Page 3 of Necromancers Don't Raise

I sobbed once before I got my feelings under control. His strong hands became even more gentle as he finished washingout my wounds and wrapped me in bandages, his voice humming that melody that helped me control the emotions. Once I was wrapped up from my toes to my crown, he carried me to a fancy tanning bed, only it was held together with dark metal hinges with more demonic faces etched into the design.

He closed the lid on me, and I lay on the warm pad, heat slowly sinking into me. It was the most marvelous contrast to the icy sewer. It was nice to know that even the undead could go to a spa. It would have to be run by a dark sorcerer, but apparently they had the gentlest hands.

Chapter

Two

When the dark sorcerer opened the lid, waking me up from confused dreams, I felt more settled in my skin, capable of dealing with my new fate without dissolving into tears. I’d never cried in front of another person for as long as I could remember, but it had been a close one when he first found me. Then again, I was a newborn undead. They use the term ‘cry like a baby,’ for a reason.

I stared up at the dark sorcerer, seeing him much better in the clear light and without my uncontrollable panic. He wasn’t a breathtakingly beautiful man, like my fiancé had been, but he was much more masculine and powerful with a wide, devouring mouth and glossy hair that fell over his forehead and collar. He was more attractive than Vilus, although not as handsome. How did that make sense? ‘Nonsense,’ my mother would say as she turned off the television and handed me my weekly schedule.

Who was going to hand me my schedule and keep my life organized? His eyes turned questioning as he slowly took myhand and started unwrapping the bandages, so slow and careful, like he didn’t want to startle me.

I tried not to look at the skin under the bandages. I didn’t want him to look at it either. “Who are you?” I asked. At least the words came out clearly, even if it wasn’t a pretty voice, not anymore. I’d used to have a wonderful voice, almost as compelling as my mother’s.

He gazed into my eyes, his own dark ones warm, kind, gentle. “I am called Oswald Mercury. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He didn’t ask for my name. Did the undead not have names?

Panic stirred, but I pushed it firmly down. So I wasn’t Cassandra Clarence anymore. I was still a person, and people had names. In this new birth, I would choose my own name. The family business, the image, all of it had seemed like a great burden that I’d secretly wished to get rid of so many times. Now I had that wish, even if it had gone in an unexpected direction. A horrible, awful, unbearable direction. No. I could bear it, and I would make the most out of this life. This was an opportunity to start fresh, to make my own name for myself. Quite literally.

“I’m Nova Nativitae,” I said, raising my chin and staring him down. The panic grew while his dark eyes studied me, head tilting as he considered. Would he tell me that I wasn’t allowed to have a name, like I wasn’t allowed to have the Christmas treats that were only for decoration before we donated everything to the poor unfortunates? Now I was a poor unfortunate, so I got to eat all the treats, skip all the meetings, and live life to the fullest. Well, not that I was living.

He smiled slowly, a diabolical smile that made me want to touch his fascinating mouth. “Your Latin is very good. New Birth? It suits you. How do you feel? Is there any pain?”

I shook my head, then paused as a rush of agony went down my spine, arm, and hand, the one that was missing fingers. “A little.”

He laughed and continued unwrapping the hand, the arm that had hurt so much. “You are strong in will and mind. You will transition well.”

His words, and the velvety low voice he said them with, filled me with warmth and comfort. He gave me approval, even though I was a revolting corpse.

“Thank you. I intend to do as well as I can. Do you have an assistant?”

He cocked his head as he finished unwrapping the bandages carefully, then pulled a silk cream robe over my shoulders and around me quickly before I could really think about the fact that I was naked in front of an incredibly attractive man who wasn’t a doctor. I was undead, oozing, bald, so there was no chance that he’d find me attractive. That cut deep. Deeper than the scalpel the first time I’d gone in for surgery.

I’d been twelve when I went in to help my nose take on the perfect dimensions of my grandmother while my own mother got injections for her cheekbones in the room next door. I’d spent the next thirteen years trying to achieve the perfect ideal: implants, injections, surgeries, all so that I could be the face for the next generation of Clarence corp. Now, every beauty was a wound, every perfection a horror. That’s what I was now, one of those hideous faces carved on the door, one of the monsters chasing people through the streets. Maybe I’d start eating brains. Hm. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it could get.

“I don’t have an assistant at the moment,” he said, cupping my chin and holding up a swab.

I opened my mouth automatically, letting him sweep my mouth with the cotton wand. I’d been the perfect patient for so long that it translated to my undeath. How useful. I stared at hisface, the shape and size of his skull while he took tissue samples from my tongue and cheek. What would he do with those? And how would I crack through his skull to get to his brain? I had absolutely no idea.

Once he’d finished with my mouth, I asked in my ugly yet intelligible voice, “Oswald Mercury, why do you need tissue samples?”

He smiled slightly. “Nova Nativitae, so that I can see what kind of creature infected you, so that we will know whether or not I should be on guard against your hunger.” His eyes sparkled, and I knew he was joking, like he had back in the sewer about rats knowing morse code.

He’d definitely noticed me scoping out his skull, but didn’t consider me a serious threat.

I stared down at my hands, even more swollen and discolored than before, and with every single finger chopped to varying lengths. What beautiful mottled coloring. My face must be particularly delightful, but he didn’t look horrified, instead he was making jokes. “Seriously, if I am dangerous, you should end me. I assume you know how to kill the undead.” My voice sounded so dead, without any life or color to it, but at least it could speak clearly. My Pollyanna training was coming in handy today. Let’s look on the bright side of everything. There’s always a silver lining. How many times had I said that? How often had my mother said it to me?

He covered my hand with his strong, capable fingers, the feel of his warmth and strength spreading through me. “Nova, I know very well how to kill the undead, but what I know that’s even more useful is how to help the undead manage their instincts. With your mind, your reflexes, your self-awareness and your transference of moral codes you held with you in life, you will only be as dangerous as you wish to be.”

I studied his hand for a long moment before I slowly raised my eyes to his. His eyes were alight with intelligence and energy. He wasn’t going to flinch away from my ugliness. He wasn’t going to flinch away from anything. He was more attractive all the time. At this rate, I’d be hopelessly in love with him by dinner. “How thick is your skull?” I asked, studying him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, this time genuinely curious, but not threatened.

“I’ve heard that dark sorcerers have very thick bones, like iron. I would feel better if I knew that you had some safeguard, in case your confidence in my self-control was unfounded.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “You would feel better once my safety was assured?” He straightened and then gave me a very formal bow before he stood tall, straight, very broad-shouldered and powerful. “I have an extremely thick skull, my lady, as my butler tells me often. I have survived countless attacks without any lasting harm. I am safe with you.” His lips twitched with that flash of humor. He probably brought fresh undead to his drafty mansion all the time. He had all the equipment for hosing off and wrapping up corpses in his death spa. I was taking my own undeath too seriously. After all, people die every day.

Like Callie and Bree? Were they okay?

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