Page 174 of Librarian

No. Stars no.

I knew it. I knew Mathias would never let my grandfather’s corpse rest without putting it to use.

His familiar grey eyes are sightless, and his sun-weathered skin is carved with familiar runeforms that ooze blood.

He still has his laugh lines. That detail sticks with me as his fist descends toward my face. I should raise my arms, protect myself, but I can’t stop searching his blank gaze for a spark of recognition. His hair is a mess. His outfit is a drab prison tracksuit that he’d never be caught dead in if he were alive.

Pain blooms in my cheekbone as the punch lands. The shock of it breaks through the wall of my disbelief.

This isn’t my grandfather. It’s a revenant. This is just another fucked up mind-game from the man who destroyed my family.

The lich can’t be far away. He’s probably responsible for the ruckus outside.

I have to get the dagger, the phylactery, and those two idiot brothers and get out of here.

I manage to snatch up the gem and shove it into my pocket, but my hesitation has cost me. The creature reaches the blade first. Stiff and darkened fingertips grasp the hilt, raising it above his head like he means to stab me with it. We grapple over the dagger, but revenants are freakishly strong. My hand slips.The tip slices through the paper wrapped around the blade and buries itself into my shoulder with ease.

“Fuck!” the curse rips from me.

My blood is already coating my torso with warmth.

The revenant draws back, and the broken blade comes free with a sickening squelch. Well, most of it.

The tip is missing. Still buried in my shoulder.

The dead can’t cast, but the revenant is still stronger for being reanimated with magic. I roll to one side, dodging the second blow aimed at my throat. The broken blade screams as it hits the stone hearth instead.

I have to end this.

Mathias sent my grandfather’s corpse against me because he knew I’d be unwilling to fight it. He was counting on shock to stay my hand.

He underestimated the depth of my respect for my grandfather.

Blindly, I reach back, arm screaming in pain, and find my grimoire.

“Rest easy,” I whisper, then slam my bloodied palm into the pages.

The ball of white flame that consumes the corpse is so hot that it singes my skin. I cry out, but don’t look away as he turns to ash.

The dagger drops. The scraps covering it have burned away under the spell, and a rock settles in my gut as I watch it fall.

I grab for it, uncaring that it’s probably hot enough to burn me.

The metal shatters into a million tiny golden particles the instant it hits my palm.

I gape at the glimmering sand falling through my fingers.

What…? No!

A drain starts in my chest. Slow, painful. Like someone has found my magical well and pulled the plug.

“Leo! Lambert! The Arcanaeum. NOW!” I press my hand into the wound in my shoulder and stagger to my feet, crushing my grimoire into my chest.

That’s when I see them.

My parents.

It’s been a while since I last laid eyes on my father’s reanimated body. He had more flesh when I was a child. Now, the only way I can tell that it’s him at all is the golden chain glimmering around his neck. A gaudy gift from my mother, whose desecrated corpse staggers forward beside him.