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Numbly, I say, “Tell me everything you know about the Darkmores, the necromancers, and dark magic.”
“I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”
“Figurewhatout?”
She shrugs then taps her chin with her pointer finger. “If only there were a whole bunch of blood witches who inherited necromancy powers after undergoing the turning process. A mini army perfect for eliminating vampires…oh wait. How many little halfling daughters do you think Daddy Dearest has by now? He’s had centuries to spread his seed around.”
An involuntary shudder rolls through me at the words.
But she’s also right.
Calla has said there were nine of us, and that was just at the one compound. Not only does he have that many out there, but he’s also been gathering them. And something tells me he had more than a family reunion on his mind.
“So you’re telling me he has a loyal following of all kinds of creatures”—I tick off one finger—“a horde of wendigos basically enslaved to him through blood deals”—a second finger—“anda mini army of necromancer children.”
“The good news is, I can teach you how to properly use your necromancy powers.”
I scoff. “And why would you do that? You still haven’t told me what you want.”
She shrugs like it’s obvious. “I want to stay here. Fully, not just in this in-between space.”
“You really think I’m stupid, don’t you? You think I don’t know that would mean you’d take my place here?”
“That’s not the only way,” she insists. “I can’t exist on your side without a physical body. But that doesn’t mean yours is the only one I could take.”
“I—of course I’m not going to help youtake—”
“You’re thinking about it all wrong! It doesn’t have to be some perfectly well, innocent person. It could be someone on the brink of death who wouldn’t survive anyway. It could be someone who deserves it—someone this world would be better off without. Let me show you how valuable your necromancy powers can be. Unless, of course, you’d rather keep pretending they’re not there and then impulsively whip them out even though you have no idea how to use them and almost get yourself killed—”
“Enough,” I say through my teeth.
“You know what? You’re right. I can tell where I’m not wanted. You seem to have this all under control anyway.”
She turns, her form blurring as if she’ll dissolve into the fog around us, and panic sparks in my chest. Maybe she’s bluffing, trying to get me to cave, but what if she’s not? What if she disappears for good, and then I really am left to my own devices here? I’m way out of my depth. And if she’s right, if all of those people die andthiswas the wrong choice I made that could have prevented it, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
My brain feels foggy, hazy, and suddenly her words have less edge to them.Someone on the brink of death. Someone who deserves it.Would it be so horrible if it meant ending this war before too much blood is shed?
War rarely lets us hold on to our humanity.
“Wait,” I croak, the word painful as I drag it out. A very unsettling sense of déjà vu settles on my skin as I tell her, “You have a deal. Butonlyif you can prove you’re actually helpful and not full of shit.”
She grins, all shiny white teeth and wicked glee in her eyes. “We’ll need some time to cover the basics before we can make any progress. I imagine your first mistake has been approaching necromancy the same way you use your blood magic. Am I right?”
I say nothing, figuring that’s answer enough, and try to keep the surprise off my face. Magic is magic—how else would I summon my power than from blood?
But then I remember resurrecting Reid and the white light I’d funneled into him. My life force, apparently, not my magic. That clearly hadn’t been right. Not unless every necromancer dropped dead if they tried to use their powers.
“Plus, your powers are probably acting a little out of whack now.”
My head snaps up. “How did you know that?”
She shrugs. “It was just a guess. Your mom didn’t just save your life. She funneled her powers into you. Having two different magics living inside of you—I’d be surprised if youdidn’tfeel a difference.”
Is that where the anger is coming from? The gruesome images, the thoughts that pop into my head that don’t even feel like they’re coming from me? My magic feels stronger, yes. Sometimes too strong. But the other side of it? Whatisthat?
“So if you’ve been treating necromancy the same as any old blood spell,” V continues, snapping me back to the present, “then we need to start basic. Like, the five year olds I teach basic.”
I frown. That’s the first tidbit of information she’s dropped about her own life. She teaches.Children.
