Tale of the Necromancer by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

Epilogue

Maggie was gettingready for her wedding.

Again.

It wasn’t exactly a second wedding—it wasn’t like they’d been divorced, or whatever. Separated, maybe? Social media apps didn’t have a button for what they had been. Either way, what they were now was much simpler.

Together.

A do-over. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Ally was fussing over her makeup in a mirror on the other side of the room, grumbling about how the artist Maggie had hired to help them had put on far too much eyeshadow for her tastes.

Maggie chuckled. “You look fine. Bridesmaids are supposed to be colorful, aren’t they?”

“I look like a succubus!” She wiped at her eyelid with a tissue.

“You don’t.”

“How do you know? Have you ever met one? I have.” Ally switched eyes, wiping off some of the bright blue tones. “And that’s exactly what I look like.”

She couldn’t help but laugh again and reached down to pick up a white gold bracelet from the table. Gideon had given it to her a few months prior. It was a colonial style death’s head—her favorite—bound up in vines. An hourglass perched over its head. On the back, there was an engraving. Memento Mori. Remember that you must die.

Except she never would again. Oh, well, that wasn’t true. She’d die plenty of times, she was certain. She was accident prone already, and being immortal made a person a little bit reckless. But the important part was that she wouldn’t stay dead.

Strangely, that made her feel more connected to death, not less. She was a necromancer. By all accounts, from what she could figure out from the other supernatural freaks she had met over the past two years, she was the necromancer.

Two years. It’d been two years since she sat down with Gideon in Boston and told him she wanted to try again. And it had been the two happiest years of her life that she could remember. With everything out in the open—with no more secrets, no more lies, no more games—she quickly found that they were just as inseparable as their souls.

She touched the hourglass on the bracelet. Tempus Fugit. Time Flies.And it really, really did. It had felt like just the blink of an eye, before Gideon was on a knee before her, offering her an emerald engagement ring, asking her to marry him.

The word “yes” had come out of her before she really even processed what was happening. A few months of planning, another month postponed because an old acquaintance of Gideon’s who “had to meet her” couldn’t make the original date, and here they were.

Getting married.

Again.

Kind of.

The first time didn’t really count. They had chosen new rings—the old ones felt tainted to them both. There was a knock on the door, and the wedding coordinator, who was a lovely werewolf from Scotland, poked her head in. “Are you ready?”

“I’m not getting any younger.” She snickered. Someday she’d give up all the childish immortality puns.

Today was not that day.

* * *

Maggie walkedout onto the balcony of the reception hall, desperately needing a little bit of fresh air. That, and a bit of a break from all the commotion. She was just a little drunk, and sad she hadn’t had a chance to eat any of the fantastic food it looked like was being served to the guests. She’d been warned that she wouldn’t have time to eat, but she hadn’t quite believed it.

Now she believed it.

Leaning against the railing, she looked out at the autumn hills of France and smiled. France would always be her home. And being married here made her feel more connected to the people she wished could have attended. Even if they wouldn’t approve of the man she was marrying, she knew they would at least be happy for her.

“Ms. Valard? Or is it Mrs. Raithe, now?”

Turning, she blinked in surprise. She didn’t know the man who had followed her out. She didn’t recognize him from the reception, either. A long gray peacoat hung from a form that was on the thin side of average. He had light brown hair that fell across his forehead in a style that said he neglected it. He had razor-sharp blue eyes behind thin-framed glasses. He was handsome, in an average kind of way. Everything about him would look nondescript to a normal person. Almost too nondescript. But something about him made her hair stand on end. There was a tiredness to him. No, not a tiredness. An oldness.

Whoever this man—this creature—was, he was ancient. And ancient meant dangerous. She straightened, squared her shoulders, and braced herself. “Can I help you?”

When he smiled, her concerns faded. There was a warmth to it that made her think of a cozy blanket on a cold night. “Sorry to interrupt your night. But I’ve been waiting to talk to you for some time. You’ve caused me a great deal of headaches over the years, you know.”

“If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t intentional, seeing as I don’t even know who you are.” Yup, she was a little drunk.

He laughed. “Oh, I’m not upset.” He walked up to stand beside her at the railing, looking out at the rolling fields. “It isn’t my place to judge. Just collect.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh, fuck.” Like the proverbial lightbulb, she figured it out in a flash. She went rigid, watching the man, wide-eyed. “Oh, shit. Oh—”

He raised his hands in a show of harmlessness and laughed. The corners of his eyes creased when he smiled. “Calm down, calm down. I’m not here to start any trouble.”

“But—but you’re…”

“I am very happy to make your acquaintance.” He held out a hand to her. “Azrael, the archangel of death, at your service.”

* * *

Gideon nearly collapsed atop Maggie.He was utterly spent, feeling the sweat that beaded on his back begin to cool. Resting his forehead against her shoulder, he let out a long, satisfied groan.

He enjoyed honeymoons, he decided.

He enjoyed them a great deal.

Maggie was panting beneath him, coming down from her own cloud of ecstasy. He rolled over, sprawling onto his back beside her, and stretched his arms out in an attempt to cool down. “You’re going to kill me someday, Marguerite.”

“Better—like this—than other ways.” She was still gasping for air. He hadn’t been kind to her tonight. To be fair, she had asked for more. “Trust me.”

Chuckling, he shut his eyes and simply basked in the afterglow. Not just in the act of vigorous lovemaking they had just completed, but in everything. In her. In their new lives. In the love that they had found, against all his best efforts, could still be stitched together and made anew.

“I love you.” He reached for her and hugged her to his side. With a contented hum, she rested her head on his shoulder and draped an arm over his chest. They were both in need of a shower, but it could wait.

“I hadn’t noticed.” That was her way of saying it back to him. She loved to tease him every chance she had. And he couldn’t have minded any less.

Kissing the top of her head, he let out a long, sated sigh.

“What happens next?”

Surprised at the question, he opened his eyes to look down at her. “Hm?”

She traced a circle along his chest in a slow pattern. “It’s so weird. I have the whole world ahead of me. I have nearly unlimited resources and actually unlimited time. We could do anything. Go in any direction. But…”

“You feel as though you have no purpose? No goal?”

“Right.”

“Why do you think I meddle in international affairs, and pull the strings of organized crime? I needed a hobby.” He smiled and kissed her head again.

“Can you teach me to be a spooky mob boss?” She grinned. “I wanna be a spooky mob boss.”

“May all the gods forgive me if I do. I would be unleashing an agent of chaos upon the world. I would almost feel bad for your enemies.” The mental image was astounding, however. He rather did think he’d like to see her in stilettos and dress, ordering around grown men like they were children. “You might have to not call yourself a ‘spooky mob boss,’ though.”

“Pah. People need to take themselves less seriously.”

“I agree. But still. Decorum is key.”

“That’s why I have you.” She propped herself up on her elbows. “Don’t forget, I can make you teach me to be a spooky mob boss.” She tapped her finger on the end of his nose.

“We talked about you using my soul to compel me to do things. It’s unnerving, generally uncomfortable, and I despise it.”

“I know, I know. I only did it that one time. And you deserved it.”

“I had neglected to do the dishes for two hours. I hardly think that deserves being ordered about.”

“It was also funny.” She kissed him, smiling against his lips. He returned the gesture, holding her tighter for a moment. “Shower?” She climbed out of bed, stretching as she did. He greatly enjoyed the view.

“Shower.” He followed her. He wouldn’t take bets on how much showering would actually be done.

“And then you’ll teach me to be a spooky mob boss.” She shot a mischievous smile at him over her shoulder and reached out to him.

With a shake of his head, he took her hand and let her lead. “We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

As they climbed into the shower, he pressed her against the tile, barely giving her enough time to turn the knob. As the hot water poured over him, he lifted her up by the thighs. She wrapped her legs around him, inviting him in, and he wasted no time.

He would never tire of filling her. He would never tire of the way she gasped at the sudden fullness. Or how her eyes grew lidded and dark as he pinned her to the wall and began his onslaught.

There was no telling what the future would bring to them. They had an eternity stretching out before them. But if it was an eternity with her, he did not care what tragedy might beset him. Nothing else mattered.

You will never die alone. He had whispered those words to her as he forced her to take his soul. He meant it then, and he meant it now. He would stay at her side until the sun expanded and swallowed the Earth if he could.

As she gasped his name, as she cried out in bliss, he drove himself inside her as far and as hard as he could go.

When ecstasy consumed them once more, and he had spent himself deep inside her, he held her there against the wall, not wanting to part from her just yet.

She kissed him, a slow and languid embrace. It didn’t last nearly long enough for his liking. “I love you, wraith.”

“Lich.”

“Whatever.”

“And I, you, my princess.”

“Necromancer.”

He grinned. “Whatever.”

Fin.

Thank you as always.