There is no way to survive death.
"What the hell?" Alex muttered, rubbing his eyes.
"Get up. We're leaving," I said, already pulling on my clothes. I couldn't exactly show up at a necromancer's place in pajamas.
"Where to?" he growled, his voice thick with sleep. "At this hour? Are you crazy?"
"No," I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "I just found out I'm not."
"Hurry up!" I added, tossing a pile of clothes at him, "accidentally" hitting him square in the face.
Five minutes later, we stood outside the front door, dressed in full battle gear: T-shirts and jeans. Soon, Alice and Des arrived, both looking far more alert than Alex, who still seemed half-asleep.
"What are we doing at 12:30 a.m.?" grumbled the wolf, his expression sour.
"We're desecrating corpses, obviously," Des replied, the disturbing part being the genuine enthusiasm in his voice.
Without further ado, we set off, leaving Alex standing in the doorway, his mouth agape. He resembled a beached fish, and under different circumstances, I might have laughed at his expression.
"Are you scared?" Des asked, his grin smug.
"I'm not scared!" Alex shot back, puffing up his chest. "I just think this is all a bit... creepy."
"Same," Des chuckled.
"No, it's not!" Alex protested, his defiance only making Des laugh harder.
I had to admit, Des knew how to push Alex's buttons perfectly. We walked through the deserted streets, the streetlights struggling against the stubborn grip of the night. Shadows danced at the edges of the light, refusing to fully give way.
"Where are we going?" Alex finally asked, his impatience breaking through.
"To the nearest cemetery," Des replied nonchalantly. "To the best of my knowledge, that's where the local necromancer hangs out."
"What exactly is a necromancer?" Alex's voice wavered slightly.
Summoners, corpse snatchers, death gods—necromancers had many names, but no one truly knew what they were. Rumours circulated about this particular cemetery: if you made a request at midnight, the Necromancer would appear, granting it under certain conditions.
When we arrived at the cemetery, Des stepped forward, his voice commanding. "Appear before me, Necromancer!"
Nothing happened.
"Appear before me, Necromancer!" he repeated, a little louder.
"It's well past midnight," Alice pointed out, crossing his arms. "Let's try again tomorrow."
Des nodded, conceding defeat for the night. As we turned to leave, I braced myself for the inevitable—Alex's complaints. Sure enough, he whined the entire way back. Alice and Des decided to stay the night, just in case the ghost reappeared. But the house remained quiet, the ghost choosing not to show itself again.
(...)
The next day was heavy with tension. The tiny apartment felt stifling, as though no one could settle into the uneasy silence that hung in the air. Even Des, who usually flirted with Alice every chance he got, remained subdued—a rarity that I silently appreciated. It was clear that the situation had grown serious.
Desperate to make use of the restless hours, I decided to search for any clue about the ghost boy's identity. I dug out all the school yearbooks I had, hidden in a forgotten corner of my wardrobe, and meticulously combed through them. Page after page, face after face—nothing. Frustration built with each fruitless search. Damn this vampire hocus-pocus! Why did all traces of a person vanish once they were taken?
As the night deepened, I found myself sitting cross-legged on my bed, retreating into the glow of my phone, searching for some semblance of distraction. I typed out a message, my fingers moving across the screen with a sort of mechanical precision.
[I need you to keep an eye on Jo alone.]
A moment later, the screen lit up with her reply.
Icy Vampire Princess: [What happened?]
I stared at her words for a long time, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. How could I even begin to explain?
[Well, I'm haunted.]
Her response was immediate, the typing dots barely disappearing before her reply came through.
Icy Vampire Princess: [Haunted? Like... ghosts? Or your past catching up with you?]
I smirked, despite myself. [I'm haunted, like… by bloodthirsty ghosts. They even possessed Alice.]
There was a pause on her end, longer than usual, before her response appeared.
Icy Vampire Princess: [Okay. But you better explain everything when you can.]
I started to type a reply, but something thudded against my window.
Alice nearly had a heart attack, going pale as a sheet, looking like he might faint at any moment. Alex stared at the window as if expecting a mountain troll to crawl through it. Almost immediately, he clutched his nose and turned an alarming shade of green.
"It's a news raven," Des announced, nonchalantly perched on my desk, showing no signs of moving for the next century.
Since no one was about to save me from the task, I reluctantly got up and approached the window. Only then did I realize the bird was dead—though not from the impact. I understood Alex's reaction; the stench hit me, making it clear the bird had been dead for over a week. Its decaying body was a grotesque display, with white worms squirming in its eye sockets.
I opened the window, and to my shock, the bird sprang to life, gagging before a sheet of paper tumbled from its beak onto the sill. It cawed once and flew away as if nothing had happened.
Suppressing a shudder, I flicked a worm off the rolled-up paper and reluctantly picked it up. As I smoothed it out, I realized there wasn't a single letter written on it.
"Dear Mr. Dénes Roubál, Dear Mr. Benjamin Garai, Dear Mr. Alex Szalai, and last but not least, Dear Mr. Shaytan! Tonight, at exactly midnight, I will be able to receive you. Please, if the time is convenient, do not be late! Sincerely, the Necromancer."
Each word resonated in the depths of my mind, booming happily. Could that be the voice of the Necromancer?
"You heard it, didn't you?" Des leaped off the desk, grinning ear to ear. "We're in for a particularly dreadful night!"
He said it as cheerfully as if he'd just announced Christmas was coming early. Alex shuddered, clearly unnerved. I couldn't help but wonder—did everyone get their own special delivery from the Necromancer, or should I feel honored?
(...)
We arrived at the iron gate of the cemetery at precisely eleven fifty-nine.
"Listen, necromancers are cunning creatures," Des began, his tone light but serious. "I'm sure he'll try to kill us once or twice. They're notorious for their poisons."
"Are you sure this is necessary?" Alex asked, his voice laced with unease.
He clearly had no desire to encounter any more resurrected animal corpses—not now, not ever.
"Don't worry," Alice reassured him, "necromancers are hospitable. I'm sure he won't send any dead ravens after you."
The seer's watch began to tick wildly, signaling midnight. A mysterious mist descended upon the cemetery as if conjured from thin air. The atmosphere grew heavy and humid, each breath becoming a laborious task.
Out of the fog emerged a dark figure, moving closer with deliberate steps. The soft thud of his footsteps echoed in the stillness until he stopped a meter away and lifted his top hat with a flourish.
"Greetings," he intoned. "Come in."
With a slight bow, the cemetery gate creaked open. Des was the first to step forward, moving at a leisurely pace, and we followed cautiously. The Necromancer turned and led us deeper into the cemetery. At the center stood a small crypt, its wooden double doors creaking open as we approached. Seriously, this is where he lives?
Crossing the threshold, I was taken aback. Inside was a cozy hallway, nothing like the eerie exterior suggested. A candle on the wall flickered to life, casting a warm glow. The Necromancer unzipped his long coat and tossed it onto a rack. None of us removed our coats; the chill inside was more biting than the night air.
The hallway led to a living room where the Necromancer gestured for us to sit. Alice and Des took the black leather sofa, Alex settled into one armchair, and I claimed the other. The Necromancer sat across from us in a third chair.
The room was furnished in a clean, antique style. Behind us, a large mirror reflected the dim light, and beneath it stood a piece of exquisitely carved furniture draped with a red tablecloth. Candlesticks and green eosin ornaments adorned the space. An old, intricately designed clock ticked loudly on the wall, the kind that costs a fortune and requires such delicate winding that it hardly seemed worth the trouble. On the glass table before us lay a tray of assorted tea cakes, glasses, and a yellowish glass kettle topped with a metal dragon.
"A cup of tea, anyone?" the Necromancer offered softly. "Relax, it's not poisoned. After all, it wouldn't do me any good if you died before the contract was signed..."
For some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling that the sly grin on his lips was a stark contrast to the words coming out of his mouth. After that, none of us touched the food or drink.
The Necromancer's green eyes were unnervingly vivid, flickering with an unsettling light, and, for some strange reason, I had no clue how old he was. Though he looked no older than thirty, his eyes betrayed centuries of wisdom and knowledge. His hair cascaded in a long, blood-red stream from under his top hat, and his formal attire, complete with a bow tie, made him look every bit the businessman he seemed to be.
Des laid the diary on the table, open at the exact moment of the last entry.
"We're dealing with a truly formidable specter," he announced.
The Necromancer gave the diary a cursory glance before dismissing it entirely.
"Vengeful ghosts," he mused. "Do you have any idea why they're haunting you?"
His gaze locked onto mine, those supernatural irises probing deep, and a chill ran down my spine.
"How did you know?" I asked, my voice slightly strained.
The Necromancer smiled, a knowing curve of his lips. "Although they are not always visible, that does not mean ghosts disappear. They are always there, watching. A small horde of them has gathered on my doorstep, and, I must say, they all want you."
The fear must have been written all over my face because he quickly added:
"Don't worry, they can't cross my threshold without my permission."
I nodded, trying to steady my nerves.
"Since you're the one being haunted, Mr. Shaytan, I'd prefer to conclude our deal in private," he said, his tone shifting.
My eyes widened in surprise, and I caught the protest in Des's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but then I heard a sharp snap, and just like that, my friends were gone. One moment they were there, the next they were gone—along with the sofa and Alex's armchair. The room felt a little bigger, and instinctively, I felt smaller. The clock continued its deafening tick, filling the silence.
"Where are my friends?" I asked, the nervousness creeping into my voice despite my best efforts.
"This place is my realm," the Necromancer answered smoothly, "I can manipulate it however I wish. Don't worry, Shaytan, they're safe. Once we're done, you'll leave with them," he assured me, and I couldn't help but notice the shift in his demeanor—he was no longer so formal.
Recognition flickered in his eyes, and he quickly added, "Do you mind?"
I shook my head, feeling a growing unease.
"Now, back to the matter at hand," he continued, his gaze sharpening. "Do you have any idea why you've attracted such a massive number of vengeful ghosts?"
"No," I replied, my voice betraying the weight of the realization. "The boy I met... I didn't even know he was dead."
The Necromancer folded his hands, resting his chin on them. It was then that I noticed his long, black claws, the sharp tips gleaming in the dim light.
"I'm not sure how much you know about vengeful spirits..." he said, studying me with a curious expression.
I shivered at the intensity of his gaze—he must have seen it because the corners of his lips curled upward for just a moment.
"I didn't even know they existed."
"No wonder," he replied with a faint sigh. "Only those who are haunted are aware of their existence. Only they can see these spirits, and usually, vengeful ghosts haunt the ones responsible for their deaths. But your case, dear Shaytan, is... unusual." He leaned back, his expression growing more serious. "This is concerning. These ghosts feed on the life force of the haunted, strengthening themselves with it. It's manageable with only a few, but with your... situation, it could be fatal. They will drain every drop of life from you if you're not careful."
That didn't sound good at all. Not at all. In fact, it scared the hell out of me.
"So, if this continues... I'm just going to die?" I asked.
"You've grasped the situation quite well," the Necromancer said with a charming, almost amused smile.
"We have to do something!" I said urgently.
Despite the urgency in my voice, the Necromancer didn't seem offended in the slightest.
"We will do something," he said. "But it will not be free."
The businessman tone in his voice made my stomach tighten. I had a feeling this was going to cost me more than I was prepared for.
The Necromancer leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he studied me with an unsettling intensity. It was as if he were searching for something deep within me, something no one had ever seen before. I felt exposed, uncomfortable under his gaze.
"My usual clients are given two choices," he said after a long pause. "They can either sell me half of their remaining life, essentially paying me with their life force, or offer me their body after death."
The idea made my skin crawl. I didn't want to give him half of my life. I wanted to live, not just scrape by with half a life.
"I think I'll make an exception for you," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "Yes, I think it's for the best."
"What?" I asked, confusion creeping into my voice.
His sly grin widened, and there was something both unsettling and intriguing in his expression.
"Dear Shaytan," he said, his voice almost gentle now, "I think you have a future worth watching. I believe you'll make great strides in time." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an almost predatory interest. "You see, the eyes of a necromancer see far more than those of humans, monsters, or any other creatures. We're not wrong. Ever."
"What do you see?" I asked.
The Necromancer's smile deepened. "I see souls."
"Are you seeing mine now?" I asked, shocked by his admission.
He nodded, his gaze unblinking.
"And what is it like?"
He leaned back in his chair, the smile on his lips soft and almost knowing. "What excitement is there in knowing everything?" he said, his voice almost a whisper. "It's... special, I can tell you that much."
"What am I paying you for your help?" I asked, my tone sharp. "Necromancers serve the God of Death, don't they? Do I need to take someone's life for this?"
The Necromancer's eyes glittered with a disturbing light, and his smile stretched wider.
"Not exactly," he replied casually, his voice dripping with an unsettling calmness. "We serve the Sun Goddess, but we draw our power from the God of Eternal Night. Quite a delightful duality, don't you think?"
The Sun Goddess and the God of Eternal Night—the pillars of my world's religion. While the influence of the churches had waned over the years, their sway was still undeniable. The Sun Goddess was said to be the bride of the God of Eternal Night, and he her only husband.
This divine pairing explained the strange, symbiotic balance between life and death. The Sun Goddess bestowed the most extraordinary creatures upon the God of Eternal Night. In turn, when these wondrous beings grew frail and weak, the God of Eternal Night offered them the gift of death, so they could be reborn in strength and glory.
The Necromancer seemed lost in thought for a moment, before his lips curved into that unsettling smile once more.
"Well, I'm doing you a favor, so from this moment on, you're in my debt," he declared, his tone light but laden with meaning. "If I ever ask you for something, anything, you cannot refuse."
I took a moment to consider his words, pondering the potential cost of such a debt, all while the Necromancer watched me with unnerving patience.
"You won't be asking for the life of my wife or my first-born child, will you?" I asked, my voice low but firm.
He shook his head, a reassuring gesture, though it did little to ease my unease. "Of course not."
"All right, then," I replied, my heart still pounding.
The Necromancer's face brightened, but there was something childishly gleeful about it, like a dangerous gleam in the eyes of someone anticipating chaos. His grin widened, and the air around him seemed to hum with that unspoken menace. Still, there was no turning back now.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. My eyes widened as a parchment began to unroll in his hand, lengthening impossibly with each passing second. It seemed to stretch forever.
"I, Gironde Mehisto, hereby sign a contract with Mr. Shaytan," he declared with finality as the parchment stopped growing. A quill materialized in his other hand, and with a flourish, he signed his name at the bottom. Then, without hesitation, he ran a claw along the tip of his thumb and pressed it to the page. When he was done, he handed me the parchment and the pen.
"Feel free to read it over," he said, his grin widening. "I've got time."
Though I didn't see the humor in it, he clearly found something amusing in what he had said.
I glanced at the contract. The script was old-fashioned, stretched out, and barely legible to me. I skimmed through it, not understanding everything, but there was no fine print that jumped out at me. Only one thing was clear: the final blank line at the bottom of the page awaited my signature.
It was only one word, seven letters. A quick moment, a swift motion. I bit my thumb and pressed it against the paper before the wound could close. As soon as I pulled my hand away, the page shimmered with a golden light, then curled on its own and jumped into the Necromancer's waiting hand. His expression was one of pure delight, as though he'd just received the greatest gift.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, his voice dripping with a satisfaction that was almost comical—like a man who had just won a bet he knew was rigged.