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The mayor's aid flinched as the necromancer petted one of the graves. This was a bad idea, Donatella told herself. She wanted to run, but to deny a service to a Boliarin was to deny the king.
She had worked hard to get where she was. First four years in accounting school and then that exam where she had to do everything without a calculator. As if she would ever be forced to do so again.
The necromancer began to sing, a guttural thing that scared all the living beings around him. It scared Donatella too, but she didn't do so much as make a step back.
The vampire looked as uneasy as she was, which was a comfort. What had brought them together, Donatella asked herself? Were they both creatures of the night, or were they simply together out of convenience?
