Dead of Night (Ghosts & Magic #1) by M.R. Forbes Page B

crouched behind some thick shrubs and peered over at the brick wall, to where cameras rested near the top and swung back and forth, covering the entire perimeter. I would need to take them out of action later, but for now, I focused on listening for the pulse of the magical field. It was stronger on the other side of the wall, closer to the mansion, but a sliver of the energy was still leaking out to where I was sitting.  
    It was more than enough to breathe life into the rat again.
    "Come on, Mickey. Time to go to work."
    I held him in my palm while he shuddered. His nose started moving, sniffing its way along my flesh. That was the instinct that always remained; the hunger, and the desire to satiate it.
    I placed him on the ground and moved behind the trunk of a wide tree, positioning myself with the bottom of my waterproof trench beneath my ass, so it wouldn't end up soaked on the damp grass. I was in the middle of a copse of foliage between Red's property and whatever wealth lived next door. It was meant to be a barrier, and it was perfect for keeping my body hidden.
    I say body, because I had one more necromancer trick up my sleeve. I closed my eyes, and eased myself along the thread of magic connecting me to the rat. Not my physical self, but my consciousness, my senses. A moment later, I was looking through Mickey's eyes at the massive world around me.
    Discovering the trick had been an accident. There was no necromancer handbook to reference, and Dannie hadn't been able to locate a living peer to pick their brain. One night before Mr. Timms had passed on, the cat had grabbed a mouse in our kitchen. It was a good soldier, and it brought Dannie the prize, but he had been a little too rough with it. Curious, I had brought it back from the dead, and watched it sniff and scuffle. I had this thought that it would be neat if I could make it run around, to give Timmsie something to play with. It started running then, and the rest was trial and error.
    Most importantly, and most obviously, it didn't work on people. We were too evolved, our souls too developed and independent. I had managed to stick on Mr. Timms for about thirty seconds once, but cats were hard to control. Birds and mice worked best.
    Of course, I hadn't actually transferred my existence to the rat. It was more like a remote control, where I was getting the feed of what Mickey experienced from the safety of my own brain. Not that my brain was totally safe. If I saw what the rat saw, I didn't see what my eyes could have seen. I was an easy target if anyone happened across me.  
    I guided him through the grass, skirting to the base of the wall. There was no doubt the cameras had seen Mickey go by, but it was unlikely they would find him suspicious. I ran him along the wall, all the way around to the iron bars of the front gate. It was easy to slip under them unseen, and make our way along the lawn.
    The house wasn't close for a person. It was a marathon for a rat. I moved Mickey forward in stages, letting go of the sight and returning to check on my own surroundings during intermissions, while I allowed him to sniff the ground and pick up some choice morsels. He was dead, and he didn't need to rest, but I did.  
    Eventually, he reached the house. I could see the feet of guards walking back and forth in their patrol, unassuming men in black suits, but they were looking forward, not expecting to get infiltrated from down low. I skirted Mickey over one of their shoes, to the foundation of the mansion. I just needed to find a way inside.
    I kept near the house, tracing its edges and searching for even the tiniest opening. It was a huge place, and just clearing the front side took almost half an hour. It was also well-maintained, with no obvious paths to get in.
    I left Mickey to his own devices, pulling back my sight and opening my eyes. I took a deep breath and muffled a cough, and checked my watch. Six o'clock. No wonder I had to pee. I figured Mickey was in as