its usual daylight stillness. Then, I slipped to my bedchamber door, moving carefully, quietly, as if Lucien’s shadow still lingered, watching me from some unseen corner.
I reached into my pocket, making sure the strands of his hair, already tucked into a silk pouch, were still there. I had slipped them from his coat collar earlier that evening under the guise of brushing imaginary lint from his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed, or if he had, he hadn’t said a word.
I was just thankful that Lucien’s corporeal form even had loose strands to begin with. Hopefully, it would be enough…
The rest of the ingredients—aside from my blood, of course— wouldn’t be so easy.
I eased the door open, wincing as the ancient hinges creaked. The hall beyond was empty, thick with dust motes swirling in the sunlight. I moved quickly, hugging the wall, my slippers nearly silent against the stone. Every turn of thecorridors felt like betrayal, every step like a promise breaking apart in my hands.
The first stop was the old scullery. The soot-stained hearth had long gone cold, but inside the half-cracked stone oven, I found the charred remains of an old log… exactly what I needed for the ash. I wasn’t sure how old the ash had to be, but I figured something like the ash from the old stone oven—something original to the castle—might work better than the newer ashes from my bedchamber. Perhaps it would hold some form of Lucien’s memories.
Next was the reliquary.
I descended the narrow servant’s stairs and turned down a corridor line with weather-warped portraits. At the very end, a door barely clung to its rusted hinges. I pushed it open slowly, and cold hit me like a slap. Shelves of relics and forgotten tokens lined the walls—trinkets, broken candlesticks, cracked jars, and other lost mementos that belonged to the castle. The place reeked of dried herbs and faint decay.
I lit a sconce from my candle and found what I was looking for—an old silver pendant tarnished with age, the chain broken. I’d found it on my very first excursion through the castle and knew it had belonged to Lucien. I could feel the hum in my palm—the same hum I felt when I was near him. It was still tied to him, still carrying a morsel of his soul. Everyspirit had them, things that would be connected to them forever and as a necromancer, one of my many gifts was being able to find the items.
Perfect.
The last ingredient… I hesitated. My blood.
I withdrew my dagger from my satchel, the blade thin and ritual-sharp. I didn’t flinch as I drew it across the tip of my index finger, watching the bead of crimson rise. I pulled a small vial out of my bag then squeezed my finger, watching the blood trickle inside down the glass.
With everything gathered, I made my way back to my chamber, closing the door behind me with trembling hands. My small desk near the hearth had already become something of a makeshift altar—scattered bones, herbs, bundles of sage of dried rose hips. I cleared a space and set the items down reverently.
The book waited for me, open to the page I could now recite by heart.
I began the incantation, drawing the binding rune in ash with precise strokes. I placed a silver bowl I’d borrowed from the kitchen in the center, careful not to disturb the ashes. Then, I added a few strands of Lucien’s hair, the pendant, and finally three drops of my blood into the bowl. The mixture immediately hissed faintly, reacting to the energy and my softly spoken spell.
The air grew heavier, pressing in around me, thick and charged. The items in the bowl melted and molded together, glowing a faint violet color as they liquified. Thepotion shimmered as if lit from within and it smelled deliciously sweet like florals with just the hint of something darker—smoke perhaps, or maybe regret.
My heart pounded.
The potion glowed like moonlight caught in a tidepool, swirling violet and gold. I breathed in the heady scent of it, letting the sweet and smoky smell linger in the back of my throat. It was beautiful… and dangerous. I could feel it humming with a soft power, tugging at me, luring me to taste it.
But I didn’t drink it. Not yet anyway.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for a small glass vial that I kept tucked away in my satchel. I poured the potion carefully, watching the glowing liquid slide into the container with an unnatural smoothness, like thick oil, though it looked like liquid light. The moment the last drop slipped in, the glow dimmed, curling in on itself like a heartbeat slowing.
I sealed the top with wax and wrapped the vial in soft cloth before tucking it deep beneath the lining of my bag.
Guilt curled around my insides. Once again, I’d lied to Lucien. He had trusted me, asked only that I summon him before I leave my room and I had promised. But this… this could be the key. If the potion worked, if I could see what had been taken from his mind, then I might finally be able to understand the curse. Understand why my grandmother’s book was here. Why the curse had her signature in the margins… why it felt like the darkness in this castle knew me…
I sat back on the bed now, biting my lip. I knew the answer to that last question, but I wasn’t quite ready to admit it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I awoke late the following evening, the shadows outside already long and crawling across the cold stone walls. My body ached from sleep, and my mind spun with the weight of what I’d done. The memory potion. It rested in the bottom of my satchel like a secret, heavy and glowing faintly in its tiny vial.
I sat up, dragging my fingers through my tangled hair. I needed answers.
