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Back The Necromancer Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. =Table of Contents=
  2. CHAPTER ONE
  3. CHAPTER TWO
  4. CHAPTER THREE
  5. CHAPTER FOUR
  6. CHAPTER FIVE
  7. CHAPTER SIX
  8. CHAPTER SEVEN
  9. CHAPTER EIGHT
  10. CHAPTER NINE
  11. CHAPTER TEN
  12. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  13. CHAPTER TWELVE
  14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  20. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  21. CHAPTER TWENTY
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  31. CHAPTER THIRTY
  32. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  41. CHAPTER FORTY
  42. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  43. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  44. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  51. CHAPTER FIFTY
  52. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  53. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  54. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  55. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  61. CHAPTER SIXTY
  62. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  63. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  64. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  65. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  68. AUTHOR’S NOTE

He padded silently down the stairs, cracked open the front door and slipped out into the cool San Francisco morning. “Sorry, Aunty,” he muttered, pulling the door silently closed behind him. She was going to be furious when she discovered he’d left. She’d probably call his parents, and he had no idea what explanation he was going to give them.

What he did know was that he was not returning to the house in Pacific Heights without his sister.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Agnes heard the hall door close and padded out of the kitchen. She blinked at the door and then tilted her head to one side, listening. “Josh?” she called.

The house was silent.

“Josh?” she called again, her voice cracking with the effort. “Where is that boy?” she muttered. “Josh Newman, you come down here right this minute!” she shouted.

There was no response.

Shaking her head, the old woman prepared to climb the stairs again when something crunched under her slippers. She bent painfully to lift it off the carpet. It was a chunk of dried and hardened mud. Agnes squinted at the stairs. They’d been spotless when she’d walked down them only a few moments earlier, but now, all the way up to the second floor, they were covered in fragments of mud. Someone had followed her down, wearing old muddy boots. Turning her head sharply, she spotted the telltale traces of mud on the floor leading straight to the door.

“Josh Newman,” she whispered, very softly, “what have you done?”

Moving as quickly as her arthritic hips would allow, she hurried upstairs and pushed open the door to Josh’s room without knocking. She immediately spotted the dirty clothes tossed in the basket and the filthy sneakers shoved under the bed. She opened the wardrobe and found the space where the walking boots had been.

Standing in the center of the room, she turned slowly, conscious that there was something odd in the atmosphere. Her senses were no longer as sharp as they had once been; age had robbed her sight and hearing of their acuity… but her sense of smell remained strong. The still, dry air of the room was touched with the sweet odor of oranges.

The old woman sighed and fished her cell phone out of her pocket. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Richard and Sara Newman that their children had vanished. Again.

Some guardian she’d turned out to be!

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

“I can smell Dee’s stink on everything,” Perenelle complained. She had showered and changed into fresh clothes: stonewashed blue jeans, a beautifully embroidered Egyptian cotton shirt and a pair of boots that had been handmade for her in New York in 1901. Her still-damp hair was pulled back off her face and tied into a thick ponytail. Lifting a heavy woolen sweater from a carved chest of drawers, she pressed it to her face and breathed deeply. “Ugh! Rotten eggs.”