Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 1)

“What did you find out?” She handed me a glass of white wine, and I took it gratefully.

“He wants me to check the body for any missing organs.” I explained the whole encounter, watching as her frown deepened. “I think maybe he didn’t do it.”

“Maybe he didn’t. But that’s weird, though—the missing organs. Does he think a necromancer is involved?”

I nearly choked on my wine. “Necromancer? Like, raising the dead?”

“And other death magic, yeah.”

“Well, shit.” Just the idea made my stomach turn. Had Beatrix been killed by a necromancer? My eyes pricked with sudden tears.

“What wrong?” Mac asked.

“Um…” Should I tell her? I drew in a deep, uncertain breath. But I wanted to talk about Beatrix. “My best friend—only friend, really—was killed last year.”

“Oh, no.” Mac gripped my arm.

“I found her in an alley with her head bashed in. I was too late to save her, and—” I choked on a sob.

Mac pulled me into a tight hug, and something thawed inside me. I hugged her back, composing myself, then pulled away. “Anyway, I was too late. But she had a tiny spiral burn mark under her throat . . . the same mark that was on the dead guy I found.”

“A necromancer’s mark.”

My gaze flashed up to her. “What?”

“Magic often leaves a mark. If she was killed in the name of necromancy, a mark would have been left on her skin.”

“Oh, my God. Does that mean Beatrix is a . . . a . . .”

I faltered, unable to say it.

“A zombie?” Mac shook her head. “Not if you saw her body. That would be highly unusual. Something else about her death was used for the necromancer’s magic.”

“I did see it.” My head spun. “So necromancers don’t just bring back the dead?”

“No. They also use death in their magic.”

I nodded, trying to make peace with it. “The Devil might also think it’s a necromancer, then.”

“He either saw the mark on the body, or he made one to throw you off the scent.”

The necromancer might be a false lead? That meant the Devil might still be responsible. I struggled to believe it, but I had to consider everything. I remembered the feeling of him stalking me. He was a killer, there was no doubt. Whether he’d killed the guy in the alley was up for debate.

A shout sounded from the distance, and I realized it was coming through the living room.

Mac’s face brightened. “That will be dinner!”

She hurried into the living room and leaned out the window “Thanks, Berat!”

When she hauled on the rope, the bucket appeared, and she grabbed it and brought it inside. Reaching in, she retrieved a stack of takeaway containers, all glass.

I eyed them, impressed and grateful for the distraction. “Fancy.”

“Reusable.” She grinned. “Better for the environment.”

“You’ve got a good system worked out.”

“It’s the reason I’d never leave here. I don’t even have to ring them to order my takeaway.”