You’re going to do it.
“Yes.” He took a breath. “I am.”
As soon as he spoke it aloud, as soon as he made the decision, the knot in his gut unclenched and the nausea eased. The weight lifted off his chest, and suddenly he could breathe. Everything felt lighter.Hewas lighter.
He scrambled up, grabbed his knife from the table, and slashed across his forearm, right over the mark. Rendering it useless.
The weight lifted even more. He felt so light, he was surprised he didn’t float off the floor. He smiled at the thought of his own fucking death. Like the lunatic he was.
A fitting way for the Necromancer to go, I believe.
Indeed it was. Surrounded by the most powerful magic he’d ever attempted, his life would be the catalyst to complete his spell and begin the High King’s downfall. It was poetic, in a way.
He leapt to his feet. Before he could die, there were several steps he had to take.
Hurrying to his desk, he rifled through the mess of papers, shoving them off the edge until he found a blank piece. And then he began to write.
When he finished the letter, he folded it in three and then sealed it with melted candle wax, pressing it flat with his own fingerprint. Crossing the room, he found a clear spot on the floor, withdrew his knife, and slashed his arm open again. It wasn’t wise for him to waste so much blood before attemptingthe spell, but since he didn’t plan to survive, he wasn’t particularly concerned about that now.
He drew a demonic summoning seal on the ground. A demon could only summon another demon when there was a debt sworn between them. Twice, Belial had agreed to owe Murmur an unspecified favor. He had stipulated several conditions—Belial was no novice at negotiating—but Murmur knew how to work around them.
Now, however, instead of summoning the demon he wanted to speak to, he added a few tweaks to the sigil and then tossed the letter into the center. He activated the spell, and flames shot up around the outside of the sigil. When they died down, the letter was gone.
He hurried back to his desk. Now that the letter was sent, he needed to get the spell done before the recipient had time to show up demanding answers. The last thing he needed was a flaming, raging interruption at this crucial moment.
But there was one more thing he had to do.
He ran around the library like a madman, collecting books from various locations. Then, he penned a second letter and set it atop the stack. His gaze caught on one of the books in the stack, and he froze as something occurred to him. A tiny spark of hope lit in his chest.
Then he shook himself. The sacrifice would not be selfless unless he was fully committed. This was the only way. He had lived long enough.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from ripping a tiny piece of paper and putting it between the pages as a bookmark. So subtle it was basically invisible. It could be years before it was discovered, and by then, it would be far too late.
He stashed the books in a secret place, left a discreet trail he was sure his witch’s discerning eyes could find, and then repaired the outside line of the hellgate so it could be reactivated. He knew Suyin well enough to guess she would come toconfront him with a vengeance once she learned what the mark did. He needed to leave an open gate for her to do that.
When that was done, he hurried back to the sigil and readied his supplies to pick up where he’d left off. He looked down at his bare chest and swallowed. What he was planning … It wasn’t a particularly pleasant way to die.
Then he thought of the trusting look in Suyin’s eyes, her soft smile when he’d scooped her into his arms and carried her. Guilt and self-hatred felt like a sword in his chest. On the other side of his denial, he couldn’t believe he’d even considered trying to kill her, let alone taken it as far as he had.
He was doing this for his vision of the future. For himself and his life’s work.
But he was also doing it for her. Not only so she would live, but so she could rest easy knowing her father’s soul would be freed.
He turned the knife toward his own chest and began to carve a necromancy sigil into his skin.
A demon could only be killed by decapitation and then complete incineration by hellfire. Any remaining piece would regenerate if it was not burned to ash.
But a demon with a soul …
Besides Gamigin, no one had studied this phenomenon. All rules and understandings of demons applied only to soulless demons. Once a demon evolved, the rules changed. The life force of a being with a soul was tied to their soul.
And without it, they would die.
Necromancy was the art of animating soulless bodies … and controlling souls who had already left their bodies. Which meant Murmur knew exactly how to make the perfect sacrifice.
When he finished the sigil, the cuts covered his entire torso, from his collarbone all the way down to his navel. He was weak from blood loss now, lightheaded, his skin clammy witha thin layer of cold sweat. The world spun around him as he dropped to his knees.
He was bleeding out, but that alone wouldn’t kill him. But what he was about to do next would.
