Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Lorne’s deputies, Victoria Day and Peter Rooney, were on their way to watch over the bodies while Lorne took me home. We were holding hands as I explained to him, again, that the site was safe.
“Whoever put these bodies here stored them because, as Taylor showed us, originally the rift was supposed to be here.”
“Not on your land.”
“No.”
“Okay, so somewhere, probably close,” Lorne surmised, “is a very small doorway, and that’s where Rulaine, and everyone and everything like her, crossed into Osprey.”
“Yes.”
“But what about the slip at the harvest festival?”
“That’s not a rift, it’s a trap. She created that to catch me and kill me.”
“So she just conjured that out of thin air.”
“Yes, she did. She was very powerful.”
“But not as powerful as you.”
“Different kinds of magic. Hers was glamours, enchantments, alternate realities, curses, and incantations.”
“And what’s the difference between an incantation and a spell?”
“With an incantation, you’re creating something from nothing, and it normally requires a sacrifice or offering of some kind. A spell is a prayer with added stuff.” I chuckled. “Smoke or water or something you’re blessing. It’s simple and easy and takes only your intention to manifest.”
“Like the rice bottle at the front door of the house.”
“That’s right. I put it there, I tapped the lid, told it what I needed it to do, and it’ll do it, so mote it be. The latter marks the end of the spell and releases it out into the world to do good work.”
“So everyone can cast spells?”
“Yes. It’s not only the dominion of witches. For the good of all and the detriment of none, as long as what you’re doing helps, nothing will block the magic.”
“But there’s a difference between you, who can actually fly and call on power in your hereditary line and speak to the dead—”
“I speak to ghosts,” I corrected him. “Those who wish to speak to me. And I send them on their way. But I’m not a necromancer who resurrects and forces the dead to speak to them. I don’t have that power.”
“That’s what Declan was saying that night we first spoke to him, that we’d need a necromancer to speak to the fae you killed, that guy Sola.”
“Right. The one Argos ate.”
“That’s so incredibly gross.”
I shrugged.
“Okay, you don’t wake the dead. I don’t have to worry about zombies with you.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about zombies at all,” I said authoritatively, “but for the sake of argument, no. You don’t have to concern yourself with me resurrecting anything or having dead animals follow me home.”
“That’s what happens to necromancers?”
“From what I understand, yes. It must be terrifying, especially when they’re young.”
“But if we had a necromancer here, DNA wouldn’t be necessary. They could just ask everyone individually who they were.”
“Sure, but conversely, you have to remember that the soul is gone from those people. Once they were killed, their souls continued on to one of the next stops on their path. So what’s left is like a recording of life. Those people in the hole can tell you who they were, but first, because they’ve been killed, you would have to deal with whatever trauma they went through at the end. That’s another reason necromancers are usually crazy. Imagine having people shriek and scream at you all day, every day, because they don’t know they’re dead. All they do know is the last thing that happened to them, so the fear and horror is visceral for them when they get woken up by a necromancer.”
“But what if a necromancer talks to a person who had a lovely life, who died peacefully and—oh, I see what you’re saying. Why would they be talking to that person.”
“Correct. Necromancers are usually employed by those who need to answer questions about a murder or an inheritance. They need to find a lost treasure or whatever. Necromancers don’t speak to people who left life fulfilled and happy.”
He was staring at me.
“What?”
“It’s what you said earlier… A soul’s path?”
“Too whimsical for you?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “But you believe a soul has many different paths?”
“An infinite number, yes. It doesn’t mean the love doesn’t remain, and that’s why they visit in dreams, but once the soul passes through this life, this manifestation, they go on. I think it’s beautiful, all the experiences and times and people that one soul will enjoy.”
“And if it’s not enjoyable?”
“Then hopefully something was gleaned. That’s what my grandfather always said. Whenever I had a total shitshow of a day, he’d ask if I learned something.”
“And if you said no?”
“Then he’d make me think and try and figure out what the lesson was. He wasn’t the kind of man who just accepted yes or no answers. He was a mage, after all, and all of them live to ask questions. My grandfather was no exception.”