Page 97 of Dance With Death

For the first time, I’m aware how untoward this is, not only to a human but anybody who discovers the necromancer’s daughter has a menagerie of undead creatures. Only small ones: a fox is the largest I’ve ever created, but she doesn’t always appear.

As I sit on the rock, and the creatures approach, I eye Holly whose open-mouthed amazement continues. “Do the birds sit on your shoulder?” she asks.

“No.” My mouth thins. “I have researched these Disney princesses you mentioned, and the animals do not respond to me in such a way. They don’t approach my home and certainly never perform housework.”

“Why don’t they?”

“I doubt they could pick up a broom.” A robin joins the other birds perched on the branches above my head.

“No.” She giggles at me. “I meant, why don’t they follow you to the house?”

“I use runes to keep them away, otherwise you’d be sharing the room with rodents tonight.”

“Rodents?” Holly shuffles her feet, glancing at the ground as if expecting a swarming mass of rats.

“Mostly field mice.”

“This is insane.”

“At least only animals live here. No people.” Her eyes bug again. “Holly, I haven’t tried to reanimate a person.”

“Yet?” I give her a tight smile, and her throat bobs. “Did you have a pet dog or cat? Is there one here?”

“I wasn’t allowed.” My lips thin at the memory of regular arguments regarding my desire for a living animal companion that wasn’t local wildlife. “Eloise doesn’t like dogs.”

“Oh. But it would be funny if you had a black cat following you around.”

“Why?”

“Or a raven.” Holly chuckles.

“There are a couple around somewhere. Ravens are prevalent in this area. Most are small birds. from when I was young and inexperienced. Chaffinches. Sparrows.” I point upwards then frown. “Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry. I never imagined you as an ornithologist.”

“I’m not. I’m a necromancer who, as a child, didn’t like animals dying.” I stand away from the rocks. “I expect the place and practice appears odd to you.”

“These animals weren’t created because you wanted to practice?” she asks cautiously. “Like with this duckling?”

I suck my lips together, ignoring a vague memory of the day the first animal I’d attached myself to died. “I particularly like ducks.” I pause. “Stop snickering, Holly.”

“Sorry.” She bites away a smile.

But the amusement lights up Holly, chasing away the darkness that hasn’t lifted from her since she lay in the hospital bed. The missing smile that once seemed permanently etched on her face has returned, along with eyes that shine with curiosity and happiness. Holly is more herself and less like me again, and for that I’m grateful.

I take Holly to the small pond nearby, and she picks up a pebble with a black rune painted on one side, watching as three ducks glide across the water towards me. The white one that quacks excitedly around my feet is the closest I had to a pet, and the first I used necromancy on in Scotland.

“That duck likes you the most,” comments Holly. “Did you name him or her?”

“Yes. Duck.”

Holly laughs again, the sound merging with the chattering birds. “Well, I’m naming this duckling.”

“You appear to attach yourself to things easily, Holly.”

“Dash.” She crouches and places the duckling on the ground.

“Yes. That person in particular.”

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