Death Lessons: Lilly the Necromancer, #1

By James Maxstadt

When the dead rise...

...don't tell anyone it's your fault.

Lilly is a young child when she helps her first ghost. Turns out, she's a necromancer. And there's only one place for a kid like her: The Academy.

From the first carriage ride, Lilly's life changes. Now, she faces a whole new world of challenges and dangers. And far too often, her greatest enemy is herself.

But if she can stay out of her own way, she just might have a magical seven years.

Lilly's got a lot of growing up to do...

...as long as she doesn't end up one of the dead herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Maxstadt
• Release date: Dec 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215756805

James Maxstadt

James is the author of more than fifteen fantasy novels. He loves writing books with quirky characters that are full of action, humor, and a lot of adventure. A fan of fantasy since he was young, James thinks a good story that can take a person away from their everyday life is something worth reading. He’s found over the last several years that writing such stories can be just as rewarding. When he does have his head in this world, he can usually be found relaxing at home with his beautiful wife Barb, doing some home renovation or woodworking project, or signing books at comic conventions and Renaissance Faires. Follow him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/DukeGrandfather

Book preview

TO BEGIN

WHEN THE YOUNG MAN entered the house, he heard his grandmother talking to someone. He thought he heard a response, but, if so, the speaker was being very quiet, and he didn’t hear what was said.

I’ll talk to you later, then. His grandmother’s voice was clear as a bell.

When he walked into the kitchen, his grandmother was alone, standing at the wood-burning stove pouring water into a cup for tea.

Hello, dear, she said, without turning around. Would you like some tea?

Sure. The young man sat at the table, peering around the kitchen. It wasn’t a large room, and there was nowhere to hide in broad daylight. No one else was present other than his grandmother.

Grandmother, he said hesitantly, and not at all sure that he heard what he thought he did.

Yes, dear?

When I came in, I thought I heard you talking to someone....

Yes, dear.

But there’s no one here.

No, dear. Just me. And Petal and her family downstairs, of course.

Right. Of course. Umm. Were you talking to yourself?

No, dear.

But I heard someone answer you.

At this, his grandmother turned around, eyebrows raised.

Did you now? Well, that is interesting.

Really? Why?

We can talk about that later. I need to do a little thinking first. Now, other than a pleasant visit, what can I do for you?

The young man grinned. There was no fooling his grandmother, she was way too sharp for that. Instead of trying, he sheepishly held up his tablet and stylus.

I should have known, Lilly said, placing a cup of tea in front of him. Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck today. Your grandfather isn’t here. It’s his day to go visit Sarge.

I know, the young man said. I remember. But it occurred to me that you had a long career in the Watch, as one of the most powerful necromancers ever. Which means....

He let the sentence linger. His grandmother continued to look at him, amusement in her eyes. She was going to make him say it.

Which means you have a lot of stories, yourself. And I’d like to hear them.

Lilly snorted. For what? You’ve already written your books.

Yes, and people love the stories with you in them the best.

That’s ridiculous.

No, it’s true. So, I thought—

You thought you’d pump me for information as you have your Grandfather.

The young man grinned. I could get you an ale.

Don’t be fresh. But she hid a smile behind her cup as she took a sip.

Did the Watch train you? Why in necromancy? Why did you choose that? He held his stylus steady over the tablet.

"That’s not how it works. Magic, whether it be necromancy, or anything other type, chooses you. You don’t get to have a choice."

Really? The young man started to write. I had no idea. That means you were?

Just a child. I was still small when I saw my first ghost.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I WAS ONLY TWELVE YEARS old when I saw my first ghost. I was outside playing, using colored chalk to draw on the cobblestones in front of my parents’ city house, a normal activity for any kid. I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around me. Rose and I were always perfectly safe, wherever we went. The large men standing inconspicuously near the walls made sure of that, and even in Capital City there weren’t too many that would want any part of those hulking, intimidating men bristling with weapons.

But they never interfered with our play, and today was no different. I sat by the side of the road and drew pictures of flowers that I remembered seeing at our country house, where we spent most of our time.

I caught a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye and looked up to see what it was. An old man appeared from the house next to ours. Mr. Goblinger. He was a nice man, always with a smile and sometimes a piece of candy for me and Rose.

I started to smile at him, then stopped. Mr. Goblinger wasn’t himself. He was blue, and I could see through him. And also, he came outside without opening the door. Instead, he stepped through it and then floated down the steps to the street without touching them.

He was a ghost, but I wasn’t afraid. Instead, I just felt sad that Mr. Goblinger wasn’t going to be around anymore. But that was no reason to be rude.

Hello Mr. Goblinger! I called out.

He looked around, appearing confused, then his gaze focused on me and he floated over.

Lilly? he said. You can see me?

Of course. You’re right there.

Am I? I’m not really sure of that.

I stood up and reached to take his hand, but mine passed right through his. Instead, I moved a step closer, to try to comfort him. You’ll figure out where to go in a minute.

I have to admit, he said, with a little laugh, I’m kind of scared.

Don’t be. You’re a good person.

Were, you mean.

I smiled at him. Were, then. Still, you don’t have to worry.

I hope you’re right— Mr. Goblinger said, but then an eerie noise started. It came from under the street and got louder.

Now I did start to get frightened. I looked toward the house, but the guards didn’t seem to see Mr. Goblinger or hear the noise. Every now and then, one of them would glance at me in that way adults sometimes do before turning away from the silly kids.

What is that? Mr. Goblinger said, his voice wavering.

I’m not sure. I said and bent down and started to draw with my chalk. Stay still, though.

I drew a pattern on the street around Mr. Goblinger, making sure it was unbroken even where it went between the cobblestones.

As I finished, something came up out of the middle of the street. It flowed out of the ground, a black shape, formless and swirling like an angry cloud. Inside it, two red eyes peered around before settling on Mr. Goblinger. With an unearthly howl it flowed forward, the wisps of dark mist parting to reveal a huge mouth with sharp pointed teeth.

When the shape hit the edge of my drawing there was a bright flare of white light and it stopped in its tracks, its howl turning to a sudden screech. It drew back and snarled, the teeth disappearing again into the cloud. Slowly it worked its way around the whole design, putting out a tendril of mist every now and then. Every time, the light flared, and it retreated with a growl.

Inside the pattern, Mr. Goblinger cowered and turned in place, watching the cloud stalk him.

Finally, the cloud beast stopped.

Who drew this? it said. The voice sounded like a spring rain falling into the grass of the south lawn at our country house. Soft and with a slight hiss to it.

I did, I said.

It’s nice work, the creature replied. Really. I wouldn’t expect it of one so young.

Thank you. My parents drilled into both me and my sister the importance of being polite to your elders. And I thought this thing was most certainly far older than I was.

Who taught you how to do it? The creature’s tone was conversational, and it extended one cloud-like appendage to touch the air above the pattern again. The light flared, and it flinched back.

No one, I responded.

Innate knowledge? Impressive again.

I didn’t know what innate meant, but it didn’t sound like I was being insulted. But since I wasn’t sure, I didn’t say anything.

If I might ask, the cloud monster said, why did you draw it?

You were going to hurt Mr. Goblinger.

Ah, is that his name? The creature turned to the ghost inside the protective circle. Hello, sir. Pleasure to meet you.

Mr. Goblinger raised a hand halfway in a tentative wave.

The cloud beast turned back to me. What was your question again?

I didn’t have one. But I’m not going to let you hurt Mr. Goblinger.

I see. Well, what if I told you that this was what was supposed to happen when he died? That he wasn’t really a very nice person.

I wouldn’t believe you.

That’s not very nice. Why wouldn’t you believe me?

Because I know Mr. Goblinger, and he’s a very nice man. Plus, creatures like you lie. It’s what you do.

The cloud monster nodded, or at least the top part of the swirling mass did.

You’re a very smart little girl. But you forgot something.

What? I asked.

I don’t only eat ghosts! With that, it again opened its mouth wide and rushed at me.

I stayed calm and raised my hands. It felt like there was something inside me that was telling me what to do. The whole world seemed to get a little bit darker, except for the cloud creature. That lit up like the sun was shining directly on it and it alone.

I shouted a word that I didn’t understand, and a bolt of yellow light flew from my hands and hit the cloud monster. It yelped like a kicked dog and flew apart, small fragments of cloud floating away on the breeze.

You’re safe now, I told Mr. Goblinger, and erased a small section of the drawing with my foot.

Thank you, Lilly, the once old man said, but his voice, like the rest of him was fading away. The last thing I saw was the calm smile on his face before he was totally gone.

I went back to my drawing for a few minutes before my mother came out calling for me. The ever-present guards never noticed a thing.

Coming! I said, and picking up my chalk, ran up the steps to Mom.

Time for dinner, she said, and goodness, what have you been doing? Your hair is a mess!

I DIDN’T TELL ANYONE about seeing Mr. Goblinger, although I did get my father to go check on him. Dad came back downcast and in quiet tones told my mother what he found. I pretended not to listen and then acted surprised when my parents sat me and Rose down to tell us the news.

I wanted to tell them that Mr. Goblinger was going to be all right, but I wasn’t sure how they would take it, so I didn’t say anything.

The whole business was strange, and I suppose it should have terrified me. But it didn’t. It felt natural. It was perfectly ordinary to have our elderly neighbor come out of his house as a spirit, and the cloud monster was no real threat. The pattern that I drew felt guided by some outside force, as did the spell I cast. Although, outside force isn’t quite right. More like an outside force that was within me, if that makes any sense.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I just knew how to do it, somehow. And that thought didn’t scare me. It excited me.

A few days later, Dad finished his business in the city and we went back to our country house, where there were fields to play in, horses to ride and lots of things for young girls to do.

The memory of what happened that day stayed with me, and I became more and more curious about how it was that I knew what to do. And why? Instead of playing outside I spent a lot time in our library, paging through books on magic.

Dad’s business was built on a type of magic, started by my grandfather and refined by Dad. Because of that, the library held several books about the subject and I immersed myself in them. It wasn’t long before I came across the word that would change my life. Necromancy.

Necromancy is a branch of magic that deals with the dead, the dying or the demonic. It’s a huge field and there are lots of specialties within it. Some necromancers are very good at talking to the recently dead, while others are better with those who have been gone for many years. Some deal with demons from the netherworlds, while others are especially good at casting spells that make things rot and die.

It was all fascinating.

I read and read, and without anyone else knowing, I practiced.

Flowers dotted the grounds of our country home. Gorgeous blooms of every color that were my mother’s pride and joy. She even planted and tended some of them herself, although the sheer number meant that she needed to have help.

I walked to the far end of the lawn, where a patch of bright yellow sunflowers stood tall. These weren’t my mother’s favorites and were far from the house. Making sure no one was near, I raised my hands and started chanting softly under my breath. It was a simple spell I read about in one of the books.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then, the flower I was concentrating on started to wilt. It was like watching what happened when the weather got colder, only speeded up. Moments later, it tipped on its stalk, fell to the ground and then turned to mush.

With a few words and gestures, I killed it completely.

But I felt bad about it and resolved not to do it again. It was easy, and I saw how I could do it to much bigger things. That tree over there? I could have it down in minutes. The stones of the house? That would take longer, but even stone turned to dust over time, and I could make that happen too.

But to what end? Even at twelve, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted to do. What good was magic if all it could do was destroy? No, I wanted to do things like I did with Mr. Goblinger. I wanted to do good things.

So, back to the library I went.

I was a well-behaved child, without a cruel bone in my body. Which is why I didn’t understand the big deal about what I did next.

WHAT WE CALLED THE pond was more like a small lake, and at times my father would take a boat out and spend the afternoon fishing. Sometimes Uncle Wally would go with him. As the day wore on, the two of them would get noisier and noisier, singing and laughing until I didn’t see how they didn’t scare all the fish away.

Rose and I both loved the lake as well and we became expert swimmers at an early age. We were forbidden to go by ourselves, of course, and since our bodyguards were only present at the city house, we needed to wait until Mom, or one of the servants, could take us. During the summer, that was never often enough.

But there was no restriction against me playing along the edges, and I often did exactly that. On the end facing the house the shoreline was smooth and manicured, providing an excellent view of the water. In other places, reeds and cattails grew along the bank and the ground was soggy. Dad told me that they kept it that way because it was better for the birds and the fish.

Those places were home to lots of other things as well, like frogs and salamanders. The little slimy ones, not those large fire-toting half-man half-lizard things. All sorts of interesting bugs flew through the air or rested on stems, and snails left trails of ooze behind them as they made their slow-paced way through the world.

In short, it was paradise for an inquisitive girl.

I loved those spots. Rose, on the other hand, didn’t. She thought them messy and disgusting, and seeing all that different life wasn’t worth the bug bites she received for the pleasure. Even when she insisted on tagging along with me, she spent the bulk of the time whining and complaining, and we would soon be back on the tended-to lawn, where she would insist on doing something like having a tea party with our dolls.

A couple of days after the incident with the flower, an idea came to me. I rose early and was pulling on my best mud-stomping shoes when Rose came into my room. I used a word that I heard Dad say on occasion, keeping it under my breath. Rose could be a tattle-tale at times.

What are you doing? she asked.

Going to the lake.

We’re not supposed to without Mom.

"I didn’t say I was going in the lake. I’m going to the other side."

Oh. Yuck. She pouted for a moment. Can I come?

Why? You hate it there and you always whine.

I do not!

You do. You’re doing it right now.

She huffed and stuck out her lower lip. Are you going to be long?

I shrugged. I don’t know. It depends on what I find there. Maybe.

Come on, Lilly. I wanna come.

I knew that tone of voice. If I said no she would follow me across the lawn anyway, getting louder and louder until Mom came out to see what was going on. While where I was going wasn’t officially off-limits, Mom never said I could go there either.

There was no choice but to give in.

All right, I said. But you better keep up. And no whining.

I won’t. Hold on, I need to change!

I should say so. How any self-respecting girl could start the day out in that many frills was beyond me.

I was tapping my foot with impatience by the time Rose got downstairs and met me near the door, more appropriately attired for digging around in the muck. Not that she would be doing any of that.

Where are you two off to? Mom’s voice reached me as I was pushing down the latch to open the door.

Um. Out. To play.

You haven’t had breakfast yet.

Oh. I’m not hungry, Mom.

I don’t care. You need to eat.

My shoulders slumped and I almost passed out from lack of air, due to the size of the sigh that escaped me. Thanks a lot, slowpoke, I muttered to Rose.

Breakfast took forever. Rose lingered over her toast and even asked for more tea, which she rarely did. She chattered on to Mom and occasionally looked over at me. She was getting me back for my slow-poke comment and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Not unless I wanted to spend the day in my room, and I had more important plans.

Instead, I smiled and was charming and eventually, when it felt like the day was halfway over, I was allowed to leave.

Come back in a better mood, grumpy-puss, Mom said.

Rose laughed and tagged along after me.

By the time we got to the lake, I wanted to push her in. I really considered it, too. After all, she was a good swimmer and it wasn’t deep here. She’d be fine. She’d yowl like a cat if I did it, and I’d be in it neck deep myself, but maybe it’d be worth it.

Nah. I was on a mission. And all I needed to do was get rid of Rose and that part was going to be easy.

I made my way to an area where the cattails and reeds grew thick. The water soaked the ground, making it good and squishy, and you could hardly hear yourself over the whine of the bugs in the air.

Eww. Why are we going in there? Rose was whining already.

I’m looking for a snake. I saw him come in here yesterday.

A snake! Gross! Why?

I like snakes. This one was bright yellow with a red stripe down each side. Really pretty.

Snakes aren’t pretty, she insisted. They’re gross.

Not this one. But be careful. You know what bright colors on animals mean, right?

No, what? Rose was standing perfectly still now, her eyes casting wildly about her.

Poison. The brightest ones are usually the most dangerous. And this one was brilliant!

You’re just trying to scare me, she protested, but she kept her eyes on the ground.

I shrugged. Suit yourself. If you see him, let me know.

I continued to search around for the snake, but really, it was something else I was looking for.

Rose carefully picked her way across the spongy ground, slowly lifting her foot up and even more slowly setting it back down.

Is that it?! I yelled and pointed behind her.

She shot straight up in the air. High enough, I thought, that her head cleared the top of the reeds by a mile. And her scream was loud enough to send several birds winging rapidly away in a panic.

Not funny! She scrunched up her face in that way that meant the tears were coming. I felt a little bad about scaring her, but then I remembered that I didn’t ask for her to be there.

It was just a joke, I mumbled. But I do want to see that snake. So be quiet.

She sniffled for a minute, then stopped. How much longer are you staying in here? She scratched at a welt on her arm where something had gotten her good.

Until I find it.

What then?

Nothing. I want to see it, that’s all.

Then will you come out and play with me?

Well. This was going easier than I thought it would. I silently thanked whatever bug had feasted on her arm.

Yeah, okay. But leave me alone until then. I’ll come out soon.

Promise?

Promise.

Pinky-swear?

Oh for... yes, I pinky-swear. And then I had to actually do it. Hold out my hand, fingers curled in, except for my pinky which was stuck straight out, crooked in the middle. Rose did the same and we linked fingers.

I pinky-swear to come out and play with you when I’m done in here. If I break this pinky-swear may my hair fall off my head, my teeth rot from my mouth and my eyes turn to goo and run down my cheeks. Happy now?

Rose smiled and shook my hand. Yep.

Great. Can you get out of here by yourself?

She gave me a look usually reserved for adults who ask questions like that.

Don’t forget, she said.

I won’t.

I really didn’t intend to, either. I would do what I was planning, and then I’d go play with my sister for a while. She was a pain in the neck, but I did love her, and sometimes we did have lots of fun together.

But for now...

I made my way to the water’s edge as quietly as I could, then took a couple of steps into the water. I wasn’t swimming, just sort of wading, so it didn’t violate Mom’s rule.

Freezing in place, I stayed still for several minutes, trying to blend in and become part of the scenery. Just a weird, kid shaped tree standing in the water. Nothing to be afraid of here.

It took several minutes, but finally, the noises that stopped when I first approached started up again. The croaking and chirping came from the bank several feet away, then was answered by a different call much closer. There, right near my left leg, was a big old bullfrog, harrumphing out his challenge to any and all who would come into his territory.

Moments later, I held him in my hands and was splashing out of the water, looking for a semi-dry rock or old log to sit on.

When I was settled down, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and regarded the frog grasped in my hand. He hung there, staring at me from his bulbous eyes, his front legs placed on my thumb like tiny hands of his own. Every now and then, he’d kick and I’d have to hold on a little tighter to stop him from squirming away.

It’s okay, I told him. Then I used the same spell on him that I had on the sunflower.

It took a few seconds more until his squirms slowed down, his kicking became less, and finally, he was gone. I stopped the spell then, before it could make him rot.

I felt sick. Not only because I killed something that was alive a moment ago, but my stomach really hurt, with sharp pains. I swallowed and determined not to throw up. It was going to be okay, for both me and the frog.

I set him gently down on the ground, arranging his hind legs under him. I wanted him to be comfortable.

Then, keeping my focus on him, I reversed my spell. That wasn’t in the book. There was no mention of bringing something back. But if you could take life away, you must be able to return it.

I chanted and waved my hands, the world getting dark like it did that time in the street. My hair felt weird, too.

Nothing happened with the frog. I tried harder, but still nothing.

I started crying then. I killed that poor little frog for nothing! The tears rolled down my cheeks and it was hard to chant between my sobs. I had to try again!

It twitched. A tremor ran through its body. Then its one eye swiveled, its back leg moved, and it was up, slowly moving forward.

I did it! I didn’t kill it after all!

My tears poured from me all the more as I started laughing with relief. The frog stayed where he was, regarding me from his milky white eyes like I was crazy or something.

Wait. Why were his eyes that color?

I bent down, and the frog stayed still, showing no sign of fear. I moved closer, same thing. What are you... come here, you.

I didn’t expect anything when I said it, but the frog slowly half-walked, half-hopped to my hand. It moved like it forgot how a frog was supposed to move.

Go back, I told it, and it moved off.

Stop. It stopped.

Jump, I said, and it gave an awkward leap, landing in a heap.

Stick your tongue out, I said, and the frog did that, uncurling the whole sticky length of it, and leaving it that way.

I bit my lip. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bring it home like this, but I couldn’t leave it here either. It was defenseless, and even if I lied about the bright yellow snake, there were plenty of others around.

Be normal! I commanded. The frog only looked at me.

Oh, no, I whispered. I felt sick to my stomach. Not from pain this time but from guilt. It wasn’t the first time I felt it, but it was certainly the most severe.

I was racking my brain for what to do when I heard the voice. Soft, quiet, and filled with the glee that only a little sister has when she gets to use those two magic words.

I’m telling.

MOM AND DAD WERE NOT happy with me.

Rose ran off before I could stop her, and there was no doubt in my mind that she was running around the pond and across the lawn as fast as her skinny legs could carry her. I didn’t know how long she was there before I noticed her, but it was enough that she saw the frog.

I was doomed.

It wasn’t getting in trouble that bothered me. I had been in it before and I would be again. But as I sat and watched that poor frog, I felt a whole new emotion. For the first time in my short life, I was truly ashamed.

I couldn’t help the tears that rolled down my cheeks and splashed to the soggy ground. What did I do? That frog hadn’t done a thing to deserve what I did to it. It was minding its own froggy business when I grabbed it and killed it, and then brought it back to this horrible joke of a life.

And now Mom and Dad would know what I had done.

I should have gotten up, left my refuge in the reeds and went back to the house myself, like an adult. If I could do things like this, horrible things, then I should take my lumps. But I couldn’t bring myself to move. I sat there, staring at that poor frog, who was staring back at me, not moving, tongue stretched out of its mouth.

It could have been minutes or hours before I heard the disturbance. Someone was pushing their way through the reeds and cattails. I saw Dad’s head moving along above them.

Lilly? Where are you?

I wanted to dig myself down into the mud and hide. Stay there for the rest of the day, the week, and my life. Anything to hide me and my shameful act from him.

He saw me almost as soon as he called.

He pushed a few more reeds aside and came into