The Necromancer (Amber Lee Mysteries Book 3) Read Online Free

small bunch of grapes.
    Dawn was still yawning over the trees by the time I left my place, which was unusual. The warm sunlight bouncing off the dew on the tops of cars and buildings made the world glisten around me like it was made of glass, but in the back of my mind I found the image of Lily—Damien’s sister—creeping in, muting the colors and sounds around me like clouds on a sunny day.
    Why her? Why now, after all this time, had she clawed her way out of the recesses of my mind to show me her face? She was cold and pale—much like a corpse—but her eyes were vibrant and exaggerated, alive with intelligence and passion. Was she trying to contact me from beyond the grave, or had I dreamt about her in the night and forgotten?
    I figured the latter, given that I had woken up far earlier than I normally would have this morning. Sleep had become easy in recent nights, or at least it had been before the end of Eliza’s third trimester peeked its head over the horizon. Fact is I was no stranger to nightmares, even the ones I couldn’t remember. The ones I could remember, though, were always the same:
    The sheriff’s knife through my abdomen.
    Aaron’s blood in the snow.
    The demon’s disgusting hands in my mouth.
    But of all the things that had happened to me, the demon’s intrusion into my body was the one that had left the biggest impression upon my psyche. I felt dirty for days after. Sullied and unclean. No ritual of cleansing or steaming hot shower could relieve me of what I was feeling. Of how I was feeling.
    In my recent dreams, the demon lingered at the corner of my perception. It laughed as the sheriff plunged his blade into my gut. Cackled as Aaron fell into the snow—lifeless—beside me. And chuckled as I walked away from the burning building believing I had defeated it. But of course, they were just dreams now.
    And dreams couldn’t hurt me.
    Houston Boulevard was still waking up as I walked through it. Men and women dressed in different variations of black and white uniforms, each belonging to a different café situated on the high street, were setting up chairs and tables on the promenade. They worked diligently to beat the morning rush, propping up boards with specials and menus written on them for walkers to see as they passed and wiping down every last available surface until they sparkled against the morning sun.
    For a tiny place, Raven’s Glen sure did have a large number of cafes and bistros one could enjoy a croissant and a coffee in. But my favorite haunt was Joe’s. His restaurant was tucked away behind Houston Boulevard, on Rosella—the street where my bookstore sat. But the location handicap wasn’t as bad as most other little shops in my area.
    With its freshly baked doughnuts and sugared churros in the morning, their inexpensive-yet-hefty lunch and dinner menus, and impeccable personal service, Joe’s place came plenty recommended. And since I had been a loyal customer even before the hype began, Joe gave me extra special care and attention whenever I came round. It was only a free latte in the mornings, but the gesture was enough to keep me coming back every lunch time.
    So I was pretty surprised when I tried the door to Joe’s and found it locked. A delicious, warm aroma strong enough to slip through even the metal front door wafted out into the street, but I couldn’t see anybody inside. What the heck?
    “Morning, Amber,” Joe said. I caught him crossing the road toward me.
    “Hey Joe,” I said, “You closed today?”
    “No, sorry, I just closed up for a minute. Just been down your street with the police.”
    “The police? What happened?”
    “There’s a whole bunch of dead birds down there. I called the Sheriff in to have a look.”
    Dead birds. I had almost forgotten about seeing them last night along Apricot Drive. Were they there this morning? I couldn’t remember.
    “Oh… wow,” I said.
    Joe fished his keys out of his pocket and went to unlock the door to his