The Necromancer paced back and forth in his room, trying to work through his frustration. His usually smooth and jovial demeanor was crumbling under the weight of two major problems.
First, Ezra wasn't taking his game seriously. Even a blind man could see that Ezra wasn't as attached to his money like Helena had said. Either that, or he knew that his money wasn't at stake in the game.
Worse, Solomon, with all his arrogance, wasn't using the information the way the Necromancer had intended. The plan he had cooked up was unraveling quicker than he could come up with something else.
His thin fingers curled into tight fists. His vitality was disappearing faster than a six pack of beer at a frat party. Sustaining so many minions, especially keeping them active and operating, was taking a toll on him.
