Page 14 of Grave Expectations

“Borrow,” Roz said. “Let’s find a few more to make it worth it.”

“That is an ancient tome, filled with all sorts of knowledge…”

“Okay, all the more reason to read it at leisure in my house and not quickly in a museum. Quickly, Martha’s been gone awhile.” Roz speed-read the titles, pulling two more books off the shelf and into her bag while Alaric grumbled.

Roz hurried out of the museum with Alaric on her heels, breathing a sigh of relief once they were halfway back to her house.

“That was exhilarating,” Alaric said.

“Why? You weren’t at risk of getting caught,” Roz said, then winced when a few heads turned. Two crossed the street to walk opposite her.

“Why do they do that?” Alaric asked, glaring at the townsfolk as they avoided her.

“They fear what they don’t understand. Necromancy is…strange. My family also isn’t super welcoming,” she added.

“But you are,” Alaric observed. “You are always kind to the townspeople. You give them great comfort when they’re dealing with death. You treat the graves of their loved ones with respect.”

Roz swallowed the lump collecting in her throat. “It doesn’t change who I am, what I am. Even if I have no powers like my family does.”

“Perhaps your power is kindness,” Alaric said.

“Kindness isn’t a power,” Roz scoffed, crossing through the gate into the cemetery.

“It is in an unkind world. You have a rare gift, and no matter what the world has thrown you, you’ve remained,” Alaric said.

Roz ducked her head, a warmth spreading from her cheeks to her chest to…lower. Oh fuck, I have a praise kink. With a ghost. She cleared her throat and threw a smile over her shoulder, hoping he couldn’t see how flustered she was. “Thanks, that’s really nice.”

Alaric gave a nod and fell into step with her until they reached her house. Once inside, she pulled out the titles and set them carefully on her coffee table, considering them one at a time.

“Divide and conquer?” she suggested.

“I want nothing more than to conquer,” Alaric said wistfully, though he was no longer looking at the books. “Alas.”

“Alas,” Roz echoed, trying not to read into what he’d said. “We’ll do this one first then,” she suggested, grabbing The Grimoire of Life. She crossed her legs and opened it on the coffee table. Alaric moved to her side, and she thought for a moment she felt the brush of his robes against her.

“Is it uncomfortable? To wear that all these years?” Roz asked.

“I’ve long since stopped noticing, though sometimes I long for breeches, a doublet, anything else. Also, I am covered in blood and mud. I’ve envied the living since the invention of indoor plumbing,” he said.

“I can ask my mother if she knows any way you can change? I’m sure you’re not the first spirit to want an outfit change,” she offered.

“Will you finally tell her it is I that you’ve tethered?” Alaric asked.

“Maybe,” Roz said evasively.

“Hmm,” Alaric said, leaning forward to peer at the open book. They read in silence, skimming the pages together. There were a few hopeful passages, but nothing about reanimation.

“Wait,” Alaric said, putting his hand on a page near the end of the book.

Blood is a complex conduit for magic. The blood of the willing can help power a spell, just as the blood of an enemy can strengthen a hex. Blood is one of the liquids of life.

“That’s it?” Roz asked, turning the page.

“It’s missing,” Alaric said, pointing to the page numbers.

“It is an old book,” Roz said.

“In otherwise immaculate condition,” Alaric pointed out.