Naughty Necromancer (Reaper Collective Book 2)

by Riley Archer

  Jose swayed to the music. “If you look just as good at the end of the party as you do at the beginning, you’re doing something wrong.”

  I briefly thought about the Wildenhoff Manor massacre. I was certain I looked like a century-old ragdoll by the end of it—one that had been given to a rapid puppy—but it was still all kinds of wrong. The foreboding feeling of tragedy dangled over my head like a raincloud, and I propped open my mental umbrella in response.

  I had more imminent concerns to worry about. For example, I was pretty sure my lethal sidekicks were drunk.

  “Follow me!” Ash pumped one fist in the air, grabbed my free hand with hers, and began dragging me to some undisclosed location.

  We weaved through the crowd, and I recognized only Eliza in the corner, wearing the same blush-colored scarf she had on earlier over a cream-colored dress. She wore a mask, but if I was being honest, these half-masks didn’t hide anyone’s identity; the mystery of this masquerade was built mostly by glamour. And even if the half-mask had concealed Eliza’s face, there was no mistaking her hair.

  I would’ve waved to the werewolf tour guide, but my hands were preoccupied.

  Next thing I knew, I was out of breath on the third floor, sweat greasing my grip on my now-empty glass. The bubbly and exertion mixed, rose to my brain, and made my head a little floaty.

  I was cut off from anything but food. Because when I showed Travis the consequence of threatening the lives of the few people I cared about, I needed a sober mind to savor it.

  “Do you think the dangerous kitten will come out to play?” Jose asked as we followed a couple of feet behind Ash.

  Two sets of winding stairs had zero effect on her energy level. I had no idea where she was leading us, but she was on a mission to get us there.

  I set the glass down on the floor, a bit out of the way but obvious enough for whatever cleaning crew swept the halls at the end of this. Jose seemed to like the lazy idea and set his glass down beside mine.

  “Don’t think so.” I rubbed the slickness from my hands against the smooth fabric of my dress. I regretted it just a little. “The dangerous kitten got what she wanted.”

  “Ooh, what did she want?” Jose was suddenly close, two hands on my arm as he prepared to inhale every detail about Mari.

  “A contract burned. She—”

  “Can you not keep secret, Criminella?” Mari manifested against the stone wall, mostly humanoid but with her ears and tail out in the open. And her ghostly knives. Particularly the one she held in her hand, the sharp tip indenting one fleshless finger.

  “My liege.” Jose curtsied.

  I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “I’m surprised you’re still haunting this place.”

  “Perhaps I haunt you.” She tipped the knife toward me. So, the kitten spy was still spying. No wonder I’d felt like I was being watched.

  An annoyed Ash backtracked, but her lines of frustration melted when she saw Mari. “I see we’ve formed our own little party.” She clapped. “Follow me, and it’ll get even better.”

  I still didn’t have an inkling where she was leading us, but her unwavering intent made me suspicious.

  “Did Travis offer a good price for you to slice me up?” I asked Mari as she sashayed beside us.

  “What is good price for ghost?” Mari tilted her head as she considered this.

  I pretended to think about it. “A menu’s worth of sushi?”

  She hissed.

  Jose almost laughed, but he crushed it into a petulant cough before it left his lips. He grimaced at me instead. I supposed he’d fully assigned himself as Mari’s agreeable minion. It was kind of funny. As murderous as I’d seen him be, I’d still put my bets on Mari eating him alive.

  Ash finally reached a door. It was a regular old Driftwood Academy door, and nobody else seemed to be around up here. She knocked. Not even a secretive, Morse-code kind of knock, but the evergreen schoolhouse knock-knock-knock-knock-knock, knock-knock rhythm.

  I glimpsed Damian’s lush lashes as he opened the door from the other side.

  Now I’m double suspicious.

  When I passed the threshold into the room, I couldn’t help but notice it was adorned top-to-bottom in Christmas decorations. There was a tree full of ornaments, mistletoe hanging from … everywhere, and red, green, and bright white lights dripped down the walls like raindrops. Other than a giant chest on the ground and what appeared to be a teacher’s desk under Damian’s butt, the space was empty.

  I propped my hands on my hips. “Which one of you kidnapped Santa?”

  Better him than me. But seriously, I had no other explanation. Unless …

  “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out you’re a December baby?” Ash said from behind me. I didn’t have to look at her to feel the satisfaction radiating from her body.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes!” Ash said with a dose of sick delight.

  Yep, I was born on Christmas, like the forbidden-species gift nature never asked for. By my count, this celebration was a tad early.

  When I opened my eyes again, I set my sights on Damian. This was his fault, him and his goddamn access to student records. Was there anyone here who wasn’t a snoop?

  I pointed at his mask-less face. He wasn’t dressed up at all, unless dressing up like the twin he was holding hostage still counted. “I’m going to kill you.”

  I took a step forward, and he held one halting palm out. “But if you do that, you won’t get this.”

  His other hand pulled something from behind his back. A wrapped present shaped like a brick. I was intimately familiar with that shape. I reached out for it.

  Could it be—

  “Not yet, winter princess,” Damian waved a finger. I wanted to snap it off. “First, I need you to test something.” He went behind the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a potted cast-iron plant with limp, wide leaves.

  It was as if he knew I was wearing my creepy bone necklace around my leg like a zombie garter, held in place by pieces of Scotch tape. Ash and Jose both laughed and disapproved as they assisted me with it earlier.

  The side of my finger brushed against the hard edge of the necklace. “A magic show before presents? What kind of gift is that?”

  “This is why I haunt you,” Mari purred with a knife between her teeth.

  Some serious scheming had taken place recently. And, apparently, the furball sadist had been spying while it happened.

  I smiled as sweetly as I could. Then, a wave of red magic, flittering with green strands, materialized above my palms. It weaved its way toward Damian. I made sure the unnatural magic touched his cheek before it possessed the lifeless stems of the plant in his grasp.

  He shot me an annoyed glance, which wasn’t terribly satisfying. I’d hoped to make him flinch.

  The leaves stretched and grew, and Ash gasped like she was watching the best circus show on the planet. When their attention was focused on one obnoxiously animated stretchy leaf, I focused my attention on a less-watched one; I made a sling around the brick-shaped present and flung it toward myself.

  The magic dispersed as soon as I had my prize in my grasp. After a few seconds of tearing Christmas paper, I held Mr. Sparky in my hands.

  It may have been the best birthday present ever, but my finger landed on the trigger out of habit. And I kept my finger there. Because they made me do tricks for it like a puppy in potty training.

  “Before you decide to go full thunderstorm on us …” Ash darted to the chest and opened it. She reached in and grabbed something; whatever it was, a burgundy velvet blanket was draped over it. “We have another present for you.”

  When she stood before me again, a purple-tinted crystal ball was pressed between us. Its gilded stand made me think of a clawfoot bathtub.

  I tried to hold my facial features in place as I scanned hers for any hint of what she was thinking.

  One question pounded behind my eyelids: Does she kno
w about my mom?

  “Someone else wants to say happy birthday.” Ash brushed her hand over the thick curve of glass, and when she was done, Tanaka’s mocha eyes glittered back at me.

  21

  The Head in a Fishbowl

  I stared too long, half-convinced it was a trick.

  But his hair was matted to his head and the orange of his collar peeked into view like a bite of ugly reality. But it wasn’t the same as when I saw my mother from afar, completely unaware she was being observed. Otto was up close and personal; it was like his head had been shrunken and shoved into a fishbowl.

  Judging the dark crescents lining the bottom of his eyes, he wasn’t sleeping well. Something pinched deep in my heart.

  Then, all sentiment left me in an instant. Cold determination took its place.

  “Where are you?” My voice dropped to its rock-bottom octave.

  “I won’t tell you that. I don’t want you—or any of you—getting any ideas about coming to get me. You’ll just end up in line for deactivation. But I’m glad to see you all together. Happy early birthday, recruit.”

  “I have an idea of a present you can give me.” A year ago, he’d brought me a slice of cake in the High-Risk Department cafeteria. If physical-to-spiritual world transport did weird things to vegetables, it mutilated baked goods. And right after, Diana had sung happy birthday. I was miserable about the whole thing, but I missed the simplicity of the moment now. “Tell me this. Are you in Ash and Jose’s Abyss prison?”

  “It’s not our prison!” Jose sounded and looked completely appalled, his jaw dropped and his hand against his heart.

  “I doubt they’d put him where we could easily find him,” Ash added with the certainty of someone who had already thought about it.

  Otto shook his head. At least that’s what it looked like he was doing. “It doesn’t matter where I am.”

  Of course it matters, some squeaky voice in my mind said. Nope, I said back to it. No time for anything gushy. And no being gushy with Otto. Ever.

  I exhaled a cool, slow breath. “Okay. How are you talking to me right now?”

  I’d dig for a hint in whatever answer he gave me.

  Otto’s ever-blank face went even blanker, which meant he didn’t want to tell me something.

  I cleared my throat, the gears in my head churning. I’d tried and failed to get him to break many times. Puppy dog eyes didn’t work on him, and neither did threats. I set my sights on Ash.

  “This was arranged somehow. How’d you do it?”

  Ash’s eyes flashed down at Otto’s seemingly floating head, and then she gave me an evasive grin.

  Plant-necromancy magic filled one of my hands, and Mr. Sparky’s blue electricity snapped above the other. “Ash.”

  She rolled her eyes like I was a child throwing a fit, but she’d also inched away. “He has a magic mirror stashed in his dimensional vault. So what?”

  Otto closed his eyes and tucked his chin closer to his neck—the ultimate sign of Tanaka disappointment.

  My magic died down as I homed in on Otto. “If you can access a dimensional vault, why not slip into it and escape?” I let Mr. Sparky’s sparks fly to accentuate my point.

  Now Damian pressed his fingers into his eyes like he was the disappointed one. “That’s a good way to get stuck in some black-space limbo.”

  Sounded like Damian was a chicken. “If you can stick objects in there—”

  “Living beings are too complex to be enclosed in a spiritual sock drawer. There’s a reason dimensional elevators were created.”

  “And there’s a reason you need to duck right now.” Damian squinted at me. I let him sit confused for a nanosecond before I kicked off my right heel. It flung pretty far, actually, but it landed closer to Mari than to him. Damn. I returned my attention to the fatalistic Grim. “So, why not pull out a scythe or something and free yourself the old-fashioned way?”

  Otto’s hand came into view as he pushed a loose tress from his forehead. “Them knowing I can access the vault is more dangerous than me being here.”

  I lowered my voice as if that would prevent Damian from commenting. “Why wouldn’t you be able to access it?”

  “Reapers are employees, Ellis. Permissions are given and taken. But being among the Concordat Guardians has allowed me to retain some control without the Collective’s knowledge.” He glanced over his shoulder. I imagined a Hulk-like Enforcer approaching his cell. “I don’t have much time.”

  But … the Concordat Guardians? My league of fake foster parent protectors, assembled by the Necromancer Queen? And … Otto was part of it?

  I’d thought maybe he owed one of them a favor or something, because of what Atlas said before we sent him straight to hell, but I hadn’t expected this.

  Before I launched another onslaught of questions, he said, “Goodbye for now, Ellis.”

  That for now felt like the softening of a blow. I didn’t like it at all.

  I mindlessly reached for the crystal ball. When I brushed the cool glass, the contact zinged against my skin. When I pulled away, I saw Otto’s fingers fade from view inside a cloud of fog, as if he’d reached out just as the connection broke.

  Everyone was quiet for a moment, their eyes pointed to their feet. The soles of mine were on vastly different levels thanks to my failed attack against Damian.

  I’d pretend that was the reason I was off balance.

  An accented purr—that sort of sounded like a tsk—broke the silence. “Lost your slipper, Criminella.”

  I turned, and Mari dangled my shoe in the air. It swung side to side, its heel looped over the blade she’d been toying with all night.

  I carefully grabbed it, half expecting her to slash out at me for fun.

  As I slid my foot back inside the heel, Ash said, “Well, that was the most depressing cheer-up in existence. Ellis, why don’t you go stand by Damian?”

  Damian had an extra pronounced slouch in his shoulders as he leaned against the desk, his hands tucked in his pockets. He didn’t look cheerful; he looked sad in a distant sort of way.

  Giving me gifts probably bummed him out. I wondered if I’d get a third present tonight.

  Jose took me by the elbow and led me over to Damian. As if reading the question in my eyes, Damian shrugged when I faced him. He didn’t know what they were up to either.

  Then, Jose pointed to the ceiling.

  We were under mistletoe. These idiots.

  Ash seemed to pick up on our complete lack of cooperation. “Aw, c’mon. Cheer us all up!”

  I leaned in close to Damian, and I could practically feel Tweedledee and Tweedledum suck in tense breaths.

  My lips brushed the lobe of his ear. “Wanna kiss my knuckles?”

  I caught the edge of what looked like a smirk before Mari growled. The sound was a blend of vicious and curious. All heads turned to her.

  Her hackles were raised. Literally raised, because she was back in kitty form. “Da, this soap opera has been fun. Better entertainment downstairs now.” That was the only explanation she gave before vanishing.

  Seemingly at once, the four of us remaining funneled through the doorway.

  We didn’t have to reach the bottom floor to descend into utter chaos.

  Ghosts slid down railings, clinked glasses together until they shattered, and poured trays of party sandwiches down their gullet, which passed through their see-through bodies and splatted against the ground. And that was just the first batch we ran into.

  22

  The Spectral Party Crashers

  I remembered my first day on campus and a moderately innocent interest in something called a Specter Simulator.

  Although I hadn’t gotten to play with it myself, it appeared somebody had taken it for a massive joy ride. As in they’d cranked the handle until they’d used the last of whatever spirit-making juice was in there. Based on how many ghosties roamed the halls and danced across the floor, I’d say the Specter Simulator had been recently stocked up. An
d, based on their obscene energy levels, I’d say it included an injection of ectoplasmic Red Bull.

  The ghosts varied from full-on humanoid shapes to cartoonish blobs, as if whatever dial that gave them their mold had been demolished.

  Dolled-up reaper students whined as mean-spirited apparitions attempted to spin them out of their clothes, treating them like life-sized barbies. One girl was in a tug-o-war match with a ghost over her sheer shawl. She gave up and let go; the ghost spun like a ballerina, the shawl wrapping around its condensed body like an oversized towel.

  Pissed off reapers—the few who must’ve been Grims—slashed scythes at their spectral attackers. To no effect. I guessed because they weren’t real spirit matter, they were simulations. I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but I now knew it rendered the most mystical weapon of all time useless.

  “Oh, my God. Someone spiked the simulator.” Ash ogled the madness while we lingered at the bottom of the stairwell. Admiration, or maybe envy, filled what I could see of her face.

  Jose, however, was all but panting with admiration. I was surprised drool wasn’t dripping from the sides of his full, parted lips.

  “Spiked it with uppers?” I ducked to avoid a free-floating hand that tried to rip my mask off. I swatted at the grabby limb like it was a fly.

  I wondered if the Illusionists had anything to do with this. I couldn’t spot any of them anywhere—present company excluded. Suspicion pricked at me.

  Is it possible they’re admiring their own handiwork?

  Just before I accused Ash and Jose—or hell, even Damian—of these shenanigans, Dean Duvall walked in with what looked like a giant, handheld vacuum propped on her shoulders. Her sneer that could flay flesh was on full display; if anything, it had been sharpened. Her long hair was tied to the nape of her neck, dangling several inches past her exceptionally round butt. She was dressed like someone who was about to throw paint at canvases.