Necromance

CHAPTER SEVEN #2

The quiet frustration in his voice sent an unexpected ache through me. I swallowed, shifting my focus back to the letter, to the words left behind by someone who had loved him.

“Well,” I said, softer now, “let’s see if we can change that. ”

“Come here,” I said, motioning him over with my hand.

He narrowed his eyes curiously. “You do love to boss me about, don’t you.”

“Please?” I added, but the word sounded awkward. I supposed I was a tad bossy.

He stood and strode toward me. “We’ll work on that word,” he said with a sly grin. One I ignored.

I reached for his hand. “Close your eyes and be quiet.”

The moment Lucien’s warm fingers wrapped around mine, I closed my eyes and summoned my magic, gripping the letter tightly in my other hand. At first, there was nothing but the usual stirring of energy, the distant hum of something unseen shifting through me. Then, suddenly, I was somewhere else.

Darkness stretched before me, the air thick and heavy. My footsteps echoed as I walked down a dimly lit corridor, the flickering candlelight on the walls barely holding the shadows at bay.

Then, a voice. A woman’s voice.

“Mia…”

I froze, my breath hitching. The voice was soft, beckoning, yet there was something in it—something not quite right.

I turned toward the sound and saw her at the end of the hall. A woman with inky black hair and piercing crystal-blue eyes. She stood still, watching me.

“Who are you?” I called, my voice uneasy.

She didn’t answer.

I took a hesitant step closer. “Do you know Lucien?”

Still, nothing.

The silence pressed against me like a weight, the air growing colder. Something was wrong.

I took another step—

The woman moved.

Not like a person should. Her body snapped forward, dropping to all fours in a way that was grotesquely unnatural, her limbs bending wrong. A terrible, guttural snarl ripped from her throat as she launched toward me with inhuman speed.

I turned to run, my heart hammering against my ribs, but the hallway stretched endlessly before me. The sound of her hands and feet slamming against the floor behind me grew louder, closer.

She was going to catch me.

I braced for the impact…

“Mia!”

Lucien’s voice shattered the nightmare.

I was wrenched back into reality, gasping, my body seizing with panic. I wasn’t running anymore. I was on the floor, my back against the cold stone, my throat raw .

Had I been… screaming?

Lucien was crouched over me, his hands on my shoulders, his face tight with worry. “Mia, look at me.”

I blinked rapidly, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart still thundered in my chest, but the castle, the study, Lucien. They were all real. I was back.

His grip on me tightened, grounding me. “What the hell just happened?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse still racing.

My hands trembled as I slowly released my grip on the letter, the parchment crumpled from the force of my hold.

Something or someone didn’t want me to see Lucien’s memories.

Whoever it was… whatever force had hijacked my magic just now was determined to keep me from finding the truth.

“I…” My voice came out hoarse. I swallowed again. “I don’t know.”

I sat up slowly, still feeling the lingering terror of the vision crawling along my skin.

My breath was uneven, my hands trembling as I tried to gather myself.

Lucien remained crouched before me, his hands still on my shoulders, his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity I wasn’t sure how to name.

“What did you see?” he asked, his voice quieter now, steadying.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “A woman,” I murmured, my voice hoarse.

“Black hair, crystal-blue eyes. She called my name… and then she—” I hesitated, the memory of her body snapping into that monstrous form making my stomach twist. “She changed suddenly and… became something horrible and chased me.”

Lucien’s expression darkened, and something flickered in his eyes… recognition. He was silent for a moment before he finally said, “I think I’ve seen her.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

He stood then, holding out a hand to me. “Come with me.”

I hesitated, glancing at his outstretched hand, then took it. His grip was strong, warm, grounding. With careful ease, he pulled me to my feet. I wobbled slightly, my head still light from the vision, but Lucien steadied me.

“There’s a painting,” he said. “A small one, tucked away in one of the bedchambers. I saw it while I was wandering, waiting for you to wake up.”

I frowned. “You didn’t think to mention it before?”

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I saw many things in this castle while you were sleeping the day away, witch,” he murmured. “Not all of them seemed important.”

I glared at him, considering correcting him once again that I wasn’t a witch. He let go of my hand then, turning toward the door. I followed without hesitation, my pulse still uneven.

If Lucien had seen a painting of the woman from my vision… then she had been here. And that meant she was co nnected to all of this—his curse, the castle, the spirits that refused to speak.

And I intended to find out how.

He led me through the dim corridors of Ravenspire, the flickering candle in my hand dancing along the dark halls.

My pulse thrummed in my ears, my fingers still cold from the vision.

I’d never experienced anything like that when trying to peer into a spirit’s memory.

Usually, I was merely a specter to the visions, unseen, unheard.

This had been entirely different. It hadn’t seemed like a memory at all, but rather a horrid nightmare that I’d been dragged into.

The bedchamber he brought me to was one I hadn’t yet explored, its heavy door creaking as he pushed it open. The air inside was thick with dust and silence, the kind of silence that felt watchful.

“There,” Lucien said, nodding toward the small vanity table near the curtained window.

I stepped forward, my breath catching when I saw it—a small portrait, no bigger than a book, propped against the tarnished mirror. I reached for it hesitantly, my fingers brushing the aged wooden frame.

The woman’s face was unmistakable. Black hair, pale skin, crystal-blue eyes that seemed to see me even through the layers of paint. She was beautiful in a way that unsettled me, her lips curved in a faint, knowing smile.

A chill ran down my spine. “It’s her,” I murmured.

Lucien’s gaze lingered on the painting. “You’re certain?”

I nodded. “I saw her in the vision. She called to me.”

As soon as the words left my lips, the castle shuddered.

The floor beneath us trembled, the walls groaning as if something ancient had stirred awake.

A sudden gust of icy wind rushed through the room, blowing out my candle and sending loose papers and dust swirling into the air.

The door slammed shut behind us. I gasped, clutching the portrait as the temperature plummeted. My breath misted before me.

Lucien’s hand was suddenly on my arm, steadying me. His expression had sharpened, his dark eyes flicking warily around the room. “Well,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something curious. “It seems you’ve found a clue.”

The air felt alive with unseen energy, the weight of something long-buried pressing down upon us. The woman in the painting. Who was she?

Lucien and I stepped into the hall quickly, the heavy door groaning shut behind us. The air still crackled with unseen energy, but it was nothing compared to the presence that awaited us.

A young servant girl stood a few steps away, her ghostly form flickering like candlelight. She wrung her hands in the folds of her spectral apron, her wide eyes darting between me and Lucien.

I immediately sensed her fear mixed with hesitation.

I moved carefully, my voice soft, soothing. “You don’t have to be afraid. I can help you.”

The girl’s gaze landed on Lucien, and to my surprise, she quickly dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace,” she whispered, reverence in her tone. “You’re back.”

I stiffened. Interesting.

I turned to Lucien, but his expression was confused—dark eyes locked on the girl, his jaw set in something I couldn’t quite name. He didn’t speak.

An idea formed, a possibility creeping into my mind. This girl… this ghost remembered him.

I took a careful step forward. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “Portia,” she murmured at last.

“That’s a lovely name, Portia,” I said gently. “Do you remember this place? Do you remember him?” I gestured toward Lucien.

Her hands twisted tighter in her apron, her face troubled. “Of course,” she said, almost to herself. “But I don’t understand…” Her gaze flickered over him again, doubt creeping in.

Lucien remained silent beside me, but I could feel his tension, the way he seemed too still.

I drew in a breath, steadying myself before holding up the small portrait. “Portia,” I said carefully, watching her expression. “Who is the woman in this painting?”

The moment her eyes landed on it, they went wide with fear. She stumbled back a step, as if the mere sight of it burned her.

“She was his lordship’s betrothed,” Portia murmured, her voice barely audible.

The words sent a sharp jolt through me. I turned my head just enough to look at Lucien. His face held no expression, but something flickered behind his eyes and his lips parted as he sucked in a breath.

His betrothed?

I tightened my grip on the small portrait, the painted woman’s crystal-blue eyes staring back at me.

“What is her name?” I asked, my voice steady.

Portia’s head snapped up, her ghostly form shuddering with unease. She shook her head violently. “No,” she said firmly. “We don’t speak her name. It makes her angry.”

A chill swept down my spine.

Portia hesitated, glancing at Lucien again, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but fear held her tongue.

I took a careful step closer. “Portia,” I said gently. “What do you mean? ”

Her gaze darted down the hall, as if expecting something or perhaps someone to appear. She fluttered quickly, almost as a frightened pulse would.

“She doesn’t want him to leave her,” she said softly, a desperation in her voice.

The cold air in the corridor seemed to thicken, pressing in around us. I glanced at Lucien. He was unnervingly still, his jaw clenched.

“She won’t let him leave,” Portia added, barely more than a breath.

The castle groaned around us, and I suddenly had the distinct, terrible feeling that something was listening. Portia took a step back, her translucent form flickering sporadically like a candle in a draft.

“I have to go,” she said hurriedly, glancing down the darkened corridor as if someone might appear at any moment.

“Wait,” I called, reaching out instinctively. “Let me help you cross over. You can leave this place.”

Portia froze, torn between longing and fear.

But then she shook her head violently. “Oh no, ma’am,” she said desperately.

“She is already upset that you tried to help Helga and her daughter and then you freed him.” She looked at Lucien briefly before her eyes came back to me. “We don’t want her to hurt you.”

A sharp chill wrapped around my spine. Was that the woman and child from my first night in the castle?

Lucien shifted beside me, his voice low and measured. “Tell us her name.”

Portia’s breath hitched. She stared at him, then at me, as though she had already said too much.

I took a step forward, my heart hammering. “Portia, please. Tell me—”

But before I could finish, the candle in my hand guttered wildly, and a sudden, unnatural gust of wind roared through the corridor. Portia gasped, her ghostly form distorting as if pulled by invisible hands.

“Serena,” she whispered quickly, terror widening her eyes. Then, with a soft, sorrowful look, she vanished.

I turned, following Lucien’s gaze, but all I saw was the dim, empty hallway. Then I felt it—the weight of something unseen pressing down on the air, heavy and suffocating. A thick liquid, the color of dried blood, slid from the ceiling and slowly oozed down the walls.

The castle trembled as the slimy liquid poured onto the stone floor, the cracks drinking it as if it were nourishment. I pressed my hand to my stomach, willing the sudden revulsion to stay put.

Lucien’s posture stiffened beside me. His voice was low, edged with something dangerous. “She’s here.”

Cold unease swept through me. “Where?”

His dark eyes locked onto something at the far end of the hall. “There. ”

I swallowed hard. I still saw nothing, but I didn’t doubt him.

Then his expression shifted, his jaw tightening. “And she’s not happy.”

The air turned frigid in an instant. A deep, guttural moan curled through the corridor, an unintelligible sound that raised every hair on my body.

I had no time to react before Lucien moved.

He stepped in front of me, pushing me behind him with a firm hand.

The cold sharpened into a presence, and though I still couldn’t see her, I felt her rage.

It burned, raw and consuming, thick as the scent of damp stone and old blood.

Lucien barely had time to mutter a curse before an invisible force rushed toward us. A deafening howl tore through the air.

Lucien grabbed my hand. “Run.”

I didn’t hesitate. We sprinted down the corridor, the unseen entity barreling after us with a fury that sent a violent gust slamming into our backs.

My candle flickered out. The hallway plunged into darkness.

Lucien yanked me into the nearest open doorway.

He shoved the heavy wooden door shut and twisted the key in the lock just as something slammed against the other side with inhuman force.

I stumbled back, breathing hard. The door shuddered, rattling in its frame.

Lucien pressed a hand against it, his eyes burning with intensity as he looked at me. “Well,” he murmured, voice husky with adrenaline. “That went well.”

I nodded, sinking down onto a rickety chair as I gasped for air.

At least we knew her name.