How to Save an Undead Life (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy Book 1)

by Hailey Edwards

  Back when the deceased had been mine, Maud had named him Keet Richards. I was five when she became my legal guardian, and I’m embarrassed to admit how long it took me to unravel the pun. I might still be clueless about Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones fame had I not stumbled across her vinyl collection while searching for monkey bones in the attic one summer.

  Holding my breath, I plunged my hands into the rich soil. The soggy edges of a buried shoebox stood up to my fondling despite the dampness from this evening’s thunderstorms. It helped that the deceased hadn’t been buried long. A half hour at most. Longer than that and Mrs. Pritchard would have had a coronary by now considering how her youngest son had rezoned her bed full of prize-winning perennials as a pet cemetery.

  I dug my toes into the lush grass and shivered as a garden spider bustled across my heel. I gave three good tugs, and the cardboard coffin pulled free. After dusting off the top, I traced the decorations scribbled in crayon down the sides then lifted the lid. Paper towels folded to resemble sheets on a bed rested high on the dead bird’s chest where he had been tucked between them for one final snooze.

  Keet’s silver-white cheeks looked as plump and adorable as I remembered. His feathers as bright yellow as a fresh banana peel. His bill and legs held a reddish tint, and his eyes, when they opened again, would be deep crimson.

  That was thanks to his Lutino coloring, not magic, but the effect was eerie all the same.

  “Hey, little guy.” I lifted him with care and set about tidying the area so no one would suspect precocious little Macon of playing mortician. “Long time, no see, huh?”

  Having been dead for some time, the parakeet didn’t answer.

  That would have been creepy.

  Fisting the bone handle on Maud’s bag, I hauled it closer. The latches flipped with ease, and I cracked the top halves open, rooting around in the bag’s cavernous belly until my fingers located my favorite round paintbrush in its case. I removed the brush and a jar of crimson ink that smelled of spiced pennies then set them at my knee.

  Other necromancers-in-training in my age group had been raised with their familiars, but I had never stayed in one place long enough for a pet until I went to live with Maud. Things might have gone differently had she not sent a softhearted kid to pick up her order of feeder mice. After learning the writhing pinkies were snake chow, I bawled until the store owner, terrified of losing a lucrative contract, shoved a parakeet into my hands to shut me up as he nudged me out the door.

  Keet was not the familiar Maud had in mind for her pupil, but she allowed the match to placate me. Sadly, the store owner had a reason for selecting that particular bird, and Keet kicked the bucket two days later. Cheered by the opportunity to use him as a teaching exercise, Maud coached me through inking my first sigils. But I must have smudged one, because bada-bing, bada-boom, I found myself the proud owner of a psychopomp.

  I’ll never forget how the blood drained from her face as his wisp of a soul reentered his rigid body, or how she made the goddess sign across her heart thrice with trembling fingers when his tiny lungs caught a second wind.

  She enrolled me in public school the next day, where my peers consisted of plain-vanilla humans and the children of Low Society members. She claimed that in order to survive in our world, one had to understand theirs. But how I was meant to grasp the workings of the High Society while masquerading as a mortal, I had no idea. And after I met Amelie and her older brother, Boaz, I stopped caring how I was ever meant to fit into that world of castes, rules and blood magic.

  Maud continued teaching me rudimentary herblore and basic warding magic on the weekends, always behind locked doors, and I excelled at both. But that one failure with Keet, who she refused to share air with, had cemented my fate.

  Assistant.

  The designation still smarted.

  A quick dip of my brush, and I painted a modified sigil on my forehead that gave me the ability to perceive souls. Yep. Just as expected, the shimmery whorl of Keet’s spirit drifted in a glittery cloud around him, bound to his corpse and the sigil burnt into my skin by a fine thread so that each of his deaths, and there had been many, summoned me. Using the end of my brush, I disturbed the halo of motes, scattering them into the night. Slowly, oh so slowly, they gravitated back to Keet and reformed as if I had never agitated them.

  Here was proof positive that my magic had been wonky from the get-go.

  Assistant indeed.

  Sitting back on my heels, I rotated his small body in my palm until his belly faced the stars. I dipped my brush and swiped a few symbols on the smooth feathers covering his abdomen. The effect left him slashed with red, as gruesome as a disemboweled murder victim, but the sigils would wash off with soap and water later.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Boaz.” The brush rolled from my fingers, and my heart clanged against my ribs. The urge to glance back at him twitched in my neck, but fear he might vanish like mist if I looked at him head-on kept me staring straight ahead. “Amelie said you got deployed.”

  “Yeah, well, I got undeployed.” He nudged the tips of my toes with the blunt edge of his massive boot. “You’d know that if you hadn’t been hiding from me.”

  “I haven’t been hiding,” I lied on reflex, shielding my own wounded pride.

  “You don’t call. You don’t email. You don’t snail mail.” A growl laced his voice. “Sounds like hiding to me.”

  “At least I didn’t run.” I balled my empty fist in my lap. “How is what you did any better?”

  “I enlisted.”

  “Maud was barely in the ground when you shipped out.”

  “You were already gone,” he seethed. “What did you expect me to do? Stay in Savannah? Wake up every morning and see your house sitting empty? Torment myself with the knowledge you weren’t there? That I would never see you again?”

  “Stop,” I whispered.

  “They sentenced you to Atramentous without a fucking trial—”

  “Stop.”

  Boaz was past listening. How his parents didn’t hear us shouting, I had no idea. Then again, they ought to be used to yelling where he and I were concerned. After all, he was a firm believer that volume increased understanding.

  “You kept in touch with Amelie.” His hurt pulsed like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop poking with his tongue. “Why not me?”

  Telling him that facing his sister was easier wouldn’t make the truth hurt any less.

  “I’m standing right here, and you can’t even look at me.” He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, the kind the sentinels used to make before hocking a loogie in my face. “I might have lost a leg, but I can still kick your ass.”

  The world ground to a halt on its axis as his threat permeated my skull.

  I whipped my head toward him, and my vision ran crimson with fury. “You what?”

  “Landmine in Afghanistan.” He bent over and knocked where his left femur should have been. It made a hollow sound that echoed in my chest. “Turns out they explode if you step on them. Who knew?”

  One minute I was kneeling in the grass, the next I was climbing him like a tree.

  Turned out I made for one pissed-off monkey.

  “Oof.”

  Impact knocked him to the grass, and I ended up straddling his hips with my right foot hooked over his shin, metallic and cold where he should be muscle and heat.

  “When?” I fisted the front of his olive drab tee and thumped his head on the ground. “When did this happen? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Amelie—”

  “I told her to keep her yap shut.” He glared up at me. “I told her if you wanted news about me, then you damn well came to the source or you’d go thirsty.” He fit his hand around the base of my throat, stroking over my carotid with a calloused thumb. “You want to get a drink with me?”

  “What? You’re asking me out? Now?” I wriggled lower on his hips, trying to get off this crazy ride. His lips twisted in a g
rimace of pain. I scrambled off him so fast I fell on my butt in the cold grass. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Naw, Grier. It feels good having my head bashed into the dirt. I worried I didn’t have enough rocks rattling around in there already.” He lifted his head and rubbed the base of his skull. “It happened two years ago. You’re not going to hurt me. The new leg is titanium. It’s tough, but don’t tear it off and start whacking me with it, okay? TRICARE only covers so much.”

  Ducking my head, shame burning my cheeks, I murmured, “Can we start over?”

  “Sure. Give me a second.” Linking his hands behind his head, he crossed his legs at the ankles and wiggled his hips. “All right. You can straddle me again. I’m ready this time. I’ll even keep my hands to myself.” His mischievous wink made heat gather low in my stomach. “I like giving orders better anyway. I’ve learned I’m good at it.”

  “Pervert.”

  He rolled a shoulder, not disagreeing with me. “The offer stands.”

  I bet it did. “Nice try. I’m not checking out your crotch.”

  His husky chuckle was pure sin. “You never did say why you were skulking around in Mom’s garden.”

  Glad for the safer conversational ground, I extended my hand so he could see. “I came to retrieve Keet.”

  His lip curled as he processed what I was holding. “Your zombie parakeet?”

  A bird pecks at one brain and people start throwing around derogatory terms.

  “He’s not a zombie.” Sure, his flight patterns were off, but he didn’t shamble through the air or anything.

  He nodded his chin to indicate the corpse. “Is resuscitating him kosher?”

  “It’s not a resuscitation. He was already dead, or undead. Whatever. All I did was bring him back from limbo and anchor him in his body.” I showed him the blackened symbol charring my palm. “I was on my way to work when the locator sigil activated. I found him out here. Guess your little brother buried him rather than face the music with your parents.”

  “He was on restriction for not cleaning the water bowl before refilling it last time we talked.” Boaz scratched his side, a grin tugging on his lips. “He must have figured hiding the body was better than another week of laundry detail.”

  “Poor kid.” I combed through the blades of grass with my fingers until I found the discarded brush, its ends clotted with ink. “I’m guessing no one told him Keet can’t starve to death?”

  “Nope.”

  No doubt that was all his idea.

  “Come on, Squirt.” He leveraged into a seated position, his abs flexing beneath the thin fabric of his shirt—not that I noticed—then rolled to his feet in a motion so smooth he must have practiced it. “I’ll walk you home so you don’t get into more trouble.”

  At barely eight o’clock on a Friday night, with a full moon to boot, Boaz seriously underestimated my skills.

  Two

  My feeble attempts at ignoring Boaz were about as successful as the time I tried resuscitating a T-rex skeleton at a natural history museum when I was eight. A security guard hauled me in front of Maud and explained how I had been caught painting the dinosaur bones red. She had laughed, brayed really, until tears streamed down her face and streaked her mascara. To prevent gums from bumping about the incident, she made a sizable donation to ensure the local media outlets wouldn’t come sniffing around for coverage of the chubby-faced vandal with artistic aspirations.

  The Society for Post-Life Management was about as forgiving of such indiscretions as an old-money wife spotting a nouveau-riche neighbor wearing white after Labor Day.

  The third member of our trio that day had been Linus, Maud’s nephew. He was five years older than me, so thirteen at the time, and he had spent that weekend with us. Call it a hunch, but I always suspected he was the one who’d tattled to the mortal authorities.

  Even as a kid, he had been as stuffy as a taxidermied moose.

  The short walk home thawed my limbs, and my unexpected arrival so soon after departing meant Woolly didn’t have time to mount an offensive. I strolled right in, Boaz on my heels, and headed straight for the kitchen. I set Maud’s bag on the table in plain sight to remind me to wash out the brush before returning her supplies to storage then patted the squirmy lump nestled in the front pocket of my T-shirt.

  “Look who’s back,” I called out to Woolly. “Our old pal Keet.” I jerked my chin in Boaz’s direction. “Oh yeah. This weirdo followed me home too.”

  The light cast from the overhead fixtures swelled with such bright joy I had to squint to bear the glare. Cupboard doors flapped open on their hinges, sounding like a round of applause as they bumped off the base cabinets, and he took a sweeping bow.

  “Up high.” His palm smacked an upper cabinet door that swung out to meet him. “Down low.” He switched hands, and the lower cabinet bounced off his palm. Darting past me, he leapt up and tagged one of the smaller cabinets above the fridge before she guessed his next move. “Too slow.”

  “Okay, kids.” I shoved him onto a barstool at the counter. “No running or jumping in the house.”

  The lights overhead dimmed to normal levels, minus the occasional surge as happiness shot through her wiring.

  “You hungry, boy?” I gathered a wriggling Keet in my hand. “You’re always peckish after rising.”

  A weak chirp melted me into a puddle of goo. I really had missed the little guy. My tiny family, such as we were, was now complete. Woolly, Keet, Amelie, Boaz and me. The gang was back together again.

  “What are your plans for the night?” I wedged a stopper in the deep farmhouse sink then shredded a few paper towels to make a comfortable nest. Keet’s poor little stick legs proved too wobbly to support him just yet, so I placed him on his side and went to make good on my offer. “Anything interesting?”

  “My next stop is home. I’ve had all the interesting I can handle for one night.”

  “Home?” I glanced up at him. “Your parents don’t know you’re back yet?”

  “Figured I’d surprise them.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure the commander would let me go.” His gaze flicked up to mine. “This wasn’t my first attempt. More like my third.” He rubbed the base of his neck. “I was pissed at you, yeah, but I filed paperwork the day Amelie told me you got out. I wasn’t staying away to punish you. Or me. Or hell, both of us. I came as soon as I could without having desertion charges brought up against me.”

  “You’re here now.” In my house. In my kitchen. In my life. “That’s all that matters.”

  “It’s really not, Squirt.” His arms fell to his side. “How are you here? Why did they let you go?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “No one told me. Even if they did…”

  A sentinel had written my home address on a sticky note and pinned the yellow square to my shirt like I was a kid about to ride a school bus for the first time instead of an inmate with the mental capacity of a kindergartener. He escorted me onto the plane, and I flashed the note at the first taxi driver to approach me after I landed, just as I had been instructed. The nice old man with his crooked smile had taken me to Woolly, hooked his arm in mine, walked me up to the door, and said in a crackling voice, “You’re home.”

  That girl? The one who stumbled reading that sequence of numbers and letters, who wondered why the combination sounded so familiar? She had asked no questions. Not a single one. And I didn’t blame her.

  “Grier…” The way he rumbled my name was better than being wrapped in a warm blanket. “If you ever need to talk about what happened…”

  “Thanks.” My throat worked over a hard lump. “But I can’t.”

  “I get that.” He kicked out his amputated leg. “I understand witnessing horrors you can’t put into words. I’m just saying I’m here. You need to talk, you come to me. Understand?”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What about Amelie?”

  “I don’t care who you talk to as long as you open up to someone when the time co
mes.” He flashed me a crooked grin. “But I’m willing to make out with you to help take your mind off things after. Amelie won’t go the distance like I will.”

  I almost swallowed my tongue.

  To give my cheeks time to cool, I turned my back on him. I kept a basket of fresh veggies from the greenhouse on the counter near the fridge. I grabbed a box grater from a drawer then selected a carrot and started shredding Keet a snack. I would have to buy him fresh seed and a cuttlebone tomorrow. I could afford those if I skimped on dinner this week. I’d also have to hike the stairs leading up into the attic and find his old cage and floor stand. Unless I could con Boaz into doing the work for me.

  The blare of Boaz’s cellphone ringing made me jump on my way back to the sink, and a few veggie shreds spilled from my fingers before I could catch them and mound them with the rest in Keet’s temporary nest.

  “Hey, sis,” Boaz answered, still laughing. “How did you know—?” His gaze bored a hole through my spine. “Figures.” He grunted. “I’m still not convinced Mom didn’t have us microchipped.” A pause. “Yeah, I’ll remind her.”

  “Well?” I prompted, joining him at the bar after he ended the call.

  “Mom overheard our conversation. She called Amelie to scream at her for not telling her I was home, so she called to yell at me for not telling anyone I was home, and then she put two and two together and got five.”

  “I asked her to cover my first tour so I could recover Keet while he was still fresh.” A groan left me slumped over the counter. “She must think that I… That we…”

  “There’s still time.” His eyes twinkled. “She said you’ve got forty-five minutes left. I can get you there in ten.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I tapped my fingertips on my elbows. “Are you offering me a ride to work or an orgasm?”