Concealed

by Christina Bauer

  First Published by Monster House Books, LLC in 2016

  Monster House Books, LLC

  34 Chandler Place Newton, MA 02464

  www.monsterhousebooks.com

  ISBN 9781943858026

  Copyright © 2016 by Monster House Books LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  For the Special Education Teachers at the Countryside School in Newton, MA.

  Because they work real magick every day.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  About the Author

  More Books By Christina Bauer

  Chapter One

  With a sigh, I rode deeper into the old forest. Here was a scene fit for a fairy tale. My elegant horse. Woods in the summertime. And me, a girl with pale skin, dark hair, and a flowing white gown: the innocent young maiden.

  What a lie.

  In truth, I was one of the realm’s most deadly Necromancers. Mages like me wielded powerful magick over spirit and bone. Most people were terrified of us and for good reason. Necromancers were known for summoning ghosts and reanimating the dead. Not that I dabbled in that kind of thing personally. Ghosts whined for ages before doing even the smallest task. And decaying bodies? When reanimated, they became just as petulant as any ghost, only they smelled something awful. Not worth the effort of casting, in my opinion. There were other spells that I preferred.

  My horse let out a high-pitched whinny. My poor Smoke. She so wanted to gallop. As did I, for that matter. But my plan called for me to ride slowly while looking innocent. The reason? I sought out sensitive information from the brigands who hid in these woods. Of course, I could just lure them to me with a spell. However, that meant projecting magick over long distances. Not too clever. That kind of casting could easily be detected by my enemies and used to track me down. I needed to be careful.

  No, the scum of the forest had to approach me of their own free will. And that could only happen if I looked harmless.

  Please, let me look harmless.

  A weight of worry settled on my shoulders. I needed information and badly. My Sister mages from the Midnight Cloister were still missing. The desire to find them constricted my heart, tight as a vise.

  As did my need for Rowan, if I allowed myself to think about him.

  Suddenly, the tree branches rustled with extra force. I tilted my head, every sense in my body going on alert. Was someone finally approaching?

  Seconds passed. No one appeared. I tried to hide my disappointment and kept riding along at an inching pace. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. The monotony made me wish to pull my hair out.

  Images flickered through my mind. I pictured the Necromancer girls that I’d met in the Midnight Cloister. My Sisters. They’d all looked so wide-eyed and innocent as the evil Vicomte led them off to his secret prison. And these were no ordinary dungeons either. The Vicomte had a mysterious device that siphoned off Necromancer power. I shivered at the thought. My Sisters would writhe in agony as their magick was removed. And once their powers were fully drained, my young friends would transform into withered husks of skin. Dead. The thought made my stomach churn.

  Sadly, the treachery against my people didn’t end with my Sisters. Over the past five years, thousands of Necromancers had been imprisoned and marked for death. It was the Tsar who began all the abductions. Three months ago, I put that villain into exile, trapping him on a random magickal plane. Afterward, I assumed that our worries were over. How foolish of me. The moment the Tsar was gone, one of his main followers, the Vicomte, took up the heinous plans against my people.

  Since then, things have only become worse.

  The Vicomte has expanded the Tsar’s program of abduction and murder, killing far more Necromancers than the Tsar ever did. No one has found any bodies, though.

  By the Sire, please let that mean some of my people are still alive.

  I could only hope that when I found my lost Sisters, I would discover some trained Necromancers along with them. So few of us remained. My Cloister, the Zelle, was the last of its kind, and it now held less than a dozen expert Necromancers. All were over ninety and could no longer cast any serious spells.

  Footsteps rustled in a nearby thicket. Someone’s close. My heart thrummed in my rib cage. Only certain travelers stole through the shrubbery.

  Thieves. How perfect.

  A hulking brute of a man lurched out from the trees and grasped my horse’s reins with his meaty fist. Any other lady would have screamed. I could have cheered for joy.

  “Afternoon, my lovely. I’m Bartley.” His voice had the deep rasp of someone who enjoyed far too much whiskey. Like the other thieves I’d met, Bartley wore a mishmash of whatever clothing he’d claimed from his latest kills. In this case, Bartley donned a gentleman’s longcoat over ragged pants and a patched-up shirt. He rubbed his thick hand over his bald head, a movement that showed off his small black eyes.

  A warm sense of satisfaction bloomed through my chest. Someone this evil looking was certain to have good information. “Hello. I’m Elea.”

  “Call me Bartley. Are you alone?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  Bartley didn’t say a word. The barest rustling in the trees answered for him. More thieves waited nearby, not that I cared. At close range, I could use certain spells without attracting attention. And since I was a Grand Mistress Necromancer, I didn’t have to bother with reanimating the dead or calling on ghosts. Satisfaction warmed my blood. With any luck, I would cast my favorite spell today.

  Ah, the joy of conjuring skeletons from stone.

  After all, rock contained the concentrated remains of what had once been part of a living thing. It was an advanced form of cadaver, if you will. A Grand Mistress Necromancer could reform that raw material into a new skeleton.

  I really loved casting these.

  My skeletal servants had no personalities unless you counted mindless obedience. They smelled only of chalk if they had a scent at all. Best of all, a good Necromancer could give her skeletons some flair. I often covered mine with glittering gemstones. My teachers had frowned on this, but I was a girl, and we girls needed sparkly things.

  Bartley took a half step closer. “Hand over your gold, and we’ll let you go easy.” He stared at my chest. “Yes, easy.”

  I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. Thieves always stared at my breasts and threatened my virtue. It was getting rather tedious. “I’ll gladly pay you for information. Will you answer my questions?”

  This was a rule of mine. Always give the thieves an honest way out. Not that any of them
had taken it.

  “By the Lady of Creation, you’re a feisty one.” Bartley grinned, showing a mouth full of yellow teeth. “Now, you’ve got me curious. Go on. Ask your questions.”

  “I’m searching for a child.” My voice cracked as I pictured six-year-old Ada. She was a tiny wisp with a huge smile and an invisible friend named Wulf. “The Vicomte Gaspard took her.”

  Bartley’s eye twitched, which came as no surprise. With the Tsar was gone, the Vicomte was the most feared man in the realm. “Never heard nothing ‘bout the Vicomte kidnapping Necromancers.”

  Of course, he hadn’t.

  “I didn’t say she was a Necromancer.” My voice dripped with venom. “You did.” Bartley knew something about my people—I could tell that without even casting a truth spell. “One last chance. Talk to me.”

  “I already did, wench.” His thin mouth twisted into a snarl. He wouldn’t answer any more questions voluntarily.

  Let’s see what magick can do.

  Raising my left hand, I pulled Necromancer energy into my body. The power was everywhere, if you knew what to look for. Thousands of travelers had passed along this very road, their hearts filled with joy, dreams, and despair. That force was still in the ether, waiting for a Necromancer to transform it. I pulled the energy into my soul.

  Magick rushed through me, energizing my body like a breath of fresh air. I focused it into my left arm. My bones there glowed blue as I whispered an incantation.

  Bones born in night

  Honed by magick’s light

  Heed my call

  Rise up for the fall

  The thief’s piggy eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like no Fantome.”

  Hope sparked in my chest. Fantomes were trained Necromancers who served the Vicomte. If Bartley knew about them, then he might be even more valuable. “I’m not a Fantome.”

  “Well, you can’t be no free Necromancer. They’re hardly none left.” His mouth set into a determined line. “Is this some kind of trick?”

  “No, it’s more of a trap.” I slipped off Smoke and stepped to the side. Pushing the power out of my hand, I set my spell loose. Blue mist appeared about Bartley’s feet just as he lunged straight for me.

  The man didn’t get far. In fact, his feet stayed rooted to the spot.

  Bartley shifted his weight, trying to break himself free. “What did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing.” I gestured toward the ground. Bartley couldn’t know it, but more of my magick had whirled beneath the soil, shifting the stones into new forms. “The skeleton I conjured, though…”

  Bit by bit, Bartley tipped his head down to peer at his worn leather boots. Skeletal hands had pushed through the earth and were now wrapped around his ankles. The white granite bones contrasted against the dark soil.

  “You bitch!” Bartley reached under his longcoat. No doubt, he was searching for a weapon.

  This wasn’t my first battle, however. I still had plenty of ambient energy left to conjure more skeletal servants.

  With a flick of my fingers, another set of bony arms burst through the ground nearby, followed by a third. Two new skeletons wiggled their way out of the soil and stood at attention. They were magnificent—seven feet tall with amber bones and glowing blue gems in their eye sockets. What a sight.

  Bartley gasped and yanked a knife out from under his coat.

  With a wave of my hand, I summoned more blue mist around me as Bartley tossed his blade at my head. My enchanted shield shattered his weapon before it got anywhere near. Metal shards burst in the air and fell in a glittering cascade to the forest floor. Necromancers weren’t supposed to show emotion, but I allowed myself a small smile.

  Four more thieves leapt out of the forest, a mixture of men and women in raggedy dress. While howling in unison, they all rushed toward me. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t counted on my skeletons. It was a common enough mistake. Most conjured skeletons were clumsy things that lumbered toward their enemies. Not mine. All my castings were whip-fast and deadly. The moment my skeletons saw I was under attack, they wrapped their bony arms around the thieves’ throats, snapping their necks in quick succession. All except one.

  Bartley gasped. “Who are you?”

  “Someone who deserves answers.” I rubbed my palms together. For extra effect, I allowed a small puff of blue mist to whirl about my hands. “Let’s try again. What do you know about the Vicomte Gaspard?”

  He lifted his chin. “Nothing. I swear.”

  “I see.” This one wouldn’t be easy to intimidate into talking. He must be hiding something really important.

  I waved my left arm, and two more skeletons wiggled out of the ground. This time, I cast them to look extra frightening. Both were eight feet tall with opal-black bones and pointed teeth. Blue light shone about their bony hands, which meant they could not only fight, but cast spells as well. The pair loomed over Bartley, their jaws clacking with silent laughter. A wet spot appeared on his pants. Excellent.

  “Tell me what you know, Bartley. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to ask them to cast a truth spell. You’ve heard about those? The skeletons squeeze information from your head. I’m told it’s very painful.”

  “I can’t tell you nothing.” Little bits of spittle flew from Bartley’s mouth as he spoke. “The Vicomte—”

  “He’s not here and I am.” I snapped my fingers, and the two dark skeletons went to work. One held Bartley’s head still while the other pointed its bony finger right above his eyeball. “Perhaps we’ll work up to a truth spell. There are other ways to injure your skull, you know.”

  “No!” Bartley stared cross-eyed at the skeletal hand. “He’s got Necromancers hidden away.”

  “Where?”

  “On Royal lands.”

  “I’ve checked every inch of that man’s estate.” Or cast spells on his servants to do it for me. “My Sisters aren’t there.”

  “I said Royal lands, didn’t I? It’s one of the nobility that has them.”

  My heart sank. I was afraid of that. There were hundreds of noble families. Searching all their lands could take years, even if I dared to use magick. “Which noble is hiding the Necromancers?”

  “I don’t know.” Bartley was visibly shaking now. I believed he was telling the truth—the man didn’t know anything more about where my people were being held. Still, I needed other kinds of information. “There’s a machine that drains magick from my kind. Have you seen it?”

  “I can’t tell you ‘bout that. He’ll find out. He’ll kill me.”

  “He might kill you.” I snapped my fingers, and the skeleton twisted its wrist, bringing the pointed bone of its fingertip even closer to Bartley’s eye. “But I definitely will.”

  Bartley howled with fright. “He’s got a device. A small thing, no bigger than a skipping stone. I never got to see it close up, but it’s made of metal. Them Fantomes put it on the prisoners. That’s what drains ‘em till they’re dead.”

  I pictured little Ada, six years old and subjected to some kind of evil contraption. The thought made me ill. “Who made this device? How does it work?”

  Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. “I don’t know. I swear.”

  I thought back to the single clue I had from Veronique, one of my Sisters from the Midnight Cloister. As she was dragged away, Veronique spoke the name of a Royal. I’d been searching for that girl ever since. “What do you know of a Royal named Amelia?”

  “You mean the Lady Amelia Masson?”

  My pulse sped. I was hoping that Veronique was referring to the Lady Amelia Masson. Mostly because I’d already checked another dozen Lady Amelias already and had come up empty. “What do you know of Amelia Masson?”

  “Lady Amelia lives near here. She’s crazy. Locked herself up for years.”

  Worry weighed on my shoulders. I hadn’t considered that one of the Amelias wouldn’t be sane enough to answer my questions. “And that’s all you know about her?”

  “Bandits broke into her mansi
on a few months back. Took some silver and ran for the forest. After that, they all disappeared. No one knows what happened to them, but I’m guessing it wasn’t good.”

  “Why do you say that?” I happened to know for a fact that those bandits were dead. I’d found the bodies myself, after I uncloaked the magick that concealed them. They lay in the forest not far from here.

  “Lady Amelia is under the Vicomte’s protection. One of his adopted children, you know?”

  “I’ve heard.” Amelia Masson was also said to be a genius with mechanics, not that I was about to volunteer that information.

  “Well, them bandits had no business breaking into her house. Everyone knows what happens when you attack what the Vicomte sees as his property.”

  “Indeed.” The Fantomes had tortured those bandits for days before they finally killed them. My chest tightened with rage. The bodies had been twisted and flayed almost beyond recognition.

  Bartley was shaking more violently now. “That’s all I know. I swear.”

  I believed him. Still, I needed to be sure. I nodded to the skeleton holding Bartley. “Test him.”

  All the blood drained from Bartley’s face. “You said you wouldn’t cast no truth spells.”

  “Forcing you to speak is different from testing whether you just lied. This one won’t hurt.”

  The skeleton gripped the thief’s head while blue light flared more brightly around its bony hands. “He’s telling the truth, Grand Mistress.”

  “Fine.” I couldn’t hide the note of disappointment in my voice. “Erase his memory and set him loose.”

  “As you command.”

  The skeleton’s hands flared blue once again. Bartley’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the ground. He’d sleep for an hour and wake up with a headache. Not to mention a lot of work to do if he chose to bury his friends.

  One of the opal skeletons turned to me. “Will you need anything more?”

  “No, you all may go.” I waved my hand, and the skeletal servants settled back into the earth. Once they were gone, I tapped my cheek and thought through Bartley’s news. There were two kinds of people on my continent. First, there were Necromancers, who had magick. Second, there were the Forgotten Ones, who had none. Of course, Forgotten Ones would say they had learning and machines, which were superior to mage craft. Personally, I’d rather have magick any day.