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

by Hailey Edwards

  Once I was certain the coast was clear, I flipped back my covers and pulled up my shirt. The sigil from last night had sweated off, but so had the worst of the lethargy from the drugs. I sat upright without so much as a stitch in my side and planted my feet on the floor with no problem. Standing gave me a twinge, but it was doable. Walking, though. That required supreme effort.

  Part of the issue was the lingering dizziness, but the long stretch of inactivity wasn’t helping matters. How long had I been here? More than a few days. Longer than a week. A month? I’d lost track of time somewhere along the way. I had no idea how long formal inquiries lasted, but I had no doubt that was the reason I had been spared the master’s attention so far.

  Lena being Lena refused to give me the date or even tell me the day of the week. How much did she understand about what was happening? What did it matter? She wasn’t blind. She saw me languishing day after day after day and had ample opportunities to help me. Instead she placed her hand gently on top of my head and shoved me back under any time I began to surface.

  Not this time.

  I shuffled over to the wall and braced on that so I could walk laps around the room. It was daylight outside when I finished, but the quaver in my leg muscles burned almost as much as the spark of hope still smoldering in my chest.

  Exhaustion trembled through my limbs as I sprawled in bed, but I was afraid to risk napping. Arachnophobia had worked once, but I doubted Lena would buy that excuse twice without it costing me. All I needed was to make it this far then stumble when she decided the lesser of two evils was locking me in at night to save me from parachuting spiders.

  Rustling noises in the hall were my cue to lower my eyelashes and angle my face away from the door.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched one of the guards smile at Lena as she ducked under his arm and scurried to set up my breakfast on the patio. He was still grinning when he pulled the door shut and locked it behind her.

  Arching my back, I stretched and murmured a sluggish, “Good evening.”

  “How are you feeling?” Lena rushed to my side. “Would you rather eat breakfast in bed?”

  “I can handle the patio,” I assured her then wrinkled my nose enough to do Amelie proud. “I’d rather you changed my sheets in case that spider is still crawling around in here.”

  Lena chuckled at my expression. “Very well, miss. As long as you’re sure.”

  Used to the routine by now, I lifted my arms, and she scooped me against her chest and carried me to my seat. Any humiliation I’d once felt about being toted around had burned out long ago.

  “I’ll be right inside if you need me,” she assured me.

  “Thanks, Lena.”

  Deciding what to eat and how much was like playing Russian roulette. Breakfast and lunch never left me zoned out like dinner, so I figured it was safe to pick at the mixed fruits. I got most of the strawberries down before pushing away my plate. The water tasted fine, but I sipped all the same.

  I was staring at the seashell pressed into the concrete when Lena came for what I called a pulse check.

  “You didn’t eat much.” Lena examined the leftovers. “Was the fruit not to your liking?”

  “I keep thinking about what you said earlier.” I pressed a hand to my stomach. “I’m nervous about meeting the master.” I ducked my head. “And about what’s in that ring box.”

  “Ariana has the patience of a saint,” she swore. “I wouldn’t have been able to resist peeking.”

  “Have you put any more thought into what I should wear tomorrow night?”

  “I do have some ideas.” She hesitated, uncertain if I actually cared about her opinion. “Would you like me to show you?”

  “I want to look my best.” I offered her my hand. “I might need help getting back in bed, though. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” She carried me back to bed and propped me up with pillows. “Wait just a tick, and I’ll be right back with my top choices.” Her smile widened. “Then we can talk about accessories.”

  “I can’t wait.” I reclined and held my pose until she left then murmured to the empty room, “It’s going to be a long night.”

  No curtains rustled, no lights flickered, no swirl of heat embraced me.

  I missed Woolly. I missed Amelie. I even missed Boaz, the jerk. And Keet.

  With the training Boaz promised, I might have stood a chance against Volkov, but there had been no time. The Grande Dame had underestimated the vampires, how much they knew and the lengths they would go to secure me for their use, and I was paying for her miscalculation now.

  I had no allies here, no friends. Trust no one. Believe no one. I had to keep my wits about me.

  The only person I could rely on to get me out of this situation was, well, me.

  And my sad excuse for an escape plan hinged on dropped hints, sloppy sigils, and the shattered nose from the smashed-in face of a rabbit.

  Six rolling garment racks zigzagged across the center of my room. Two were dedicated to pants, three to blouses and one to shawls, jackets, and cardigans. Pushed against the wall were troves of accessories. A shoe cabinet cracked open to showcase everything from sandals to flats to neck-breaker heels. The jewelry chest, which Lena was currently digging through, sparkled like diamonds under the chandelier. Probably due to all the diamond-encrusted diamonds in there.

  “What do you think, miss?” Lena held a strand of pearls in each hand, one white and one pink. “The pink is lovely, if you ask me, and it matches the pantsuit you selected.” She tilted her head to one side and then the other. “The white is classic, and it coordinates with those peep-toe flats you liked.”

  Like was a strong word for how I felt toward any of her selections. Honestly, I didn’t feel much of anything toward anything these days. “Let’s go with white.”

  “All right then.” She draped the modest strand around the neck of the mannequin she’d wheeled into my room, the form molded to my measurements, because that wasn’t disturbing at all, and sighed over the finished product. “How lovely. The master will be so pleased.”

  The master could stick those pearls in his pipe and smoke them for all I cared. “What’s on the menu for dinner?”

  “I requested something light in case your stomach was still fluttery.” She nudged the mannequin aside. “How does French onion soup with a fresh baguette sound?”

  “Delicious.” And difficult to mask the amount of food I wasn’t eating.

  “I’ll go fetch your tray.” Lena started wheeling the dummy out with her. “Be back in a jiffy.”

  “Can you leave the outfit? Just for now?” Still in bed, I held up my hands and made a frame with my fingers. “There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on…”

  Uncertain, Lena stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You might be right, miss.”

  “Can I have extra cheese?” I asked to distract her from the mannequin. “Gruyère is one of my favorites.”

  “Whatever you like.” Pleasure and relief mingled in her expression. “I’ll be right back.”

  I waited until the doors closed then leapt out of bed and dashed for the clothes racks. I dug through every shade of pink known to man before finding one pair of simple, black slacks. I wasn’t as fortunate with the tops. The best I could find was a dusky rose that could pass for brown in low light. The shoe rack was easiest. A pair of black ballet flats had caught my eye first thing. Rushing to the bed with my contraband, I ripped back the sheets then smoothed the clothes across the foot of the bed before climbing in and pulling the covers up to my chest.

  Propped up like a princess, I awaited Lena’s return. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Here we are,” she trilled. “I’ll just set you up on the patio and—”

  “I didn’t get much sleep after the spider incident. Would it be too much trouble if I took dinner in bed?”

  Stepping one foot out of this bed might cost me the outfit and the element of surprise if Lena fell back on her o
ld habits. I couldn’t risk her snooping, so I had to play up her expectations of me.

  “You poor dear.” She balanced the tray on the edge of the nightstand, folded down its legs, and placed it over my lap. “You must be exhausted.” She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Would you like to skip your bath?”

  “Yes.” I spooned in the first mouthful of soup, pretending to ignore the bitter slide down the back of my throat. “I can wake earlier and bathe before the presentation.”

  “An excellent idea,” she agreed, then welcomed two guards into the room to help her trundle all the clothes back up to what she considered my room. “I’ll be right back.”

  I spooned in as much as I could stomach without getting too woozy then put my acting chops to the test by reclining against my pillows and shutting my eyes. I kept the spoon threaded between my fingers for added realism, wishing she would let me keep it but knowing she would pry it from my fist.

  Wheels squeaked, hangers clacked, and locks snapped into place. Gentle voices told me they’d noticed I’d dropped off and didn’t want to disturb me. Whoever the master was, he had left strict orders for me to be pampered like a princess. One locked in a tower, but a princess all the same.

  Warm lips pressed to my forehead, a motherly gesture, reminding me that despite Lena’s appearance, I had no idea of her true age. With practiced ease, she disarmed me and cleared away the dishes. Her soft shoes whispered over the tile, and the door shut on a sigh.

  The temptation to nap dragged at me, but I only had one chance to do this before the master returned. Security was insane with me in residence. I didn’t imagine that would change once he arrived. Masters were guarded even closer than heritors. Volkov had two shadows. The master could have six or more trained warriors in his entourage.

  An hour passed as best I could tell, and then another. Anticipation itched under my skin, and I was ready for a good scratching. I eased out of bed on unsteady legs, the drugs turning my blood sluggish, and made my way to the patio. After locating the shell, I knelt and retrieved the shard.

  “No going back now.” Lena hadn’t scented the bit of extra blood from the tiny sigil last night, but there was no pretending innocence after I made the first cut. “Hecate, be merciful.”

  Though the goddess and I weren’t on great terms, she was all the comfort I had in this twisted palace.

  Tugging my shirt over my head, I gritted my teeth and braced for the coming pain. I raked the shard across my ribs, and blood slid down my side. I tugged my hair free of its elastic band, and my makeshift brush tumbled into my lap.

  I’d been deliberating on what sigils to pull from my arsenal for days. Most of the combinations I could draw from memory pertained to house wards. Sadly, I didn’t know any for flight or invisibility, not that I was sure either existed, but they would have come in handy.

  With bold strokes, I warded my body against attack. I wasn’t sure the design would stand against a touch from Volkov, but it would be enough to ensure any bullets fired at me would miss, that kind of thing. Obfuscation made it harder to focus on me. Strength bolstered the power of the defensive wards and gave me a much-needed energy boost. Healing got inked down each thigh in bold strokes to help burn the drugs from my system.

  Ten minutes later, I was covered in symbols, as many as I could wear without them overlapping. My side ached, but the wound had already closed thanks to the magic whispering over my skin.

  Feeling more like myself than I had since the night I was taken, I rushed inside and dressed for my escape. I put the shard and brush in my pocket in case I needed them again then twisted my hair up on top of my head.

  I blasted out an exhale and walked outside, across the rolling lawn, until I reached the wall. The infusion of strength made it possible for me to dig my fingers into the mortar between the stones and haul myself up despite how much I’d wasted away in captivity. I reached the top and straddled the wall, trusting in my obfuscation sigil to shield me while I studied the landscape and gained my bearings.

  I had no idea what would happen when my feet hit the ground on the other side. The master might allow me my private garden, but security outside my room was tight, and it must be around the property as well. But how far could I get before—?

  “Miss?”

  I swung my head toward the open French doors leading into my room. Lena stood there in her pajamas, her hair a mess, her lips parted as she sucked in the night air over her tongue, pure terror in her eyes.

  “Hold still.” She rushed forward. “I’ll help you down.”

  So much for my obfuscation sigil. Her keen sense of smell had fed her my exact location thanks to the freshly spilled blood.

  Without looking back, I swung my leg over the wall and dropped. I hit and rolled the way Boaz had taught me when were kids and didn’t have the sense to realize that his daredevil stunts—the ones I practiced alone to impress him with later—could break our ankles or our necks. I sprang to my feet and ran.

  “There she is,” one voice boomed.

  “Stop her,” another shouted.

  “Miss.”

  Blocking out their pleas, the barked orders, and the clomp of boots as the guards mobilized, I pushed my legs until my thigh muscles screamed. The mental snapshot I’d taken from high up on the wall guided me through two neighboring gardens and around the side of the palatial house. The front gardens were in sight when a magical charge rippled through the air and washed over my skin in a heated wave.

  “Grier,” Volkov bellowed.

  Adrenaline dumped in my veins, and my heart threw itself against its cage.

  Please, Hecate. Please.

  I skidded to a stop in front of the house and whirled in a circle, searching for the gardeners, for the roses, for any sign of what Dr. Heath had hinted waited for me here. I saw no one and nothing. I was alone, defeated. This was the extent of my plan, and it had blown up in my face.

  Between the sweat and the friction, the sigils were rubbing off at record speed. Exhaustion dropped like a curtain before my eyes, and I fell to my knees.

  A strange peacefulness swept over me as I tipped back my head, basking in the moonlight for the last time. I would not go back to that room, to that prison, and rot. I would not be sold into marriage, my body given over to a male for his use. Atramentous had broken a great many things in me, but I hadn’t been violated in that way, and I had no illusions my luck would hold after Volkov wed me.

  Bringing the ceramic shard to my wrist, I pressed down, breaking skin and freeing all the precious blood that had landed me here in the first place.

  “Grier,” Volkov panted, eyes wild until they locked with mine. “What are you doing?”

  The row of ornamental trees rustled on my left. No, they were roses. Hedge roses. Without blooms, I hadn’t identified them. A figure clad in black tactical gear strolled forward wearing a grin that chilled me to the bone.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “My guess is she’s so tired of playing house with a kidnapping son of a bitch she’d rather die than spend another second with you.”

  “Boaz?”

  “Hey, Squirt.” He winked. “Took you long enough. I’ve been lurking out here in the bushes for weeks.”

  “Grier, come to me.” Volkov extended his hand toward me. “I will take you inside where it’s safe.”

  Boaz snorted in his general direction. “I don’t think so.”

  Wringing every drop of magic out of my sigils, I drew the strength to rise and bolted toward rescue. Volkov tackled me halfway, cranking up his lure until my eyes crossed, and I melted into a puddle beneath him.

  “You are mine,” he growled. “I will not let you go.”

  Blackness descended around me in a whisper of cool night air.

  No, no, no.

  I had to beat his lure. I had to keep my eyes open. I had to fight him off or lose myself forever.

  I’m not going back. I’m not going back. I’m not—

  Gunfire erupted in sta
ccato bursts that made my legs quiver with the urge to run. Volkov jerked once then collapsed on top of me, crushing the oxygen from my lungs. Gasping for air, I shoved at his shoulders to roll him off me.

  Screams and grunts erupted as bullets peppered the night. A few voices I recognized before they were silenced. The guards who had laughed at me about the spider. The males who’d trundled the racks of clothing in and out of my room only hours earlier. And lastly, a high-pitched shriek that raked nails down the chalkboard of my mind. I tried not to think too hard about that one.

  Lena had followed me.

  She wasn’t following me anymore.

  The dead weight on top of me vanished, and grasping hands lifted me onto my feet. I struggled against their hold until warm lips pressed against my ear and yelled over the commotion.

  “It’s me, Squirt. Relax. I got you.”

  I collapsed against Boaz, breathing in his familiar scent, and almost dissolved in his arms.

  “I’m going to carry you,” he called. “Just hold on to me.”

  “No.” I trembled in his grasp. “I can’t—” I swallowed my panic, the remembered feel of Lena’s arms under my legs and her arm hooked around my back. Carrying me, always carrying me, keeping me weak, helpless. I would never be helpless again. “I can walk.”

  “Okay, Squirt.” He looped his arm around my waist, holding me steady while he examined my wrist where a deep gouge ought to be. He grunted when he found the wound clotted, a final gift from my failing sigils, then helped me limp a dozen yards away from where Volkov had fallen. “We’ve got a chopper on the way, and reinforcements are just over that hill. Can you make it?”

  At the rendezvous point, five men dressed identical to Boaz bled from the darkened forest out into the open field and surrounded us. With a nod to him, they waited with us, watching our backs.

  The whomp-whomp-whomp of helicopter blades slicing through the air kicked my heart into overdrive. Boaz shoved me into a seat before the landing skids touched down and strapped me in tight. He joined me, and the others filed in behind him.