I hoped another storm wasn’t coming. I didn’t want to be trudging around the cemetery in a damn storm. The note had said to go to the northwestern corner where the oldest graves were. It had been a few years since I’d stepped foot in the large cemetery; it was the biggest in Prague and easy to get lost among the myriad of tombs, gravestones and chapels.
Shadows stretched around the neatly arranged gravestones. I ran my fingers down over my blades, reminding myself that there was nothing to be scared of; I was the scariest thing in the night. Pushing my shoulders back, I picked up my pace. I had an ancient witch’s middle finger to procure. The ivy crawled up the old trees and slowly choked them; I’d left the nicely kept area of the cemetery and was firmly into the overgrown chaotic area. Headstones sat at awkward angles and were crammed together; stone angels wielded great swords, but still lost the war against the creeping undergrowth. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a normal life where my biggest concern was a pissy boss. There would be no more wandering around cemeteries at night, no more redcaps or lycans. I pushed the thoughts aside; they were foolish at the best of times and potentially dangerous at that moment.
The note told me to keep going for another hundred feet or so, I was looking for a small mausoleum with runes engraved on the outside. I was surprised people had allowed them to be quite so blatant; it was supposed to be Christian holy ground after all. A rustling noise came from my left. I paused and fingered the hilt of my knife. It was probably only a fox, but I was on edge; something seemed very wrong about the entire situation. It would have taken an incredible witch to displace Serena, let alone drive out her entire coven.
The rustling came again; it was closer. I slowed my pace and listened. A second rustling came from behind it before a twig snapped. It was approaching. I began to draw the blade from its sheath. A man appeared from the darkness wearing all black save for a neon green tie around his throat. His pale skin practically shone under the faint starlight, ice-blue eyes glaring at me while a greyish cracked tongue flicked over thin lips. I tried to hold back my revulsion. He didn’t look much fresher than the corpses he played with. His skin hung a little too loosely around his neck, bringing it to almost pool around the lurid green silk of the tie. I hadn’t thought there were any necromancers left in the city.
He lips spread into a wide smile, revealing yellowed teeth; his voice was rasping and hoarse. “I know you.”
A shiver ran down my spine. His voice held the whisper of death. He had no control over me, or my body, but the instinctual understanding that he was wrong was very present. I pulled my blades and listened for any of his puppets. Rustling came from behind me. I thought I heard a faint groan somewhere in the darkness. He pursed his lips and took a shuffling step closer to me. The black fabric of his trousers was pitch, it almost swallowed the light around it. The bottoms were scuffed and frayed, a little long and sitting over mismatched black shoes. His movements were slow, his feet barely left the ground. I wasn’t fooled. I remembered the stories about necromancers; their power comes from death. The cemetery had enough death energy in it to allow him to move just as well as I could.
“You’re one of the Hawke twins. I knew your parents. I know what they did.”
He added emphasis on the final word. His eye glinted with malice much the same way a cat’s did as it toyed with a trapped mouse. My parents had been hunters; I assumed that he meant they’d killed some of his family or something equally good for the world. Yet there was a flicker of doubt in my chest.
He looked over his shoulder at the mausoleum. “Are you here for my bride?”
“Your bride?” I asked.
His grin widened much like a snake, his face split
Shadows stretched around the neatly arranged gravestones. I ran my fingers down over my blades, reminding myself that there was nothing to be scared of; I was the scariest thing in the night. Pushing my shoulders back, I picked up my pace. I had an ancient witch’s middle finger to procure. The ivy crawled up the old trees and slowly choked them; I’d left the nicely kept area of the cemetery and was firmly into the overgrown chaotic area. Headstones sat at awkward angles and were crammed together; stone angels wielded great swords, but still lost the war against the creeping undergrowth. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a normal life where my biggest concern was a pissy boss. There would be no more wandering around cemeteries at night, no more redcaps or lycans. I pushed the thoughts aside; they were foolish at the best of times and potentially dangerous at that moment.
The note told me to keep going for another hundred feet or so, I was looking for a small mausoleum with runes engraved on the outside. I was surprised people had allowed them to be quite so blatant; it was supposed to be Christian holy ground after all. A rustling noise came from my left. I paused and fingered the hilt of my knife. It was probably only a fox, but I was on edge; something seemed very wrong about the entire situation. It would have taken an incredible witch to displace Serena, let alone drive out her entire coven.
The rustling came again; it was closer. I slowed my pace and listened. A second rustling came from behind it before a twig snapped. It was approaching. I began to draw the blade from its sheath. A man appeared from the darkness wearing all black save for a neon green tie around his throat. His pale skin practically shone under the faint starlight, ice-blue eyes glaring at me while a greyish cracked tongue flicked over thin lips. I tried to hold back my revulsion. He didn’t look much fresher than the corpses he played with. His skin hung a little too loosely around his neck, bringing it to almost pool around the lurid green silk of the tie. I hadn’t thought there were any necromancers left in the city.
He lips spread into a wide smile, revealing yellowed teeth; his voice was rasping and hoarse. “I know you.”
A shiver ran down my spine. His voice held the whisper of death. He had no control over me, or my body, but the instinctual understanding that he was wrong was very present. I pulled my blades and listened for any of his puppets. Rustling came from behind me. I thought I heard a faint groan somewhere in the darkness. He pursed his lips and took a shuffling step closer to me. The black fabric of his trousers was pitch, it almost swallowed the light around it. The bottoms were scuffed and frayed, a little long and sitting over mismatched black shoes. His movements were slow, his feet barely left the ground. I wasn’t fooled. I remembered the stories about necromancers; their power comes from death. The cemetery had enough death energy in it to allow him to move just as well as I could.
“You’re one of the Hawke twins. I knew your parents. I know what they did.”
He added emphasis on the final word. His eye glinted with malice much the same way a cat’s did as it toyed with a trapped mouse. My parents had been hunters; I assumed that he meant they’d killed some of his family or something equally good for the world. Yet there was a flicker of doubt in my chest.
He looked over his shoulder at the mausoleum. “Are you here for my bride?”
“Your bride?” I asked.
His grin widened much like a snake, his face split
Similar Books
