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

by SJ Himes

  “You know, there’s no actual proof I’ve broken any magical laws proscribed by the High Council,” he said with a wry smile, and Lady Heather gave an indelicate snort that spoke volumes of her disbelief.

  “I was here for the end of the Blood Wars, young man. There may not be proof, but you can’t stop the rumor mills. Too many witnesses.”

  Angel sighed with feigned exasperation, chuckling. She smiled, thinking she had him cornered. He gave her a wider smile, and her satisfied expression faltered.

  “You’re right. I do get away with breaking the law. The fact that I am the only necromancer for hundreds of miles gives me some protection. The Master’s regard helps as well, I’m sure. And there is no one out there to meet me on my level, death magic to death magic. But it’s the fact I get away with breaking the law—to help people and keep those I love safe, by the way—that brings you here. You want me to retrieve your stolen ghost, and you can’t go to the police. You’re counting on the fact I get away with so much to help you in this instance. I can waltz into the middle of this mess, get your husband’s ghost back, and the authorities will do not a damn thing except gripe.”

  She sent him a sharp glance, her lips pursing as if to refute his claim, but her cheeks flamed even brighter than her hair. She was all but tearing her scarf to shreds when she bit her lip and finally nodded in agreement.

  “Good. Now that the judging portion of the morning over, I can get to work. I have no students coming until the end of term, so my schedule is clear for the next while. I’ll be by the shop this evening after sunset. Don’t open it—I need it vacated.” Angel got up and gazed down at Lady Heather as she gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she hurriedly stood.

  “You’ll help me, then? You’ll find Greyson and bring him home?”

  “I will. But I’m not helping you—I’m helping him.” Angel stared her down as his words sank in. She made to protest, but Angel shook his head and said firmly, “I get him back, the first thing I’m going to do is ask him what he wants. If you pulled him out of his otherworldly rest to assuage your own loneliness while he pines for the Other Side, I’ll free him faster than you can say goodbye. Do you understand?”

  “I…I do,” she whispered. Lady Heather was coming to realize her plans to use Angel weren’t going as she expected. “I do understand. Please, just find him. Greyson is defenseless in the hands of evil men. Whatever price I am to pay for my involvement, I shall do so without complaint. Just find him.”

  “Keep an eye on your financial accounts and change your passwords to everything,” Angel warned, and she frowned, confused. “This might be a resurgence of the grave-robbery scheme I dismantled a few weeks back. In fact, go to your bank now and change everything.”

  Lady Heather gaped at him, but she quickly caught on and an expression of grim determination took place of grief.

  Angel nodded, going to the door to the front room and opening it. His dismissal was clear though he tried to give her a kind smile. Grief made people do some truly dumb-ass things. She wasn’t the first grief stricken lover to use proscribed spells to bring back the ghost of someone lost.

  The nameless escort moved from his silent post by the door, helping Lady Heather into her coat and guiding her out past Angel. Daniel and Eroch were lounging on the couch, Daniel’s messenger bag draped in his lap. Daniel’s pale skin was whiter than usual, and his hands gripped the bag as if he were afraid it would be torn from him. Eroch was almost snoring but woke up when Lady Heather hurried to the front door, her heels snapping on the wood floor. Daniel smiled at her, and he raised his hand in a small half-wave, but she turned away as if afraid to show her face, disappearing from the office with a soft click of the front door.

  Angel sent Daniel a glance. His apprentice sat up, fumbling in the bag and reaching inside. “One sec, kiddo.” Daniel paused, confused. Angel lifted a hand, sending out a small surge of power to his wards. He activated a rarely used set of runes buried in the more complex design, and a field of sound dampening energy hummed through the wards. Daniel remained on the couch, twitching with nerves.

  He went to the couch, hand out, and with exaggerated caution Daniel pulled out a thick cream-colored envelope about the size of a salad plate. Angel took it, not surprised when a spark of energy rose from the heavy packet and pinged along his personal aura. “It’s warded.”

  “Who is it from? Is it really the High Council?” Daniel asked, biting his lower lip. He looked so nervous and adorable Angel gave him a firm pat on his shoulder, squeezing once before turning the letter over to see the writing on the front.

  Stamped in ink was the crest of the High Council with the Magister’s emblem underneath.

  “Well, this isn’t good,” Angel murmured. The wards protecting the letter and contents released and fell apart with a spark of white light and a tiny puff of smoke. With a finger, he snapped the wax seal and opened the letter from the highest magical authority in the world.

  4

  Feels Like Detention

  Angel pulled the letter from the envelope, unfolding the thick sheets with a soft crackle. Daniel waited anxiously from his spot on the couch. Angel lifted the top page and began reading. Daniel twitched, and Angel moved so his apprentice could read as well.

  Necromancer Angelus Raine Salvatore

  Greetings from The High Council of Sorcery

  The events from the last several months have drawn the concern of the council. Due to reports of violent and murderous events in which you feature prominently, the Council has determined an inquiry is vital to get to the root of these matters. High Magister Corinne Malis from the Council will be arriving shortly to take your statement and to ensure compliance with Council mandates. A full trial is to be convened in Boston one month hence. The charges are as follows:

  Engaging in acts of vigilantism with the intent to kill.

  Engaging in a duel in times of peace with no regard for public safety.

  Violation of Apprenticeship laws regarding allegations of abuse and endangerment.

  Daniel Macavoy is essential to our investigation, and we request he remain in Boston until the above matters can be addressed. Due to the historical conflicts between the Salvatore and Macavoy clans, your custody is hereby deemed an unsafe environment for Daniel Macavoy. A Council representative will be along shortly to remove him from your custody until the truth of the above charges can be determined. Failure to comply will be added to the list of charges and will be dealt with severely.

  Your cooperation is expected and appreciated,

  Sorcerer Corning Wills

  Assistant to Esteemed Council Members

  High Council of Sorcery

  “Angel?” Daniel’s voice was watery and full of fear. He set aside the roiling anger the letter’s contents engendered in his own gut. Daniel was stricken, dark eyes wet from tears and face tight. “They’re coming to take me away?”

  “I won’t let them,” Angel replied fiercely, dropping the letter to the floor and gripping Daniel’s face in his hands. He leaned in close, making eye contact. “I will never let anyone take you.”

  Daniel bit his lip, tears overflowing, but he managed a nod. Angel stood straight and let the boy cuddle in close, pressing his face to Angel’s hip. He ran his fingers through Daniel’s soft blond hair, giving what he hoped was some comfort. He was vulnerable and needed safeguarding.

  Eroch was awake, sharp eyes watching Angel and Daniel, his wings slightly mantled and his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Eroch crawled up the back of the couch and churred, an odd chirping and purring combination that was uniquely dragon.

  Angel closed his eyes and powered up the last and most powerful level of his wards. He breathed in, tapping into the boundless depth of death magic coiled in his core, supplied by his soulbond with Simeon. The death magic answered, and he funneled it through the shield spells, activating the full set of runes and protections. Shields rose, hellfire green and nearly alive, reverb
erating through the walls and the levels below, along the roof and the outside wall. They were so powerful the whole four-story building gave a fine tremor before settling down with a soft hum that was barely on this side of audible.

  Nothing and no one would be able to enter, not spells or thought. With the infinite reaches of primordial death magic he had access to, the shields could run indefinitely until he took them down.

  His cell ringing from the inner office snapped him from his casting trance. Eroch squawked then took to the air, flying to his desk. His familiar picked up his phone and carried back to Angel before it hit its third ring, dropping it into his open palm. Eroch landed back on the couch. Angel breathed out a sigh of relief, answering.

  “Simeon,” he managed a smile despite the tension riding his shoulders and the tears Daniel cried quietly into his jeans.

  “A ghra,” Simeon purred, Irish accent smooth and deep, “I missed you this past night.”

  Simeon had been summoned to the Tower, the bloodclan headquarters and residence in Downtown. He lived with Angel in Beacon Hill until such times he was needed to perform his duties as clan Elder, or whenever Constantine Batiste, City Master, requested his presence.

  “I missed you too.” It was true—he missed Simeon in that moment more than anything. Angel wasn’t afraid, or at least, he didn’t think he was. Fear was something easy for him to work around and through—it rarely gave him pause. Sometimes his indifference to fear left him reckless, and with others depending on him, he needed to heed it more. What he felt now was vicious anger and a need to protect his apprentice. The effrontery of the High Council leveling charges against him didn’t bother him as much as what was implied underneath. The Council never moved like this unless there was something they wanted. He couldn’t recall the last time a citizen in the States had been charged with anything like this, much less a trial. The Council had a presence in Town, but it was a sparsely staffed consulate in an old townhouse in Back Bay. He couldn’t recall the last time he even saw someone from the consulate or an enforcer from the Council.

  And why did they mention Daniel specifically? What did they want with him? He could smell bullshit a mile away, and the line about Angel being an unfit master for his apprentice was a ploy. He didn’t know what the High Council’s endgame was, but there was no way in hell they cared about Daniel or any laws they believed Angel might have broken. The High Council didn’t even interfere in the Blood Wars, which waged for generations. Hell, for the last generation of the Wars, the consulate lay empty, the High Council having withdrawn its people from the fray, only staffing it again once Angel ended the Wars.

  “I need you to come to the Tower, my love. Is your appointment over? I can send a car for you.”

  Angel shrugged, trying to roll the tension away. “Appointment is over, I’m at the office with Daniel. I need to talk to you, too.”

  “What’s wrong?” Simeon heard the tension in his voice, and Angel relaxed a little bit.

  “Did Batiste get a visitor from the High Council consulate? An enforcer, maybe, or a magister?”

  “Is prescience one of your new abilities, my love?”

  “Nope. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “But yes, a representative is here from the High Council. Apparently, as a courtesy call to the Master. Or at least that is what it started out as—she is requesting to see you and Daniel. As you are bonded to me, I can only guess that is why the representative came here instead of directly to the apartment.”

  “More like they’re trying not to get me pissed off and failed utterly by going through you. They may assume I won’t be as on guard if you’re the one asking.”

  “Explain, please. No—wait. I’ll come to you in the limo. I’ll stay in the vehicle. I have a feeling explanations will be best handled in person. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  Angel hung up, pushing his cell into his pocket. Daniel had stopped crying though he remained wrapped around Angel’s waist like a gorgeous belt made of moody sorcerer.

  “There’s a representative at the Tower asking to see you and me.” Daniel tightened his grip and clung to Angel. “Will you stay here, or come with me? This concerns you as much as me, kiddo. I won’t make this decision.”

  “Can I go back home?” Daniel whispered, and Angel thought it over. He shook his head after a moment, denying the possibility.

  “If you’re at the apartment, the Council may go to the police with a warrant and go for you there. In fact, they may have already obtained the warrant and are hoping they can do this easy, and I won’t put up a fight. They don’t know me very well. Hell, since the courier was at our place already, it’s possible we’re being watched. I’m surprised they didn’t take you when you walked over here. Let’s hope there isn’t more than a couple of them here in Town already. I haven’t heard anything about the consulate getting more staff, and something like that would be noticed in this city.”

  “Can I stay here then? No one can get through your wards,” Daniel asked, hopeful.

  “The warrant would apply to here as well, and you’d end up trapped here, surrounded by cops and Council enforcers. And besides, at the Tower they wouldn’t be able to…” Angel breathed out, knowing his idea would be met with trepidation by his apprentice. “The Tower is sovereign territory. No rule but Batiste’s. The bloodclans are independent territories, and neither Council nor human law has any authority there. Simeon and Batiste can keep them all at bay.”

  Daniel leapt away, staggering to his feet, eyes frantic. Eroch made his churr again, leaping to Daniel’s shoulder and hugging his neck. “Daniel. Breathe.”

  Daniel shook his head, wiping at fresh tears that ran down his cheeks. “Don’t make me go back there,” Daniel begged, a sob in his voice.

  “Ah, kiddo. Deimos is dead. He’s gone—I turned him to ash. No one there will hurt you,” Angel tried to reassure, but Daniel flinched, eyes darting away. “What?”

  Daniel shook his head, looking down and crossing his arms. Eroch snuggled closer, poking at Daniel’s tear-streaked face with his tiny snout, snuffling. Angel took in the sight of lanky shoulders curling in, white-knuckled grip on his elbows… “Daniel, did someone else hurt you at the Tower?”

  Daniel flinched, a whole body seize that nearly dislodged Eroch from his shoulder. Angel moved to Daniel, gripping his biceps and leaning so he could catch Daniel’s eye. “Who was it?”

  Daniel licked his dry lower lip, his dark eyes meeting Angel’s before sliding away. “He…he was one of Etienne’s…Deimos’s blood slaves. He liked to help Deimos…he couldn’t feed from me, but he had to make it look like he was…so he would…”

  Anger pooled in his gut, hot and thick. “What did they do?”

  “Held me down while Deimos…hurt me.” Daniel couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say rape. Angel knew it, knew what Daniel meant. “When he did that to me, he would cut me. Stab me with a small blade. They needed to make me bleed, so I smelled like…him and blood. Like a donor.”

  “This man helped him assault you and cut you to convince others you were a blood donor and not Deimos’s captive?” Angel asked to clarify. Daniel went bone-white, eyes haunted, and fresh tears pooled and spilled down his cheeks. He nodded though, a short dip of his chin that told Angel exactly what he wanted to know, but for one thing. “What’s his name?”

  Daniel shut down. He could see it happening, his sweet and gentle apprentice withdrawing from the world. He somehow seemed smaller, despite being taller than Angel. Angel wanted Daniel safe and away from the machinations of the Council, and the safest place was the Tower. And he couldn’t take Daniel to the Tower if one of his assailants was there and unpunished for what happened to him.

  “Daniel?” Angel made sure to keep his tone level, his words gentle but firm. “I will never let anyone hurt you ever again. Trust me to keep you safe. I will not leave you unguarded. Tell me his name.”

  Daniel’s eyes were dull, cheeks damp and flushed, but no fresh tears
fell. He swallowed, a rough click in the early morning quiet. He had yet to look Angel in the face or make eye contact, and it broke Angel’s heart. He knew Daniel trusted him, but he didn’t know how to get Daniel to open to him, to expose the festering wounds to his soul. Daniel only told Angel the truth about his painful past if he pushed, or if Daniel was at his breaking point. At their first meeting, when Angel learned who Deimos was through Daniel’s mind, Angel hadn’t seen too deeply into Daniel’s memories of the assaults. He knew enough to make his heart break and rage fuel his nightmares.

  Their current approach to Daniel’s trauma was not viable for the long-term. Daniel needed more than what Angel could give him.

  His apprentice shuddered, a wet exhale full of helplessness, making Angel tense with worry.

  “Stellan. Deimos called him Stellan. Blond blood donor, looks like he’s in his thirties.” Daniel spoke in a soft whisper, licking his lips and blinking rapidly. He wiped at his face, ducking his chin before wrapping his arms around his torso and folding in on himself even more.

  Angel put a hand on his shoulder and pressed a firm kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, Daniel.”

  Daniel nodded, still not looking at him. Eroch curled tighter to Daniel, his soft chirps morphing to a rolling purr as he tried to comfort the young sorcerer.

  Simeon read the letter from the Council, his long fingers cradling it carefully despite the desire to rend it to pieces. How dare these meddling practitioners turn their attention to matters here in his city after centuries of indifference?

  The limo hit a pothole, and Angel pressed closer to his side for balance. Simeon steadied his mate with one hand on his thigh, rubbing the warm flesh beneath his palm. Angel was tense, radiating displeasure and a low-grade anger that spiced the air in the limo. Daniel on the other hand was clearly despondent and misery poured off him in waves. He smelled of stress and tears.