Chapter 4 The Necromancer's Secret

The quill slipped from my fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a soft click. Every drop of blood in my body felt like it had drained straight down to my toes.

This man... he could actually see Barnaby.

Lucian Mercer wasn't staring blankly into empty air or assuming a cold draft had just blown past. He had locked his gaze dead onto the old ghost’s eyes with unmistakable irritation.

The air in the Thistlewood Inn's lobby instantly froze, leaving only the howling roar of the foggy storm outside the window.

Lucian let out a long sigh, casually flicking stray raindrops from the hem of his black coat.

"You don't have to look at me like I'm a monster, Miss Innkeeper."

His deep baritone drifted smoothly, cutting through the suffocating silence between us.

"I'm a necromancer—a spirit mage, if that sounds gentler to your ears."

My heart hammered wildly at his blunt confession.

A necromancer?

In the bedtime tales told around Bramblewick, necromancers were always depicted as creepy, wizened old men who laid curses on graveyards and reeked of rotting soil.

Yet the man standing before me didn't match that horrifying description in the slightest. He was far too young, impeccably dressed, and damn it... entirely too handsome for someone who commanded the dead.

"I only need a warm, quiet room to rest for the night," Lucian continued, glancing at the pile of gold coins on the counter. "Without interference from the town's magic association, and without troublesome mortal affairs."

I thought the revelation of his craft would send the three ghosts in my lobby fleeing in absolute terror.

Instead, my hopes for whatever sanity remained among the spirits crumbled in an instant. Rather than cowering or hiding behind the walls, all three looked thrilled out of their minds.

"A necromancer?!" Lady Cordelia gasped, her voice shrill with adoration.

The noble ghost immediately smoothed the folds of her puffy blue gown, fluttering her translucent feather fan daintily over her chest.

"Magnificent! Finally, a highborn gentleman possessing high-tier mystic prowess deigns to grace this run-down hovel with his presence!"

Meanwhile, Pip darted down nimbly from atop the old bookshelf, hovering and spinning directly above Lucian's head.

"Whoaaaa! Mister, can you summon dancing skeletons?! Show me, Black Cloak Mister!" Pip cheered excitedly, trying to reach out and touch Lucian's black locks.

Barnaby proudly stroked his translucent beard, puffing out his chest before the mage.

"At last, a civilized soul who can appreciate the exquisite diction of my poetry in this godforsaken place!"

Lucian merely glanced upward, taking in the three spirits' antics through dark, almost unreadable eyes. His expression looked thoroughly exhausted yet entirely numb, as if dealing with the endless chatter of restless spirits was simply part of his daily routine.

Watching the three ghosts grow increasingly brazen in front of a paying customer made my temples throb with a sharp ache. A wave of sheer panic surged through my chest.

What if he changed his mind and canceled his stay out of annoyance?

The rent on the counter was my only hope of saving the Thistlewood Inn from being seized for back taxes this week. I couldn't let those gleaming gold coins walk right back out the door.

"M-Mr. Mercer, please don't cancel your room!" I cried in a panic, leaning forward over the counter. "They... I mean, these spirits are completely harmless! They're just a little rude and have zero manners!"

My rapid breaths burned in my throat as I scrambled to defend myself, heat rushing up to dye my entire face a flaming crimson.

Lucian tore his gaze away from Pip, turning his sharp, dark eyes directly onto me. He studied my sheer panic for a few agonizing seconds.

Then, the corner of his thin lips curved upward into a subtle, faint smirk. My traitorous heart skipped a beat, racing out of control.

"I have no intention of leaving, Miss Sterling," Lucian murmured, amusement lacing his deep voice. "Besides, watching you panic half to death is far more entertaining than any luxury hotel downtown."

Heat rushed through my veins, setting my cheeks and ears ablaze. This man was dangerous—disarming someone with a single offhand remark came far too easily to him. I bit my lower lip hard, bunching the hem of my apron in my fists to hide how hopelessly flustered I was.

Lucian picked up brass key number four from the counter and slipped it into his coat pocket.

"I'll head up to my room now," he said, turning toward the winding stairs with steady strides.

His firm footsteps set a rhythmic cadence against the weathered floorboards, accompanied by the howl of the storm outside the inn's walls.

I stood frozen behind the desk, watching his broad, black-cloaked back recede. The crisp scent of cool spice and a faint hint of cinnamon lingered in the air, oddly warming the small lobby.

Once the sound of his footsteps vanished around the upstairs landing and his door clicked shut, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Resting my forehead against the cool wood of the counter, I tried to calm my racing heart.

My precious peace lasted all of two seconds.

Whoosh!

A cold gust suddenly swept across my counter, fluttering a few blank reservation slips.

The three ghosts swooped down from the ceiling in unison, crowding around my desk with eyes gleaming with mischievous intent.

"Sylvie! Sweet Sylvie!" Lady Cordelia gushed, clasping her ethereal hands to her cheeks. "Did you hear that voice? Deep, utterly commanding, and loaded with coin! Absolute prime husband material for highborn ladies!"

"And he's got super cool dark powers!" Pip bounced around in midair, punching the empty space. "I'm gonna ask him to teach me how to summon a giant ghost cat!"

"Will the three of you shut up for five seconds?" I cut in, lifting my head and glaring at them with exasperation. "He's a necromancer! What if he takes offense and curses Grandma's inn into a pile of ashes?!"

Barnaby cackled at my worries—the distinct laugh of an old man with a thousand scheming tricks up his sleeve. He clapped his hands together with a sharp, ghostly pop.

Grinning broadly at Lady Cordelia and Pip, he swooped down until his translucent face hovered inches from my nose. His eyes twinkled with unadulterated mischief before he whispered loudly in triumph:

"Handsome, rich, and a necromancer. He's the perfect match for our Sylvie!"