Fifteen hours later, I woke up to a new day. For once, I didn’t have to worry about being called to another scene like the ones I’d been seeing. Since I’d been lax on my grocery shopping, I went out for breakfast. While waiting for my food, I sent my parents a text that I’d be coming over later in the day to stay for a bit.

  When I got home, I found a box outside my door with a note scribbled on the side. Nash had stopped by and hoped I was feeling better. Inside, a longer note accompanied a small jar of cut and bruise ointment. Nash had made it and hoped it would help since it was non-magical.

  I had to admit, it felt good on my abrasions, and when I checked the mirror before heading up to my parents’, the bruises had faded, and the cuts were well scabbed over.

  The ointment went in my bags, along with a set of sturdy hiking boots. On my way out, I fed Bubble enough energy to sustain him for several days and dropped a note in Randolf’s mailbox that I’d be with my parents for a couple of days.

  Fabian rumbled down the road, and with each mile, I gained space from the horrors of the week. The deaths I hadn’t been able to prevent, the sanctity of death I’d violated, and the turmoil at work.

  When I pulled up to my parents’ house, Mom’s car was missing. Dad stepped out on the porch and swept me up into a hug. Tears gathered in my eyes as a tension deep inside me relaxed. In his arms, I was safe.

  “I’ll help with your bags.” Dad released me and avoided meeting my eyes. I saw the tears gathered in his eyes anyway, but I didn’t comment.

  My bags went up to my old room, which had been turned into a guest room, but the colors were the same, and it still had the feeling of home. We were in the kitchen with hot chocolate in hand before either of us said a word.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Lynn took Drew and Stacy out shopping for new clothes and lunch. After they return, we were hoping you’d enjoy a camping trip.”

  “I would.”

  He nodded and then hesitated. His gaze lowered until it was firmly locked on his chocolate. “How bad was it?”

  “Next week is the funeral for Officer Jameson. He’s dead because he leapt in front of magic to protect me. He didn’t know I could withstand the blast. I hear he had two kids and a wife.” The bitter edge to the chocolate matched my emotions. “I raised him to save myself. I raised a fey, who didn’t realize he was dead. I raised animals who’d done nothing to me. I did it because I wasn’t good enough as a witch. I had to be a necromancer, or more people would’ve died.”

  “Necromancy is like any power, not inherently good or evil.”

  “Right.” I snorted. “That’s why being one carries an instant death sentence.”

  Dad bristled. “You’re alive because people have sympathies. I wasn’t the only one who knew of Monique’s abilities. Her friends lost standing with the clan and will never be trusted as they’d been.”

  “Death should be sacred! I violated that. I used them and their deaths.” And for that, I felt a guilt I doubted could ever be absolved.

  “They were dead, Kelsey. They didn’t care.” His voice was flat.

  “It’s wrong.”

  “So is letting the living die for lack of a chat with a corpse.” He sighed. “Go back and read the history books, not only the ones written by us but by other races. A select few from the Nekro clan angered people for raising relatives and doing terrible things to the dead, but that isn’t why necromancers were outlawed.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Will you tell me, or is it going to be a mystery until I do the research?” I asked sourly.

  An eyebrow crept up at my tone. “If you think about it, you know the answer.”

  “I know it’s a terrible power, and I’m using it anyway.”

  “Enough.” He hopped off his stool and stomped down the hall. He came back with shoes and jackets for each of us. “There’s one way for you to understand.”

  Feeling like a child again, I obediently dressed and followed him outside. He took a right, heading to the trees closest to the house. The altar. “Praying won’t fix this.”

  He kept walking. “I know you. I know what you would and wouldn’t do. I know you didn’t cross lines one should not cross. If I can’t talk sense into you, perhaps Mother Earth can.” His voice didn’t leave any room for continued arguments.

  When we reached the clearing, He stopped and folded his arms over his chest.

  Head down, I walked past him and dropped to my knees next to the slab on stone resting on two columns of smaller stones. Water had pooled in the candles but emptied out easily enough. A touch of magic had tidy flames burning away the last of the moisture.

  Eyes closed, I tried to give myself over to the meditation and to the earth. After a short struggle, I could feel the steady rhythm of the earth. The warmth far underfoot, the chill closer to the surface, and the lighter notes of life from the surrounding flora.

  In the trance, I opened up and laid myself bare to the earth for judgment. I showed her the lies I’d told to protect myself, my responsibility for Jameson’s death, and the death I’d turned to my own purpose. Then I focused on each individual issue, starting with Jameson.

  Peace flowed into me, and with it, my thoughts turned, and I could see the actions that were his, the training he’d ignored, and the situation that had already spiraled out of control before I had set foot in the building. Not my fault, but a lesson to be taken forward.

  When the peace faded, my thoughts shifted to raising Jameson, the fey, and the animals. How I’d used them, breaking their rest for my gain.

  This time, the peace brought with it the scent of petrichor. A detour but not a violation. In its own way, not so different from the way nature broke down the body and helped it return to the earth so it could become life yet again. With the peace came a sense of warning, that not all necromancy was so benign.

  I took the warning to heart. The peace was harder to accept.

  Necromancy wasn’t a comfortable power. It lent itself to using the dead when it suited the living. Because it was practiced in hiding, it lacked the rules and constraints the clans put on their members, policing the use of their power. The potential for harm was so great.

  The acknowledgment from the earth wasn’t the reassurance I’d wanted, but in its own way, it was more helpful. I had a responsibility to know when I was crossing a line, to hold myself to a standard I could live with.

  The earth withdrew, and I found myself blinking as I opened my eyes. The sun hadn’t moved much. My time with the earth had felt longer.

  I pushed myself to my feet and dusted off my pants.

  “Did you get answers?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  I walked past him. “You were right. It’s how you use it.”

  He caught up with me. “After an argument with Monique, I sought answers from the earth. If memory serves, it smarted to have my long-held beliefs smacked down like that.”

  I shrugged. “Yes, but now it’s on me if I mess up. Some uses of my power are clearly wrong, but others? I’m not sure how I’ll know.”

  “How do you know with your magic?” Dad opened the back door for me.

  “It’s different.” I toed off the boots and set the jacket on the counter. “I can’t make someone undead with magic.”

  “No, but you could kill them.” Dad scooped our mugs off the counter and stuck them in the microwave.

  “But that would be wrong unless it was a life or death situation.” The words came to my lips before I thought about them, having been drilled into me from a young age.

  “The need can be part of your criteria for raising someone.” The microwave dinged. “And I’d say that’s a good place to start.”

  I couldn’t disagree, and the sound of a car door slamming shut prevented any further argument. “They’re home.”

  Dad set down his mug and looked me in the eye. “This was the job you wanted more than anything. Being a necromancer doesn’t change that. When you don’t know what to do, or you’ve seen too much, I’m only a phone call or an hour’s drive away. I love you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

  “Thanks, dad. I love you too.” We shared a smile.

  Stacy burst in, and any semblance of peace and quiet was shattered. She hugged me while talking a million miles an hour. Drew pretended he was too cool for a hug, but Mom more than made up for it.

  Within the hour, we’d all piled into the van and were bumping down a back road to our favorite camping spot. Drew reluctantly admitted that he’d been applying to community colleges and had a part time job at the pottery studio. Stacy had a crush on a werebear.

  Later, while dad and I toasted marshmallows, the rest shifted and played a spirited game of cat tag. Dad and I peppered the winner with anchovies, and the bruised bits of my spirit healed. That night, with Stacy still a lynx, I fell asleep listening to her purr.