Nothing But Necromancy (Macrow Necromancers Book 1)

by J A Campbell

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Nothing But Necromancy

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Authors

  Rebecca McFarland Kyle

  Other Works

  Necromantic Shenanigans

  Walking on the Weird Side

  Saga

  Fanny and Dice

  Brown Ghost Hunting Dog

  Nothing But Necromancy

  Book 1 of the Macrow Necromancers

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2016 by J.A. Campbell and Rebecca McFarland Kyle

  Cover Design © 2016 by Shoshanah Holl

  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.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations and or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Dark Ladies Press

  An Imprint of Inkwolf Press

  P.O. Box 251

  Severance, Colorado

  80546-0251

  Inkwolfpress@gmail.com

  PRODUCED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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  Julie’s Dedication

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without Becky. This is the first novel we wrote together and I’m dedicating my efforts toward her, and our friendship.

  Becky’s Dedication

  I'm dedicating this book to Julie Campbell, who is an amazing author and co-conspirator. Without her contributions, the hard work and hijinks would only be half as much fun.

  Books aren’t written, or even conceived in a vacuum, and this one is no exception. We want to thank Vivian, David, Bea, Deborah, Isidore, Bret, and Emmalyn for edits and feedback. If we managed to forget anyone it’s been a long process. You’re no less appreciated. Thank you.

  We want to thank Shoshanah Holl for an amazing cover.

  We want to thank Carol Hightshoe for encouraging our shenanigans.

  We met initially online through a Facebook meme. Who says good things can’t come from social media? We magically dueled for the position of dark lord (or lady) and while neither of us won the tie-dye fueled duel, we believe we both won big time in our friendship and writing collaborations.

  Thank you dear readers, for without you, these stories would remain archived on our computers, never to see the light of day.

  September, Austin, Texas

  I don’t want to kill a frog. Harmony paused in the crowded school hallway, hesitating on her way to Biology. She supported live dissection for this advanced class, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Unlike her classmates, she didn’t plan a career in medicine. She was more of an astronomy and physics girl. She could cut class, but it’d be the first time, and she didn’t want to go home because her mom’s boyfriend, Ivin, might be there. She shuddered.

  “I’ve got Harmony….”

  Harmony winced as the school choir, clad in white shirts and black pants which was the “uniform” they wore for performances, came toward her down the hall, serenading. By the first line of the song, she was certain she was their target. Students didn’t get much further down in Heritage High’s feeding chain than choir…unless, of course, you counted her.

  With her outspoken hippie Mom, and her own preference for the Victorian aesthetic, she definitely didn’t fit into the mostly upper-middle-class preppie environment of the school. Odd things tended to happen around her—unexplained things, like when the crows flocked to her on the playground in grade school.

  Today, she stood out in a black dress with her blonde hair tied up in a bun she’d wrapped in a black net snood. She seldom tanned, so her ivory skin was a sharp contrast to her attire, making her odd lavender colored eyes even more obvious.

  The ensemble’s bass, Johnny Carver, a big guy with curly dark blonde hair and a cherubic face, had a beautiful deep voice. Only problem was, he held those resonating notes like he was a rock god going for a live extended play.

  I wish he would just shut up! Harmony winced at Johnny’s resonating do-wop in her right ear.

  The hair on her body stood on end. Johnny’s note died abruptly, leaving the rest of the choir still belting out their song.

  Harmony opened the door to AP Biology and fled into the classroom. She turned to make sure the door was closed and saw Johnny’s face framed in the slender glass slit. His blue eyes bugged out and his mouth opened like a choking frog.

  What’s wrong with him?

  Harmony shook her head, then brushed strands of wavy blonde hair from her lavender eyes. She slunk to the back of the room, the furthest table from any of the other students in the College Prep Biology class. Truth was, she loved science and most of her classes. She was in the Gifted and Talented program with excellent grades and prospects for STEM scholarships to Ivy League colleges. At the start of the year, she’d talked to her advisor about AP exams for college. What she could do without was her fellow students and about half of the faculty.

  As she made her way to the back, the room darkened around her and she swore she heard a tiny cry of distress. Frowning, she glanced toward the specimen cages, which sat atop the supply cabinets lining one side and the front of the room behind the teacher’s desk.

  “Stop that!” she yelled at Kurt, who, once again, had his drink straw stuck through the open wire top of the tarantula’s aquarium, poking at the fist-sized zebra tarantula who stood, battling valiantly with its front two legs. Kurt was a thug in wire-framed glasses and designer clothes. All through elementary, he’d pushed smaller kids down on the playground. He even broke one kid’s nose. His parents had money, and the green tended to make the black and blue go away.

  “Kurt!” Mrs. Atwood entered the classroom from the supply room door before he could withdraw the straw from the aquarium. A slender woman whose once-blonde hair was now a mix of silver and gold, she stood before the class, her normally smiling face set in grim lines. “Go to the principal’s office. Now.”

  Harmony raised her head and then glared back at the venomous look Kurt gave her as he gathered his books to depart. Didn’t pay to let the bullies think she was afraid even if her heart skipped a bit. Calling him by name probably drew Mrs. Atwood’s attention, but ratting him out was not her intent. She wanted the bully to leave the spider alone. The docile tarantula wasn’t bothering anyone in his aquarium. What made people torment those who could not defend themselves? Fear, in Kurt’s case. Kurt screamed like a girl last year when one of the other boys dropped a fake Halloween spider down his shirt. Apparently he was going to take that shame out on the real spiders now.

  Kurt s
lammed the heavy wood-and-glass classroom door hard enough to make the test tubes on a wall rack rattle. Mrs. Atwood sighed, set down the flat pan she carried, and picked up the classroom phone to call the principal’s office to let them know Kurt was coming.

  “We’re going to be dissecting frogs today,” she announced. “Harmony, would you please come up and help?”

  Harmony approached the teacher’s desk, ignoring her classmates’ snickers and snide comments. Mrs. Atwood was one of the few teachers who liked her.

  “Mrs. Atwood!” Kurt burst back into the room, banging the door hard enough to make Harmony duck. His voice sounded high and thready like when the spider was in his shirt. He already backed out of the room after the first sentence, the words a counterpoint to his staccato footfalls on the hallway floor. “Help! Johnny’s out in the hall and he’s not breathing!”

  “Stay put!” Mrs. Atwood said and took off after Kurt in a run. She was the First Responder for this corridor. She was not supposed to leave her room, but in a dire emergency, she could.

  Harmony idled in front of the class, unsure whether to return to her desk or start passing out the frogs and other impedimenta needed for the assignment so they could be ready to work when Mrs. Atwood returned. It would take most of the hour for the dissections and having the materials in the students’ hands meant they could get back to work faster. The prospect of arming part of her classmates with glass and sharp instruments without a teacher present stopped her.

  Frogs, Harmony recalled what she’d thought when she’d seen Johnny’s stricken face in the classroom door. If she’d realized he wasn’t mocking her like usual, she would have tried to help. Guilt sat heavy on her shoulders as she approached Mrs. Atwood’s desk and the open pan of frogs just waiting for the knife. She thought of them hopping and croaking with their anuran cousins in the pond she’d helped clean as part of the beautification project.

  A scorching breeze from the high windows, open by necessity for ventilation on dissection day, touched her cheek. Harmony picked up the pan intending to distribute the frogs to their vivisectionists.

  Croaks, as loud as Johnny Carver’s singing, resounded from the pan as she passed the first window. The lot stared at her with accusing buggy eyes. Harmony dumped them outside.

  “Go! Be free!” the words escaped her lips as the frogs landed on the ground outside the classroom window and hopped away.

  The class went crazy.

  “What have you done?” Courtney, dark haired and loud-voiced, wearing her cheerleader’s uniform, yelled in her best reach-the-back row-grandstand voice. “Are you insane?”

  “I hope they take all the points off your grade!” That came from the front where most of the straight A students gathered to absorb every word the teacher said first. Of course, they always treated Harmony like she was failing—they had no idea her GPA and SAT scores were right up with theirs. That was the main reason Harmony studied hard for advanced placement. She wanted out of high school ASAP.

  “Mrs. Atwood is going to fail you for this one!” Courtney yelled, her face flushed with anger. Other students added their thoughts as well.

  Harmony deliberately walked to the teacher’s desk, laid down the empty pan and started back to her corner just as the sound of sirens erupted along the street outside.

  “Is it a fire drill?” One of the A-row students yelled over the noise.

  “There’s an ambulance following,” a classmate closer to the windows responded just as the PA system beeped to life.

  “Students, please remain in your classrooms at your desks.” Dr. Johnson’s voice was barely discernible over the roar of the sirens from emergency vehicles passing right outside the open windows. “This is not a fire alarm. I repeat. Please remain in your classrooms at your desks and continue your assignments as directed. This is not a fire alarm.”

  Of course, the announcement was already too late. Harmony joined the rush to the windows and found a spot closest to the main school doors. The noise was near deafening from multiple sirens running. The Austin Fire Department arrived first. A pair of EMTs jumped out with their gear as soon as the truck paused by the curb. The ambulance followed a few seconds later.

  Scarcely able to move or breathe, Harmony pushed her way away from the fresh air by the windows and back to her corner. The door opened and Mrs. Atwood walked in, her steps slow and deliberate.

  “Get back to your seats, please. There’s nothing to see.” Usually Mrs. Atwood’s voice held some animation, but the tones sounded flat and weary. She was one of the few teachers Harmony believed actually enjoyed her job. At the moment, she stared down at the empty pan, frowning and looking confused.

  “Harmony let the frogs loose,” Courtney said, forgetting to remove the verboten gum from her mouth and popping it loudly with every word of her accusation. “What are we going to do now?”

  Mrs. Atwood’s hand rose to her temple and she rubbed it fiercely, shifting her mix of blonde and silver hair. “You mean she dumped them?”

  Several students answered at once, talking about the frogs croaking and jumping away. Mrs. Atwood made a shushing gesture and began pointing to the tattletales one by one. Each had some embellishment to add to the story and every one weighed on Harmony like bricks.

  Harmony lowered her head unable to meet the eyes of the woman who’d trusted and helped her. If pressed, she wasn’t sure if she could even explain why she’d set the creatures free. She, as well as several of her fellow students, was on track for careers in science and medicine, so it wasn’t like killing the animals would be wasted. They were one of the few Biology classes with the privilege of dissecting live animals because of their GPAs and declared interest in science. They’d already dissected smaller live specimens.

  “Harmony,” Mrs. Atwood sounded years older than her forty-something. “Please come with me to Dr. Johnson’s office.”

  Harmony ignored the cheers and ill-wishes and walked with her head up to the front of the room to accompany Mrs. Atwood. She’d expected a lecture, some kind of stern talk on the way down the locker-lined hallway to the Administrative Offices, but her mentor had nothing to say and Harmony couldn’t even force a strangled apology from her lips.

  Oddly, the choir members who’d serenaded her were still seated on the benches in the front of the office where the troublemakers customarily had to wait for their turn with the Principal when they arrived. The girls stood in a tight sisterly knot, eyes red from crying. More than one of them had wadded-up tissues in their hands. Had they finally gotten in trouble for group bullying? Harmony heard they were supposed to go to some contest or another. Would Dr. Johnson have actually told them they couldn’t go because they sang a stupid song to her? Or had one of them finally copped to the fact that they’d been trashing her locker all along and getting Harmony punished for it. Harmony met their accusing expressions with one of her own. She didn’t want them to miss a contest, but she’d missed plenty of science events while she was cleaning toilets and planting trees around the school as punishment for their defacement of her locker.

  “You broke Johnny’s heart,” a Black girl with a rich deep voice, said.

  Harmony stared at the girl’s stricken face and shook her head. Others echoed what she said. The boys nodded.

  What on Earth did Johnny’s heart have to do with anything? While she recognized the too-familiar terrain, Harmony felt like she’d fallen down a rabbit hole to some unfamiliar place.

  “He put us up to singing to you,” the first girl on the bench, a brunette with a clear, sweet soprano, continued. Their expressions were a peculiar mix of sorrow and anger. “He had a black velvet rose in his pocket and he was going to ask you to the dance. And you just blew him off….”

  More nods.

  “Stop it,” Mrs. Atwood said, her eyes narrowing behind wire-framed glasses. “It’s not her fault.”

  Every word felt like a stab in her guts considering she’d betrayed the woman by setting the frogs free. Having Mrs. Atwoo
d at her side took her straight to the head of the queue to Dr. Johnson’s inner sanctum, even ahead of Kurt who some joked had a permanent hall pass to Administration. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been there before, but never with quite that much audience and a personal escort.

  Despite the floral air freshener and the underlying scent of industrial cleaner, Dr. Johnson’s office smelled like fear. The pungent combination of sweat and tears widened Harmony’s nostrils and set her heart beating faster. She surreptitiously wiped a sweaty palm on her black gauze tiered skirt. Why on Earth would she be perspiring like she’d just had to run? The school felt near frigid with the air conditioning.

  Dr. Johnson looked tired, too. She was a heavy-set Black woman with her hair pulled back tight away from her face and white hairs at either temple that always made Harmony think of the bride of Frankenstein. Whatever the weather, she wore a pantsuit with blazer and matching bow blouse always tied neatly, a feminized version of the suit and tie the male vice-principals wore. She slid her wire-framed glasses back on and placed a large economy size bottle of pain relievers back in her top desk drawer and slid it shut with a final snap.

  “Harmony just set the frogs our class was planning on dissecting free.”

  Dr. Johnson nodded, her expression unmoving as the gleaming figures on the athletics trophies arrayed on the bookshelves behind her desk.

  “Why?”

  The single word question surprised Harmony. She expected the principal to believe her guilty until proven innocent like usual. She probably already had her punishment planned; had to be the boys’ bathroom. There was nothing worse.

  “They were just sitting there in the pan, looking at me—and croaking,” Harmony said. “I started to pass them out so they’d be ready when Mrs. Atwood got back and I just dumped them out the window. If you want, I’ll go to the pond and retrieve them.”

  “They’ll be under the bushes,” Mrs. Atwood said flatly.