The Accidental Necromancer

By Juliet Boyd

Just because you don't believe in something, doesn't mean it isn't going to happen.

When Macy buys a spell book from the local charity shop on a whim, she's convinced the words it contains are hogwash. That doesn't stop her from repeating them. As people begin to rise from their graves, she has to change her opinion. Zombies were not something she'd ever thought she'd have to deal with.

This 22,000 word novella is a cautionary tale of magic, zombies and shattered beliefs.

Buy The Accidental Necromancer now and discover what lies beneath the soil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juliet Boyd
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519985590

Juliet Boyd

Juliet lives in Somerset in the south-west of England. She used to work in administration, but now writes full-time. Her main writing interests are fantasy, science fiction, weird fiction, horror and flash fiction. Details of her work are available on her website.

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THE ACCIDENTAL NECROMANCER

Copyright © 2015 Juliet Boyd

Second Edition: 2020

All rights reserved.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and situations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any reference to an actual event, product or location is used in an entirely fictitious manner.

Discover my other books at

www.julietboyd.com

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Chapter 1

I ALWAYS READ the last page of a book first. Some of my friends see that as a fault. What my English Lit teacher thought about it was more of a diatribe. But I don’t see it as something bad. It isn’t a quirk, or a thing I’ll grow out of. I don’t do it just to be that person. I do it because I genuinely don’t like surprises. Surprises never turn out how the perpetrator intends. Yes, perpetrator does imply bad intent. Mean. In my opinion, anyone who plans surprises has something wrong with their brain. They’re deluded. Generally, surprises disappoint, surprise parties being a prime example. If the person being surprised doesn’t react how you expect them to, you wonder what you did wrong. You probably didn’t do anything wrong, as such, as far as surprises go. They’re just like me. They don’t like surprises. Look at it this way, if I know what happens at the end of the book, I can look forward to all the events leading up to that ending. If I know a party is being held for me, I can look happy when I enter the room. It works for me.

The book I’m about to start reading is a little unusual. It’s not my regular type of book. It’s a spell book. Normally, I go for action, adventure. Sometimes, I snuggle down with a little bit of romance. Basically, I read fiction. This book is definitely not fiction. Unless it could be called that because I don’t believe in magic. Which I don’t. Obviously. The only reason I have it is because I was rummaging through a stack of books at the charity shop while Mum was looking for anything eighties for a work party she’s obliged to go to. She found this garish pink blouse that made my eyes go funny just looking at it. I did ask her if someone ever really wore that. It made her smile. It made me think she’d worn something like that before.

She hasn’t done a lot of smiling recently. Actually, neither have I.

Anyway, this book had probably been passed over by hundreds of people who only browsed the top couple of items in each of the piles. But I like to dig. Not literally. I’m no budding gardener. I like to find unusual things. This was unusual. It was also covered in dust, so much so it made the volunteer who served me sneeze her head off. But underneath that dust was this beautiful cover, all leather and patterned, and bound with metal … clasps, I suppose you would call them. I was immediately drawn to it, before I even realised what it was, and once I’d fallen in love, I had to have it, whatever it contained.

So, even though I know it isn’t a novel and I’m probably not going to be spoiling anything, I’m still going to read the last page first. The habit is just too hard to break.

I open the book and the pages crackle with age. A waft of something hits my nostrils and almost tickles them into an imitation of that charity shop volunteer. Seriously, I should have been prepared for that, but I’m not. I gasp in a breath to try to stop the sneeze and a dry oats taste hits the back of my throat. I don’t sneeze, but a slight choke stumbles out through my lips before I can recover.

On my second attempt, I hold the book a little further from my face and sit up on my bed, rather than holding the book over my head. Yeah, that was a really bad idea. My arms will probably thank me for the change later on, too.

I guess the smell is ‘old’. Not musty exactly. Actually, well, yes, musty, but not entirely unpleasant. Not like a house that hasn’t been opened up for years. More like a comfy, old armchair that sits in a rarely-used room.

I sigh into the feeling, but almost gasp again as my eyes rest on the page. The writing is stunning. It’s not illuminated, or anything, but it is calligraphic in style. An alphabet that has scrolling letters that dip below the line in glorious curves. Maybe, it’s actually handwritten, but I would’ve thought something that old would be in a museum. Or hidden in an attic, I suppose. Perhaps, someone died and this was part of the clear out - the kind where you bag everything up and leave the charity shop to sort it out, because you don’t think there’s anything worth more than a few pence in the whole mess.

I run my fingers across the paper and I can feel slight imperfections on its surface. This is definitely handmade paper. I know that because when I was younger, much younger, we each made a sheet of paper at school, in one of those rack-like things, where the water drains off. It felt exactly the same as this. You cannot make handmade paper perfectly smooth, I don’t think, there are always imperfections — that’s the charm of it. And this book is definitely charming.

Pretty appropriate for a book of spells.

My thoughts on magic and spells are that they are all hogwash and made up by people who have too much imagination, or people trying to trick others into believing it’s true, because if spells did really exist, this world would be far better than it is. Or different, anyway. Everything you used would be enhanced with magic. People wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from using it to create a range of magical items, from delicious food to self-cleaning toilets. Not in the same room, of course.

I snuggle my back into my pillow, ready to devour the words. There aren’t many of them. Then, I change my mind. From my limited knowledge of the (made-up) subject of magic, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to say spells out loud, not just read them in your head, and I like to do things properly, even if I don’t believe in them. Does that make me weird? It’s like making sure you get all the steps to a country dance right, even though you hate dancing