Red Blood (Series of Blood Book 2) by Emma Hamm (best short books to read .TXT) 📕

not afraid of anyone like you. The Lords long ago lost their power over me, you included.”

“I always knew you would be unlike any person I have ever met.”

She was mildly appeased. The compliment managed to distract her for a few moments before she shook herself back into anger. He shouldn’t be able to get off the hook that easily.

“I’m leaving,” she declared.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

“I don’t care what you prefer.”

Her exit had to be perfect. He had to remember that she was a woman to reckon with and that she had defied everything he wanted. She would only be happy with that.

So she cast him one last disapproving glance before she flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. When she turned, she would make certain that she sashayed her hips. He would be staring at a backside he would never see again. At least he would have something to remember her by.

What she did not expect was to turn and stare directly into the vacant eyes of a skull. Not just any skull but one that was attached to a body, which was standing between her and her escape. Black holes that seemed to bore into her very soul met her gaze. Lyra stared in horror as something in one of the sockets moved. A white maggot crawled into her view and wiggled where the skeleton’s eyeball should be.

She screamed. Long and high pitched, the scream was as hysterical as she had ever heard before.

Her arms pinwheeled as she tripped over one of her heels and fell backwards. She landed hard on her tailbone and twisted her ankle. Pain blossomed in her hands as blood from her hard fall dripped down her fingers. An acidic taste burned her tongue. She had bit it when she fell. No wonder she had stopped screaming.

“Enough!”

The Graverobber’s shout echoed in her ears as she sat stunned on his floor. Along with the voice was a charge of electricity that made the hair on her arms stand up straight. Power arced through the room in tiny lightning bolts that skittered along the ground.

The skeleton had yet to move. Its horrid form lingered in the doorway as it appeared to tilt its head to look at the Graverobber.

She could heard the stomp of booted feet as the Graverobber walked around her. He angrily shoved the skeleton out the door and slammed it closed. More dirt crumbled from the ceiling and caught in the scraggles of his hair.

“What-what—” She couldn’t seem to form more than one word at a time. “Was-is-that—?”

He knelt in front of her. Lyra imagined she could hear the painful creaking as his knees bent. Watching him move was nearly as painful as the dirt digging into her palms.

“I apologize,” he murmured. “I often forget how terrifying Mungus can appear when one is not used to him.”

He leaned forward to pull one of her hands forward. Lyra watched in surprise as he tsked and pulled a small handkerchief out of his pocket. She was presented only with the top of his head as he set to work picking out the grit that was mixed in with her black blood. There was a thin swirl of black tattoo that crawled up from his neck to coil at the top of his head. She found herself staring at it in hopes it might provide answers.

The man had managed to surprise her yet again. She was nearly struck dumb as this powerful man bent onto his knees before her.

“Mungus?” she finally managed to ask.

“His name.”

“The skeleton has a name?”

“Everything has a name.”

“Oh,” she whispered. One particular stone he was working on made her wince. “Did you name him yourself?”

His mismatched eyes held an odd look as he met her gaze. “No.”

“Then how did you know his name is Mungus?”

“It was on the tag attached to his foot when I dug him out of his grave. His name is Charlie, but I call him Mungus.”

“Charlie Mungus,” she repeated. “It’s a good name.”

“He was a good man.”

“How do you know?”

His head tilted as he peered down at her now relatively clean hand. “He had a very nice headstone and many flowers left for him.”

The meaning of the words finally hit her. “Necromancy?”

He made a sound of affirmation before reaching out for her other hand.

“You can perform Necromancy?”

“Yes.”

“And you can project yourself.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“But Wolfgang is a projection. Wolfgang is not you.”

She nearly winced as his hand convulsed around hers. Slowly, each finger on his hand relaxed. As he took his hand away from hers, she could feel a lingering static upon her skin.

“Wolfgang is my name. I am Wolfgang.”

“But—” She shook her head. “But if it’s not a projection then what is it? You don’t even speak the same way he does.”

She shouldn’t refer to the other version of him as a “he”. She had known Wolfgang to be stronger, handsome, and wickedly tempting. That Wolfgang was not the man in front of her. They certainly didn’t look the same, and this Wolfgang spoke far more eloquently. Not to mention he was more timid.

“It’s the magic.” Wolfgang gestured towards his head. “Too many spells. Too much Latin rattling around.”

“What is that version of you then?”

He shrugged. “A doppelganger.”

“Excuse me?”

“He is me. Or the me I would have been if I hadn’t been so changed.”

“Changed how?”

“Magic has a price,” he murmured. Sadness made his face twist into a horrid expression. A scar nearly bisected his right eye and caused it to appear to droop. “This visage you look upon was willingly created in exchange for power.”

Lyra shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a Magician.”

She blinked. “That’s not possible.”

“I frequently am considered impossible.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Magicians don’t exist anymore. When the dimensions merged, every single Magician and Witch were wiped out of existence. There aren’t any more left.”

He shrugged and placed her hand back on her lap. For good measure, he patted it as it rested on