Home > How to Live an Undead Lie (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy #5)

How to Live an Undead Lie (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy #5)
Author: Hailey Edwards


“Shiver me timbers.” I swung my foam sword in an arc to clash against the bent one Oscar had brandished with a bit too much enthusiasm against a tree earlier. “Batten down the hatches.”

“You’re the best pirate I know,” he said, black eyes shining up at me in adoration.

Pretty sure I was the only pirate he knew, and I wasn’t much of one. All I had done was memorize the lingo from a Talk Like a Pirate Day blog post. I was hazy about all the definitions, but Oscar cared more about exuberance than authenticity. “You’re not half bad yourself, matey.”

Soft laughter huffed behind us, and I cut my eyes toward the lean figure crossing the lawn at Woolworth House.

Linus wore his hair down, the dark-auburn length brushing his shoulders. His gray slacks kept their crease despite the humidity, and his white button-down shirt was starched within an inch of its life without a sweat stain in sight. His black leather shoes probably shouldn’t get dew on them, let alone the muck we were wading through. But his eyes were more navy than black, his lips bent in a shy smile, and suddenly I was ready to foot the bill to have his oxfords repaired or replaced if only he kept looking at me like that.

“Arrrgh, me hearties.” I rested the soft blade of my weapon at his throat. “I spy a landlubber.”

“I believe it’s arrr,” he said, leaning into the foam sword until his cool lips hovered a fraction of an inch above mine. He let me close the distance, and he exhaled when I did, like he still doubted his welcome. As much as I wanted to linger, I broke off the kiss before we scarred Oscar for life. Or death. Undeath? “Unless you’re a particularly frustrated pirate.”

Chuckling, I smiled against his mouth. “You can’t help it, can you?”

Pink flooded his cheeks, and he eased away from me. “Habit.”

“I know.” I lowered my weapon and slid my arms around his trim waist. “I don’t mind.”

“You enjoy being corrected all the time?” He sounded doubtful as he held me, his hands featherlight where they met at my spine. “It doesn’t bother you? I can—”

“It’s not all the time.” I wasn’t a total dunce. “Only some of the time.” I propped my chin on his sternum and gazed up at him. “And it’s adorable.”

Yeah, yeah. Mushy to the extreme. I know. Cut me a break. We’re in our honeymoon period.

The first week of a new relationship is the most intense, or so I’d always heard. I had never had a new relationship, so maybe this felt bigger to me thanks to the lack of experience.

Boaz had always been a dull ache behind my breastbone, a second beat I had felt since we were kids. Linus was more of an addictive taste I was starting to crave, and I didn’t mean his blood. I meant him. The soft looks, the gentle touches, the tender words. All of it. All of him.

“Grier.” Oscar sank as much annoyance into the word as humanly—ghostly?—possible. “Pirates don’t kiss. It’s gross. Make him walk the plank.”

“Sorry, Linus, but you heard him.” I breathed in the herbal and copper scent of his skin, my mouth watering. Fine, so part of the craving did involve his blood. “Rules are rules, shark bait. You boarded without the cap’n’s permission.” I raised the sword and pressed the tip of my blade against his heart. “To the poop deck, ye go.”

“Poop deck.” Oscar cackled. “You said poop.”

Boys, pulse or no pulse, enjoyed toilet humor.

Linus smothered a grin, and it was all I could do not to kiss him until it surfaced again.


What can you do?

Apparently, having a real boyfriend agreed with me.

“It’s Davy Jones’s locker for you.” I nudged Linus until the foam bent, and he backed toward the house. “Woolly, the cellar doors if you please.”

The twin halves leading into the false basement used for storing preserves and mundane nonperishables swung open, the hinges groaning with the old house’s laughter.

“Step lively now.” I tried keeping a straight face, but it was a losing battle. “This plank was made for walking.”

“Drown already,” Oscar sighed over my shoulder. “We have treasure to find.”

Thanks to a tropical depression moving through the area, we had postponed our treasure hunt for a week after the ball. It was past time to let Oscar have his promised fun.

Eyes glinting with amusement, Linus sank into the murky depths of the cellar, and the warped doors closed over his head.

“Hoist the mainsail,” I called, and we resumed our trek to where the map I had drawn for Oscar indicated treasure awaited us. “Batten down the hatches.”

A peculiar sensation wedged itself between my shoulder blades as we set out, but there were eyes in the woods.



The vampire bodyguards Lacroix had assigned to me.

And High Society necromancers who hadn’t lifted a finger to aid in the Grande Dame’s release efforts who were willing to make my acquaintance after my demonstration at the ball.

Most requests were confined to emails, texts, calls, or physical mail. But a few wanted to skip the nonexistent line, and those I left to the gwyllgi to hunt or snack on as they saw fit.

Shrugging off the sense of unease, I got back in the pirating mood.

“Arrr.” Oscar held the parchment spread out in front of him. “I can smell the booty from here.”

I waited all of three seconds before he floated higher than the lowest tree limbs in a laughing fit.

“Booty.” He squeezed his eyes shut, but inky tears dripped down his cheeks. “That’s funny.”

“On your feet, buccaneer.” I tugged on the back of his sailor outfit. “There’s no time for lollygagging.”

After drifting onto his feet, Oscar fanned out the map and resumed his quest.

A throaty baying noise raised the hairs down my nape, and Oscar spun toward me, his eyes black pools.

“Shark,” he screamed gleefully, pointing between two trees. “Run.”

“We’re on a—” I started, but it was too late. “Guess this captain ain’t going down with his ship.”

Lethe padded out on all fours, her lips peeled away from pointy teeth, drool stringing her jaw. Even with the foam shark fin belted around her middle, she looked fierce.

Behind her, Hood strolled on two legs while humming the theme from Jaws to set the mood.

“Swim for your life,” I yelled to Oscar’s retreating back. “I’ll handle these coxswain.”

“Pretty sure a coxswain is a helmsman,” Hood said dryly.

I cut him a flat glare that only made him smile wider.

Gwyllgi had a lot of teeth.

Undeterred by my wrath, he continued. “I’m guessing you’ve never been to Tybee Island Pirate Fest?”

“I don’t have a serving wench costume Lethe can borrow, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Odette hated the crowds, so she often came to stay with us during the weekend pirate festivities. Since the rules of Southern hospitality forbade me from abandoning a guest, I had missed every single one to play hostess alongside Maud.

“Now, a little more dun-dun-dun-dun and a little less lip, Shark Number Two.”

“What kind of shark is he?” Oscar called back to us, clearly offended. “They don’t even have lips.”

Sticking the fingers of one hand together, Hood propped his wrist on top of his head in a makeshift fin. “The kind that eats ghost boys for breakfast.”

The gwyllgi shot after the squealing apparition, and I followed at a much more sedate pace, half hoping the landlubber would shake off his drowning and catch up to us.

“Hey, none of that.” Hood circled back for me. “You’re in our waters now.”

That raised an interesting question. “What happened to the ship?”

“We released the kraken.” Mischief glinted in his eyes. “You must have missed that part while you were making out with your captive.”

Heat rushed into my cheeks. “I was not—”

“Less stalling.” He snapped his teeth at me. “More running.”

Without Lethe’s golden-haired brother Midas to crack the whip, I had taken up running with Linus at dusk before training with Lethe. He was fast, and his endurance was off the charts. If I asked, he would tell me it was a side effect of bonding with a wraith, but his lean muscles told a different story. He gave Cletus too much credit for abilities he had earned himself, but that was how Linus thought. Always so quick to brush aside his worth.

Growling, Hood charged me, and I didn’t have to fake my scream as I sprinted after Oscar.

Fifteen minutes later, a stitch pulled in my side, and my lungs strained for oxygen, but I kept pumping my noodly legs. Even so, I knew Hood was letting me win. He could have overtaken me ten times by now. Still, I made him work to maintain his smug grin.

A feral snarl rose behind me, the deep rumble a threat no human throat should make, and I startled. “Hood?”

Muscles rigid, eyes locked on a pool of shadows, he had adopted a pointing stance usually seen while in his other form.

“Stop right there,” a hard voice snapped from the darkness. “Grier, get behind me.”

Sweat dripping into my eyes, I blinked in the direction of the command like a shipwreck survivor who had spent too long in the ocean. I really hoped he was a mirage, but I doubted it.

At last, the creeping sensation lodged between my shoulder blades all night had been given a name.

“You’ve got…to be…kidding me,” I panted as Boaz emerged. “What are you…doing here?”

Milk-chocolate irises striated with lighter bands, liked swirled caramel, raked over me, searching for injury. White scars stood in stark contrast against his tanned skin, which was darker than the last time I had seen him. He must be spending more time outdoors during the day. His platinum hair, shaved on the sides and worn longer on the top, showed the bleaching effects of the sun as well.

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