Prologue

“She’s been chosen. We don’t have a choice.” The man’s booming voice scared the woman at his side.

“Poppy is too young. What you wish for is unfair to her. We must answer our calling after adulthood, not during our youth,” the woman finally found the courage to argue back. Never before would she have considered doing something so outrageous.

“All of us didn’t have to deal with our extinction. The decision has been made and Poppy has been chosen. Live with it.”

“It is unfair. Poppy will be forever immortalised in a young woman’s body. She won’t be able to change. Her emotions will be fuelled by her age. Please, I beg you to hold off on this transition.” The woman spoke with desperation.

“No, we go through with this now.”

“You will sacrifice our daughter this easily?”

“It’s for the good of our kind and the future of our species.”

“This is madness.”

The man dropped his head and stared down amongst the few remaining full-blooded necromancers. For centuries, their kind had been slain. Their numbers lessened with every passing year. Their power weakened with every generation born. Breeding with humans and other creatures of the paranormal world had left them unstable and their immortality void.

“Poppy is the only female who can carry on.” He sounded convinced and so sure of his path, no way could he see failure in his plan to force on the transition of a necromancer.

“She deserves more than this. What you ask for is a lifetime of pain and misery. She hasn’t even been with a man. I know you don’t wish to hear these things, but she deserves to be given the chance to love.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

With his final words ringing in the air, the man and woman went in search of their daughter.

Poppy lay in a heap on the floor surrounded by human children. Her blue eyes sparkled while her pale skin held the subtle glow of happiness, which few of their number enjoyed. Necromancers were not well known for their good moods.

The laughter died on her lips as soon as she saw her parents.

 

“Mother. Father. Welcome.” Poppy bowed her head and the shivers began in her body. She knew in her heart trouble was coming.

“Follow me,” her father ordered. In their world no one argued with an elder. If you argued, it would be seen as a sign of disrespect. There would be severe punishment for anyone who dared to do so. Nodding her consent, she turned to the nurse—an elder necromancer and a kind woman—and waved goodbye before leaving the children.

She walked the short distance—her black gown flowing round her ankles with each step—following behind her parents. The long sleeves did nothing to stop the chill seeping into her bones. Her mother smiled at her one final time before she entered the room. A cold slab of stone lay in the centre of the large room. The stone was surrounded by twelve men, each covered in a thick black robe.

Poppy couldn’t stop the rapid beating of her heart even as she stopped behind her father. She was a small female. Poppy didn’t even reach his shoulders.

“It is time, Rory. We must end this before the cycle is complete.” Poppy gazed down to see her mother holding her hand. The strength in the touch did nothing to calm her nerves.

“What is happening, Mother?” she asked.

“Silence!” A raging sound filled the air. “The time to act is now.” Voices filled her head. Each voice hissing through her mind, words of fear and rage. All of their emotions were bombarding her at once. “It is time,” whispered across her temple.

Poppy knew what the words meant, but she glanced up at her father, seeking something more. She was too young and untrained. She couldn’t possibly be ready for such responsibility.

“What is to become of me?”

“You must answer this call.”

“But I haven’t lived. I’m only eighteen. I’m not old enough for this calling.” She backed off, frightened by what was about to happen. Their laws stated that only a true necromancer could take on the main role. A necromancer should have lived and understood what life was like. They should be able to appreciate what the dead must be missing and do what must be done.

She hadn’t experienced enough in her short time to even consider being a good necromancer.

The man she called Father looked past her shoulder to the men guarding the door. “Lock the gates. Do not let anyone come in, no matter what you hear.” Her father turned back to her. “Remove your robes and get up on the table.”

“Disrobing is not necessary, Rory. She can keep them on at all times,” one of the men took pity and defended her.

“But the ceremony—”

“As long as she performs her part, the robes may stay on.”

Poppy clutched at her clothing, the only robes she’d been allowed in some time. The black dress was not part of their custom until the female had relinquished her virginity. Poppy knew hers was very much intact, but with the hunting of her kind, most of their traditions had ceased. She loved her black robe—the only possession she owned in her world.

“Please. Don’t make me do this,” she pleaded. Her short life began flashing before her eyes. She knew the moment she got up on that table, her life would be over.

When no one dared look at her, Poppy knew there was no use trying to fight her fate. She had to answer the call of the elders. Tears poured down her cheeks but she walked to the cold stone table and held out her hands to be helped onto the surface. The large circular ceremony slab had the shape of a body in the centre. She placed her head and aligned her arms and legs spread out. Each part of her fitted into the design perfectly as if it had been made for her.

Her life had been a curse from the start. She would never know what it meant to laugh in the sunset or hold hands with the man she loved. Never would she know what it meant to be married and have children. That life was reserved for the lucky ones. She wasn’t lucky but cursed to forever live in the cruelty of other men’s greed. War was merely an excuse to wipe each species off the list. Demons, trolls, spirits and necromancers were next in line for extinction.

Poppy closed her eyes as she saw the silver-bladed knife. The knife was old and the only means to kill or seriously wound a pure-blooded necromancer.

One of her wrists was grabbed and she gasped as the blade sliced up the flesh. Poppy imagined the red blood soaking where it lay in its resting place. She heard him move and the same was done to her other wrist and then to both her ankles. Her blood—her life force—dripped out of her. The cruelty of the act was not lost on her. Soon, the outline of her body would be swamped with blood. The ceremony demanded she didn’t move or make a sound.

“We give ourselves to Poppy.”

She didn’t want to see what was about to happen. Instead, she opened her eyes and stared up at the exposed sky above her that the ceiling of the room allowed for. Nights as clear as this one were the ones during which the council made their decisions and when sacrifices had to be made.

The glowing stars called to her. The muscles in her body felt heavy and her eyelids drooped.

“Life upon life, she will be given immortality, strength and the guidance of herself within this life and the next. Poppy will be true and answer to the call of the dead, the living and all things in between.”

Each of the twelve council members gave their blood, their life force, dripping the precious droplets onto her resting place. Her robe was opened where it covered her breasts, Poppy didn’t struggle as she was too weak.

A whimper escaped her as the blade crossed over her chest, three one way and three the other, each line criss-crossing the other. Pain radiated out but the energy inside her was contained as the blood dripped out of her.

Poppy stared at the stars, each precious ball of light disappearing, her vision lessening. It got hard to breathe and hard to fight.

“I join you with your other half.” All the words drained away as the blade was raised then pierced through her heart, slicing down and splitting it in two.

Poppy arched up, her body fighting the rushed transition and pain.

“No more,” she begged.

Words were chanted all around her. The knife remained in her chest. Poppy felt the wound, her heart sliced in half, her vision swimming. She saw darkness of night and the grey of the world that lay between. Nothing was light or dark—just an endless sea of grey.

People stood staring at her, from the world of the living and the world of the dead. All of them were waiting while she moved fast, looking for something that no one but she could see. Some of the forms reached out and touched while others gazed at her in wonder. Time was quickly running out as the two worlds began to merge.

“Find her, Poppy…” She heard her mother’s voice whisper across her temple. Panic rose inside her…then she saw her. A beautiful, pure innocent stood off to the centre. The woman held her heart, one half in each hand. The blood was spilling from her fingers. The moment their eyes met, an explosion of light consumed the two women. Poppy felt the presence of the other woman like a second skin. She saw the same emotions happening to the other. Light spilled out of Poppy’s chest, the blood surrounding her sucking up into her skin.

Poppy saw the world for what it was—a cold, desolate place that would only get worse, but through the mass of sadness and despair, she saw hope. And hope was what she needed to hold onto.