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The Grave Keeper
A Corpse In Chains 4: Cloudy With A Chance Of Necromancy

A Corpse In Chains 4: Cloudy With A Chance Of Necromancy

Rain thundered down onto the streets of Bramble Myer.

Small rivers formed next to the sidewalks, carrying a tide of orange leaves on their back. The very air filled with the smell of Fall and rain. Fresh and cold, with just a hint of decay.

Dalton glared up at Cornelius from his position beneath a tiny umbrella and what meager cover the bus stop provided.

Water dripped from his dark face in small streams as his glare filled with pure accusation.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you!“

Cornelius raised his brows, a pure, innocent smile stretching his lips. “Whatever do you mean, my dear apprentice?“

Cornelius wasn’t wet. His thick yellow raincoat went down past his knees and was doing a marvelous job of protecting him from the pounding rain.

“What would I possibly have to be smug about? Maybe the fact that a certain someone insisted that I shouldn’t bring my ugly coat on this trip? Or maybe that you shouldn’t have let Wally try to drive? Honestly, how did you think a spider could reach the pedals? And now we’ve had to take the bus on short notice.”

Cornelius’s grin widened. “Could that be why I’m feeling rather… Gratified?“

His apprentice growled. “I resent you.”

“Now, now. I am a magnanimous master.“

With a thought and a few deep breaths, Cornelius settled into a shallow water shift. He shaped his aura around him while sending a quick pulse of intent through the section around Dalton.

Pull.

All the water on Dalton’s skin and clothes flew off him, pulled into a tight ball.

Cornelius tossed the orb away and reshaped his aura to push away the rain.

It wouldn’t work for any substantial amount of water, and it certainly wouldn’t work to stop an attack from another mage. But it was more than enough to keep them dry.

Dalton nodded. “I forgive you.”

Cornelius scoffed. “Forgive me for what? Wearing the right clothes for the occasion?”

“Yes.”

Cornelius’s response was cut short as a black SUV rolled up to their bus stop. The driver was kind enough to slow down and avoid sending a wave their way.

Cornelius’s mood soured. They weren’t here for a friendly call. And their car ‘breaking down’ the night before they left hadn’t helped things.

They quickly climbed inside, and the car took off before they even got their seatbelts buckled.

The driver was a hard-looking woman with short brown hair and tanned skin. She wasn’t wearing a coat, only a loose flannel shirt and jeans.

Werewolves rarely needed to care about the weather.

From her intense stare and the way she held herself, Cornelius was guessing she wasn’t just some driver. “Cagel?”

The woman glanced at him before returning her gaze to the road. “Yes. You’ve been briefed on the situation?”

He nodded. “Murder and suspected necromancer activity.”

Her grip tightened further until he was sure the werewolf was about to bend the steering wheel.

“Yes. Lilly was found dead in the woods three hours ago. Except she was still walking around with her throat torn out.”

Cornelius nodded, a cold pit forming in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

She eyed him.

Cornelius shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “One of you had to stop her. No one should have to do that.”

Cagel took a deep breath and nodded. “No. They shouldn’t. At least the Clans sent someone with experience.”

Cornelius snorted. “I unfortunately qualify.”

There were plenty of mages with more experience than Cornelius had with the undead, but they were either centuries older and thus in more demand or not here.

They sat in silence for most of the ride after that.

Bramble Myre was a sleepy town. It was several times the size of Silver Spruce but lacked its air of insanity. They passed by perfectly pedestrian homes and ordinary shops pelted by rain.

Which made a murder all the more gut-wrenching. It didn’t belong in this peaceful little place. They didn’t deserve this. No one did.

They pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story home. It was dark blue with brown accents and gave Cornelius a cozy impression.

“Pack owned,“ Cagel said as they climbed out. Cornelius didn’t know much about the woman. She was the alpha for the town's Pack and was somewhere around 100 years old, and that was it.

Despite that, she looked to be in her late thirties, but that was werewolves for you.

They started walking towards the side of the house, an eerie quiet hanging over yard.

The feeling of decay and death hit Cornelius long before the smell of it.

It was an oily, putrid sense, like shoving your hand into a bucket of maggots coated in grease.

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It was far from the worst thing Cornelius had sensed, but from the strength of it, he judged it to come from a moderately powerful mage. Not someone as wet behind the ears as Dalton, but no master.

The sensation hit Dalton about 10 seconds after Cornelius. The boy immediately doubled over and vomited.

Cagel nodded as if she’d expected as much, and Cornelius patted him on the back before reaching into his coat. A water bottle and a stick of gum later, Dalton rejoined them.

He turned to his apprentice and put a hand on his shoulder. He met his eyes. “You don't have to come. You can stay. This...it won't be pretty.”

Dalton swallowed, then opened his mouth. He paused, then slowly shook his head. “I’m supposed to be learning. Learning how to stop something like this should be- I should come.”

Cornelius felt a swell of pride clash with sadness.

Some sights left scars.

But his apprentice was right. He needed to learn, and learning now could save his or someone's life.

Cagel gave the boy a single stiff nod of approval.

They walked around to the side of the house and found a sectioned-off area of torn-up dirt and splintered wood.

The woman hadn’t gotten a clean death.

Her throat was a mess of torn flesh and dry blood, and the rest of her wasn’t much better. One arm was broken, there were clean slashes along her abdomen, and a ragged stab wound near her left temple.

“How old was she?“

The Alpha’s hands tightened, relaxed, tightened again. “26.“

“How much of the damage was done before she was reanimated?“

“The torn throat and the slashes.“ Her words were rough, a mix of rage and grief bubbling beneath the surface, desperate for an outlet.

Cornelius would try to give her one if he could piece the clues together.

He wrapped the body in his aura, sensing it as clearly as possible. His earlier estimate of the magic was a little off. It was potent, more potent than realized, but sloppier, too. This was done by someone less experienced but with more raw power to throw around.

A dangerous combination.

However, something was off. If this woman was 26, then Cornelius doubted an inexperienced necromancer could’ve disabled her without leaving any wounds aside from a torn throat.

The stomach wounds had been made at the end. He could sense a dense cloud of corruption there. It was likely done with a ritual knife.

“Silver?“

Cagel nodded.

“Dagger, our best guess. We haven’t been able to track it down.”

Cornelius inspected the woman’s wrists and ankles. There were no wounds visible, but he thought he could feel something.

He turned to Cagel. “Can you smell magic?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell me if her wrists or ankles have any scents aside from necromancy?”

She frowned, tiny specks of yellow swimming in her irises. “You can’t?”

Cornelius didn’t bristle at her tone. One of her Pack had been worse than murdered, and now the supposed expert couldn’t sense something.

“Mage senses can be trained in different directions. My specialty is range and deeply analyzing main traces, not sifting through muddled layers of magical impressions. In this case, the necromancy is overpowering most of the other traces for me.”

Cagel nodded and bent down. She breathed deep, her face wrinkling in disgust.

“…Stone. Or earth, if the distinction matters.”

Cornelius rubbed his beard. “Can you tell how strong it is?”

Cagel closed her eyes and took another breath. “Very, it’s…the necromancy feels more chaotic in comparison. Unrefined.”

Cornelius nodded, the pieces starting to fall into place.

“Dalton, what can you sense?”

His apprentice flinched but slowly extended his aura.

His was a weak, unrefined thing next to Cornelius’s, but he still pushed through the haze of corruption to scan the body.

He ran his shroud along her head, then moved down to her stomach. He paused, retching a few times before finishing at her wrists and ankles.

“It’s…strong. But…is necromancy supposed to feel so unorganized?”

Cornelius raised his brows. He was surprised that he had caught that so quickly. “No. It often does since necromancers tend to get caught before they can refine their skills. But this… this was a training exercise.”

A furious growl erupted from Cagel. “What?”

He firmed his jaw as he stared at the woman’s ruined throat. “Probably a more experienced necromancer. Used rock or clay to hold her up, remove her leverage.” His knuckles popped, and he blinked. He hadn’t even realized he was clenching his fists. “It would give their apprentice time to work.”

Cagel stared down at Lilly’s corpse with yellow eyes. “How do we find them?”

“What do you know of soul magic?“

She shrugged. “Not much. I’ve only encountered it a few times.”

“Dalton?”

Dalton swallowed as Cagel’s gaze focused on him.

“It- it requires extreme desperation or arrogance. It can affect spirits, ghosts, perform necromancy, and target life force directly.”

Cornelius nodded. “All true, though necromancy and spirit magic are technically different. What’s important here is the requirements for the shift. It’s one of the most variable shifts because the emotion itself doesn’t matter. It’s the force of will, the desperation, the want. You must want to achieve the shift with everything you have, every fiber of your being. And the only people that can pull that off consistently are the extremely skilled or the extremely desperate.”

Cagel stepped back, her eyes trailing back to the corpse. “That’s where the tales of mad necromancers come from? Is it because most are mad? Or at least unstable?”

Cornelius nodded. “Yes. Which is why we can expect them to attack again. They knew she was a werewolf. So they’re likely aiming for werewolves on purpose.”

“That, or they are arrows aimed by the Barrow King. This town is a short stopover from Silver Spruce. But I don’t know what he would accomplish by killing one werewolf in a strategic sense.”

He sighed. “Necromancers.” The word came out as a curse. “They’re so damn unstable that I can never tell if something more is going on. They could be part of a plot, a distraction tactic, or something else. Or they could just being insane and saw a chance to hurt someone.”

Cornelius paused, taking a deep breath. When he spoke, he took time between words, ensuring they came out as advice instead of orders. “I wouldn’t let anyone go anywhere except groups of three, two at the absolute smallest. But the larger the group, the better. They’ll either try to strike again, and you’ll be ready, or they’ll move on to easier prey.”

Cagel snarled. “I don’t want them to move on. I want their heads on a spike!”

Cornelius nodded. “I know. And I don’t think they will run. Targeting werewolves, especially a Pack so close to the Pact’s new staging ground, has to be deliberate. Either they're working for the Barrow King trying to distract us and stir up chaos.” He sighed. “Or, as I said, it’s some self-imposed challenge conceived by their broken minds.”

He met the woman’s eyes. “Either way, I don’t think they’ll run.”

She stared back, and her smile was savage. “Good.”