Chapter 3 #3
“Undead,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “Walking corpses. Hungry. Fast. Not normal.”
His eyes snapped to me. “You’ve seen one.”
“Up close,” I said. “I don’t recommend it.”
Andel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze slid to Faith. “How widespread?”
“Enough that mundanes are filming,” Faith replied.
That got a reaction.
Andel’s nostrils flared, like he was trying to smell the truth in the air. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s very possible,” I said.
He looked at Eve again, and the wariness in his face deepened. “Who’s behind this?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Eve said.
Andel’s gaze pivoted. “You think I’m involved?”
Faith’s eyes stayed cold. “We think you know death magic better than anyone else in the coven besides Salima.”
Andel’s lips pressed together. “I don’t do that work.”
“You can,” I said, and regretted it immediately because it came out more pointed than I meant. “And right now, the town doesn’t care what you prefer.”
Silence stretched.
Then Andel stepped back, opening the door wider.
“Come in,” he said, voice controlled. “And keep your voices down.”
We entered.
The warehouse had been transformed into a workshop that felt half industrial, half ritual.
Metal tables lined the space, tools arranged with obsessive precision.
Stacks of steel rods, sheets of copper, coils of wire.
In one corner, a forge sat dark but warm, like it had been used recently.
The air held heat in pockets, the kind that seeped into your skin.
Runes were etched into some of the metal pieces, subtle, carved clean. Protective marks. Binding marks. Work that took skill and patience.
My eyes flicked to a wall where a series of blades hung, each different, each gleaming under the overhead lights. Not decorative. Not showroom pieces. Working weapons.
Faith noticed me looking. “Don’t touch.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I said. “I’m admiring from a safe distance.”
Eve moved deeper into the space, gaze sweeping. “No one followed us.”
Andel shut the door behind us and locked it with a heavy click. He turned, arms folded. “Talk.”
Faith didn’t waste time. “The undead aren’t acting right. They aren’t dropping. They’re not responding to force the way they should.”
“And the signature is masked,” I added. “I can’t trace it.”
Andel’s eyes narrowed. “Masked.”
“Yes,” I said. “Like someone wrapped it. I can feel the outline, not the caster.”
Eve’s voice stayed calm. “You’re the only necromancer we know of. Lucinda confirmed.”
Andel’s jaw flexed, irritation flickering. “Lucinda.”
Faith’s mouth tightened. “We didn’t bring her.”
“Good,” Andel said instantly.
I almost laughed, because same.
Andel’s gaze moved between us. “I haven’t raised anyone. I haven’t touched the dead in months.”
“What about someone using your work?” Eve asked. “An artifact, a tool, something you forged that could store that kind of energy?”
Andel’s eyes deepened. “No.”
“Not even a possibility?” Faith pressed.
Andel’s tone turned colder. “If I forged something like that, you’d know. The wards would scream. The metal would hum. It would not be quiet.”
My stomach clenched. “It is quiet.”
Andel stared at me for a long moment, and for the first time, I saw something like unease crack through his control.
“That’s wrong,” he said softly. “Death magic isn’t quiet. It’s heavy. It leaves ash.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So what does it mean when it doesn’t?”
Andel’s gaze went distant for half a second, like he was running through possibilities. “It means someone is using something old. Something that doesn’t behave like modern spellwork.”
Eve’s fingers tightened around her necklace. “An artifact.”
Andel’s jaw tightened. “Or a god.”
Faith’s head snapped up. “Don’t.”
Andel’s eyes didn’t soften. “You wanted the truth. Sometimes the truth is unpleasant.”
The door at the far end of the workshop banged.
All three of us whipped toward it.
Andel’s hand moved toward a hammer on the table so fast it barely registered.
Then the side door opened again and Nishi stepped in, as calm as ever, with Tegan just behind her.
Tegan Carr looked like she didn’t belong in an industrial warehouse, which was probably why she belonged perfectly.
She carried that relic keeper aura, that quiet hum of old power, the kind that made the hair on my arms rise without any obvious reason.
She was slender, graceful, with hair that flowed like it had its own opinions.
Her eyes were striking, deep, and too knowing, like she’d stared at ancient things in dark places and come back without blinking.
She looked tired.
Her gaze flicked over us, then to Andel. “This is about the undead.”
Nishi nodded once. “Yes.”
Tegan’s mouth tightened. “Kacey’s asleep. Spencer’s with her.”
Eve’s expression softened for half a beat. “How is she?”
Tegan’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Fever. She’ll be fine.” Then she looked at me, eyes questioning. “What’s happening?”
I exhaled. “Walking corpses with strange behavior. Masked somehow.”
Tegan’s brows knit. “Masked?”
Andel’s stare locked onto her. “You’ve seen this?”
Tegan hesitated. “Not exactly. But I’ve heard of relics that can hide a signature.”
Faith crossed her arms. “Can you track it?”
Tegan’s gaze slid over the room, thoughtful. “If it’s an object, maybe. If it’s a spell woven through an object, maybe. If it’s something else, I don’t know.”
Andel’s jaw tightened. “I’ve never heard of zombies that can’t be put back in their graves.”
The words hit hard.
Because it confirmed the part I was trying not to name.
Even the necromancer was unsettled.
Andel continued, voice controlled but edged. “Normal resurrection, even the ugly kind, follows rules. Bodies can be severed from the spell. Bones can be ordered back into stillness. The dead can be returned to where they belong.”
He looked at each of us in turn, then fixed on Eve, respect and warning tangled in his gaze.
“If these things aren’t responding, if they’re resisting, if they can’t be put down, then this is beyond typical necromancy.”
My stomach dropped, cold and heavy.
Faith’s voice was quiet. “So what are we dealing with?”
Andel didn’t answer right away.
He just stared at the forge, at the metal, at the runes etched into steel, as if he could find a solution hammered into the walls.
Then he looked back at us.
“I don’t know,” he said, and the honesty in it was almost worse than fear. “But I know this isn’t normal.”