by J. D. Tyler
Ryon posed the question in all of their minds—What the fuck is he?
The love child of Criss Angel and Adam Lambert? Jaxon tossed back.
His friend gave a soft snort that might’ve been a laugh. With a little Nikki Sixx thrown in, sure.
He couldn’t hear the others’ thoughts, only Ryon’s since he was the Telepath, but he imagined they were pretty much in agreement. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the kid, who was now searching the headstones. Carefully, Black picked his way up one row, down another. Oddly enough, he’d stop every so often, crouch, and trace the deceased person’s name that was carved into the granite. Sometimes the date of death, too, but never the date of birth. Weird.
What the hell was he looking for? It was almost as if he was considering each for some purpose, and was discarding them one by one. Yeah, that’s exactly what he was doing, but they’d have to wait to find out why.
This process continued for almost a half hour, the pack keeping as close as possible from their cover. Finally, Black’s fingers paused over the name of one Henry Ward, recently departed from the world. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and then let go of the stone to kneel beside the fresh grave. They watched in rapt fascination as he removed some items from the backpack and arranged them in a circle over the mound. Then he opened a vial, sprinkled a white powdery substance over the circle, and put the small container back into his pack. He began a low chant, hands spread palms-down above the mound.
At first, Jaxon thought whatever floats the freak’s boat. But in his profession he should’ve known better than to be so quick to dismiss the kid, especially given the power he wore like a mantle. After about fifteen seconds the earth began to tremble, vibrating the ground under their paws and shaking the very leaves on the trees. Jax and his brothers exchanged uneasy glances.
Tell me he’s not doing what I think he is.
But none of them could reassure Ryon that his suspicions weren’t on the money. Especially when the soil on top of the grave began to rise like a cake baking in an oven, splitting in the middle, the items that had formed the circle rolling down the sides. Through the split a hand appeared, gray and withered, gnarled from age and death. Then the skinny arm, followed by the head and shoulders of an old man with only a few silvery wisps of hair clinging stubbornly to his scalp.
My God, Jaxon projected to Ryon. The kid’s a Necromancer!
Oh, yes, but he’s much more than that.
Jaxon was afraid his friend was right, but they didn’t have time to speculate further. The ground seemed to give birth to the old man in a gruesome manner as he clawed from his former prison and sat on the edge of the seam in the earth, staring blankly at his liberator.
Still kneeling, the young man waved a hand at the corpse in a slow palm-out motion, and spoke, his voice ringing with authority. “Henry Ward, I command you to speak with me, to answer all of my questions truthfully so that I may return you to your eternal rest. State your full name for me so I know we’re ready to begin.”
Jax and his brothers were riveted to the scene.
The corpse blinked at him, the eyes little more than gooey pewter marbles in his skull. “Who . . .” The old man’s voice cracked and he coughed, apparently from using vocal cords that were never again supposed to be in working order. “Who are you? Why have you disturbed me?”
The Necromancer sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Why do they always answer questions with questions?” He looked at the old man, redirecting him. “I’m Kalen Black. State your name, please.”
“Humph! Henry Allen Ward.” Henry glanced around, his confusion apparent. “Where am I? My daughter is expecting me for dinner and I’m going to be late.”
“No, Henry,” the young man said gently. “She’s not expecting you. Someone hit you over the head three weeks ago as you were walking home. Do you remember?”
Jaxon wondered where this was going. Had the kid killed the old man for his wallet or something, and now he needed to find out who might’ve seen the crime? But that didn’t seem right.
“I . . . Wait. Yes, I do.” The old man paused. “I bought milk and bread, and walked home. I had just enough time to get home and get ready for dinner. My Tina makes a great stroganoff.” He gave a gummy smile that was decidedly macabre in his hollow face.
The kid didn’t react to the sight. “I’m sure she does. But I have to ask you about what you saw right before you were hit on the head. You lived in a semirural area outside Cody, correct? Close enough to walk home but not many other houses on your road?”
“Yes.”
“And as you walked home that afternoon, your path took you past a side road where you saw something and went to investigate.”
“I did.”
Black leaned forward, intent. “What did you see, Henry? This is very important.”
The old man thought. “A truck—No, a van. Dark blue. Pulled into the trees. Thought it was odd cuz I never seen it before, so I walked that way. Maybe somebody had car trouble.”
“But they didn’t?”
“Nope. Two men were comin’ from the woods when I got to the van.” He frowned. “One had blood on his hands and I thought maybe they’d been hunting, but they didn’t have guns. The other man had a shovel. I asked what they were doin’, he swung it at my head, and that’s the last I knew.”
So the kid hadn’t done in the old man. Who had and why, and why was the Necromancer investigating the killing?
“Henry, can you describe the men?”
“Oh, middle-aged white fellas. In good shape, I guess. The one with the bloody hands was average-looking with dark brown hair. The one with the shovel had sandy hair.”
Not much help.
“Can you recall anything about how they were dressed?”
“Nah. Except one had on a blue polo shirt with something stitched above the pocket in white thread.”
“What was it? Think, Henry.”
“Uh, letters.”
“Like initials?”
“Yes. With a logo,” he recalled. “Three letters and under those, two hands holding a heart.”
“What were the letters?”
“Don’t know. Can’t remember.”
The young man blew out a breath. “Can you remember anything else, Henry? Anything at all?”
“No.” Henry looked at him, expression blank. “Can I go now? Tina’s expecting me for dinner.”
Jesus, it creeped Jaxon out how the dead man kept repeating stuff, and he felt sorry for the poor victim’s confusion, as though he couldn’t grasp his situation. Apparently it affected the Necromancer the same way, because he was looking at Henry in sympathy, his caring for the man’s plight etched on his face.
“Yes, Henry, you can go. And thank you.”
Black waved a hand, murmured a few words in a different language, and a translucent green smoke drifted toward Henry, swirled around him. The old man stiffened, and then mechanically lowered himself through the seam in the grave, bit by bit until he’d disappeared from sight. The kid repeated the procedure over the grave and more green mist shrouded the ground. Once again, tremors shook the earth and the dirt began to push inward, filling the seam, and in moments, the scar was repaired and nobody would be able to tell such an amazing thing had ever taken place.
Holy shit, I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life.
Considering some of the shit Ryon had seen, that was saying a lot.
“Rest well, old man.” Pushing to his feet, Black brushed the dirt off the knees of his jeans and then suddenly turned without reaching for his backpack, his posture deceptively relaxed with his hands at his sides, and gazed directly at the spot where Jaxon and the other wolves were hidden in the darkness.
Or so they believed.
“Did you enjoy the show? Afraid I’ll find out who you are and why you murdered poor Henry? Or maybe you were just passing through the graveyard in the middle of the night, out on a romantic stroll.” The words wer
e tossed as a challenge, laced with a touch of sarcasm. One thing was for sure—the kid wasn’t one bit afraid of who he might face.
Come on, let’s see what he thinks about taking on a pack of wolves.
As a unit, they emerged from the trees and padded forward, fanning out some in an attempt to surround him. Careful not to make any abrupt moves, they made their way toward him as he studied them in return, fists clenching and unclenching as though revving up his magic to hurl at them if necessary. His expression was hard, those green eyes glittering like cold jewels, none of the warmth or caring that he’d shown with Henry in evidence.
When they were within about twenty yards, Jaxon, Zan, and Hammer in front of him, Aric and Ryon to each side, the Necromancer held up a hand. “Far enough,” he ordered. “Now I think it would be wise of you all to change, shifters, and tell me what the fuck you want.”
Jaxon gaped in astonishment as a ripple of shock went through them all. The kid had to have known they weren’t exactly human when they came out of the trees after he acknowledged them, but to call them exactly what they were—shifters—without batting an eye?
They might be in deeper trouble than they’d thought.
Jaxon half-expected the man to at least make a crack about their state of undress, especially given his youth, but when they shifted and stood, he didn’t smile. Didn’t so much as blink. He simply let his gaze travel over each of them as though memorizing details that might be useful later.
Jaxon got the heart-to-heart rolling. “Kalen Black? Why did you raise Henry Ward and question him about his murder?”
“What’s it to you?” he challenged, pinning Jaxon with a cool stare.
“Not a damned thing. But it’ll matter to Sheriff Deveraux, since he’s the one who asked us to see why you’ve been hanging around.” Indirectly, but he didn’t need to get into the particulars.
“That asshole?” The kid gave a humorless laugh. “He couldn’t find his dick with both hands and a tube of K-Y.”
Now that sounded more like a young dude.
“Be that as it may, we need an acceptable answer or you’re going to come with us for a more private chat.” He glanced at his brothers. “Might not be a bad idea anyways.”
“Second the motion,” said Aric. The others agreed.
“Forget it. Deveraux doesn’t have any grounds to arrest me if he called in the canine squad, and what I’m doing here is nobody’s business. I left everything the way I found it.”
“What about the murders of four men who’ve been dumped around Cody in the past few months? Know anything about those?”
The kid’s jaw ticced and his eyes narrowed, the first sign of his control slipping. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He’s lying, Ryon projected. Get ready to take him, on three. One.
“Or perhaps those two men who killed Henry are buddies of yours and you were making sure their tracks were covered?”
Two.
“You’re full of it, man.” Those fists, clenching. Unclenching.
He was going to bolt.
“According to Henry, one of those men had blood on his hands, the other a shovel. If I was a betting man, I’d say that the perpetrators had just finished disposing of the newest victim of the string of murders we’re looking at. That makes you a person of interest in the crimes, and that means you’re coming with us.”
“Fuck this.”
Three!
Everybody flew into action at once. Shouting a word, the kid flung his arm at Jaxon, palm up and fingers spread, firing a blue ball of pulsing energy that would’ve hit him in the chest if he hadn’t shifted at the same time. Instead, the orb merely singed some fur as it whizzed past, doing God knows what damage to the graves behind him as it exploded.
Black raised an arm, but before he could fling another nasty surprise, Jax leaped, hitting him square in the chest and taking him to the ground. He didn’t want to hurt the guy, but that might not be an option. Black was strong as an ox for someone so lean, almost too thin under the bulk of his coat, and was fighting like a wildcat.
And that analogy turned out to be correct. The writhing body underneath them rippled, and in an instant they found themselves wrestling two hundred pounds of pissed-off . . .
Black panther.
“Goddamn!” Ryon shouted. “Hold on to his ass!”
Whether he was getting weak or was too worked up, Black couldn’t maintain the shift and morphed back to human form. Still, though Jax had him pinned and Aric jumped on board, the red wolf closing his jaws around the young man’s wrist to help immobilize him, it took four of them to hold him down. Hammer and Ryon stayed in human form, Hammer sitting on the kid’s legs, Ryon pinning his other arm.
“Go back and get the SUV, and bring the iron restraints!” Hammer shouted at Zan, halting him in midstride before he could add to the pile.
Zan shifted and took off as fast as his four legs could carry him. Wouldn’t be quick enough, though, if Black got his dominant hand free to let loose more of his impressive mojo.
Shifting back to human form, Jaxon grabbed a handful of the young man’s raven hair and muttered, “Sorry, kid.”
Then he slammed the back of Black’s head into the ground, wincing at the soft ughnnn that burst from his lips before his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.
Hammer’s brows lifted and he grinned at Jax. “That’s cheating.”
“Whatever works.” But he didn’t smile back.
Jaxon felt like a piece of goat dung for knocking out the kid. Yeah, it was dirty pool, but Black would’ve fried them all if he’d had the chance. Wouldn’t he?
Turning in the passenger’s seat, he glanced over his shoulder to where the young man was slumped between Hammer and Aric, dark lashes resting against white cheeks. His chest rose and fell steadily, so Jax wasn’t worried that he’d killed the kid. He’d come around soon, and then they’d all have more questions for him.
Such as why he was practically starving, and didn’t seem to weigh nearly as much as he should have when they’d picked him up to take him to the SUV. His T-shirt had ridden up as they carried him, and despite the guy’s cut musculature, his ribs were prominent and his stomach concave. His face was a little too thin. He needed three squares a day and then some for about the next month to regain his health, which might be why they were able to easily get the drop on him. Jaxon shuddered to think how powerful he was when at full strength, if the supercharged display was any indication.
“A freaking Necromancer,” Zan muttered from the back. “Who’da thought?”
“Ryon said he’s more than that,” Jaxon reminded them. “So what is he? Besides that and a panther shifter.”
Ryon turned onto the main road, glanced into the rearview mirror, and blew out a breath. “He’s a Sorcerer. And I think that’s the basis for all his abilities, including his animal.”
Stunned silence met his announcement. If their friend was right, Kalen Black might just be the most powerful being they’d ever run across. Including Nick and Sariel.
Finally, Zan spoke up. “Did you see how he shifted without even getting undressed? His clothes just vanished, then reappeared when he shifted back.”
“Too cool,” Hammer said. “Wish we could do that.”
“Sorcerers gather power from the elements and can use it to command . . . hell, just about anything.” Jaxon sighed. “Won’t be so cool if he’s really gone rogue and tries to use dark magic against us. Everything went down too fast and there was too much adrenaline pumping for me to get a reading on him.”
After that sobering reminder, there wasn’t much to say on the way back, each of them lost in their own thoughts. About ten minutes before they arrived, Black moaned and awakened gradually, eyes fluttering open. He tried to move his arms only to find his wrists were shackled behind his back, and Jaxon hoped the irons were strong enough to do their job.
Apparently they were, because the kid sat quietly, expression betrayin
g nothing. Not fear or even anger. He just bided his time, patient, as though this was merely a side trip on the cracked and rocky road of his life.
What kinds of hardships had this young man endured?
The compound was quiet when they arrived, but then it was nearly two thirty in the morning. The only person who was awake to greet them was Nick, standing at the back entrance as though he’d expected them, which he probably had.
Jaxon took their detainee by an arm and led him inside, unprepared for the rush of darkness that swamped him from the young man—not the darkness of malice but of sorrow and desperation. Of long nights suffering from cold and hunger, the agony of abandonment, bleak despair.
But I have nowhere to go! I can’t help what I am!
Huddled in a filthy alley, alone and scared. Stomach growling, in pain.
Hungry, kid? I know how you can make a few quick bucks.
Shame. Wanting out, but too afraid to make the cuts.
Has to end. Make it stop.
But if I give up, they’ve won. Gotta keep going.
All of these images and emotions were much more than he wanted to see, and Jax felt like a voyeur, intruding on the young man’s horror when he had no right. But he hadn’t done it on purpose. Normally readings like this were a painstaking process that took several minutes to find the memories, catch the threads and follow them. But the Sorcerer was like a conduit for an endless flow of energy and Jaxon had no defenses against the man’s roiling emotions that poured through the connection like blood.
At least he’d gleaned one important thing—Kalen Black was no enemy of theirs. With the right cultivation, he’d make a powerful ally, perhaps even a new team member to bolster their numbers again. He hoped the others, especially their boss, got the same feeling. Their group stopped in front of him, waiting for instructions.
Nick got right down to business, addressing the younger man directly. “Mr. Black, we’re going into the meeting room where we’re going to have an honest discussion about why you’re here. You’re going to tell us what we need to know, and then we’ll decide what course of action to take. Is that clear?”
