People fear the magicians of death. They hunt for them. They come when no one else can help. And we help—for a good fee. Then, like anyone who did something good, we rush to disappear before the Inquisition’s gratitude catches up.
But when the executioners come for you for real, you can’t hide in a crypt anymore. You need a better place—for example, a temple.
And that the robe of the most enlightened reverend presses on your shoulders—well, that’s nothing. Much worse is this: as it turns out, necromancers have a lot in common with their spiritual advisors. The last ones also show up when no one else can help.
The only catch is this: I, Dirk Lair, am used to solving problems not with kind words, but with dark magic…