Cherished Read online

  First Published by Monster House Books, LLC in 2017

  Monster House Books, LLC

  34 Chandler Place Newton, MA 02464

  www.monsterhousebooks.com

  ISBN 9781945723001

  Copyright © 2017 by Monster House Books LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  For the Special Education Teachers at the Countryside School in Newton, MA.

  Because they work real magick every day.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  In the last three months, I hadn’t raised the dead, animated any skeletons, or cast a single kill spell. For me, that was an achievement. After all, I was a Grand Mistress Necromancer turned farm girl…And I loved my new life.

  Mostly.

  Sometimes.

  All right. In complete honesty, I was dying to cast a silencer spell right now. The reason was simple—Gail and Lizzie Dunkel had joined me for a wagon ride into town.

  “Who do you think we’ll meet in the village?” asked Lizzie brightly. She and her twin sister flanked me on the driver’s bench. The pair both had big blue eyes, tanned skin, long blonde hair, and curvy figures. They even wore matching green gowns. I was their opposite: long dark hair, brown eyes, porcelain complexion, and slim build.

  “Perhaps the widow Feyer or the Hartmann boys,” replied Gail. The two went on to list other farm families we might encounter. Their chatter was high-pitched and soothing, like a pair of happy birds. Still, I ached to cast my spell. Why? Without it, the sisters would eventually ask me to join their conversation.

  In my life, magick came easily. But small talk? Not at all.

  My horse Smokey took a familiar turn into an orchard. Bright morning sunlight gleamed off the trees.

  “What beautiful apples,” sighed Lizzie.

  “They look delicious,” added Gail. She rubbed her stomach. “How I’d love to stop and try one.” She stared at me pointedly. After all, I was holding the reins to Smokey.

  Even so, we weren’t stopping. The fruit looked too waxy and perfect, which meant this orchard had been hit with freeze blight. Sure, the apples looked gorgeous. But once you bit in, you’d find the colorful shell was filled with foul white goop. Yes, there was still an apple in the milky slop, but it wasn’t anything you’d want to eat—more of a small, gray and disgusting lump. Most decidedly not delicious. I gently flicked my reins so Smokey would move a little faster.

  Lizzie fluttered her lashes at me. “Can’t we please stop, Elea?”

  I pretended not to hear her question.

  Gail nudged me in the ribs. “You do talk, don’t you?”

  I straightened my spine. What was I afraid of, exactly? Not so long ago, I rode through far more dangerous woods than these, all in the hopes that bandits would attack me. Plus, I raised thousands of Necromancers from the dead. I even exiled none other than Viktor, a fearsome mage who could wield the hybrid magick of both Creation Casters and Necromancers. Back then, I feared no one—I was a Grand Mistress Necromancer on a mission. Now, I was merely an ex-mage trying to chitchat with some other farm girls.

  Small talk. How hard could that be?

  “We aren’t stopping.” I nodded to the trees. “Those are covered in freeze blight.”

  The girls began gasping and waving their arms in panic.

  I ground my back teeth. As it turned out, small talk was rather hard.

  “Freeze blight,” cried Lizzie. “Oh, no! It couldn’t have hit our shire.”

  “This is terrible,” added Gail. “There will be no food this winter. We’re all going to die.”

  Lizzie gripped my upper arm. “You’re just teasing…Aren’t you?”

  A long pause followed in which I silently cursed my friend Philippe. This had all been his idea. He’d urged me to transport the Dunkel sisters in what he called his Elea Stops Frightening The Locals plan. I’d tried to argue my way out of it, but for some reason, it was impossible to win a verbal battle with Philippe. Now, I was stuck answering Lizzie’s question.

  I kept my features carefully level. My Necromancer training taught me to mask my emotions. “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.” Mostly I said this because I could always cast spells that would kill the blight and speed the harvest. But I’d only do that if things got really dire. One rotten orchard wasn’t enough to break my vow against magick.

  Here was my issue. My parents left me Braddock Farm. It was all I had to remember them by. I wanted to honor their legacy and become a farm girl once more. My best chance to do that was in giving up on magick altogether. “Perhaps we should talk about something else?” I asked.

  “I love this idea,” said Lizzie. “How delightful that you wish to join our conversation.” Lizzie looked so please, I almost felt guilty for not wanting to chat with her. Almost.

  “Let me think.” Gail tapped her tiny pointed chin. “Ah, I have it. Elea, what’s your favorite way to bake a barley loaf?”

  Barley loaf? That’s a thing?

  “I don’t bake.”

  Lizzie stared me, slack jawed. “Surely you’ve made apple tarts?”

  “No.”

  “Bran muffins?”

  “No.”

  “Spiced pie?”

  “No.” How many things did most farm girls bake? For my part, I ate whatever Mabel and Sam had ready. The pair had been watching over my farm while I was out adventuring this past year. They’d stayed on after I returned, mostly because they were excellent farmers. Mabel kept a perpetual pot of stew over the hearth.

  “What about porridge?” asked Gail.

  Relief washed through me. I was about to answer that, Yes, I know how to make porridge, when Lizzie elbowed her sister in the rib cage. “Hush, Gail. Everyone knows how to make porridge.” She leaned forward on the driver’s bench in order to catch my eye. “What do you make that’s special?”

  “Nothing you’d like to hear about, I’m afraid.” I was trying to keep my stories about Necromancer spells to a minimum. My tales tended to frighten everyone except Philippe.

  “Please,” said Gail. “We know you aren’t a witch these days.”

  “I’ve never been a witch,” I said slowly. “I’m a Grand Mistress Necromancer.”

  “Right,” said Lizzie. She and Gail shared a long look. I got the feeling I’d made a social blunder somewhere along the line, but I couldn’t think where. No self-respecting Necromancer tolerated being called a witch. Witches were hacks who performed black magick at travelling faires. Mages like me spent years mastering our skills, and we never used o
ur powers for evil.

  “Well,” said Gail. “Tell us what things you made as a Necromancer.”

  My mood lifted. Fine. If they want the truth, they’ll get it.

  “I’m quite good at animating skulls.”

  Lizzie popped her hand over her mouth. “Skulls.”

  The shocked look on her face was just too precious. “That’s right. And I always cover mine with gemstones. It makes for a nice effect, especially when the eye sockets glow while they’re talking.”

  More silence. I may have pushed that too far. It was all part of my Zuchtlos nature, which was what Necromancers called someone who was impetuous. I decided to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “Philippe said nice things about both of you, by the way. I’m so glad he suggested we spend time together.”

  Another long and meaningful stare passed between the sisters. I almost wanted to offer to let them sit side by side. After all, they had to lean forward to gawk around me.

  Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Do you fancy Philippe? Is he courting you?”

  I should have seen that question coming and been prepared for it. But I didn’t and I wasn’t, so I blurted out the truth. “I don’t fancy Philippe and we aren’t courting.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Gail. “He’s awfully sweet on you.”

  Gail wasn’t exaggerating. Philippe often proclaimed his undying affection for me, but I had other suspicions. Namely, I thought Philippe would rather be living with his sister, Amelia. However, Amelia had recently been reunited with her lost friend Veronique, a woman that Philippe detested. So he was hiding out nearby until Veronique took off.

  “Believe me,” I said. “I have no designs on Philippe as anything other than as a friend.”

  “If you say so.” Gail giggled, and it reminded me how she and Lizzie were nineteen, which wasn’t much younger than my twenty-two years. Still, our ages felt centuries apart. I hadn’t giggled in years.

  Lizzie fanned her face dramatically. “Most girls would die for a chance at that man.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I said. In fact, Philippe was exactly the kind of fellow that I should fancy. He was handsome, charming, and kind. Unfortunately, my heart was still set on Rowan, the man who was engaged to Philippe’s sister.

  What a disaster.

  I decided to close out this topic. “If you doubt me, we can settle the issue once we get to the village. I’ll stop by the tavern where Philippe is staying. He can explain things directly.”

  Gail squirmed. “Visit Philippe alone? But we’ve no chaperones to protect our reputations.”

  “Don’t worry. I can kill almost anything, including Philippe.”

  Lizzie and Gail stared at me yet again, wide eyed. I was going for some kind of record here: Most Social Mistakes By A Necromancer.

  “Wh-what?” asked Lizzie.

  Obviously, I needed to change the subject once more. I cleared my throat. “But that’s enough about Philippe. Do you have any news about this weekend’s faire?”

  The Dunkel faire was an annual tradition. It always took place on the fields behind their main house, and the next celebration was this Saturday. This was yet another potential social catastrophe which Philippe had manipulated me into.

  Gail beamed. “Oh, the preparations for the faire are coming along quite well. We already have set up the tables and—”

  All of a sudden, a wave of energy coursed over me, caressing my skin into gooseflesh. The rest of Gail’s words were lost to my consciousness.

  Someone is casting magick nearby.

  The spell felt like hundreds of embers searing my skin. That could only mean one thing. A detection spell from a Creation Caster. Interesting.

  All Creation Casters knew magick, but most could only perform a handful of low-level spells. Senior Casters were extremely rare. Sadly, an evil mage named Viktor had transformed most Senior Casters into Changed Ones, which were part-animal mages that could cast hardly any spells. Rowan and I had sent Viktor into exile; most Changed Ones were thrilled with that accomplishment.

  A handful still served Viktor, though.

  A sinking feeling crept into my stomach. Something told me this new mage was one of Viktor’s followers. Not good.

  I pulled the wagon to a stop and scanned my surroundings. We’d passed the orchard some time ago. Now, tall stalks of green barley lined either side of the road. The shadows within them seemed too dark for daylight.

  Something was wrong here.

  And because I was Zuchtlos, that wrongness felt absolutely exciting to me. My shoulders squared. The world came into clearer focus. An evil Creation Caster was definitely close by. A battle of wits and magick could start any second now.

  For the first time in ages, I giggled with joy.

  Chapter Two

  I scanned the barley fields while Gail kept talking about the faire. “And we have dozens of torches and lanterns,” she said. “The festivities can last all night long, if we like—”

  “Hush,” warned Lizzie.

  “Why?” asked Gail.

  “Because she has her arm up.” Lizzie’s voice trembled as she pointed to my left hand.

  Oops. I hadn’t even realized that I’d raised my arm in order to cast.

  All the color drained from Gail’s face. “Is something wrong?”

  I spoke in a low and calm voice. “Listen to me carefully. Climb into the back of the wagon and stay down.” There was no point in all three of us sitting exposed on the driver’s bench. My open cart had tall wooden slats along the sides. If Gail and Lizzie crawled in back, they’d be well hidden, so long as they stayed quiet.

  “But why are we leaving the bench?” asked Lizzie. “It will ruin our dresses.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Because I said so.”

  A petite girl stepped out from the line of barley stalks. She looked to be in her late teens, had pixie-like features and spiky red hair. Her garb was the fitted brown leathers of a Creation Caster.

  Gail gripped my shoulder. I couldn’t help but notice how she and Lizzie were still not moving off the bench. “Who’s that?” asked Gail.

  “And why is she dressed so strangely?” added Lizzie.

  “She’s a Creation Caster. Get into the back of the wagon.” They still didn’t listen to me. It was becoming irritating.

  The girl smiled in a predatory way. “I’m Wren, and I’m looking for someone.” Her eyes glinted, and I noticed that they were all black and bulged in an odd way. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t name what.

  Gail pointed to my face. “She’s a Grand Mistress Necromancer! Take her and leave us alone!”

  “I’ll do something else entirely.” Wren leaned back her head and opened her mouth. A swarm of red wasps flew past her lips and sped toward the wagon.

  That was when I realized what Wren’s eyes reminded of: an insect’s.

  Not a surprise, really. All of Viktor’s followers had their bodies altered in order to take on the characteristics of an animal or insect. They were called Changed Ones and could only cast a limited number of spells—ones that Viktor had approved for them. Most Changed Ones, like my friend Linden, hated their alterations and followed Rowan.

  But Wren clearly wasn’t like Linden. She beamed with glee as the red wasps whizzed toward us.

  My mind raced through options for battle. I wasn’t wearing any totem rings preloaded with spells. To use my magick, I had to speak an incantation. That would take time, but there was no avoiding it.

  My heart thudded faster at the idea of casting a spell. It had been far too long.

  Closing my eyes, I pulled Necromancer energy into my limbs. The magick was all around me. The power of life departing hid in the dying stalks of barley and stayed buried inside bones underground. The right kind of stones held the concentrated remains of those long gone.

  Necromancer power quickly gathered inside my soul. A pleasant chill moved up my torso, like inhaling clean air after choking on smoke. I concentrated the
energy into my left hand. Once the bones glowed blue with power, I spoke my incantation.

  “Protect the weak

  Embolden the strong

  Encircle my party

  Protect from wrong”

  The moment the words left my lips, a blue haze of power appeared around the wagon, reminding me of a giant bubble of soap. The form looked fragile, but this spell was so powerful, the sharpest blade couldn’t break its surface.

  The red wasps slammed their bodies against my protection spell. Angry buzzing filled the air as the magickal insects stung the spell’s surface. They didn’t break through, though. I exhaled. We’re safe. Even Smokey was held safely within the bubble of my spell.

  Lizzie pointed to the shifting sphere around us. “Did you cast that?”

  “Yes.”

  Gail stared about in awe. “It’s keeping the wasps out.”

  “That would be why I cast it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Will you please get into the back of the wagon now?”

  Gail screeched beside me. “There’s one on my hand! How did it get through?”

  I turned to face her. Sure enough, a red wasp the size of a crabapple was crawling up her arm. With each step, it’s eight long legs twitched and a pair of thin wings fluttered.

  When I spoke next, I took care to use my most soothing voice. “I thought this protection orb would keep them out, but it took some time to cast.” I gestured to the horde of wasps that buzzed angrily around our magickal bubble. There were so many now, I couldn’t even see Wren anymore. “You must stay calm and keep still. That way, the wasp won’t sting you.”

  Gail’s blue eyes widened. “It’s going to sting me?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Gail cocked her arm, ready to slap the wasp. Sure enough, the giant insect jabbed its sharpened back end into her skin. Gail screeched and then fell quiet. Her head slumped forward, but other than that, she didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong with my sister?” asked Lizzie.

  I pressed my fingers to Gail’s throat. A steady pulse beat there. “She’s in an enchanted sleep. Just don’t swat any of the—”

  “Wasp!” I turned to see Lizzie smack one of the massive insects on her neck. Its stinger pierced her skin. Like Gail, Lizzie immediately hung her head and began to snore.