Bitter Magic - Chapter 1

BITTER MAGIC
Demon Trappers Series Book 9

ONE
​

The cemetery was too quiet. There was no rustle of a breeze, no noises from the neighborhood nearby, and even the traffic sounds from the city were muted. It was as if there were no one else in the world but the dead, and Katia Breman. 

​​Experienced demon trappers didn’t spook easily, and it wasn’t as if Katia was unprotected. A large circle of twinkling candles and Holy Water had been laid onto the ground around her, then charged with a prayer to keep her safe. That same circle guarded the recently deceased Albert Means, who was tucked into his casket, inside a vault, and then under six feet of red Georgia clay.

To her dismay the dead guy’s widow had dropped by for a visit right after Katia had begun her “shift.” Mrs. Means was a woman in her mid-fifties who talked a lot and listened even less. She’d gone on and on about how nice her husband’s casket looked at the funeral. Not that she missed the man she’d been married to for over thirty years, not that she was grieving his loss. No, it was all about appearances.

According to the widow, Means’ heart had said, “That’s it, I’m done” during an appointment with his accountant. Which made Katia wonder just what the accountant had told the guy, but she’d been polite and not asked that question. Finally, Mrs. Means had ended her self-obsessed monologue and left Katia in peace.

Now the cemetery’s eerie stillness made her wish she weren’t here on her own. It'd been almost six weeks since she’d made her solo journey from flat and hot Kansas to steamy and buggy Georgia. And nothing about those six weeks had been normal. Tonight wasn’t any different.

Sitting vigil to prevent a necromancer from making off with the dead wasn’t Katia’s usual job. Mostly, she trapped Hellspawn or helped the city’s lay exorcist pull demons out of people. Despite what Master Riley Blackthorne claimed, protecting the newly dead wasn’t a skill every trapper needed to know. Still, when you were a journeyman trapper you did stuff that didn’t make sense.

At least Katia was being paid to be here, which was why Riley had recommended her when the grave watchers’ schedules got shifted around due to illness. The old guy who’d been watching the grave before her had been thrilled to move to an earlier time, escaping the midnight shift, as he called it.

Ten dollars an hour for a ten-hour shift got her closer to a deposit on an apartment, and there would be no demons involved. Other than the unnerving quiet, this gig was the graveyard equivalent of watching paint dry.

“It’s a dead-end job, but someone has to do it,” she muttered. And now she was talking to herself.

If she were honest, Katia didn’t care much for the cemetery, the kind that mandated that all the headstones were flat and slightly below grade so the big mowers could roll right over the top of them. That felt like disrespect to her.

Her much-beloved grandmother, after whom she was named, had been adamant that the dead should be respected, mostly because if you dissed them they had ways to get even. Katia had never known what her gran had meant by that, and now it was too late to ask. At least her grandmother’s grave had a genuine marble headstone and pretty flowers that bloomed right up to the first Kansas snow.

As the hours crept along, Katia used her phone to research how necromancers could “buy” the dead right out of their graves. From what she could find on the internet, it was hinted that there’d been some money slipped under the table to certain powerful lawmakers, and only then had summoner friendly laws been passed to allow just such transactions. No matter where you lived, politics was all the same.

Legally the necros were allowed to call the deceased from their grave after the first sundown following the death, providing the family approved of the reanimation. Or the deceased if arrangements had been made before they took their last breath.

Which made Katia wonder what would happen if the deceased wasn’t buried by that first sundown. Could they still be summoned by a necro? The key thing was that the corpse was “presentable,” which left out such things as car accidents, major burns, and demon attacks. According to Riley, not all the reanimations were legal. Some were outright theft.
The exhumed were usually sold or leased as servants of some sort. Most became domestic employees, as if there weren’t enough humans of the breathing kind who needed a job.

The dead didn’t have labor unions and so they were usually paid very little. Others were reanimated because of their skills in life, like a particularly talented corporate attorney or an artist. One author had been brought back to write two more bestselling books before being returned to his grave. According to the internet, the legal ramifications of that postmortem scribbling were still bouncing around the courts. Lawyers gotta lawyer, as her gran would say.

The Deaders, as some called them, were useful for about six months to a year, depending on the postmortem maintenance skills of the necromancer involved. The whole idea made Katia queasy.

It was just past four when she was about to stretch out on the sleeping bag Riley had loaned her, when a light approached, dutifully bobbing above a necromancer like a mini spotlight. This had happened four times during her shift, and the first time she’d nearly freaked out. Summoners weren’t that common in her home state, but they seemed to be thick on the ground here in Atlanta. Just like Hellspawn and mosquitoes. To her relief, the widow had been insistent that Dear Albie stay below ground. That’s all Katia needed to know.

​She relaxed as the summoner drew closer because this one she knew. She’d met Alex Greene during her first unforgettable day in Georgia’s capitol, a day that nearly ended with her checking into Hell . . . forever. She’d also met his uncle, Mortimer Alexander, a very senior summoner. She liked them both even though she detested what they did for a living. Still, Alex was younger than her and him being here on his own was odd. She’d not thought he was far enough in his training to perform a reanimation without his uncle’s help.

Alex stopped just outside the circle, studied the protective ward, then frowned his displeasure. The ward wasn’t going anywhere unless she broke the circle because Riley had taught her how to set it properly. It immediately spat bright flames at him when he stepped too close. Alex retreated, his frown growing.

After a long pause he said, “I’m a summoner,” pointing at the black robe he wore.

Well, duh. Of course, Alex was a summoner. They’d spent some time together at his uncle’s house, and then met up again at a local trapper’s convention. Had he forgotten her already?

Besides his cluelessness, the black robe bothered her. Earlier in the week she’d listened in as Riley had patiently explained necromancer rankings to her current crop of apprentice demon trappers. Most newbie summoners rated a pale gray robe because their magic was very weak, and that’s what Alex wore the last time she’d seen him. His uncle, on the other hand, had earned a black robe because Mort’s magical prowess was seriously badass. From what she’d heard that required years of study. Either Alex was yanking her chain or . . . 

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes on Means’ grave, not her. 

Working with Hellspawn had taught Katia that names had power, so she offered her mom’s instead of her own. “Susan,” she said.

“Susan, I want to make you an offer.”

Black robe, doesn’t know me, hasn’t introduced himself like the others. She’d bet a glamour spell was involved, a strong one if she couldn’t sense it. But why impersonate Mort’s nephew?

One of the scars on her left forearm began to itch furiously, and the intense discomfort made her look away for a moment. When she returned her attention to her visitor, he now sported a faint hazy outline, the spell he was using to alter his identity.

Nice try. “The widow doesn’t want Mr. Means reanimated. So, thanks, but no thanks. Now if you’ll head off, I can get some sleep.”

“If I reanimate the corpse, you could have the rest of the night off. I’ll even double what they paid you.”

And now he tries to bribe me. “The dead guy’s name is Albert Means. He has a wife and two daughters,” Katia replied, because the missus had been extremely specific about all that. “Even in death this man deserves respect.”

The fake Alex’s frown deepened further. “You are going to be a problem.”

She huffed. “From what I’ve been told, that’s my purpose in life.”

The summoner pushed against the barrier again, causing it to glow brighter. “You will break this circle, or I will.”

The voice had taken on a level of menace now, as well as ramped-up in power.

So not Alex.

“Here’s a counteroffer: You leave now, and I won’t report you to the Summoner Advocate. I’m sure he’d love to know you’re all glamoured up as his nephew.”

The necro’s eyes grew darker. “That was a mistake, Susan.”

Katia felt the spell begin to grow around him. It started out small, then built, and built some more as it pulled on his power. His eyes were closed, his hands raised, the robe flowing around him. And then the spell exploded, flowing outward across the cemetery like a windstorm. Flat gravestones erupted from the earth and rushed toward the circle like incoming missiles. It took all her courage not to move, not to panic and run. She’d been inside a Holy Water circle while in Hell, and it’d kept her and Simon Adler safe. This one would hold. It had to.

A gravestone hit the ward, then another, and it felt as if the ground shook with each strike. With each assault the circle flared bright white and repelled the magic attacking it.

“Let me in!” the necromancer shouted. “Let me in!”

The words burrowed into her mind, demanding she walk through the protective sphere, causing it to fail. Once it was gone, so was Means. “Come to me now! I command it, Susan!”

The vicious mental assault drove Katia to her knees, causing her to rock back and forth as the pressure only built within her skull.

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “No.”

She thought of the exorcist, and what it had taken for her and Simon to survive in the pit. What it had been like to stand in front of Lucifer’s throne. How terrified she’d been, how sure she’d never see her family again.

This is only a necro.

Katia forced herself to rise, her head pounding and heart hammering. She scowled at the magical threat, ignoring the chaos of utter destruction raging around them.

She gulped a breath of damp air, stubbornness overriding every other emotion. Crossing her shaking arms over her chest, she glared at him.

“Aren’t you done yet, dickwad?”

The necromancer howled, and for a moment it sounded unearthly, almost inhuman. Then with an air-sucking pop, he vanished.

She waited in case this was a feint on his part, but he did not reappear. Finally, Katia began counting slowly to thirty, then to fifty. When she reopened her eyes, she found the cemetery unchanged—no uprooted trees, no gravestones littered across the ground. That incredible display of magic certainly hadn’t been Alex the Newbie Necro.

“Yeah, it’s a dead-end job,” she muttered, then shook her head, her heart still beating too fast.
One thing for sure, the hundred bucks she’d get for tonight’s vigilance wasn’t nearly enough. 

※※※

After pacing around inside the circle to burn off her anger and the residual shakes, Katia finally dropped down on the sleeping bag. Why hadn’t the summoner been able to force her to break the circle? Was it because of something she’d done?

“No, I was damned lucky.” There’d been no other reason. Somehow she’d kept Means safe and saved herself from one helluva butt chewing from his missus. “Go me.”

Once the threat departed the night sounds had returned, including a dog barking somewhere in the distance. An owl hooted in response, as if they were having a conversation. Katia finally laid down, putting her hands behind her head, trying to relax. The moon peered down through the trees, casting a pale light on the gravestones. It was still warm, a typical July night in the Deep South. The occasional whine of a mosquito came from outside the circle.


Katia must have dozed off because she woke to a car door closing in the parking lot further up the hill. The sun was up, and a quick check of her phone said it was nearing eight and the end of her shift. How she could have slept after that nocturnal horror, she had no idea. It had to have been the stress, nothing more.

The figure trudging toward her was Katia’s boss. Master Riley Blackthorne was six years younger than her. She had shoulder-length auburn-brown hair and eyes that spoke of deep personal loss. Katia could not imagine what it was like to be orphaned, married, and already a master trapper at eighteen. Or what it had taken to survive all that had happened to her.

But was this really her master? It would be hard to tell because Riley was also a summoner, so magic was in her blood. Whoever this was, came within thirty feet of the circle, then abruptly halted. She took a deep inhalation, then executed a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn.

When she was facing Katia again, she said, “Wow, now that’s some power. What happened last night?”

Katia rose. Her scars weren’t itching, her version of a “something’s not right” warning system. Still, she was on edge.

“Prove to me you’re Master Blackthorne.”

If she’d expected Riley to be upset at that demand, she’d have been disappointed.

“Smart move, because I can guess why you’re asking.” Riley took a deep breath. “You are Katia Breman, previously of Lawrence, Kansas. You wer

“Lots of people know where I came from and why,” Katia said, hedging.

Riley cocked her head. “Last night must have been a bitch or you wouldn’t be so skittish.” She nodded to herself now. “Okay. Because you are a special soul, you spent quality time in Hell with my favorite lay exorcist, saved the lives of three boys, and lived to tell us about it. How’s that?”

There was no hazy outline, nothing that made Katia’s hackles rise. This was the real deal.
“Thank God, it’s you,” she said, then sighed in relief.

Riley took a quick look at the grave. “Mr. Means is still in place, I see.”

“Yes. It got damned ugly there for a while.”

Her master shook her head as if trying to clear it, then created her own circle of protection out of nowhere, without all the bother of using Holy Water. It blazed up around her as she parked herself on the grass. After another deep breath she said, “Ah, that’s better.”

“What are you feeling?” Katia asked.

“Residual magic, the really strong kind. What did you feel?”

“Something weird. It made my scars itch. At least, the big one on my arm. That’s usually the one that warns me something bad is going down.”

Riley eyed her. “You sense a lot more than most folks.”

“My grandmother was like that. Drove my parents nuts. They’re firmly in the ‘weird stuff doesn’t exist’ camp.”

“Even after your brother was almost killed by a demon?”


Katia shrugged. “Yeah. They’re still denying all that but failing badly.”

“Well, considering what you were up against last night, I’m thinking your itchy early warning system is a good thing. Anyone else, and we’d have to call this guy’s widow with some unbelievably bad news.”

Another car door slammed, most likely Katia’s replacement. They both watched as the woman unloaded items from her trunk, then closed it with a pronounced thump.

“Is she for real?” Katia asked.

Riley nodded. “There’s no glamour.” She looked back. “How much of last night do you want to share with her?”

“A warning, but not too many details. I think some of it is going to cause problems when it gets out.”

That earned her a thoughtful pause. “Then you tell her what you think she needs to know, and you can tell me about the rest in the car.”

Katia kept another sigh of relief to herself. Her previous job in Lawrence had been a bitch after her first master had died unexpectedly. Master Griffin had been fair and great to work with, but her second master made her job impossible. Plus, the ass had been pocketing most of her wages, claiming it was the National Guild that was slowing up her payments. Due to those lies, she’d had to sleep on friends’ couches or in one of the trappers’ “bolt holes” because she didn’t have enough money for rent. Or much food. Because of issues with her family, and her own stubborn pride, Katia had been on her own. Then she’d been sent to Atlanta and everything had changed. Really changed.

Because of all that, Katia was still waiting for Master Blackthorne to go bad on her. Not likely, but trust didn’t come easy, even when your new master was legendary in the trapper world and wielded magic like most people took a deep breath.

“Good morning! I’m Gloria,” the new arrival called out. She was older, probably in her early seventies with short silver hair. She toted a small hamper, a folded beach umbrella, and a turquoise lawn chair. “Looks like the weather is going to be hot again today. Lower 90s. No surprise there.”

“Hi,” Katia said, glanced at Riley and then back at the lady. “You should know that there was a summoner here last night who didn’t follow the rules.”

The woman came to a halt, all the gear still in hand. “How bad was it?” she asked.

“Bad. He tried to break the circle. Really tried, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, one of those. Well, I know how to deal with them. Luckily, they’re not as powerful during the day.”

Riley raised a skeptical eyebrow at that assumption.

Katia’s replacement waited at the edge of the circle until she’d recited the phrase that allowed her to cross over it, providing she meant no harm to those inside. Gloria sailed right through, and while Katia rolled up the sleeping bag and tied it, the other grave watcher set up her lawn chair and umbrella. She sank down into the chair, then donned a pair of sunglasses as well as a broad-brimmed hat. She looked like she was ready to spend the day at the beach rather than in a boneyard.

“Anything else I need to know?” she asked.

Katia shook her head. “Just be very careful. The necro was really powerful.”

“Okay, then you’re free. Have a good day.” Her replacement pulled out a book, thumbed to a particular page and began to read. From what Katia could tell, it was an historical romance by someone named Burrowes.

Katia carefully crossed the circle, feeling the tug as she stepped outside its protection. Riley took possession of the sleeping bag, leaving her the small cooler and her own trapping bag.

Neither spoke until they were in the car and headed toward the heart of the city.

“So, what really happened?” her master asked, giving her a quick glance.

Katia took a deep breath, organizing her response. “First thing, the other necros introduced themselves. He, or she, didn’t.”

“Not smart. They’re required by the Society to do that. Go on.”

“He made himself look exactly like Mort’s nephew, but his voice was wrong, and he was wearing a black robe.”

“What?” Riley blurted, jerking the wheel. Fortunately, no other car was near them at that point. “That’s not right. The Summoners’ Guild goes ballistic if you do that.”

“Yeah, well this necro’s glamour was really strong, and his illusions just flat out incredible. It looked like every gravestone and all the trees were attacking the circle.”

“I’ve seen that happen. You never forget it.”

“I sure won’t. Then he tried to get inside my head. It felt like he was using a pickaxe on my skull.”

“How’d you fight him off?” Riley asked as she stopped the car behind a school bus.

“I thought of Simon and our time in Hell. That necro had to stand in line to scare me like that trip did. I still have nightmares about it. I know Simon does.”

Riley nodded, then didn’t say anything further until they reached the next stoplight. From the line of cars waiting for it to change, it wasn’t going to be quick. “How fried are you?”

“I’m tired, but I want to know what happened last night. The magic he threw around was big time, and if he does it again, someone might get hurt.”

“That matches what I felt. Whoever that was wanted you to panic and break the circle.” Riley looked over at her, smiling. “You showed them just how tough a trapper can be. Well done, Journeyman Breman. Well done.”

The unexpected praise pushed back some of Katia’s exhaustion. “What do we do about this?”

“We tell Mort, first thing. Mostly because he’s the Summoner Advocate and because that idiot used his nephew as a head fake last night.”

“I didn’t tell him my real name. I gave them my mom’s.”

“Always a good idea. Just like demons, summoners can get into your mind easier if they use your full name. Well, except in my case.”

Katia pulled out a bottle of water and took a long sip. When the bottle went back into her trapping bag, she just had to ask, “Why do the fiends call you Blackthorne’s Daughter instead of your real name?”

“Because my dad gave up his soul to the Prince to keep me safe. He got it back, but that’s why.”

What?

Katia tried to process all that, but it was early in the morning, and she was still messed up from the attack overnight.

“Okay,” was the best she could offer. “I’m too out of it right now, but some day I’d like to hear how all that happened.” She hesitated, then added, “If you’re okay with that.”

“I am. You need to know my history, just like I need to know yours.”

Of course she did. And some of that history she wasn’t ready to share. If ever.

“You know one of the things I like about you?” Katia shook her head. “You’re honest even if you think it might make you look bad. Not everyone is able to do that, especially after the jerks you had to put up with in Lawrence.”

“Some folks would call bullshit on that.”

“Some folks are idiots.”

She laughed because her boss had a point. “How pissed off is Summoner Alexander going to be when we tell him what happened?”

“Majorly pissed off. I will make sure that none of that anger goes your way, not that Mort would do that anyway. The other summoners? They can be dense sometimes.”

“Oh great. Dense people with magic. What could go wrong?”

Riley chuckled. “You’re about to find out.” At Katia’s grimace, she added, “Summoners do steal corpses, but the ones in Atlanta know not to go there because Lord Ozymandias is not someone to cross.”

“Who?”

“Ozymandias. Not sure if that’s his real name or if he’s just a fan of Shelley’s depressing poem. He’s probably the most powerful summoner in the eastern U.S. Maybe the entire country. Anyone with a brain does not cross him.

“His lordship made a big mistake last year, and he’s keen that nobody else is that stupid. If you summon a demon, he’ll snuff you. He’s not much nicer to those who body snatch, either.”

“Snuff? Like kill?” A nod came her way. “So, what happens if you steal a body?”

“Ozy pulls the magic out of you. Literally. Some survive that trauma, most go insane.”

Holy shit. “Then why would a necro risk their life for one dead guy?”

“That’s a really good question.”

When they’d entered Little Five Points, it took Riley a while to find a parking place. This was Katia’s second time in this part of Atlanta. When she was fresh off the bus from Lawrence, Simon had brought her here. That day was still a blur, but she remembered the strange sensations she’d felt as they walked to the summoner’s house.

There was significant magic in this neighborhood, but a blend of many distinct kinds, like a complex perfume. According to the exorcist, L5P, as it was called by the locals, was home for witches, necromancers, and various Pagans. Magic was a given here.

“Don’t you have to let him know you’re coming?” Katia asked as they walked under the copper arch that led to Mort’s house. As usual that arch vibrated, which was just creepy.

“Usually I would call ahead, but not with what happened overnight. He’ll want to hear about this as soon as possible. I didn’t want to just send him a text.”
That made sense.

The café on the right was open and the smell of something delightfully delicious wafted out to greet them. Katia’s stomach weighed in on that, but now was not the time. The New Age shop on the left was still closed. In the building just beyond it, the sign that had announced a new bookstore was gone. Instead, a new notice said a mini grocery would be opening soon. The name of the business: Odin’s Pantry. This was definitely L5P.

As the walkway split into two, they headed down the left lane toward Mort’s house. When they reached a bright purple door, Riley knocked. She waited a decent interval and was about to knock again when it opened. Katia had expected to see the necro or his nephew Alex, but instead it was a thin woman with curly hair and black glasses.

“I’m Summoner Blackthorne and we need to speak to the Summoner Advocate,” Riley said politely. This had to be one of Mort’s reanimates, and from the way she spoke, not someone her master knew.

“He isn’t here,” the woman replied solemnly.

“Can you tell me where to find him?”

“He is at the Summoners Society.”

Riley’s brow furrowed. “Okay, I’ll send him a text message. Is Alex home?”

“No. He is with his uncle.”

“I see. Thank you for your help.”

Another nod and then the door slowly closed.

“She does really well,” Riley said as they walked away. “Not all reanimates are that sharp. But then Mort is exceptionally kind to his people.”

“I still think it’s strange.”

“It is, but trapping demons or exorcising them is strange too. It all depends on how you look at it.”

“Do you summon the dead?”

“No,” Riley said, shaking her head emphatically. “Not my thing. My dad was called out of his grave, and I can’t do that to anyone else.”

“Oh.” There was so much Katia didn’t know about her master.

“You heard from Simon yet?” At her nod, she added, “Is he still at the monastery? It’s hard to tell from the pictures he sends me.”

“No, he’s done his meditating with the monks thing, and now he’s hiking in North Georgia somewhere. And he’s training at a dojo. He sends me a lot of pictures of wildlife.” She sighed. “Mostly squirrels.”

Riley chuckled. “You get squirrels, I get pictures of trees. Lots and lots of trees. I still can’t believe he’s really on vacation.”

“He didn’t have a choice. The dude at the Vatican told him to take two weeks off. It wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Ah, I wondered.”

“Honestly, he needed it,” Katia admitted. “Simon’s been really tired lately.”

“Then it’s good he’s where he is. I’ll keep smiling every time he sends me another tree.”

“I’ll do the same with all those damned squirrels.”

When they reached the car Riley paused to fire off a text, then tapped her foot while waiting for a reply. Katia leaned against the vehicle and yawned.

A ping sounded. “Well, Mort is in a meeting at the Summoners Society which means the crap has already hit the fan, as my dad would say.”

“Do I need to be there?” Katia asked, crossing her fingers. Please say no.

“Yes, they’ll want to hear what happened.”

“Damn,” she muttered.

“Yeah, damn.”
​

CHAPTER TWO


​Where to Purchase
BITTER MAGIC


​Bitter Magic
Demon Trappers® Series Book 9
Copyright ©2024 Jana Oliver

Angel Wing Graphic used with permission of Macmillan Children’s Books
Cover image courtesy of JoY Author Designs
​
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