Graveyard Waltz (Nickel City Necromancer Book 2) by Jessie Thomas

Author:Jessie Thomas [Thomas, Jessie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

“That’s it?” Holland asked.

“That’s it.”

“Not really the horror show everyone says it is,” June said.

I shook my head. “Not the way I do it.”

With the illusionary magic gone, the coven house matriarch Tamsin rested in a bed of flowers and ivy. The witches followed every rise and fall of her steady breath, touched her hands and brushed their knuckles against her cheeks to feel the new warmth and the blush that’d been drawn back into her olive skin. Her body was alive, breathing, even with her soul still adrift, still running through Lazarus’ veins as raw power.

Their silver-blue magic mingled with the leftover pale pink that coiled up from the sigils in my dagger, and I thought maybe this was as close to coven-necromancer solidarity as we’d get. Not bad.

Once the magic had thawed the ice on the greenery and flower petals, I took a step back from the table and shook out my hands. Wasn’t really all that fatigued, not like the usual effects after a resurrection. I didn’t have the heart to dwell on why. I’d felt the glimmer of remaining energy from the warlock prodding at my necromantic power, but I’d kept it away for the most part. Didn’t give into the nagging temptation.

“Feels good to do that again,” I admitted. “He’s been fighting me at every turn, for so long, that I almost forgot what it felt like. To heal.”

Rae nodded in approval. “She looks good. Healthy.”

June waited beside Brie’s table, magic unfurling and spilling from her fingertips the same way that wind pushed snow around during our lake effect storms. Puddles formed on leaves and drenched the sunny yellow petals. I watched as I crept closer, fascinated by how delicate it was, how with the slightest nudge, their magic could cross a line between beauty and destruction.

No matter what magic you had, all of us were only a few choices shy of stepping over that line into a more forbidding path.

Holland and Rae joined her while Nate and Devyn respectfully kept their distance from the witches’ bedside vigil. Rae worked diligently, her own magic strong and graceful as she pulled back the illusion, this time severing it. Whoever it’d belonged to, the magic was a light ripple, a veil being torn down, its withering power just a puff of air against my exposed arms. The air had blown out a couple of candles on the windowsill, though, so Holland bustled around us to relight them. Pale, rose colored light still danced along my blade and cast a glow onto our faces, which meant I probably didn’t need to give the sigils a fresh coat of my blood. But I did it anyway, stabbing at the tiny wound I’d made with Tamsin’s resurrection, hoping the new jolt would be enough to keep the warlock’s soul from finding its way in.

Holland leaned carefully between the windowsills behind me. “You were right, by the way,” she declared. I twisted around just to see the grin she threw to Devyn.

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