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

by Hailey Edwards

  “You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”

  “Did I mention the likelihood of them carding you goes lower as your hem goes higher?”

  Following Boaz like a love-struck puppy had given me one heck of an education in more ways than one.

  Volkov raked his gaze over me, assessing. “How old are you?”

  Curiosity pulsed behind the words, and I wondered how often he interacted with my kind—or humans for that matter. Necromancers commanded respect. Humans, on the other hand, were food, their lives too short for most vampires to take notice of them.

  “Twenty-one.” Old enough to barhop without the fake ID for a change.

  “So young,” he murmured.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five,” he admitted. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  “Age is just a number between friends,” I assured him, unwilling to consider the true issue.

  “So it is.” His rich chuckle rewarded me. “Can I ask if I’m your only friend with a sun allergy?”

  “You can, and you are.” I fiddled with his bangle, which snapped his gaze to my wrist. Slowly, before I compounded my faux pas, I slid my hand out of sight to avoid the temptation to fidget. “I do, however, have a stalker of the undead variety.”

  With Volkov pressed so close, I felt his thigh muscles tense. “What do you mean?”

  “A vampire was waiting for me when I got home from work the night I met you.” I outlined our conversation and his threats from the parking lot too. “Any clue who he might represent?”

  “Without a name, it’s impossible to guess.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “You’re a valuable asset, Grier. All the clans with means will be in contact with you in the coming days. Of that I’m certain. It could be that this male represents a clan without the funds or clout to win you over by traditional means and seeks to intimidate you.”

  “Do I get to know why everyone wants a piece of me all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not my place.” Frustration turned his comment bitter. “You’ll learn soon enough, and when you do, you’ll understand why an alliance will be beneficial to you, and why remaining unallied will only encourage more such incidents.”

  Thinking back on what Odette told me, I had to be certain he and I were on the same page. “You’re talking about me marrying for protection.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re okay with your master offering you up on a silver platter?”

  “You’re beautiful, kind and intelligent. I could do far worse.” He sobered. “Do you understand how the vampiric clan system operates?”

  “I understand basic vampire biology and how the undead caste system works. The rest wasn’t a concern of mine. I was being trained as an assistant and not as a practitioner.”

  A peculiar expression swept over his features before he smoothed them. “Last Seeds are a caste unto themselves, but we are loyal to the clan that bred us. For me, that was Clan Volkov. I’m the first Last Seed my line has produced in centuries. I will outlive them all, and that makes it my sworn duty to oversee the protection, growth and wellbeing of the clan. As the youngest born vampire, I am the heritor, but one day soon, I will be named master.”

  I gulped audibly, and his eyes tracked the motion as my throat worked. “You’ve got the wrong girl for the job, Mr. Volkov.”

  A clan master’s wife I was not. I could barely take care of myself, let alone hundreds of undead.

  “Danill,” he insisted. “You’re young, but you’re strong. I would be proud to have you at my side.”

  “Until I turned old and gray,” I mumbled. “I’ll be honest here. I’m not sure I could handle aging while you stay young and gorgeous. I’m not a vain person, I don’t think, but it would poison me from the inside out if I had to know you were entertaining younger, more beautiful women on the side.”

  “Our vows are sacred.” He shifted to look at me head-on. “Accept my offer, and you accept me for who and what I am as I will accept you for who and what you are. I will be yours until your dying breath, and I vow I will never injure your pride or your heart.”

  “I was just granted my freedom. I can’t toss it away without a good reason, and you can’t give me one.”

  “I am under orders I can’t break.” His gaze skittered to the window. “No matter how much I might wish to gain the advantage with you, I am bound to silence.”

  A concern niggled at the back of my mind, and it popped out before I could filter my mouth. “Heritors are answerable only to their masters…and the Grande Dame of the Society.”

  “See what I mean? Intelligent.” His slow smile held a razor’s edge. “You are also correct.”

  Black spots danced in my vision at what he wasn’t telling me. The Grande Dame had anticipated the offer his master and the others would make, and she must have put orders in place to hobble their efforts as much as possible. Meaning she intended to make an offer herself. Not good. Not good at all.

  I took a moment to study his profile while his attention was fixated elsewhere. “Will you attend the inauguration tomorrow night?”

  “I have no choice.” Catching the slip-up, he amended with, “It’s my pleasure to witness history in the making as the first Grande Dame of my generation is named.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “You sound about as happy as I am to be going.”

  “Born vampires aren’t allowed much socialization outside our clans until we reach our majority. You’re the first necromancer I’ve engaged in conversation. Are your kind not the community-minded group they present themselves to be?” His bland delivery informed me he was well aware of what dangerous waters he treaded. “Isn’t that the point of calling themselves a Society?”

  “We have a Grande Dame.” I shook my head. “Necromancers are all about the prestige. The Society for Post-Death Management sounds more upscale and corporate than Will Raise the Dead for Cash, Inc.”

  A rich, dark laugh broke from his chest. “You have more reason than most to resent their antiquated hierarchy.”

  “They aren’t all bad. The High Society is the most ridiculous. The Low Society is more relatable.”

  “Interesting,” he mused. “I would have thought being raised by Maud Woolworth would have ensured the exact opposite.”

  “I came into the culture late in life by their standards. My formal education started when I was five, which put me years behind my High Society peers. Factor in my public school education, which exposed me to humans and Low Society as my classmates, and I grew into too much of my own person to conform.”

  Stubborn as the day is long—just like your mother—that was Maud’s favorite lament.

  “Plus, Maud was not the conformist type. Dame Lawson despaired of me, the orphan her sister had adopted. She was determined the Woolworth heir act like a lady. She doesn’t have any daughters, only her son, Linus. She played with me like a doll until she grew bored with her attempts at taming me. She stuck bows in my hair I ripped out when her back turned, and I wore shorts under my skirts so I could strip them off after dinner and run outside to play. Maud just laughed and told her sister girls will be girls.”

  “You are not close to Dame Lawson then?”

  “No.”

  There was nothing more I could say about her that wouldn’t plunge me into the abyss. All my memories of that woman were strung on a thread that tied to the same fixed point in time, the worst night of my life, her recent antics included. What started as rage over what she’d ordered done to Woolly morphed to grief over Keet’s abduction which spun my thoughts back to the last time I’d faced her in the Lyceum along with the other society dames and matrons.

  I hadn’t come out on top then, and I doubted I’d climb to new heights tomorrow. All signs pointed toward new lows being in the forecast. At least I would get my bird back.

  Perhaps sensing the taut wire of my temper vibrating, he set about defusing my anger. “What can you tell me about that building?”
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br />   Though it took a moment to relocate my tour-guide persona, I reapplied her within seconds, a trick learned from Amelie.

  “The Black Hart was built in the early 1800s. It went by another name then, White Sparrow’s Tavern.” The spiel tumbled out with practiced ease, and I took comfort in the cadence of the story. “Patrons swear the building is haunted by the original owner, Brutus Sparrow, who bricked his mistress up in the basement when she tried to leave him. Folks claim he loved her so much that when she made amends with her husband, he slit her throat and walled up her corpse so he could keep her forever. Even now his wails of grief at having killed the love of his life can be heard on clear nights. And a few have even seen her wandering the halls, dressed in a filmy white nightgown slicked with blood from the gash in her throat.”

  “What about that one?” Volkov indicated the mom and pop grocery store where I liked to buy fresh fruit. “Surely there can’t be horror attached to such a wholesome place.”

  “You would be wrong.” I took his dare merrily. “The same family has owned the property since the 1920s. A Cat 1 hurricane hit Beaufort, South Carolina, in September of 1928, and it produced more than a foot of rain that caused significant flooding in Savannah. Only this end of town escaped unscathed. Everything from River Street down was underwater, including the hospital. Newspaper clippings tell us that since the market was the largest structure standing, it was cleared out and cots were brought in to aid the victims.” I wiggled my fingers at him. “According to the current owners, some mornings they go in to open the store and find lights on and objects moved by the restless spirits who perished there and the brave souls who fought to save them.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “This town is mired in creepy. All old cities are if you dig deep enough.”

  “I don’t mean the town.” His fingers brushed my arm. “I mean you.”

  “Friends don’t let friends flatter unnecessarily.” I popped his hand. “Bad vampire.”

  “I braced for the worst.” He made a vague gesture. “I expected you to be…”

  “Bitter? Reclusive? Insane?”

  “Yes,” he agreed with a wince.

  “Finish your thought.” I waved him on. “I can take it.”

  “I came to you prepared to sacrifice myself for my clan, but I see now I was a fool to doubt my master’s wisdom. What he asked of me is no sacrifice at all.”

  “I’m broken, Danill.” As a maybe friend or possible ally, I owed him that truth. “I’m held together with bubble gum, and the next time life chews me up and spits me out, this sanity thing might not stick.”

  He clasped my hands between his much larger ones. “I can’t protect you from the teeth—life grinds us all down—but you will discover in time I am exceptional when it comes to sticking around.”

  “We’re friends until you do something jackassy that makes me break up with you. Or I do.” I extricated myself from his grasp before I gave him the wrong idea. “There’s a solid fifty-fifty chance one of us will blow this.”

  “I’ll take a fifty-fifty shot over none at all.” He settled back against the seat, content. “Who will you bring with you to the inauguration? The friend I met?”

  “Boaz?” I imagined him on my arm, his warmth thawing the chill in my heart, but the image flickered into him vaulting from the amphitheater’s lush marble floor into the stadium-like seats, where he’d strangle the new Grande Dame with her own pantyhose. “No. Definitely not.” I had already lost him to the draft. I wasn’t about to let him commit treason. “I plan on going stag.”

  “Would you consider a formal escort rather than a date?”

  “Call me paranoid, but I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure tomorrow night will spell my doom in all caps.” A date, escort, whatever, would also get in the way of her negotiating with me for Keet’s safe return. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, not when she has pull with your clan and can make your life miserable until she kicks the bucket.”

  “What is one century in the span of my lifetime?” The tips of his fangs, lengthening with his desire to protect—probably another side effect of wearing his blood as a fashion statement—pressed into his bottom lip. “Let me prove my worth. Let me show you the value in my offer. Let me give you, at least for one night, the comfort of having a clan at your back.” His voice lowered. “You don’t have to face her alone, and unlike your friend, I can behave.” He rolled a wide shoulder. “Within reason.”

  Arriving with Volkov on my arm would make a statement, and it would be nice not to face the firing squad alone.

  “Okay.” I stuck out my hand, and his engulfed mine when we shook. “It’s not a date.”

  Seven

  My stalkerpire failed to put in his threatened appearance, but that likely had more to do with the two slabs of beef Volkov ordered to stand guard at my front door the rest of the night and into the next day than any change of heart. Neither male would meet my eyes, but when I checked on them before bed, they addressed me with a quiet reverence that unsettled me.

  Apparently my value was a well-known commodity to everyone.

  Except me.

  Or, I had to allow, it was possible they merely protected that which their heritor deemed valuable. They might have done the same for any woman who found herself in Volkov’s crosshairs. How awkward that must make dating for him. I could stand the cage he’d lowered around me for now, until I got my answers at the inauguration, but I would suffocate beneath such precautions over time. Having known the inside of a cell intimately, I had promised myself never to return to one. No matter how well-intended the protection might be.

  Plus, it was downright humiliating when the bodyguards stampeded up the stairs and bulldozed into my room at dusk after they heard me screaming in my sleep. Waking up to two vamps—fangs out—hissing at shadows in my room was almost worse than traversing the dark and twisting dreamscape of my mind.

  Well, I had warned Volkov I was broken, right? Maybe evidence of exactly how shattered would send him running.

  An all’s well chime rang out, and I fought a losing battle with a grin as my company arrived.

  “Damn, girl. This is your house?” Neely gawked on the front porch. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” The porchlight near him flickered the tiniest bit as Woolly preened, and I cleared my throat loudly to remind her not to show off in front of our very human guest. “Come on in.”

  “What’s the deal with your bookends?” he asked once the door shut behind him and his rolling bag. “They look like bodyguards.” His eyes rounded. “Are they bodyguards?”

  I winced and told a half-truth. “The guy I’m dating is overprotective.”

  And the vamps, after my screaming episode, had refused to budge from their posts during Neely’s visit. They were already dead. It wouldn’t have killed them to hide in the bushes for a couple of hours.

  “Are we talking celebrity protective? Political-figure protective?” He glanced over his shoulder like he could still feel their eyes on him. “Or are we talking mob protective?” He lowered his voice. “Do you need help? Tug your earlobe once for yes and twice for no.”

  “Neely.” I burst out laughing. “Danill Volkov is a lot of things, but a mob boss is not one of them.” I twisted the truth, an ugly necessity around humans, yet again. “A strange man was spotted on my property after our first date. Considering who he is, he’s concerned for my safety is all.”

  “Volkov?” he squeaked, dropping his bag’s handle and grabbing me by the shoulders. He shook me until my eyes rattled. “Are you insane? Volkov House is a shrine to that family’s obsession to acquire what they want at any price. And that was just a charred pile of lumber.”

  Chills blasted up my arms for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint. I was aware of the house’s bloody history, and I had an inkling of Volkov’s clout, though it would help if I could access Woolly’s basement to get at the library, but Neely’s perceptiveness had switched on a light in my head that wo
uldn’t fade anytime soon.

  Before I wrapped my mouth around a defense of Volkov’s honor, Woolly chimed again. This time there was a trill of excitement in the sound I hoped Neely would blame on bad wiring.

  “Hold that thought.” I scrambled to the front door, half-expecting to find one of the siblings Pritchard, but a third vampire stood on the porch wearing a familiar jaunty hat with a garment bag slung over his shoulder. It’s official. Woolworth House is infested. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Volkov sends his regards, miss.” He slid the bag down his arm then offered it to me. “And this.”

  “What is…?” Through the peephole near the zipper, I spied silky blue fabric. “He bought me a dress?”

  “Apologies, miss, if this seems too forward.” He extended his arms farther, careful not to reach across the threshold. “The invitations went out late by the usual standards, and he worried you might not have had an opportunity to shop for the occasion.”

  Or the funds for a dress as extravagant as my former rank required. None of the gowns in my closet still fit. Not even a corset could save me. Borrowing from Amelie had been my only option, but the simple cut and serviceable materials were the Low Society equivalent of a uniform, albeit a lovely one, and I would have stood out like a sore thumb amid the High Society glam.

  With one thoughtful gesture, Volkov had spared me from cutting remarks hidden behind jewel-encrusted hands and mocking laughter they wouldn’t have bothered to hide at all. I didn’t want to like him for it, not when I knew he had an agenda where I was concerned, but I appreciated his thoughtfulness all the same.

  “Tell Mr. Volkov I appreciate his generosity.” I accepted the bag before the driver could drape it over my shoulder to be rid of its responsibility. “I look forward to seeing him tonight.”