The Necronomicon

Chapter Twenty Five

"The — The Necronomicon?" Frederick asked, as if he could hardly believe the words, recognition sparking in his bright eyes.

"You know the name?" Meredith inquired, holding the book tightly in her arms.

"Anastasia..." Frederick whispered, and she shot him a fiery glare.

"I'm Meredith," She growled, staring at him with wide, unforgiving eyes. "Not Anastasia."

"No — I — uh —" Frederick's eyes roved over her quickly; his face softened as he looked at her. "It was — Anastasia was obsessed with finding this thing — The Necronomicon, I mean."

Meredith's eyes widened as she recalled Elder Watford's words.

"And what do they want?"

"A book — it doesn't sound like much, but I promise you that it's special. And if the rebels get it, they will use it for all the wrong reasons. And that's where you come in."

"Is Anastasia a rebel?" She asked. Frederick didn't answer, his eyes focused on the book, distracted from her. Then he shook his head, seemingly out of his stupor, and reached for her hand.

"A rebel? Yes." He replied, his voice husky, and he squeezed her hand, a finger drawing circles into her palm. Meredith put the book back into her bag, pulling the knapsack into her lap.

The tree branches were low — they were hanging quite close to their heads. Frederick pushed his back against a tree trunk, with Meredith just beside him, and studied her: her eyes, their clasped hands. She observed the curve of his jaw, blushing slightly. "I don't know what the book does. But I was given it — by Elder Watford. That book is the reason I'm in these woods." She smiled, leaning into him. "The Necronomicon led me to you." His hand brushed her arm, and her cheeks reddened even more.

Frederick gazed at her, a half smile painted on his face. "You're not Anastasia," He muttered, and his touch on her shoulder was light. "Audrey was right." He moved his fingers to her hair, stroking the strands with gentle fingertips, his mind whirring. "I love you, Meredith."

Audrey was right. What did he mean? Her eyes narrowed, and she sighed. Men. "I'm glad. I love you too, Frederick. So much." She beamed at him. "Do you know what the book's purpose is?"

"I do." He nodded brightly as she cuddled closer to him. "It's the book of death." She didn't react — he continued. "It brings back the dead, Meredith." He told her, his hand repeatedly caressing her hair with soft strokes.

She stiffened against his fingers. "But — but there's no dead following us now, unless... is there?"

He chuckled in a low tone, his breath hot against her neck. "There's an incantation — written in the book. No-one will have been resurrected yet — unless you used it.

"I didn't."

"I didn't think so. Permit me to ask: why did The Elders send you to the woods — why do you need to go to the marshlands?"

Meredith grimaced, her back arching slightly. "This is going to sound crazy," She began, inhaling sharply as her eyes caught his. "I'm summoning The Grim Reaper and giving The Necronomicon to him." She felt Frederick's hand tighten around hers; he shifted slightly. She was aware of all of his movements as he bent ever closer to her, his lips pressing against her ear.

They were shrouded in darkness underneath the trees, light spilling over the grass ahead of them. Meredith turned her nose up at it — she didn't want to get freckles staining her perfect, pale skin.

"But — why?" Frederick inquired, his breath hot against her.

Because of the rebels. "I don't remember."