Page 2 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

“I was gonna ask you for the easiest injury to heal,” Chloe says, almost wheedling, and Gurlien scowls at her once more, despite the interested look his girlfriend is giving her. “I figured you would know better than all of us.”

“Absolutely not,” Gurlien interjects, and Ambra shrugs in return. From what Chloe’s been able to gather, Gurlien can nolonger control her in any way, but Ambra tends to take his word at a much higher consideration than literally anything else.

Considering how Ambra makes Gurlien smile, actually smile, Chloe thinks it's charming.

“I’m sure Alette or Lyra would know the best way,” Chloe says, forging onwards with an encouraging smile to Ambra.

“Why is this so important to you?” Ambra asks idly, and both Gurlien and Chloe immediately fall silent. “That’s what nobody has explained to me.”

On the couch, Delina and Maison exchange glances. The two of them don’t know either, but they at least have more social grace than to just ask aloud.

“It’s her research,” Gurlien answers for her, saving Chloe the internal agony of trying to put it into words. “She can’t figure out a way around this block without it.”

“If you’re going after demons, you should take his gun,” Ambra says offhand, as if the same gun hadn’t caused her horrific injury. “A deterrent, at the very least.”

“Oh my god,” Gurlien mutters then rubs his eyes, and for a split second, she glimpses exhaustion in her best friend.

And for a split second, Chloe feels bad.

But he masks it quickly, letting her weasel out of the uncomfortable emotions going along with this request.

The other teamhas even less issues than her friends, the other Necromancer not going to turn down such a perfect training opportunity for Delina and Alette agreeing with her basic premise, if not the entire method.

“I mean, it is still insane,” Alette says, as if she isn’t practically radiant with wild magic and a collected sense ofinhuman power. “The world is more frightening than you think once you cross that barrier.”

As if Alette’s existence hadn’t been the thing to give Chloe the idea. As if Chloe poking around the compound with the spellweaver while waiting for everyone to heal hadn’t given her clarity in how absolute a change it would be. As if Chloe hadn’t seen it in her interactions with the world around her, hadn’t marveled at how easy a fix it would be for her inevitable lack of ability with demons.

And if she’s going to save the spirit fox, after herfriend, she needs it.

And they waited an additional two days for decent weather, during which Gurlien refuses to speak to her, and Ambra threatens her a few times to not hurt him.

Delina speaks to her, at length, but never about the idea, and Maison tries to warn her in his own way that does nothing but hardens her resolve.

They don’t understand the knot behind her chest, the fear and hope pushing her to make this leap.

It’s been four years since she’s seen her friend. It’s been three and a half since she broke out of prison.

Three and a half years of no hints. Three and a half years of spinning in place, of doing what she can to remain hidden, desperately wanting something to reveal itself to her.

Three and a half years without her research, without the ability to do anything.

So they alltromp up to a cracked and overgrown helicopter pad on the property, grimy snow crunching underneath theirboots, and Chloe huddles inside her puffy jacket, the slick fabric generating just enough static electricity to distract her.

It’s a good theory. It’s a great theory. According to the other Necromancer, a quiet woman named Lyra that Chloe’s only spoken to a few times, everyone she’s brought back could see demons and Wights and all sorts of spirits almost immediately.

Lyra’s brought back way more people than Delina, so having her around is another bit of reassurance.

Sort of.

Still, all of the thoughts crowding through Chloe’s mind fizz somewhere between fear and excitement, leaving little room for alternate ideas.

The sun shines weak through the stubborn mid-morning clouds of December, and Gurlien still scowls at her, even as the rest of the group advances to craft a rune circle on the helicopter pad.

Ambra eyes the two of them, then follows behind Maison, skirting distant around the Necromancers. She’s still wary of them.

“You sure about all of this?” Gurlien asks, crossing his arms against the chill, despite a rather nice wool coat across his shoulders.

“Of course,” Chloe lies, though her heart pounds. “It’s risk free, it’s permanent, and then I’ll be able to track her.”

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