Page 59 of Witches of Dubious Origin
“I think it needs moreoomf,” Eloise said. “You didn’t sound as if you meant it.”
“Well, he did try to choke us,” I said. “If this doesn’t work, do we really want him mobile again?”
“Eloise is right,” Olive said. “That was half-hearted at best. You know you have to focus just like with the light orb we were working on. Try again and this time, mean it.”
“Fine.” I sighed. I cleared my throat and shouted, “Regressus ad mortem corpus!” It didn’t feel right. I tried saying it backward. “Corpus ad mortem regressus!”
We all stared at Moran. This time, his eyes didn’t move, they just looked sad.
“Shoot. I really thought that was it,” Eloise said.
“Keep thinking,” Olive said. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “It’ll come to you.”
Eloise resumed pacing. I stared at Moran. If I got it right, he’d go back to being dead. Weirdly, he clearly wanted to go. Had life here been so terrible that he wanted to leave? Or was it better on the other side, so to speak, and he wanted to return? I wished I could ask him.
I wondered what the spell could be. The words Eloise had spoken had seemed like they’d do the trick. Was it me? Was I not a necromancer like Mamie? Did I not inherit the ability? Miles had said that witch abilities were genetic and skipped generations. I was surprised by the deep disappointment I felt. I wanted this. I wanted to be able to do this.
“Wait,” I said. “Following the rules of modern grammar, shouldn’t a declarative sentence be subject, verb, then object?”
“I’m listening.” Olive opened her eyes.
“If the words are correct, the order should becorpus, meaningthe body, which is the subject;regressus, the verb meaningreturning; andad mortem, which isto death, the object where his body is to return.”
Olive waved her hand, gesturing for me to try it. Mystomach clenched. What if I was wrong? I glanced at Moran, still frozen with his arms extended. Could it be worse? If he tried to kill us before he shuffled on, it could be. I decided not to dwell on that.
I turned to face Moran. His gaze was pleading and I gave him a small nod, hoping he understood that I was going to try my best. I held my hands out. It was a poor imitation of Olive, for sure, but somehow it still felt right. I felt the warmth of the magic I was calling unfurl in my chest.
I drew in a steadying breath and with as much emphasis as I could muster, I said, “Corpus regressus ad mortem.”
A loud cracking noise sounded as if we were standing on ice that had suddenly split. The room became blindingly bright, but I kept my gaze locked with Moran’s. I saw his mouth move ever so slightly and with his last breath, he whispered, “Thank you.”
He collapsed to the floor in a heap and the bright light disappeared. I sagged against the desk. Olive jumped to her feet and strode around the desk. She stared down at Moran and then back at me. Both of her eyebrows were raised.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
She didn’t answer but crouched down to examine the body. I couldn’t look. Not yet. Not until I knew.
Eloise was standing on the far side of the room, looking wide-eyed.
Olive popped back up. “He’s gone, undead glamour and all. Good work, Ziakas.”
Was that praise? From Olive?
“Of course, it took you long enough to work it out,” she added.
There was the Olive I knew. All was right with the world again.
I walked around the desk just to see for myself that Moran had indeed departed his vessel. The smell hit me first. I retched and backed away, pulling the collar of my shirt up over my nose.
“Weeks-old corpses are a nasty business,” Olive said.
“But how did he get here?” I asked. “Did someone dig him up and put him here?”
Olive considered me and then nodded. “You’re learning your necromancy skills in reverse order. Normally, a necromancer employs a ritual, empowered with an artifact of the deceased, to bring the person’s soul and body back, as in the case with Moran. Bringing back just a body is less work, but zombies in bodily or skeletal form tend to be feral and harder to control. Bringing back just the soul doesn’t give them a body to inhabit and specters are mercurial without a tether and tend to terrify people.”
“A ritual with an artifact and then, what, Moran dug his own way out of his grave?” I asked.
“Most likely whoever brought him back uncovered his coffin and then he climbed out.” Olive pointed to Moran’s hands. Without the glamour he’d been magicked with, his hands were dirt-encrusted, with scrapes and gashes. He had obviously done exactly that.
