Page 50 of Heir

“I’m sure she had her reasons as to why she didn’t,” Zandren said softly.

Omaera turned back to Kase. “Tell me more about what you know of her. Tell me everything . . . please.”

Kase frowned, his eyes filled with regret. “As I said, I didn’t know her well, I’m afraid. We chatted from time to time just about spells she was working on. That kind of thing. I never knew her name, or her mine. But we were friendly.” His eyes turned sad even though he smiled. “A lot of people in our world don’t like necromancers. They look down on us. Even though so many use us. But Delia treated me like anybody else. She was kind.” His smile grew. “And she almost always had dried paint on her forearm or neck or something. I figured she was a painter.”

Omaera’s bottom lip wobbled. “She loves to paint.”

Kase dropped to his knees beside Delia’s head and pulled a small, velvet pouch out of his pocket. He placed five crystals, all varying in size and color, around her head. Then from another pouch he sprinkled a weird, yellow dust into his palm, which he then placed in a heap over Delia’s heart. The last thing he did was take a small pocket knife, prick his thumb, and draw a very tiny pentagram on Delia’s bruised and bloody forehead.

He glanced up at Omaera. “You’re sure about this?”

She nodded. “I need to know what she knows. I need to know who did this to her.” Her nostrils flared and a fire I’d never seen before flickered in her moss-green eyes.

Drak entered the room and silently stepped off to the side.

Kase’s head bobbed, and he turned back to Delia. Then he placed one palm, then the other, over the pentagram on her forehead and closed his eyes.

Even though it was daytime, and sunlight poured in through the bedroom windows, the whole room went pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me.

“Do not be alarmed,” Kase said. “Stay silent.”

It was probably for the better that there was no light.

I knew necromancers, and I had no problem with them, but I’d never seen one work before. And I could only imagine that Kase was probably making some pretty spooky faces right now. Faces that would scare the shit out of Omaera.

After probably five minutes of pure silence and absolute darkness, it was like the blindfold was removed and the room reappeared. As if nothing happened.

Kase kneeled over the body and when he looked up at us, tears streamed down his face. He looked viscerally shook and his chest heaved as if he’d just sprinted up the stairs.

I went to him and helped him up, guiding him to the end of the bed. “Kase, man, what did you see?”

He swallowed and turned to Omaera. “I am so sorry.”

Her chin trembled. “What did you see?”

“The brutality,” he whispered. “She didn’t deserve that.”

“What. Did. You. See?” Omaera asked again.

“Two men. Demons. One with dark hair and dark eyes. A long nose and big ears with hair long enough to cover the ears. He was . . . he was so cruel. And he enjoyed it.”

“And the other?” Drak asked.

“I couldn’t see his face very well. But he was blond and tall. Fit. His voice was deep and gritty. He did the kicking while the other did the punching and other beatings. They hit her at the same time with the brain frying though.”

My gut spun and anger bubbled and frothed in my stomach until flames raced up my throat.

“What did they want from her?” Omaera asked, her voice soft, almost hollow.

“To know where you were,” Kase said. Then he looked at the nightstand abruptly. “In her memory there was a photo frame there. Delia glanced at it.” His gaze shifted around more. “It’s gone.”

We all looked around the room—all of us but Omaera.

“What was the photo of?” I asked her.

Omaera’s gaze was fixed on her aunt. “Of Gemma and I at the beach last year. It’s probably the most recent printed photo Delia has of me.”

“So they know what you look like. They’re coming,” Drak said. “We need to get you into hiding.”

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