Read The Lone Necromancer Novels & Stories

Only when forensics pried the data chip—the one I'd implanted to monitor the drug's effects—from the rotted tissue did the buried truth finally surface. … "Weren't all the contaminated remains incinerated?" a worker's voice, thick with fear, cut the damp air. "How… how is there one here?" In the profound dark, the sound jolted my consciousness awake. A soul, set in concrete for two years, saw fractured daylight again. The first voice I recognized was my brother's. "Christ, this place is still a bad-luck charm," he muttered, the familiar timbre now laced with a disgust that iced my spectral form.

" Like a throat. The pages lining it fluttered in some internal wind, whispering against each other. Fragments of text crawled across them, fading and reappearing, never settling on one version. It slanted down and away from the surface in a shallow ramp, disappearing into a gray that was not the Graveyard’s gray. It's more like the space between one level and another in a badly coded game. Behind us, ink slammed into the base of the altar in a black wave, spraying flecks up onto the stone like acid rain. We didn’t have time to run pros and cons. Corvin didn’t hesitate. He swung himself into the passage, boots skidding on the shifting paper underfoot, the lockbook clutched tight to his chest

He knew I was not the Lumira whose medical records he had studied. "Dark magic is not native to this body," he said, placing his cards on the table with deliberate precision. Not playing cards. Research notes, thin and precise, covered in diagrams I couldn't read from this distance. "Necromancy at your level requires a soul that has already crossed the threshold. A soul that has died and returned, carrying the imprint of the grave. The original Lumira never died — not truly. She was murdered. There is a difference." He looked at me, and for the first time, his clinical mask cracked. Not with emotion — with hunger. The hunger of a scholar who had found the anomaly he had been searching for.

he said. Paoli gave him a pained smile. "I do know that, and I appreciate it. But my concern isn't for me," he said. He took a deep breath and seemed to reach a decision at last. "As you know, I've been reading on werewolves tonight. I think I've come across something that might explain what's happening between you and Emily," he said. He turned and retrieved a heavy tome from the counter behind him, then walked over and sat it in front of William. It was a beautiful book with a hand-woven navy-blue front cover. It was decorated with ancient magic symbols, long forgotten by all but a select few. Paoli opened the book with one hand and pointed out the section.

I looked around, trying to find anything to keep my hands busy, and settled for tidying my desk, the only part of my room I hadn't picked up before going to the dorms for the semester. "Ezra?" Avery's voice was soft. I glanced back to see her motioning for me to join her. I set the papers down, and shuffled over to the bed, awkwardly wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me. "It's still there," she whispered to me. My body froze of its own accord as she looked up at me, her face kissably close. "You are a necromancer," she said, "even if your power refuses to manifest."

She was complacently moving towards the distant sound of voices, toasts and laughter. Finally, in the tomblike silence of this part of the castle, he heard a few words, almost inaudible, because the woman pronounced them with only her lips. The zombie heard, “Your little birdie will die soon, Reive Eridanus. I’ve made my move. What will your answer be?” The black necromancer’s long dress rustled over the old tiles and vanished from sight. Only then did the dead man come out of his hiding place, pursing his lips as if he had been trying to whistle a tune.

She smiles as she is taken in amazement and fascination once more towards the grand library that stands with its fresh and finest beauty that is already standing with its glory right from the very beginning, and unto the first loop. “Calling for death.” Taken by the words that Jane just utters as she flips the pages of the book that she finds after falling right in front of her. She watches carefully as curiosity gets the better of her and flips the pages down to the specific chapter she reads. “The Necromancer.” Fully knowing who it is as she immediately looks at the book that she is holding, with the conviction and strengthen ideology that it was the same one. She walks forward, yet just e

the announcer complemented him. “And last but not least, the lone wolf himself, Vandrad Stanier!” Some people in the audience began howling like wolves. “They call him the lone wolf, the self-taught mage from the sacred mountains of the south,” Vandrad moved forward and gave the crowd two quick waves of his hand before stepping back into line. "Lorth had never seen a wizard as powerful as himself, let alone one who was self-taught. You can all see his leather grimoire and Red ruby, indicating that he has attained a level of mastery that only a few people achieve, and not to mention that he has accomplished all of this at such a young age and without the assistance of a master Lorth mage, so

I grinned and turned to look at Veronica who was looking very confused. "Why are you two looking at each other like that?" She asked."We were discussing" I said and her frown deepened. "In your minds?" She pressed further. "That's right" "Okay, what did you two come up with then?" "We have a necromancer" I said and she narrowed her eyes. "It's very rare to find a real necromancer. Do I know the person? Who is it?" she asked.I gave her a smug look. "Me"

She was like a vampire, hungrily draining my blood. I did not even think twice. I booted her off me like she was nothing but a dirty old rag. She sprawled by the door, panting like she had run a marathon. Her voice raspy as she cackled at me, "Bet you didn't see this coming, huh? Only the dead set for cremation get out of the morgue, and I was lying in wait, just thirsty for your blood, you little snake!" My blood fell to the floor and soaked into Jim, who was like a ghost. His see-through form turned a deep red, his eyes glowing with a fiery rage as he fixed his gaze on the key and the factory contract in my hand.