Waking the Dead (The Second Rising Series Book 1)

by Amber Garr

  Ignoring their questions, I glared at Peter. And if looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over. How dare he put me in this position? Especially after I’d already explained myself outside. And did he kill that kitten? The knot in my stomach and the look on his face made me suspicious.

  Setting the still-soft body gently on the large dining room table, I watched as the white fur-covered head hung at an odd angle before resting on the wood. Bile rose in my throat and I thought about stabbing Peter for a brief moment, just like Brit said I could do to anyone who bothered me. Actually, I thought about stabbing Peter several times, but Cord’s voice broke my vengeful thoughts.

  “Can you save it?”

  “No,” I spat, eyes still focused on Peter.

  “But I thought you could bring things back to life?”

  “I can.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” Cord’s words were sharp, but his tone was purely inquisitive. He didn’t know that the moment that kitten got ten feet away from me, it would fall over dead again. Permanently. Forever.

  He also didn’t understand how using this kind of magic would impact my life.

  “Did you kill it, Peter?” I snapped at him across the room.

  He didn’t answer, and instead sauntered over to me with a smirk on his face that deserved to be removed. Preferably with my fist.

  “Did you kill it?” I asked again when he was within inches of my face. But something had changed. That needy kid only wanting to fit in had disappeared, and a new sense of entitlement roared through his body. He had me and he knew it.

  “Three hundred dollars, Cressa,” he whispered into my ear.

  I froze. Chills raced through my blood and the hair on the back of my neck danced. “How do you know my name?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  Peter smiled, a wicked, toothy grin that didn’t fit his face. “I do my research,” he continued to whisper in his private pissing match with me. “You need money and I’m offering you way more than you’d ever get as Mystical Marianna.”

  I didn’t know what angered me more. The fact that he was able to find out so much about me, or the fact that he had me trapped. If I walked away, I was looking at several more years of parlor magic tricks before I could see my mom. But if I performed for them here, I could face a whole other kind of trouble.

  I hated making decisions like this.

  “You’re an asshole,” I said to Peter and he chuckled. “I should kill you myself.” I thought I saw him tense under my threat and a small part of me rejoiced. He may know a lot about my kind, but Peter wasn’t entirely comfortable around them.

  Cord jogged back over to us, eyes glancing back and forth to determine if it was okay for him to interrupt. “Are you going to do it?” he asked me.

  I looked at Peter. Then the kitten. If Peter was setting me up, I’d definitely stab him. But something told me he wasn’t an informant for the Imperium, just a sick bastard who kills kittens instead. With a huff, I shook my head and walked over to the table. I felt Cord follow closely behind, but the rest of the guys cleared a path as I moved past them.

  Slamming my bag on the table, I tried to ignore the tiny white creature lying in front of me. It didn’t look too healthy with its matted fur and rib cage sticking out way too far. So I hoped this kitten had died on its own instead of by Peter’s hands. But I didn’t know for sure. And from the looks his fellow frat brothers were giving him, they didn’t know either.

  I pulled out my knife, the small lock of hair that went with me everywhere, and the Ziploc bag with the chicken foot in it. While silence filled the room, I laid out my supplies—the hair next the tiny head of the kitten and the chicken foot next to the tail. Although I noticed the reactions to the rancid smell of the rotten foot, I ignored them. And when I lifted my knife from the bag and several of the guys sucked in a breath, I glared at Peter.

  He nodded in my direction, encouraging me to do the deed. I really hated him right now. This is exactly what I’d promised my mother I’d never do. Even when my father was teaching me, and before I was ready, she made me promise that I would never use my gift to entertain others.

  Ironic now that I needed to do this to get her out of trouble.

  With a deep breath, I closed my eyes, and sliced the knife across the palm of my hand. Pain shot through my skin seconds later and I gritted my teeth in response. It had been a while since I performed the ritual and I’d forgotten how much it hurt. With eyes still clenched shut, I rubbed my blood over the blade until I felt the sticky warmth covering the entire metal.

  Bending forward, I looked down at the tiny, broken body in front of me and whispered the required words, “Restituo animus. Restituo vita.”

  And with a quick flick of the wrist, I sliced the kitten across the leg. Not a deep cut, but enough that our blood would mix. It was the only way to reanimate a corpse and with one this small, it didn’t take a lot.

  Not like a human did.

  The magic poured out of me and into the small kitten like honey soaking into bread. Drop by drop, I felt the power of my gift give life to the corpse in front of me. Slowly circulating, working through its body like a deep tissue massage. My stomach rolled with the initial effects, but my mind centered on what needed to be done. Without my full concentration, reanimation could take a deadly turn.

  While the guys had initially cringed when I cut into the kitten, they now focused all of their attention on the body—waiting for something to happen.

  It took almost a minute, but then the tail twitched. The once playful frat boys stepped back a few inches in fear. And when the kitten’s back legs kicked out, they screamed like little girls. But I gave them some credit…they didn’t run away.

  A moment later, the kitten jumped to its feet, wobbling from side to side like it had forgotten how to walk. Oblivious of its audience, the newly animated corpse only had eyes for me. A strangled cry left its tiny mouth and a warm tear trickled down my cheek. The poor creature looked so pathetic and weak—I was almost positive it had died on the street. Almost.

  It cried out again, the high pitch squeal ringing through the tall ceilings. I watched it intently, wondering if the pitiful kitten had any clue where it was.

  “So now what?” Cord asked, reaching forward to pet the kitten’s head. The tiny white creature pushed the side of his face into Cord’s hand, then promptly fell over when it lost its balance. The boys laughed and I scowled even harder at Peter.

  Cord swept the kitten up into his arms, unaware of the blood now seeping into his clothes. “She’s cute,” he mumbled against the kitten’s head. “Smells a little funky, but still cute.” Setting her on the ground, the crowd backed away enough to give the kitten some space. I knew what was going to happen the moment she started to walk away from me.

  “Here kitty, kitty.” Several of the guys coaxed the kitten toward the edge of the room. I shook my head, but it went unnoticed. So did my stumble when the nausea hit me.

  “Nice job,” Peter said next to my ear. Startled, I jumped a little and he laughed. “Here’s your money.”

  I felt his sweaty hand brush against mine, slipping a wad of cash into my palm. The urge to do something to him boiled in my skin, but the effects of practicing my necromancy trumped any desire for revenge. I needed to get out of here.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I spat, grabbing my stomach as inconspicuously as possible.

  Peter tilted his head to the side, examining me. His eyes drifted to my bare shoulder where the shawl had slipped. He shouldn’t have been able to see a scar from that angle, but I also didn’t really care what he saw at this moment. If I didn’t get to a bathroom soon, he would feel the full force of what he’d made me do. “It’s down the hall to the right,” he finally answered, pointing to the other side of the room.

  Gathering up my belongings, I spared one last glance back at the circle of guys around the kitten. She was stumbling from side to side and had almost reached the perimeter. I turned my head a se
cond before she collapsed to the ground. The guys cried out, asking what had happened, and just as I slipped into the hallway, I heard Peter explain that she’d moved too far away from me.

  A part of my brain was seriously concerned by how much he knew about my necromancy, but the nausea rolling through me took precedence. In fact, I didn’t even think I’d make it to the bathroom. Amidst the shouts and cries from the boys trying to revive the twice-dead kitten, I saw my escape. Pushing through a side door with no windows, I found myself running out into the alley.

  It was dark, and cold, but I didn’t care. The second I got outside, I threw up all over the street.

  I never understood why my body reacted this way.

  My father, while he was alive, would never get sick after raising a corpse. In fact, I think it helped keep him young in some weird kind of way. But I also had my mother’s genes in me, and that meant that each time I used my gift, my body reacted with a physical punishment.

  Still hunched over, I used my hand to brace myself on the brick wall of the frat house. The cool dampness trickled through my skin and for a moment I was tempted to press my whole body against it. But the sharp pain of claws digging into my back stopped me from moving. On the right side, just above my shoulder blade, the unmistakable ache of a new scar reminded me of what I’d done tonight. Damn you, Peter and your need to impress. I had raised the kitten from the dead and now a piece of that poor soul would forever be connected to me.

  Fingertips brushing lightly over my skin, I was amazed at how quickly the scars now appeared. When I’d raised my first corpse, my back throbbed for days. Now, in less than a minute, I had a new design marking me for what I was and the pain was almost gone. I swear it seemed to be in the shape of a cat’s eye, but I’d need a mirror to confirm my suspicions. Brit had told me that she didn’t see any definite shapes within my scars, yet under my touch, I could identify the type of body associated with each one. They ranged in size from a small circle of dots symbolizing the time I’d practiced on a squirrel, to the abstract design of a man kneeling on the ground from when I had raised my father at the funeral home. Brit told me I was crazy for thinking that one looked like anything, but I knew what it meant. I always would.

  A sudden rush of tingling engulfed my body, pushing my thoughts to the back of my head and forcing me to resist an urge to reach for my knife. The sensation felt wonderful, yet frightening at the same time. Chills raced through my blood, and my connection to the magical world heightened to a level I’d never experienced before. I felt like I could raise the dead without my ritual…with just a snap of my finger. Power surged over my skin like a silk blanket, begging me to join in its fateful dance. My scars flamed to life, now warm to my touch, and the nausea I’d felt earlier disappeared completely.

  The power, the rush, the need to break free of the restraints placed on me as a necromancer…they all skittered around in my bones, tempting me in ways I’d never been tempted before. I was powerful and I shouldn’t have to hide.

  Shocked at the uncontrolled thoughts swirling around in my head, I absentmindedly looked toward the end of the alley. And when I did, the feelings intensified. I focused on the dark shadow I now saw lurking at the end of the street. A man, I think. Yet the vague outline of his body mimicked something not totally of human form. Or maybe it was just the way his shadow twisted along the ground and snaked up the side of the adjacent building. The darkness gave him shape, and for a moment I swore I saw a pair of wings reach out from his shadow just long enough for me to notice before quickly disappearing again.

  The frat house door suddenly knocked into me and sent me stumbling to my knees. Despite the rapid movement jarring my psyche, the almost audible pop of disappearing power sent me flailing forward. I looked down to catch myself from falling face first into the grime of the dirty alleyway, and by the time I raised my eyes to search for the mysterious figure, everything was gone. No more shadow, no more tingling, and no more magical sensations. Nothing but a stomach ache and the wide-eyed look from Peter greeted me now.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Peter said, reaching a hand forward. But he stopped suddenly when my shawl slipped to ground like a magician revealing her final trick. Peter’s breath hitched in the back of his mouth and I knew why. No doubt my scars were on full display, the hazy light above the door highlighting the ridges and grooves of each soul etched into me forever.

  Pushing up to standing, I yanked the shawl off the ground and wiped my mouth. With a quick adjustment of my wig, and an unexpected longing for that tingle of power again, I jerked my head toward Peter.

  “What do you want?” I growled.

  For a moment, Peter stood still. But when I pulled the knife from my bag he snapped out of his silence.

  “Whoa,” he said, hands lifting toward the sky. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and give you this.” His right hand slowly lowered before he opened his palm revealing several bills. “The guys wanted to give this to you. It’s a tip. For tonight.”

  He continued babbling while I stared at his outstretched hand. My grip tightened on the knife, evil urges turning my knuckles white. I was powerful and I shouldn’t have to hide. I also shouldn’t have been humiliated by the guy standing before me.

  Glass shattered from somewhere inside and music filled the stale night air. With the base pumping loud enough to travel several blocks, I realized how much I wanted to leave this place.

  “Take it,” Peter said, hand still outstretched.

  “No thanks,” I mumbled as I made sure I had all of my belongings in my bag. I started to walk past him, but Peter grabbed the top of my arm. I glared at him while I yanked my body away from his. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Come on, Cressa. You don’t have to be so hostile.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Why? That is your real name, right?” Peter lifted a brow, reminding me too much of my brother’s inquisitive nature.

  And reminding me of my brother did Peter no favors.

  “I will tell everyone what kind of a person you are,” I snapped.

  He stepped a little closer to me, suddenly seeming larger than he had inside. “No you won’t, Cressa. You won’t tell anyone because it will expose you for what you really are…a magic whore.”

  For a moment, I was too caught up in the multiple personalities of Peter to realize exactly what he’d said. The Peter standing before me now was not the same guy I’d met when I first arrived. A sliver of warning trickled through me, but I ignored it when I finally realized the words that had just been thrown at me.

  “I am not a magic whore,” I whispered, knowing deep down that he was right. I’d done what my mother made me promise I’d never to do. And I’d done it for her.

  Peter’s teeth gleamed in the limited light, evil oozing from his pores in a way that made me suspicious. “You are, but that’s okay. Take the money, Cressa.”

  Wanting to escape from the alley as quickly as possible, I stared at the twenty dollar bills in Peter’s irritating hand. It will get me one step closer to my mom. Snatching the money away from him, I quickly shoved it into my bag and turned on my heel. “Don’t ever call me again,” I spat over my shoulder at Peter. I swear I heard him chuckle, but something didn’t feel quite right in the air. The electricity was off…misplaced and not as dispersed as it should be. That usually meant magic was being used—feeding off the electrical interactions between molecules and using that energy to create something unnatural.

  Was Peter using magic? I didn’t want to turn around and answer my question. Tonight had been filled with enough surprises and the unexplained and I just wanted to go have a drink with Brit.

  As I climbed into my car, I spared a glance back at the frat house. The lights were blinking and a group of girls made their way up the stairs toward the front door. I briefly wondered if I should warn them about Peter, but had a feeling Peter was only interested in me. And not in a sexual way.

  Making a mental
note to research him a bit in my spare time, I started the car and drove away from the party and the tiny dead kitten rotting away inside.

  Fifteen minutes later, and after a struggle to find a parking space, I arrived at The Spider Hole. Now on its fifth owner in as many years, the small college pub was a favorite of Brit’s. And of mine too, if I was being honest. A Mystic friend of a friend had purchased The Spider Hole last spring, and with his many talents and insane ability to know exactly what his customers wanted, the place was finally making money. With a mix of medieval and modern times, the bar was nothing if not unique. Where else could you go in this college town and see skulls hanging from the ceiling like a piece of art. Most people thought they were fake, but I suspected there were some real ones mixed in there as well. Probably for the owner’s rituals, but none of my business all the same.

  Squeezing through a pile of people at the front door that smelled like stale beer and fried onions, I finally had a chance to search for my friend. Although the bar was on my left, the only place to sit was on the right along the front row of windows. The high booths with wrought iron tops were difficult to see over, but Brit’s bright blonde hair shone through the crowd like a beacon. Or maybe I just knew her energy now. It hadn’t taken long for the two of us to connect and decide to room together, and in all honesty, we had clicked instantly. Well, once she’d gotten over the magical part of me.

  Jumping up onto the seat, Brit waved me over. The smile on her face meant one of two things—she was perfectly buzzed or the guy was here. As I rounded the first part of the booth, I realized it was the second reason. And maybe a little bit of the first.

  “Hey Cressa!” Brit shouted, through the loud music and even louder conversations nearby. “I’m so glad you made it! Do you remember Carson?” Brit placed her tiny hand on the shoulder of a college-aged guy with red hair, freckles, and dark brown eyes. Even in the limited light, I noticed his blush at her touch. I thought it was cute.

  “Hey Carson,” I said with a genuine smile. “How are you?”