Esther’s strong hands gripped tightly to Wesley’s waist as they sailed over the countryside.

  It was an odd fear for the woman to have, he thought. But not uncommon. Even though, from the height they flew now, she’d likely survive the fall. Being an undead creature and all.

  They had not seen the bird in many minutes and after the initial rush, and Cece had fallen behind them now. She had somehow assumed he knew where he was going. Which he did.

  “You can feel it?” Esther asked, her voice very clear, even in the whipping wind.

  “Yes.”

  They flew over rolling hills and vast green fields. He was sure they were above the Pennines now, just south of Scotland. It was confirmed when they flew over Haydon Bridge, near Chesterwood.

  North, then. Which was odd. Legends often said that King Arthur and Merlin lived near Cornwall, in the south.

  Wesley hoped he hadn’t screwed up his enchantment.

  Soon they crossed over the ocean, the cold air biting at them. Esther’s grip further tightened at this, and Wesley was glad for the warmth she provided, though he knew her skin was cool, her clothing was not.

  An hour passed, then two…

  Just as he felt a question about to come from Esther, something burgeoned from the clouds and the sun hit them like a thick wool blanket. Below appeared a small outcropping of island. Islands Wesley knew shouldn’t be there. They were lush and green and vibrant in their colors. Small buildings poked out from between canopies of trees.

  It was on the far side of the island, among a particularly craggy portion, that he saw the bird. It was pecking at a giant boulder with its wooden beak.

  They landed on a grassy knoll.

  “Goddamn,” Cece said, rubbing the inside of her legs, “This better not be a dud. I’m hurting.”

  She walked off to further stretch.

  “These do not exist on any map I’ve ever seen,” Esther said.

  “Neither I,” Wesley said. “I can feel the magick. The whole place is covered in it. Though it is our kind. Not Avalonian.”

  “Odd place to bury a famed warlock,” Cece said, coming back over to them.

  “Those buildings–” Wesley began.

  “Nothing in them,” Esther said. “I would be able to hear it. You too, probably.”

  He focused, eyeing the structures across the little stone bridge that connected the tiny islands. It was true, he could hear nothing from them. Only birds and mice and the sounds of insects.

  Wesley walked over to the small bird and took it in his hands. It chirped and tried to peck him. “It's done,” he told it. “Be still.”

  It looked at him with its wooden eyes and curled best it could into his grasp. He set it gingerly to warm itself on a nearby rock.

  Then turned back to the rock. It was a small, flatter version of a huge mound that rose above it, jagged and rough.

  “Well?” Esther asked.

  “Yes, there is magic here.” He frowned, touching the stone. It thrummed beneath his fingers. “Something is hidden here.”

  “Shall we blast it open?” Cece said.

  Wesley put his ear to the stone and listened. The thrumming continued and even sped up as he listened. It sounded like a warning. Though he wasn’t sure why.

  As he continued to touch it, he felt it rumble and move beneath his touch. Backing up, he watched etched words appear.

  Beware all ye who enter here, only death and mischief await. Begone!

  They all stared at it.

  “Well, then,” Cece began. “Blast it open–”

  The rock exploded outward.

  Wesley, despite his new and improved reactions, was thrown off his feet. When he landed, some twenty meters away, it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Still jarring, but somehow, despite landing on rock, no bones were broken.

  As he rose, something roared so loudly the ground shook.

  It looked like an…ape except it was made entirely of the stone behind it. Its head was a boulder, its eyes little green gemstones. Each portion of it was a different stone. Though it had only small boulders as hands.

  The thing slammed its fists into the ground again and looked between them.

  Then about five rounds of Cece’s pistol slammed into its face, blasting chunks off. One of the eyes flew into the air, glittering.

  It only made it angrier.

  Another roar and it was coming at them, slow but gathering speed.

  “Got anything bigger?” Wesley shouted.

  Cece drew something else out of her bag, a large rifle with one long, thick barrel.

  A grenade launcher. She aimed and fired in less than a second. It hit the boulder ape in the chest and exploded the beast. Rock went flying. Its momentum was such that it still came at them like a rockslide.

  Wesley scrambled away, turning to watch it fly down the cliffside. He swore he heard it roaring until it struck the waves below.

  “Nice shot,” he said, looking back to Cece, who was reloading her gun.

  “What the hell was that thing?” she breathed.

  “A big ass monkey,” Wesley replied.

  “This Merlin has some funny notions,” Esther said, regarding the stone heap from where it’d come.

  “He really didn’t want anyone disturbing him,” Wesley said, walking back toward the stone. He touched it again and felt a fleeting bit of furious energy pulsing. “Still quite a bit of magic here. Old magic is always potent.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Can you get us in?” Cece asked, toting her gun. “Or shall I open an entrance?”

  “I’ll handle it,” he said, frowning over his shoulder at her. “We don’t want to explode the body, now do we?”

  “Well, since we can be sure we’ll need a necromancer, then I will have my people bring one,” Esther said.

  Wesley’s eyebrows rose. “You have a necromancer?”

  “In our dungeons,” she said simply, as if it was a normal thing.

  “Who?”

  Esther shook her head, the loose strands of her hair dancing. “We do not speak his name. He is…no longer a being but a…desire.”

  “What does that even mean?” Cece asked, her frees hand dropping to her side exasperatedly.

  “If you meet him, you’ll see.”

  “How will your people get him here?” he asked.

  “Helicopter.”

  Wesley looked around the island. “I doubt they’ll be able to find this place. It is hidden.”

  “Then they will come close. We’ll pick him up on the coast.” She pulled a small, analog device from her hand and pressed a few buttons.

  “We?” Wesley asked.

  “You,” she said without looking back up at him.

  Cece cleared her throat, nodding to the stone. “Still waiting over here.”

  He stalked back to the stone, putting his palm on it, and frowned. Small currents of cool energy now rolled through the stone, following preset lines. Someone had created this entire thing around the tomb.

  The odd thing…

  Wesley moved his hand over a meter and pressed. His hand sank into it up to the wrist. Cold metal enveloped his hand, almost like a glove. It was warm…then hot…then…it shocked him. He yanked his hand out, trying not to curse.

  “What the–” he said, reeling.

  It took him a full second to recover, till the pain was all gone.

  “What happened?” Cece asked.

  “It…shocked me,” he said, still double over. “I think it would have killed me.”

  “Right. So, I’m blasting it open, then,” she said, raising her gun.

  He reached up and lowered the barrel. “Wouldn’t work. I think it's a lock. Some kind of mechanical…interface in the rock. The thing grabbed my hand like a glove. But it…”

  “It what?” Cece asked.

  “It sensed my magic and used it against me.”

  “I think you’ll have to do it. No magic. Just you and your…” he winced.

  “Me and my what?”

  “Your mind,” he finished. “It's some kind of puzzle.”

  Cece straightened, shrugged, and walked over to the stone. “Aren’t you two lucky you have me?”

  Without an ounce of hesitation or fear, she stuck her hand into the stone. Her eyes narrowed for a second but nothing else happened.

  “Strange,” she said, flexing her arm. “It's some kind of…lock. Like a safe door. But huge.” Her eyes glazed over for a second. “This will take me some time.” She smiled. “But I can do it.”

  Esther nodded. “Then Wesley will go to get my necromancer.”

  “My people are bringing him. He will be at the coast in one hour.”

  He was surprised she was able to get a communique out.

  “How will I know who–”

  She rolled her eyes. “You will know. Go.”

  Wesley grabbed one of the brooms and kicked off, sailing into the air.

  Of course I’ll know. They’ll look like bloody vampires.

  ***

  The sky was dark and growing darker as Wesley left the island enclosure and sped toward the mainland.

  A spike of uncertainty was growing in his gut. It had been since he’d read the warning on the stone entrance.

  Beware all ye who enter here, only death and mischief await. Begone!

  It was an odd thing to have been written on what amounted to a mausoleum. Who had done it? Followers of Merlin, obviously. But he’d expected a plaque of gratitude. Not a warning.

  Then the beast too. Why?

  It mattered little though, why it was there. They needed the man. So, they would bring him back, if it were possible, that was.

  It took him less than an hour to reach the shoreline. He floated a hundred meters overhead until he spotted the black helicopter set down in a field high on the bluffs. They saw him coming and pulled a figure out of the helicopter, depositing him on the ground. Then they returned to the chopper and fired it up without a word.

  They were definitely vampires, Wesley thought. He could smell them. The undead smell lingered and their lust for blood was palpable.

  The man they’d left was completely covered in a dirty, white tunic. Not a sliver of his skin was exposed. His ankles were wrapped in cloth, sealing him. His hands were bound in shackles. On his chest was a brown leather harness with dozens of runes covering it. Despite his free legs, he did not attempt to flee. Probably the runes didn’t allow him to.

  It was the face though, that made him pause several meters away. It was covered by a thin white sheet and the outline was visible. It was emaciated. The dark pit eyes shone darkly.

  “You are the necromancer,” he said.

  The man nodded.

  “We are flying by broom,” he told the man.

  The man only raised his head and sniffed the air but still said nothing.

  “What is your name?” Wesley asked.

  The pit eyes stared.

  He did not expect a response and did not get one. Once they were both on the broom, the man’s shackled hands on his waist, they rose steadily into the air.

  The man’s touch was lukewarm. Wesley had the odd thought that it was like a decomposing corpse, kept warm only by the bacteria eating it.

  It was not until they were over the water that the man did speak, his voice a gravely, otherworldly vibrato. “Tell me, Wesley, what do you fear?”

  The voice crawled in through Wesley’s ear and began to strangle his brain like a quick rot. He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of a pesky fly.

  “I smell the wolf,” he said. “It is sweet. It is growing.”

  “Quiet,” Wesley hissed. “Do not speak to me.”

  It was becoming increasingly apparent this necromancer was an evil creature. Vile down to its bones. Not simply a tool to be used by Esther and her people.

  “Do you not long to be human? I can make it so. Release me from these bonds. I will set you free.”

  “And if I do not wish to be free?”

  “Ah, I can see your heart, Wesley. It is all that you want.”

  “Not today,” he growled and leaned forward, pouring on speed.

  The Necromancer did not speak again.

  When they burst through the cloudbank to the island, he found the girls sitting on a stone in silence. The stone doorway was open.

  As they touched down, Wesley flung the necromancer off the back of the broom and he sprawled about in the grass until he rose, his head turning, as if seeing the environment around them.

  “Interesting,” he mused.

  “You should have warned me,” Wesley shot at Esther, referring to the Necromancer.

  She crossed her arms. “I did.”

  “Not enough.”

  They glared at each other.

  “Anyways,” Cece drawled. “It's open, in case anyone cares.”

  “And?” Wesley asked.

  “Empty.”

  “Empty…” he repeated as though he hadn’t understood it.

  “Empty,” Esther said. “We’ve wasted our time.”

  Wesley tramped forward into the cave. It was empty. Nothing but dark, damp stone and patches of grass. And…

  A small patch of little red flowers.

  It took him only a second to realize what they were.

  “Bring the necromancer,” Wesley said.

  They appeared in the doorway. “What is it?” Esther asked, her hand holding the arm of the necromancer.

  He ignored the question. “That is a Red Spider Lily,” he said to the man. “Isn’t it?”

  Esther shook him when he didn’t respond. Then he sniffed the air again. “It would appear so.”

  “So, there is something buried here?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Retrieve him.”

  The necromancer raised his hands, the shackles jingling. “With pleasure.”

  Esther removed them, pricking her finger on a little spike, drawing a drop of dark blood. The necromancer rubbed his wrists and knelt near the flower.

  Then he began to chant. It was a language that even Wesley did not recognize. And he’d hunted necromancers too. In the bowels of London to the streets of Paris. But this…it was ancient speak. He was sure the ones he’d hunted would have been neophytes compared to this one.

  It sent chills down his spine.

  Soon, the ground began to churn like boiling water. First came a hand, decrepit and skeletal. Dry skin stretched over the bone. Then, as if, crawling from the depths, it rose. Slowly, then all at once. Then a corpse, with skin just like the hands over its entirety, tattered robes hanging from sharp bony shoulders. Stringy bits of white hair hung from the scalp. The eye sockets were empty. The mouth missing half its teeth.

  It rose, standing at its full height over the necromancer. Then, just as though it might speak, it simply crumpled into a heap.

  “Ah, well–” the necromancer began.

  Esther had yanked him up. “What is this?”

  “There is another power at work here. As I cannot see the body, perhaps you can elucidate me.”

  Cece used the barrel of her rifle to move the body’s rags.

  There was a dagger stuck between the ribs. Cece reached down and yanked it out before Wesley could stop her.

  A cold wind had picked up.

  Something was wrong.

  She yelped and dropped it a second later, letting it clatter onto the ground. “It burned me,” she said.

  Thunder grumbled outside the cave and a deep, voluminous hum, like an eldritch war drum, filled the small cavern.

  Then, the necromancer began to laugh, high and utterly wicked was the sound. They looked at him as he stepped backward, his mouth a gaping wound beneath the thin fabric. Even as he tripped and fell, he laughed, the sounds mixing with the rising storm.

  An unkind breeze blew about them, coming not from the mouth of the cave but from the…

  Something touched Wesley’s neck, light as a feather, and deathly sharp.

  He turned very slightly to see the blade of the dagger Cece had dropped held tightly to his neck. A thin drop of blood ran down his neck.

  A new voice rang out amongst the angst, as if drawn from a dry socket of air. “Now, what have we here?” it croaked, and the dagger pressed further into Wesley’s skin.