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barked a string of harsh words. Magic tingled across Celia’s skin, and he stretched his hand toward them.
    Celia shoved Ward aside. He stumbled but didn’t fall. She brought her hands up, ready to fight—as useless as it probably was to combat an Innecroestri without a weapon or magic. But Macerio wasn’t looking at them. Instead, he stared at the grass a dozen feet behind them. Two men, bounty hunters by their appearance, lurched out of the waist-high stalks and staggered toward them.
    “You should have told me you ran into trouble getting here,” Macerio said, his voice more sword than silk. “I protect what’s mine.”
    “We thought we’d eluded them,” Celia said. And Ward was not going to belong to anyone.
    “Apparently not.”
    The bounty hunters shuddered to a stop before Macerio, grunting and whining as if they couldn’t control their mouths to form words. They writhed with desperate movements that did nothing to free them from Macerio’s spell.
    “Why are you here?” Macerio demanded.
    The bounty hunter on the left gasped. His trembling increased, his right hand clenching and unclenching. The other man, shorter but broader across the chest, twitched and growled.
    Macerio flexed his fingers, and the man on the left moaned, his face contorting in pain. “Why are you here?”
    “To kill the necromancer and the girl.”
    “See. That wasn’t so hard. Who sent you?”
    The man jerked and gulped air. Celia couldn’t allow him to tell the truth. She slapped the bounty hunter—trying to look more like a girl and less like an assassin—making him stagger into his accomplice. “Because of me. Because of what I am.” She grabbed the front of the man’s filthy shirt and shoved him, knocking him to the ground. “Tell my family to leave us alone.”
    “Unfortunately, I can’t allow that.” Macerio knelt and caressed the man’s cheek with a delicate finger.
    The man shuddered. He opened his mouth and a strangled gurgle came out. His face contorted in agony, and he clutched his stomach. Black veins shot across his hands, up his neck, and across his face. The gurgle turned into screams. His eyes widened even farther, and the flesh around them peeled back, black and rotting. The stench of decay burst around him, choking the air with suffocating fumes. More skin on his face blackened. His hands cracked, his fingers falling away and turning to dust. Screams shook the quiet night. He collapsed, oozing black liquid and a reeking dust cloud.
    Celia stepped back, bumping into Ward. He grabbed her arm, his grip so tight her fingers started to go numb.
    The bounty hunter’s body continued to rot, his clothes crumpling, leaving his head, his wide eyes, and his shrieks. Even after his eyes burst, he screamed. One last nauseating wail that turned into gurgles and finally, thankfully, he went quiet.
    Macerio turned to the remaining bounty hunter, who gasped around whatever spell constricted his throat. He panted, the vein in his neck pulsing with rapid, useless desperation.
    “You, on the other hand, have magic in your soul. I think it’s time to start the competition for my apprentice.” Macerio brushed the bounty hunter’s cheek. The same sickening caress.
    The man burbled. Blood dribbled over his lips and welled in his eyes like tears. With a blink, they streamed down his cheeks. He sagged to his knees, a crimson bubble forming between his lips. With a moan it burst and frothy blood oozed out his mouth and poured from his eyes, nose, even his ears. With a strangled grunt, his eyes rolled back and he tumbled to the ground.
    A sour tang filled Celia’s mouth, and her skin crawled. She’d seen death before, but never so gruesome. And all with a few words and a touch. Two more bounty hunters down. Two left. But at what cost?
    Macerio closed his eyes for a heartbeat as if concentrating on something, then turned a wicked grin on Ward. “Come, Quirin.” He draped an arm across Ward’s shoulders. “Let’s see