Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) by Melanie Card

with strong mystic sight can tell who’s a vesperitti and who isn’t, which means neither of us will know who’s a monster.” And he already couldn’t remember everyone who’d been in that room. All he remembered was the book absorbing the blood, and Macerio sucking out Enota’s soul.
    “I think it’s safe to assume everyone here is a monster.” She tapped her nails against the chair’s arm. “If this goes sour, how do I kill a vesperitti? Is the part about a silver blade to the heart true?”
    “I don’t know. With so many in the house, it might be easier to kill Macerio. If he dies, the magic sustaining all his vesperitti ends, and they die.”
    “Good to know.” She stood. “We’ve got a day to figure out if we can pull this off or not. Talk to Allette and see what you can learn about Macerio’s grimoire. I’m going to scout out the place and learn about vesperitti. The more information we have, the more likely we’ll get out of this in one piece.” She strode to the window and hopped on the ledge but didn’t swing out. Instead, she gripped the frame, her back to him, a picture of beauty and deadly grace. “The first sign of trouble, and we’re out of here.”
    As if being in a house with an Innecroestri and his vesperitti wasn’t trouble enough. “I have to destroy that grimoire.”
    “You can’t destroy it if you’re dead.” She slipped out the window, ending the conversation before it could really begin. Though there wasn’t much left to say, at least about the grimoire. With everything else, there was far too much unsaid. Like the nature of their relationship.

    Celia slipped back into her room and hugged the shadows to stare into the pre-dawn grey. Below were Ward’s rucksack, her clothes, and the sword hidden in the rosebush and ready for a quick escape. Beyond lay the field of grass and the swollen river. She strained to catch a glimpse of the remaining two bounty hunters, but couldn’t see anything.
    The only saving grace to this latest disaster was, with just two men left, they wouldn’t storm in. They’d likely check out the place, count people, then decide whether sneaking in or waiting for backup was their best bet. Ward and she had at best a day, perhaps two… If they saw their compatriots die at Macerio’s hand, hopefully they’d fled back to Brawenal City.
    Which was the very reason Ward and she couldn’t stay either.
    Goddess above, Ward had lost his mind!
    The hum of danger coursed through her. A fine vibrating thread cutting through her weariness, straining her senses. Why couldn’t Ward have stuck with his original plan to run? With only two bounty hunters, now was their best chance to lose them. But no, he had a duty, an obligation.
    Ward and his Dark Son-cursed Oaths. Sure, his Physician’s Oath to help any soul in need or face eternal torment had suited her needs when she’d first met him, and she’d used it to manipulate him. But whatever his necromancer Oath was, it was going to kill him. Honestly, couldn’t he have a glimmer of self-preservation?
    She fought the urge to punch the wall. The Goddess was cruel— Ward didn’t deserve any of this, especially the grief Celia had brought him. But she hadn’t known that when he’d woken her from the dead two weeks earlier, which seemed like a lifetime ago. She was not the person she’d been before her murder…before Ward.
    He’d changed things, made her see that what she’d held true—the weak and foolish were killed and the strong stayed strong—was wrong. Except now she didn’t know what was right or who she was. Family didn’t count for anything anymore. The love of her father had never been real.
    Something in her chest contracted.
    She didn’t want to examine the truth. A person could only soul-search if they had a soul. Hers was borrowed from the Goddess. Any time now, the Goddess would take it back.
    The something within her squeezed again. She didn’t want to die, not when Ward needed her so