Free The Reckoning by Kelley Armstrong

said his wife would understand. He said to add a note from him, that he loved her and would never have left her.
    “She might not believe I sent a message from the grave, but she’ll look anyway. I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you.”
    Before I could say a word, he disappeared.
    “Now that was cool,” Tori said, taking the pencil and extra paper from me.
    As I folded the page with the information, Margaret reached for it.
    I handed it over. “I guess it’ll have to be mailed from someplace far from here, huh? Just in case.”
    “It’s not being mailed.”
    “What?” Tori and I said in unison.
    “You never promise to deliver a message for a ghost, Chloe. Never .”
    “But—”
    Her hand cupped my elbow, voice going gentle. “Youcan’t. If you do, then what you saw today will be only the beginning. Word will get out that you’re willing to help, and while there are perfectly good requests, like this one, you heard some of the others. Most of those ghosts were in limbo. Sentenced to limbo. You can’t help them, and you don’t want to, but that won’t keep them from hounding you day and night. So you have to ignore both: the good and the bad.”
    I looked up into her face and briefly saw someone else there, a younger, sadder woman. I realized that what seemed like cold efficiency was self-preservation—the tough, no-nonsense necromancer, her heart hardened to the pleas of the dead. Was this my fate? Toughen up until I could throw that note in the trash and never think of it again? I didn’t ever want to be that way. Ever.
    “Are you okay?” Tori whispered.
    Margaret had moved away and was dumping out the ashes of the vervain. Tori touched my arm. I realized I was shaking. I wrapped my arms around myself. “I should have brought a sweater.”
    “It’s still chilly when the sun goes in, isn’t it?” Margaret said as she came back to us.
    She held up a baggie of dried stuff.
    “Vervain,” she said. “I’ll give you some back at the house. Obviously you could use it.”
    She tried to smile, but she was out of practice and only managed a twist of her lips.
    “Thank you,” I said, and surprised myself by meaning it.
    “Are you up to some more work?” she asked.
    I glanced down at the bag she held, like it was a prize for a lesson well done, and as much as I wanted to quit, that eager-to-please part of me blurted, “Sure.”

Twelve
    “I T’S EASY TO SUMMON ghosts who want to be called,” Margaret said, “but sometimes you need to speak to a reluctant one. While we try to respect the wishes of the dead, you’ve just seen the importance of maintaining the upper hand in the necromancer-ghost relationship. Some really believe we exist only to help them, and we must quickly disabuse them of that notion. Being firm in your summoning is one way to establish the proper reputation.”
    Margaret took the lead, going from grave to grave. We visited four ghosts, chatting with them for a minute, before she found one that didn’t want to answer her summons.
    She let me try. The ghost didn’t answer me either.
    “Do you know how to increase the power of the summons?” Margaret asked me.
    “Concentrate harder?”
    “Exactly. Slowly increase your concentration and sharpen your focus. Start doing it now. Gradually, gradually…”
    We kept on like this for a while, Margaret getting frustrated by how slowly I was ramping up the juice. Finally, I felt an inner twinge that said “that’s enough,” and I said so.
    She sighed. “I understand you’re nervous, Chloe. Whoever raised those bodies has frightened you.”
    “ I raised—”
    “That’s not possible. Yes, you are clearly a powerful young necromancer, but without the proper tools and rituals, you just can’t do it. I don’t even have the ingredients with me.”
    “But what if that’s one of the modifications they made? Making it easier for me to raise the dead?”
    “There would be no reason to—”
    “Why not?” Tori