by Lisa Oliver
“Damn babe, you certainly did that.” Dakar was leaning close, his voice full of that growl that indicted his wolf was lurking under the surface. “There’s someone here who is looking at you like he wants to have you for dessert and it’s not me.”
“Just keep looking at me like you are,” Sy turned so he was staring into Dakar’s intense eyes. “I’ve never dated. This is the first time I’ve been outside of the house in a social situation without my protective wards.”
“You don’t need wards. You have me.”
Remembering Dakar’s aborted PDA demonstration, Sy reached up and stroked along his mate’s jaw while he sent his powers floating around the room. “There’s another magic user here,” he whispered leaning closer. To anyone watching them, there was no denying the intimacy between them, but that was all they’d see. “Norman Gowitch, if I’m not mistaken. He’ll be jealous of you, that’s all. Or maybe he fancies big strong shifters. Who cares? I’m here with you.”
“He’s with that journalist, Clive.” The jaw under Sy’s fingers tightened.
“You no longer work for the Police department. We’re here on a date, anyone can see that.” Leaning up, Sy whispered in Dakar’s ear. “Don’t eat them, my mate. Magic leaves a horrible aftertaste and I want to kiss you later.”
“I could brush my teeth first,” Dakar grumbled, but his tenseness disappeared and by the time the waiter arrived with their first course, he was laughing at some of the tales Sy shared about his misadventures with technology.
/~/~/~/~/
It had been an amazing evening. Dakar would have called it magical under any other circumstances; his rarely used romantic side coming to the fore under the lure of great food, soft lighting, and excellently stimulating company. Dakar had worried that his mate might be too introverted or shy to maintain the warmer side of his personality so few people saw. His worries were baseless. Sy’s focus hadn’t wavered all evening and by the time the bill was paid, Dakar was looking forward to the rest of their night in a more private setting.
And of course, that’s exactly when someone had to go and stuff up his plans. They’d just stepped outside, and Dakar felt an annoying twinge on the back of his head before Clive was up in his face. The look of fury in Sy’s eyes could cut marble but before Dakar could ask him what was wrong, Clive was prodding at his chest. “So, this is why you were at the Necromancer’s mansion that morning. He’s got you in his seductive thrall. It’s okay, Detective. My friend Norman here will soon break the torrid connection this evil doer has on you and you’ll be back to your old self in no time.”
“There is nothing wrong with me and Sy’s my true mate.” Dakar’s hand covered half of Clive’s chest as he pushed the human away from him.
“Oh dear, this is worse than I thought. You need to come with us, detective. I’m afraid you’re going to have to undergo an intensive spell reversal to clear your mind of this travesty. My efforts to get into your head are being blocked by this monster.” Dakar had never met Norman Gowitch, but he’d committed the face to memory when he’d seen the photo early in the police investigations into the serial killer. The skin on his arm itched where Norman grabbed him, and he pulled away with a snarl.
“You lay your hands on me one more time and I’ll rip your throat out and stay the fuck out of my head.” Dakar searched for Sy who appeared frozen on the sidewalk. “Babe, let’s get out of here. I’m not letting these bozo’s ruin our evening.”
“Detective, you don’t seem to understand.” Clive was a persistent bastard; Dakar would give him that. “This…this thing you claim your bonded to isn’t a real person.” He pointed at Sy. “He was made in his grandfather’s lab. He’s nothing more than a golem; crafted to channel black magic and carry messages from the spirit world.”
Sy’s tight lips, closed eyes and pale face was the final straw for Dakar. The hungry leer Norman was wearing as he stared at Sy didn’t help. His claws snapped out as he grabbed Clive and Norman around the neck. “Babe, I hate to ask, but we need to discuss some things in private. Would you mind transporting all of us back to the mansion?”
For a long moment Sy seemed locked in his pained statue impersonation, and Dakar thought he’d have to drive the idiots he was holding back to Sy’s house. But with a slight shake of his head, Sy’s eyes opened and he glared at Clive. “I don’t know who the hell you’ve been talking to, but this time you’ve gone too far. Hold tight.”
The surge of magic fluttered across Dakar’s body and he relaxed into it; his wolf confident their mate would never do them any harm. Clive wasn’t so sure, his shriek cut off as Sy’s magic kicked in. Within the blink of an eye, they were in the Necromancer’s mansion. Dakar recognized the basement walls and kept his grin to himself as he released his hold on his two captives. They wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Brock will be here directly,” Sy said ignoring the journalist and the magic user. “This concerns him too.”
“You know for a big fancy house, you’re short of furnishings down here,” Clive wandered around although there wasn’t much to see. Just four block walls and a concrete floor. The only way in or out was a solid steel door which opened as Brock came in. Norman scuttled back, and Dakar remembered Brock saying the two had had a run in once before.
“Sir, you should’ve mentioned we had guests.” Clive’s eyes widened at Brock’s formal tones. “I would’ve prepared the torture racks.”
“Torture?” Norman wheezed, clutching at his chest. His podgy face was bright red and Dakar wondered how much of the act was put on.
“You can’t hold me against my will,” Clive said lifting his chin. He still couldn’t look Brock in the eye, but Dakar gave him ten points for trying to brazen things out. “I’m a member of the press.”
“With false information you clearly intend on spreading in an effort to discredit the town’s leading magic user.” Dakar couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice if he tried. So, he didn’t. “Norman, was this your doing? Are you Clive’s informant?”
“Me? No.” Norman shook his head. His chest was heaving and suddenly there was a chair behind him which he sank into, pulling an inhaler from the inside pocket of his jacket. After taking a couple of long drags from it, he said, “It’s common knowledge Necromancers can’t breed and I made my deductions from there. The one who ruled this town before was more a robot than human; especially in his dealings with others. This one,” he waved the hand still clutching the inhaler at Sy, “was probably pulled out of a cupboard somewhere where he’d been stashed after his grandfather disappeared. Can’t think why, but I imagine the spells on the previous necromancer started to decay over time and he had to be replaced.”
There was silence while Sy and Brock exchanged a long look and then Sy said, “You seem surprisingly convinced about your information. Where did you do your magical training, Norman? What coven did you belong to?”
Norman snorted. “I don’t like to be tied down. Covens have so many rules and regulations and their ceremonies are just an excuse to get naked. I’m a free spirit.”
“A free spirit with lecherous thoughts about a man you claim isn’t real,” Brock added drily. “Tell me, did you intend to fuck my master, or dissect him and find his source of power?”
Dakar’s growl rang around the room and he was by Sy’s side in an instant. “MINE!”
Norman’s eyes narrowed, and Clive’s mouth dropped open. Dakar wondered how much contact the journalist had with paranormals. “The Necromancer is my mate,” he clarified, his wolf thrilled at the words. “My wolf never lies and is incapable to being spelled when it comes to mates. That’s shifter lore 101; something you should know Norman. But then, if you’re a free spirit as you claim, chances are you’ve never understood anything about the paranormal world you dabble in.”
“I understand about power,” Norman jumped to his feet. “I’ve worked my ass off ever since I learned I could do magic. When I was young, it was great. I could feel my powers increasing with
every spell I completed. But then zilch. Nothing. The moment I reached twenty-one it was as if my powers suddenly decided to stop growing and nothing I did changed that fact.”
“That’s perfectly normal,” Sy said quietly. Dakar’s wolf was still on high alert, but man and wolf appreciated the hand Sy rested on his elbow.
“It’s not. It can’t be,” Norman spluttered. “Look at you. You can’t be more than twenty-one yourself and you’ve got masses of power. I noticed that the first time I came to see you; when your butler threw me out. All I wanted was to ask how you did it. I wanted us to train together, but no. I wasn’t good enough for the likes of you. But then I learned how you did it and I want that for myself.”
“This is the scoop of a lifetime.” Dakar looked over to see Clive scribbling furiously. “I’m going to get a raise and a byline on the front page for this.”
The slight shake of Brock’s head indicated Clive’s hopes for a story were wishful thinking. But Sy spoke again, and Dakar focused on the main action. “Let’s suppose, just for a moment, that what you claim you learned is true. That I am just a magically created vessel storing power that’s not my own.”
“Yes, yes.” Greed was etched over Norman’s face; it wasn’t a good match for the lust in his eyes. “That would mean the power was stored somewhere on your person and it would be transferable.”
“Just imagine my body one huge power reservoir.” Sy’s tone was dry. “What would you do with the additional power if you got your hands on it?”
“Do?” Norman looked around the room. “What do you mean? I won’t need to do anything. I’d be the ranking power user in Pedace.”
“Aha. There’s only one other magic user in Pedace outside of this room, so that in itself really doesn’t count. I imagine you think more will come. You’d create your own coven perhaps?”
“Oh yes,” Norman stared at the ceiling. “A coven full of lusty young men all drawn to my power. I’d have control over them all.”
“And the purpose of your coven? What would it do for the town?” Sy kept his voice low.
“Do? You keep asking that.” Norman was pulled from his lustful thoughts. “A coven doesn’t have to do anything for others. The knowledge of my power alone will keep the town safe.”
“My master is a necromancer. If you acquired his powers, then it would behoove upon you to fulfill his duties,” Brock said firmly. A large book appeared in his hands and he flipped it open and began to read. “In accordance with the magic council and in consultation with our forebears, the following duties will be undertaken by any and all persons carrying those talents identified under the term necromancy. They include….”
“Bah.” Norman interrupted. “You’re making that up. I’ve seen the way you live here. I don’t know why we’re stuck in this dreary basement, but I’ve walked the halls of this mansion. I’ve seen all the gold and fine furnishings. The necromancer does nothing but shut himself away here six days out of seven and barely ever has any visitors. I’m sure I could do a lot better than that.”
“You’ve been spying on him?” Dakar’s claws dug into his palm and only Sy’s hand on his arm stopped him from leaping for Norman’s throat.
“Oh no,” Clive piped up, still scribbling madly. “That was me. I’m researching for a story. My editor wants me to write this huge expose.” He waved his hand through the air. “The secret lives of Necromancers. I’ve been working on it for weeks. Not that much happens around here,” he shook his head. “The detectives turning up at the mansion was the most exciting thing to happen in months. That’s how I met Norman. He’s been filling me on the good stuff.”
“We’ll discuss what you think you’ve learned shortly, Clive,” Sy’s voice took that hardened edge that set Dakar’s balls tingling. “Norman. You claim I’m not human; that I was created for the sole purpose of dispensing magic justice and providing a conduit for the people of Pedace to speak with the dead. Is that right?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“Did you happen to come by your information from the demon captain of the police department by any chance?”
“Yes.” Norman frowned. “He had a complete dossier on you. I had no reason to think he was lying.”
“Of course not,” Sy demurred. Dakar glanced down at his mate to see him smiling. “Do you have your license?”
The furrows in Norman’s forehead deepened. “License? My driver’s license?” He reached into his pants pocket.
“No, no. Your magic license. The one given to all magic users once they’ve reached a certain level of proficiency. It will contain your photo, personal details and the level of magic you’ve attained during your training. If you are going to take my powers, then your license will need updating. Brock can take care of that for you.”
“I’ve never needed a license.” Norman took another deep puff of his inhaler. “My magic comes from experience, instinct, and my own innate ability.”
“Oh dear.” Sy looked across at Brock who shook his head as though disappointed. Even Clive stopped scribbling long enough, trying to work out why the tension in the room just increased tenfold. “We’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“What do you mean? Are you giving me your powers?”
“I can’t give them to you.” Sy shook his head. “I mean, I would, if I could. You seem a nice guy and all and the necromancer garb would definitely be slimming on you. But without a license the only way you can get my powers is if you take them. There’re rules about this sort of thing. Brock will tell you.”
“Take them?”
Sy nodded.
Norman’s Adam’s apple bounced up and down. “Where are they?” His voice had dropped to a whisper.
“In me.” Sy pointed to his chest. “I mean, where are your powers?”
“I was born with them. But you…but you…you’ve been made. You must have some idea where….”
“When a golem is created they have no idea the origin of their creation or their makeup,” Brock intoned. Dakar was amazed there wasn’t a thread of deceit in the butler’s voice but then the guy did like to talk as though reading from a text book.
“So, I just…look?” Norman moved closer, holding out his hands. Dakar noticed he was still holding his inhaler.
“Use your magic. Those instincts you told me about,” Sy confided. “You might not think that this Detective is my mate, but his wolf believes it with everything he is. It’d be a shame to see your throat clawed out before you got the power you think you deserve.”
“Magic, right.” Norman stepped back. “So, I just do, like a siphon spell or something?”
“Just throw all your magic at me,” Sy’s grip on Dakar’s arm tightened and he realized his fangs were showing. “It will mix with mine and then you just call it back.”
He’s lying, Dakar realized, wondering what on earth was going on. All his wolf knew was they didn’t like the idea of anyone throwing anything at their mate, but he had to trust Sy knew what he was doing.
“Okay.” Norman tucked his inhaler back in his jacket and spread his legs and arms apart. “Watch this kid,” he said to Clive. “You’re about to see some real magic in action.”
Brock quietly tugged Clive closer to the door. “In case there’s any fallout,” he said with a completely straight face. Dakar wanted to laugh out loud at the look of wonder on Clive’s face.
“Are you ready?” Norman asked.
Sy held up one finger and then stood on tiptoes and brushed a kiss along Dakar’s jaw. “Don’t flinch.” Dakar barely caught the whisper before Sy was facing Norman once more.
“Ready.”
Norman’s whole body started to shake, and Dakar felt a surge of magic in the air. But unlike when Sy used his, which felt as though the air was infused with a dynamic storm cloud, Norman’s felt clunky, unused, almost as if it were broken; like a car trying to run with a piston missing. Norman’s arms were flying about in the air, as though he was herding cats. Dakar
didn’t realize the man was trying to corral his own power until Norman yelled, “Excalibur” and flung his arms in Sy’s direction.
Dakar jumped, but managed to contain himself. Sy hadn’t moved, but suddenly the wicked looking staff with the skull on top was in his hands; the skull ablaze with light as the power levels in the air suddenly dropped.
“What? No! No! No!” Norman yelled. “Come back. Stop. Give them back. What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything,” Sy said quietly, resting his head on Dakar’s arm. “I’m just standing here, waiting for you to take the powers you claim I wasn’t born with.”
“But your stick…that skull…GIVE IT TO ME.” Norman lunged for the staff, grabbing the oak and tugging it out of Sy’s hands. “I did it.” Norman danced around the room holding the stick aloft. “The necromancer’s power is all mine.” Then his feet faltered and he stumbled, using the staff to hold him upright. “What’s happening to me,” he cried, holding his head with one hand. “I don’t feel so good. Fates save me. I’m fading. Someone do something. Help. I’m fading.” He fell face down on the floor, the staff rolling out of his hand until it reached Sy’s feet.
“Take a note, young journalist,” Brock said sternly as he went over and retrieved Sy’s staff, holding it away from him. “Rule 42; subsection 27, b. In the matters relating to necromancy, no person or persons, by magical or physical means may or should be permitted to ever touch the staff, skull, and any accessories belonging to a necromancer unless they too carry the blood from a necromancer family line. Seriously, kid. It’ll give you a headache.”
“Is he dead?” Clive asked, looking over at Norman’s slumped body.
Even though he wasn’t employed as a detective any more, Dakar strode over to check. Feeling for a pulse, he shook his head. “He’s still breathing. It’s as though he’s asleep.”
“He is,” Sy said. “Does Norman have family, do we know? It’s going to take a while for him to adjust to life without his magic. Someone should have taught him never to just throw it away.”
