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

by SJ Himes

  “Thank you, Sloan,” Lady Heather interrupted as she joined them. “My guests don’t need a dissertation of your education. Please see to your duties.”

  “Okay.” Sloan was undaunted by their rude dismissal, beaming up at Simeon. “Tráthnóna maith agat.”

  “And to you,” Simeon replied, solemnly nodding. Sloan waved and darted toward the back of the store, moving in such a way as to make it seem like time skipped a few seconds. Fast, soundless on their feet, and highly intelligent. Fae for certain.

  “I’m sorry if Sloan insulted you, they are not likely to know if they’ve overstepped.” Lady Heather said, and Simeon lifted a hand, stalling her disgruntled apologies.

  “Your assistant was no bother,” Simeon was firm. Lady Heather frowned, eyeing him doubtfully.

  “I’d like to look around if you don’t mind.” Angel wanted to get started. He didn’t want to be here all night.

  “Of course,” Lady Heather nodded, stepping back and gesturing at the store. “I had the cleaning service in after the police released the crime scene. I have their number if you’d like to call them.” Lady Heather spun and retrieved a folder from the register, returning and holding it out to Angel. He took it but didn’t open it. “That’s also a copy of the police report, and my insurance company’s claim. There’s photos of the mess the criminals made.”

  She cleaned up the mess before he could investigate, before he could see the crime scene in person. He wondered what else she didn’t want him to know and worked to hide from him. He was sure there were photos not included in the folder and made a mental note to call O’Malley at the precinct and see what the police had.

  Angel nodded and slipped the folder into his green linen satchel, securing the flap and moving it back behind his hip. It put weight on his athame, where the blade was secured in its inverted scabbard, the hilt within easy reach under his sweater. Lady Heather bit her lip and stared out at her shop as if by waiting it would give up the location of the thieves and the whereabouts of her husband’s ghost.

  “Did you get to the bank?” Angel said, walking down one of the rows, letting his inner vision slip free, a new spectrum of light and energy now visible to his physical eyes.

  “I changed all the bank account passwords immediately and put a fraud alert on all the cards. The bank is aware Greyson is…gone. Anyone attempting to use his information will cause an alert in the system.” She was prim and reserved though she watched him with interest as he left the first aisle and started down the next. “Can you tell me what you’re doing?”

  “Not doing anything except looking, really,” Angel murmured, seeing residual traces of active spellwork and the dim glow of ambient magic that emanated from herbs and jars of spell components. It was easy to see what spells had been cast by the thieves; the residual magic common to the shop was layered and had depth, the colors uniform and calm. The fresh spells were glaring in how out of place they were, the colors sharper, like wet neon paint strewn about the shop in splatters of chaos and destruction. One such spell had killed the physical alarm system and eroded most of the commercial wards in place.

  Following the disturbed pools of ambient magic, Angel found the place where the thieves destroyed the register ward, the wards guarding the restricted practitioner-only shelves, and the Do Not Enter ward that, when functional, deterred the public from crossing the threshold into the offices and the staircase that led upstairs to the apartment.

  “It looks like any other smash and grab,” Angel mused. He blinked away his inner vision, the ambient magics in the shop fading from his regular vision. “Simeon, your senses tell you anything?”

  Simeon stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and he discreetly sniffed, sharp gaze taking in everything. “Many humans, some supernaturals. A brownie,” Lady Heather startled at that revelation. Angel was pleased the earth fae were still present in the city. They’d almost gone extinct a few decades prior when a plague swept through the local population. Simeon continued, “and a few wolves. Most recently, gunmetal, sweat, cigarettes. I can scent mortal men, there’s the hint of magic. Stress, elation, sweat. I cannot discern if the magic comes from the wares here in the store of if it’s castoff from the intruders, but some places hold stronger markers than others. And a hint of…” Simeon closed his eyes, head tilting to the side as he focused. “I smell a hint of rot, dried, dusty fungi, and bones.”

  Angel paused his stroll around the shop. “Kinda like the smell ya’d get from a graveyard or mausoleum?”

  Simeon nodded, opening his eyes. “Yes. Very faint, though. Perhaps a customer had been to one of the many graveyards that crowd the earth of this city?”

  “Maybe Elder Simeon smells the enoki powder?” Lady Heather offered, pointing to a nearby shelf, glass jars sealed with a cork and wax dipped twine, the contents bone-white powder. “I get them sourced from harvesters in Berkshire County, where the mushrooms grow in graveyards.”

  “Maybe.” Angel went to the shelf, examining the jars up close, though he kept his hands to himself. Enoki powder came from the mushrooms of the same name, thin white fungi that grew in the dark, moist earth of New England forests, seen most commonly in edges of overgrown, pre-Civil War era graveyards. They needed quiet, undisturbed places to grow, and the mushrooms were used in many spells and rituals involving death magics.

  Angel might be the only necromancer in the area, but any wizard or sorcerer ranked practitioner with the knowledge could use and cast with death magic, just as he could cast and use any elemental magic—it was just harder for him to use magics outside his affinity, same as those who were not necromancers who used death magics. It was only a necromancer that came with the affinity for death magic, making the need for such supplies and tools in casting frequently unnecessary, since his affinity gave him natural control and instinctive ability. He used spell components for truly dangerous or difficult casting, like resurrecting a revenant or detailed spells that were outside his affinity.

  “What was taken, besides the cane your husband’s ghost was tied to?” He was certain he knew who took the ghost, just not their names. Several weeks prior he broke up an underground black-market theft ring, criminals who were using summoned ghosts to steal what the deceased left behind to heirs and family. It was death magic and highly lucrative if done correctly. The stigma against death magic and the rarity of necromancers, plus those educated in the spells and rituals required to summon the dead, meant the list was small for potential culprits. The likelihood of two separate gangs running the same racket in the same city weeks apart was miniscule. It stood to reason the police had not made more arrests past the sorcerers Angel caught in the act weeks before, and their cohorts were continuing without them.

  “Cash from the register, which was minimal since I’d taken the deposit out already. Some more expensive ritual components, some crystals, and artifacts, though nothing truly special. They made more of a mess than anything, and the items stolen were closest to the office where’d I’d left Greyson’s cane.” Lady Heather nodded to the doorway in the rear marked private. “Greyson…” She paused, gathering her composure before continuing. “Greyson developed enough range he could wander the shop and the apartment above, so I didn’t need to carry the cane around with me while at home.”

  Angel left his spot by the shelf and wandered over to the office, stopping just outside the door. “They broke in, made a mess to confuse the police about their real motives, and then went for the cane. Once they had it, they left, pocketing some convenient spoils on the way out.”

  Simeon nodded, agreeing. His mate went to the front door, watching out at the darkened street, but said nothing. Angel frowned, but Simeon wasn’t acting concerned. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Simeon was bored, but Simeon was paying attention—something outside the shop was drawing his senses. Simeon was relaxed, acting as if the quiet street and the limo idling at the curb were fascinating.

  “Where exactly was the cane?” Angel asked. La
dy Heather walked past him, her heels clicking on the floor, and he trailed after her into the short hall, a few doors peeling off on either side. The hall ended at a fire door, the steel panel clearly marked. If opened, it triggered an alarm with fire and police departments, which was probably why the thieves risked the front door. Fire doors were warded and rigged electronically, and the spells were notoriously resistant to tampering. A staircase to the right of the fire door presumably went upstairs to the apartment.

  Lady Heather stopped at the first door in the hall on the right, and Angel walked in enough to see shelves, a desk that looked like it belonged in a museum, and catch the scent of black tea leaves and incense in every inhale. “I leaned it against the side of my desk. It had been there for several days.”

  “Do you have a picture of the cane?” Angel asked, the lack of disrupted spells in the room merely reinforcing his hypothesis. The thieves knew exactly where to go and didn’t waste energy on spells to get into the office or a spell to scry out the location of the cane. In and out.

  Lady Heather went past him to one of the shelves cluttered with knickknacks and leather-bound books. She grabbed a small, framed picture and returned, handing it over.

  Lord Greyson Kensington, Lady Heather, and a blond woman stood smiling on the street in front of what might have been the shop, the trees along the sidewalk in bloom and the sky clear. The style of clothes and the more youthful appearance of the subjects in the photo indicated it had been taken several years before. Lord Greyson had both arms around the two women, a cane dangling from one hand. They looked happy and their relationships close.

  The cane was a dark, rich red-brown wood, nearly black in color, polished and shiny, capped on both ends in metal, likely steel worked to resemble silver since silver would warp too much over the years from active use. It was the length for walking, and Angel had memories of seeing Lord Greyson tapping down the sidewalk in Beacon Hill. His recollections matched the cane in the photo, so he’d recognize it if he found it.

  He angled the picture back around and asked, “The blond woman. Is she the friend who summoned your husband’s ghost and bound it to the cane?”

  Lady Heather’s face was wiped clean of expression, a blank slate Angel had no trouble seeing behind. “No. That’s an old college friend of mine.”

  “Giselle Hardwick, professor of History of Magic and Artifacts at Boston College of Magical Arts?” Angel supplied, and consternation replaced the studied emptiness on Lady Heather’s face.

  “How do you know?” Lady Heather demanded, and she reached out and took the picture back from him, returning it to the shelf.

  “Lived in the Greater Boston area my whole life,” Angel said, hands in his pockets, and he wandered back out into the hall, leaving Lady Heather teeming with frustration and aggravation in the office. “And I know most of the teachers and professors of magic and related fields in a hundred miles.”

  Simeon still stood at the front of the building, and Angel straightened his satchel, subtly checking on his athame. Simeon’s attentiveness was edging him into worry. A rustle came from his right and Angel saw the henchman from earlier sitting in the room opposite the office, it appeared to be a small break room. He dwarfed the table he sat at, the morning paper crinkling in his hands, a glower on his face as he squinted at Angel. Angel tipped his chin in greeting and made it a point to take his time checking out the room, despite the lack of ambient magic and disrupted spells. The big man grumbled under his breath, and Angel smiled before walking back out to the storefront. Lady Heather swore delicately under her breath and soon followed, her heels clicking on the floor, conveying her annoyance.

  “You said you didn’t need to know who cast the summoning spell!”

  “I said I didn’t need you to tell me. I figured it out on my own. She’s a wizard, an elementalist with air affinity, and her studies in historical magic would give her insight into the proscribed spells for summoning the dead,” Angel said over his shoulder, heading for the front door and his mate. Lady Heather followed him, anger radiating off her in spades.

  “And what do you mean to do with this knowledge?” she asked, words clipped. Angel reached the door, Simeon opening it for him with a short bow and smile.

  The wind tried its best to cut through the weatherproofing spells of his sweater as he stepped out on the sidewalk, shrieking as it slipped through the bare tree branches overhead and along the buildings. Angel checked what he could see of the street, looking at both ends as he turned back to Lady Heather where she stood in the door, fuming. “Go ahead and call Ms. Hardwick, let her know I’ll be stopping by tomorrow to see her. You’d be calling her anyway to tell her I know—might as well pass my message along while you’re at it. I just want to talk—I won’t be telling the authorities she broke proscribed laws.”

  Lady Heather put her hands on her hips, trying to loom over him from the steps. “The High Council consulate has the flag raised again after twenty years gone. Rumor has it a magister is here in the city. If the magister finds out about Greyson…”

  “The Council won’t find out about it from me,” Angel said, glad the wind was loud enough mortals would have trouble hearing them. No one was close enough that he could sense, but Simeon’s behavior told him they had company not far away. “Don’t talk about it with anyone but me. Give Ms. Hardwick my best.”

  Angel nodded and headed for the limo, the door already open. Angel slid inside, Simeon beside him. The door shut, the soundproofing muting the wind. The limo pulled away from the curb, and Angel leaned into Simeon’s side, a big arm coming to settle over his shoulders.

  They sat in silence for a block or so then Angel sighed. “Enforcers on the street?”

  Simon hummed. “Aye, love. Two I could sense for certain. Maybe a third, but they were well-hidden if indeed there.”

  “Council is watching us, then.” Angel figured as much. “We need to stop by the apartment before heading back to the Tower. And I have some calls to make.”

  9

  Broken Edges

  There was little Angel could do to make Daniel more comfortable at the Tower aside from leaving Eroch with his apprentice all the time and promising he would be safe, but he figured a duffle bag full of the young man’s own belongings and some personal items would help.

  Daniel was rumpled and sleepy, having slept the entire night away. Morning came in with a faint glow through the tinted windows of Simeon’s suite, unlike the bright, yellow glory they were accustomed to in Angel’s apartment. Angel squinted, wishing the lights were brighter. Lamps, no matter how pricey and opulent, could only do so much.

  Eroch chirped, tummy bulging. The silver platter next to him on the table was empty, the dragon stuffed from devouring tiny mountains of bacon and breakfast sausage. A blood servant exchanged the platter for a low, wide mug, the contents steaming. Eroch flipped a wing in thanks and poked his nose into the mug, soft slurps conveying how happy he was with the drink. The blood servant bowed out of the dining room, leaving them alone again. Simeon sat beside Angel, the dragon in front of him, and an empty chalice that once held spiced blood near his right hand. Angel had fed Simeon from his own body a few nights past, but Simeon was in his own territory, and he was more comfortable drinking blood in front of others at the Tower. He was more discreet at the apartment, conscientious of the fact both Daniel and Isaac had some minor hang-ups when it came to vampires and their eating habits. Daniel was adapting faster than Isaac.

  Angel spun his smartphone on the shiny glass surface of the table, ruing the call he’d have to make. Well, two calls. It had been late by the time they got back to the Tower the night before, Daniel still asleep. Angel figured he’d let the boy rest and they’d talk in the morning. Daniel rummaged in the bag, unpacking some items, stacking his tablet and toothbrush next to his plate, the contents partially eaten and thoroughly picked through.

  “Mo ghra, Dame Fontaine will be far more upset if you wait to tell her.” Simeon reasoned, covering An
gel’s hand with his and gently squeezing.

  “Oh, yeah. Milly’s gonna be wicked pissed.” Angel smirked. It faded quickly, thinking of who else he had to tell. “More worried about what I’m gonna tell Isaac. Or if I should even tell Isaac.”

  Daniel peeked up through messy blond strands of hair then went back to his stuff. A heavy clunk made the table shiver as Daniel put the attunement crystal on it, the gem the size of Angel’s hand and glowing. Angel noted the gem gave off a faint mix of rainbow hues before fading once it lost contact with Daniel. His apprentice’s affinity had yet to make an appearance, but Daniel was twenty, which was normal for a sorcerer. Angel and Isaac presented their affinities in their early teens, which was abnormal for practitioners. Daniel was self-conscious about it, so Angel never pushed. Daniel’s affinity would present when the boy was ready.

  “Do you not mean to tell Isaac of the Council?” Simeon asked, concerned. “Surely that will make things worse, not better.”

  “I think I’m more worried about his state of mind right now. Will telling him make him worse?” Angel exhaled loudly, groaning, rubbing the back of his neck. “Will telling Isaac make things better or worse for him?”

  “Angel?” Daniel spoke hesitantly from the other side of the table, holding his toothbrush and the attunement crystal, rays of rainbow-hued light dancing over the tabletop.

  “Yeah, kiddo?”

  “Isaac’s in the kind of place that would help him if things got worse, right? I mean,” Daniel bit his lip, a slightly more alert. “If telling Isaac about the Council sets him back, he’s already at rehab. Aren’t they equipped to handle that? Setbacks?”

  Angel tried not to smile, but the guileless blinking and wide dark eyes did him in.

  “He has you there, mo ghra,” Simeon chuckled. “Call Nevermore and your brother. He should be warned, regardless, and especially if they might send enforcers for him.”