The Necromancer ✓

Chapter Four

"What do you need me for?" I asked Jack, in the hallway. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and began tugging me towards the Great Hall.

"Proof."

"And we're supposed to take his word on it?" someone was shouting. "A second rate valet?"

"First rate," Jack called out, indignantly. "And I found her through the King's own records."

"And we should believe you why?" A woman said, flicking her sleek crimson hair over a creamy shoulder. I suddenly felt woefully underdressed in my faded skinny jeans, hoody and retro blouse I'd gotten from an op shop two years ago.

"Because he's telling the truth," I said. My voice was pitched low, but I felt it resonate into the corners of the room. The irate chatter halted at my words. "And," I added, sliding my jacket off my shoulders, "because I am willing to provide proof." I handed my jacket to Jack. He folded the jacket in a perfect half and draped it over his forearm like a waiter with a serviette. "But I'm going to need a place where everyone can actually see me," I said, sarcasm lacing my words, "and I'd prefer not to stand on another table. I'll also need some salt, a glass of water," I paused, "and a dead body." I stood expectantly waiting for the people around me to organize everything.

"I get why you need the corpse," the red-head said, "but the other things...?"

"I need the salt because I have to cast a protective circle before I begin," I explained.

"I don't think any of us intend to interfere with whatever ritual you have for conjuring your zombies," she rolled her eyes.

"You misunderstand," I said, stepping closer to her. The woman was at least half a foot taller than me but I wasn't letting her height intimidate me. "The circle isn't necessary to protect my 'ritual' from the outside world." My voice fell to a husky whisper, "It's there to protect everything else," I felt the people around me leaning closer to listen, "from me."

"And the water?" she whispered.

I gave her my darkest smile. "I'm thirsty."

She giggled nervously. I stared at her. She turned to the buffet table which ran the length of the room and picked up a pitcher of water. Condensation beaded on the outside of the glass and the clink of ice moving in the jug as she poured the water into a glass was audible from across the room.

"Thank you," I said, when she pressed the glass into my hand. I took a sip, grateful to feel the cold liquid slide down my throat. I turned back to the room at large. "Now." I smiled widely. "Where's that body?"

They led me into the biggest cemetery I'd ever seen. Hugely ornate tombstones stretched out into the distance. I paused near a stone carving of an angel. The statue was easily six feet tall, towering over me on its pedestal. I bent to peer at the inscription. All it said was Angelina le Fae. Jack paused next to me to look at the statue.

"They say that she was the first one," he whispered, reverently.

"The first what?" I asked. He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Angel," he said, like it was obvious. I looked up at the statue.

"That's actually her, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Who else would it be?"

I decided not to try explaining the human tradition of angel statues in cemeteries. In light of where the tradition apparently originated, I wasn't sure it would make a lot of sense.