The Necromancer's Reckoning (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 3)

by SJ Himes

  “He shouldn’t feel bad about your family’s murders at all!” Daniel gasped out, a stray tear escaping before his apprentice struggled to compose himself. Angel pushed his plate away and gave Daniel his full attention. “Neither should you!”

  “Daniel?” The outburst was unusual. Daniel was sweet-tempered and kind, almost too shy, and such a reaction hinted at deeper emotions than his apprentice typically showed the world.

  A thick lock of blond hair fell across Daniel’s forehead, bright in the morning light shining through the living room windows. Daniel fidgeted with a teaspoon, spreading a few drops of Earl Grey across the scarred wood of the island.

  “I don’t understand you. Either of you,” Daniel whispered. Eroch lifted his head and stared hard at Daniel, Angel holding his breath. “Why do you feel guilty? How? It was…”

  “It was what, Daniel?”

  “My family murdered yours.” Dark, troubled eyes lifted back to Angel’s, and the confusion in the young man’s tone was painful to hear. “My father, my mom, my uncles…they killed your family. They killed a whole bloodclan too. If anyone is going to feel guilty, it should be me.”

  Angel opened his mouth to deny even the thought as Daniel was only ten years old at the time. The appearance of a tall, lanky figure in the archway interrupted them, and Daniel jerked when Isaac slouched with a heartfelt groan back onto his stool.

  “Danny,” Isaac groaned out, looking somehow even worse than he did before he ran from the room to puke. His brother’s long hair in its edgy cut flopped like a dead animal, his skin pallid, his numerous tattoos standing out even more starkly on his bare arms. “Danny, that’s just stupid.”

  Daniel’s cheeks flushed red, and he glared at Isaac. Isaac just waved him off and picked at his plate, Eroch perking up as more bacon slices appeared on his radar. Angel sipped his tea, eyeing his brother and his apprentice. Daniel spoke at last, conviction making his words drop like stones in a pond. “Not any more stupid than you are feeling guilty about the Massacre.”

  Angel choked, tea dribbling down his chin. He grabbed a napkin and gawked at his apprentice. Daniel flushed even darker but stared Isaac down when a hint of smoke coiled over Isaac’s fingers. Isaac’s anger heated the space between them, the air wavering. Angel’s heart rate increased as he watched his little brother warily, but Isaac held his power back. A snap of hot grease from Isaac’s plate broke the standoff, and Isaac closed his eyes, drawing his wayward power back inside. The aroma of hot bacon filled the air, and Eroch crawled over plates and cups in his mission to acquire more bacon. Isaac pushed his plate away and Eroch fell on it like a ravening monster, all three of them watching the dragon instead of addressing the conversational sword dangling over their heads.

  Isaac didn’t say anything, just watched Eroch devour his breakfast. Even with a shower and a change of clothes, the alcohol Isaac consumed the night before exuded from his pores. Stale beer and cheap liquor battled with Earl Grey tea and bacon, turning Angel’s stomach. Isaac burped quietly into his hand, excusing himself with a wince.

  “This can’t go on, Isaac.”

  His brother didn’t respond. He didn’t expect him to, not really. He tried again. “Isaac, I love you.”

  That got a reaction—a whole body flinch that brought some life back into his brother’s eyes for a split second. Then Isaac drooped, dragging a hand through his hair. It was a whisper, but he responded. “I love you, too, Angie.”

  “Do you think you need to stop?” Angel risked asking, heart thumping. “Can you stop?”

  “I don’t…maybe?” Isaac whispered, and Angel held tight to his optimism, reining it in. “This is hard.”

  Angel nodded, though Isaac wasn’t looking anywhere but at Eroch. Daniel was quiet, immobile, watching with wide eyes and nervously biting his lower lip. “I don’t know what to say to you, Isaac. I’m not equipped, I have no idea how to help you—except to say I love you, I forgive you, and I want you to get help.”

  Isaac nodded, a short dip of his chin that, nevertheless, made him wince from the movement.

  “Help won’t work unless you’re willing.” Even Angel knew that. He wouldn’t call Isaac an alcoholic, maybe not yet but certainly soon; the destructive behaviors were there, and he had no doubt Isaac was building up to it. Binge drinking could be just as deadly as chronic abuse. Isaac wouldn’t change unless he wanted to.

  “What do you want from me?” Isaac snapped, a brief flash of temper extinguished quickly.

  “I want what I’ve always wanted for you,” Angel said, and he risked putting a hand on Isaac’s wrist, squeezing. “I want you happy and healthy and safe.”

  The first tear broke his heart, the second and third his resolve. He grabbed Isaac, pulling his brother to his chest, pressing Isaac’s face to his shoulder. Daniel got up, gathering a subdued Eroch from the table before slipping quietly from the kitchen. Isaac sobbed, a wet sound full of frustration as much as pain, and Angel buried his face in his brother’s hair, holding tight.

  He held Isaac long enough for his shirt to get soaked with tears. He sighed, rubbing a hand up and down Isaac’s spine, feeling the knobs of his vertebrae. His brother was losing weight he couldn’t spare. Isaac pretended to be fine—smiling when he should, laughing and making jokes. Teasing Milly for her fae obsession, sneaking into Daniel’s room at night to watch werewolf porn. Normal twenty-something behavior. Then there were the nights Isaac snapped, reached for a bottle and went looking for trouble to end the pain. Yet he always called Angel in time to save him.

  Angel was afraid the night might come when Isaac didn’t call him for help. That, instead, he would get an unexpected visit from O’Malley early one morning, grief in his eyes and whiskey voice rough with regret, telling him his little brother was dead.

  “I’m broken,” Isaac whispered, still curled up, fingers gripping at Angel’s sides.

  “We’re both a little broken, Isaac.” Angel kissed Isaac’s hair, his own tears falling.

  “I can’t…I don’t want to be…this anymore.”

  Angel gently pushed Isaac upright, gripping his shoulders, eye to eye. Isaac’s face was red and blotchy with wet cheeks and a runny nose. His eyes were dark and so full of pain Angel bit back a sob of his own. His own words came out rough with tears. “Tell me what you want, Isaac.”

  “I want…” Isaac stumbled on the words. He squeezed his eyes shut, more tears running down his face, lips twisted in a grimace. “I want to not feel like this anymore. I want this to stop.”

  “Do you want it to stop enough to get help?” Angel asked. “Do you want help? You must do something, or you’ll never have a chance to let this guilt and grief go before it devours you.”

  He tightened his grip on Isaac’s shoulders, hoping. Isaac dropped his head, wiping furiously at his face. “Yeah.”

  “Look at me and say it louder,” Angel ordered softly. Isaac gave a heartbreaking cry of frustration, but he lifted his head and met Angel’s eyes.

  “Yes. I want help,” Isaac replied.

  “Thank you,” Angel breathed out, grabbing Isaac back to him and hugging him as hard as he could. “Thank you.”

  Nevermore Clinic and Rehabilitation Center was cleverly disguised as an old Georgian-style mansion nestled in a fenced, wooded lot in Revere. It was a decent haul to the north and across the river with a stop at a café that was over before Angel was ready. Simeon parked the car in the visitors’ lot and turned off the engine.

  Isaac was in the backseat, a small duffel stuffed with clothing the only thing he had with him. Angel eyed the stone-encased lobby with tall glass doors and wide windows, distrustful and eager to get this over with all at once. He wasn’t even the prospective patient, he couldn’t even imagine how Isaac was feeling.

  “Are we getting out?” Isaac asked, subdued but with a small hint of his usual sarcasm. Angel sighed, but he undid his belt and opened his door, the others following.

  The sun had set an hour before, and thankfully, Sim
eon was free to take them, since Angel was teetering on the edge of despair and hope. Angel didn’t know if he would have been capable of taking Isaac to rehab in a cab. Simeon didn’t even assume otherwise—he just waited by the door of the apartment, keys in hand, talking to Daniel quietly while Angel helped Isaac pack. Eroch, who usually went with Angel everywhere, stayed behind this time with Daniel, since the apprentice would be alone in the apartment. Isaac hadn’t asked Daniel to come along and Daniel, more perceptive than people gave him credit for, didn’t ask to come. Daniel gave Isaac a tight, swift hug at the door, dashing tears from his eyes, but mostly gave smiles and promises to visit when Isaac was allowed outside company. Isaac merely nodded and left without a word, Angel and Simeon trudging along in his wake down the back stairs.

  They approached the front doors, the glass was etched with a stylized raven and oak tree. Wards hummed just at the edges of his senses, and the air crackled when the protections reacted to Angel’s magic. The wards were powerful, incredibly so, for them to be so reactive when powered down. Angel spared them a swift internal glance as Simeon opened the door for them.

  The wards were two-fold and contained sets for preventing entry and for preventing egress, which was a tricky and fine distinction, the opposite of many wards used on private property and high-risk locations. Many places with powerful wards only had them designed to keep people out, not to keep people in. It made sense to Angel, though, considering Nevermore Clinic specialized in blood magic addiction. Blood magic addicts, in the middle to late stages, became predatory and violent in search for magic to steal, even from unwilling donors—people were murdered quite often, and in grisly ways. Blood magic addiction, once left too long and in the last stage, was fatal. The violent behaviors would appear infrequently in sporadic bursts during the early and middle stages.

  The lobby was bright with neutral tones of gray, off whites, and soft river stone accents on the walls and floor. It had a quiet, almost church-like atmosphere, the wide, high space full of paintings depicting New England shores and quaint towns, and ample, comfortable-looking seating.

  A tall, thin woman in a conservative beige pantsuit clipped her way to them almost immediately, the only splash of color a deep pink silk scarf at her neck and a gold name badge over her heart. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore no jewelry.

  “Mr. Salvatore, Mr. Salvatore,” she said with a prim, tight smile, nodding to Angel and then Isaac, before addressing Simeon. Her blue eyes sparked for a second with interest, but none of it leaked into her professional tone, “and Elder Ó Daimhín, a pleasure.”

  Angel’s brows got lost in his hairline when she addressed Simeon by his seldom used surname—Angel had never heard it spoken by anyone other than Simeon and only knew it because he asked one night after a marathon of sex during after-coitus conversation. He couldn’t even pronounce it correctly, and this stranger rattled it off like she was reciting a favorite latte order. Whoever did the data farming for Nevermore needed a raise.

  “My name is Nadine Masters,” she continued, smiling without showing her teeth. “I’m the Family and Patient Outreach Coordinator here at Nevermore Clinic. I’ll process Isaac through intake and I’ll be able to answer whatever questions you and your family may have.” Nadine gave Angel a quick glance and a short nod, but kept her focus mostly on Isaac, which earned her some bonus points from Angel. He wanted Isaac to feel like he was in charge of his recovery, and most people tended to ignore Isaac when Angel was in the room. “If you’ll follow me to my office, we’ll get the paperwork started and see if we can’t make this as easy as possible.”

  Angel stepped aside and let Nadine gently guide Isaac across the lobby, Simeon and Angel following behind. Simeon took his hand; his lover’s fingers cool until Angel’s own body heat warmed the vampire’s flesh. Angel gratefully squeezed Simeon’s hand, holding tight.

  Nadine’s office was in the same color scheme as the lobby, her office overlooking a wide courtyard lit by tall iron torches. Angel could see a hint of hedges and neat concrete paths meandering between tended flowerbeds awaiting warmer days.

  Isaac was ushered into a plush loveseat, and instead of sitting at her desk, Nadine grabbed a thick folder and sat next to Isaac, turning her body to face the younger Salvatore, who eyed her with bemusement. Isaac didn’t interact with many people—bartenders aside. If he wasn’t in a bar or getting dragged to Angel’s office to help with tutoring sessions, his normal people time was limited.

  Angel sat nearby in a chair that was a real antique, his privileged upbringing having some uses. The piece of shiny polished wood and dark blue velvet was likely older than most of the buildings in Boston. Simeon stood at Angel’s shoulder, one large hand a reassuring weight on his shoulder.

  Nadine was efficient. She had the paperwork filled out and signed in remarkable time, Isaac’s reticence falling away enough to show a glimmer of interest in the proceedings. Some of the forms she passed over to Angel to sign, a sleek bone and steel fountain pen appearing from somewhere.

  “Isaac.” Nadine gave Isaac a small smile, folding her hands other themselves and addressing him directly. “Since this is considered a medical facility, and you are here for treatment, your brother is listed as your next of kin. I do not foresee any issues arising from your stay here, but do you have any issues with your older brother having responsibility for you if you cannot decide for yourself?” Nadine asked, making it sound like she asked such things every day.

  Angel read the form—a standard next of kin notification, much like he had in place already at local hospitals for his mate, apprentice, and brother. Angel signed without hesitation—he had raised Isaac, and this was just another part of it. Isaac shook his head once and signed the form when Angel handed it back.

  “Excellent,” Nadine said with a tight smile, though her blue eyes were soft with compassion. “Just to reiterate what we went over with your older brother on the phone, you’ll be here for an initial thirty-day program. Depending on how you react to treatment and your therapy sessions, you may either be leaving on the thirtieth day or signing on for another thirty days. If that happens, it’s not a mark against you. There is no failing at treatment unless you don’t try. Staying longer merely means you recognized you needed it and decided to continue. We will not pressure you to stay or to go—this treatment program is all about helping you get healthy; emotionally, mentally, and physically. Any questions?”

  “Not really,” Isaac said quietly, running a fingertip over the paperwork in his lap. He sent Angel a quick glance before looking at Nadine, worrying his lower lip in his teeth. “If I decide to leave—can I? You won’t stop me?”

  Angel opened his mouth to say something, but Simeon tightened his grip on his shoulder, and Angel shut his mouth with a soft snap. Nadine didn’t appear put off or upset by the question at all, and she shook her head before answering. “Isaac, this is not a prison. We do have curfews, strict rules about visitors and the like, and a restricted section, but you are here willingly, without a court order or doctor’s referral, which means you can leave whenever you want. I hope you decide to stay the full course, but we will not make you stay. Treatment will only be successful if you want it.”

  “The wards we crossed,” Isaac replied, narrowing his eyes. “Those are pretty serious.”

  “Yes,” Nadine answered, not denying it. “As I am sure you know, we treat blood magic addiction here at Nevermore. All patients here for blood magic addiction are kept in a secure wing, away from the general patient population, but the wards are there in case of emergency. We believe in having more precautions in place rather than coming up short if something happens. You’ll get a dormitory briefing on drills and the like before we get you settled into your room. Which, by the way, your brother,” she smiled at Angel before turning back to Isaac, “has paid for a private suite with your own restroom. You’re in the garden suite on the far side of the complex from the secure wing, so no
cause to worry about any potential emergencies.”

  “No hot tub?” Isaac quipped, but Angel could see the emotion swimming in Isaac’s eyes before he blinked hard.

  “In your room, no, but we have a few hot tubs in the pool area,” Nadine said with a smile, and Isaac sighed, tension leaving him slowly but gradually.

  “A pool? Can I stay, too?” Angel finally spoke, and Isaac rolled his eyes at him. Angel used to be on the swim team when he was a teenager and spent a couple nights a week at the YMCA pool a few blocks from the apartment.

  “Get your own rehab,” Isaac said with a crooked smile. Angel grinned back at his brother, fighting as hard as he could not to cry.

  Nadine stood, gathering the signed paperwork into the folder and taking it to her desk. She locked it away in a drawer and came back to Isaac with a key in her hand on a small chain and wooden tag shaped like a feather. She gave it to Isaac, who accepted it with a short nod, swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. Angel got to his feet, and suddenly, it was time.

  Simeon, without a word, rubbed Angel’s shoulder then walked to the door, collecting Nadine with a glance. She caught on quickly and left the room with a small smile, following Simeon out to the lobby.

  Isaac tightened his grip on his bag, knuckles whitening around the shoulder strap. Angel breathed out, fighting the urge to put his hands in his pockets.

  “It’s not forever.”

  Angel blinked, surprised. “What’s not?”

  Isaac grinned, a crooked smile that lifted one corner of his mouth, eyes crinkling in the first real sign of humor in hours—hell, months. “I’m not leaving, never to return. This isn’t goodbye. This is an, ‘I’ll see you later.’”

  “Right.” Angel nodded, hands suddenly shaking. “So…I’ll see you later?” It came out more of a question than he wanted, and Isaac chuckled, ducking his head, dark hair flopping across his brow.

  Angel couldn’t figure out what to do. His feet refused to move, his legs dead weight. He was even more surprised when Isaac dropped his bag onto the coffee table and took the few steps to reach Angel, and without any awkwardness, pulled him into a hug.