by SJ Himes
Batiste frowned. “No, what?”
“No, I will not tell you anything about Isaac. No. No, and guess what? No.”
Batiste scowled at him then stalked off in the direction of the bedrooms. Giselle Hardwick was in the smallest guestroom, and Angel followed along behind the city master, grinning. He winked at Daniel as he passed the couch, his scandalized apprentice staring at him wide-eyed.
16
Striking a Deal and Bad Memories
Giselle Hardwick looked horrible. And pissed. Showered, dressed in borrowed clothes, blond hair pulled back in a rough tail, she glared at them from the far corner of the room. The ambient magic fields in the room were moving with a gentle wave, a mere suggestion of activity, but Angel could feel it, as did Milly. Simeon, Bridgerton, and Batiste stood with their backs to the door, out of the way and letting the practitioners have it out. Angel wasn’t happy Bridgerton was there, but the vamp was an Elder and Angel didn’t really have grounds to ask him to leave.
Angel lifted a hand, palm up, and stirred the ambient magic, calling it to him. Giselle gasped, hands clenching into fists, glaring at him as he removed the readily available magic from the room then reached out further, sucking up all the ambient magic within two floors. He rarely ever had to use ambient magic, the magical energy that existed naturally everywhere, shed by living organisms and organic material. He used it when he did kinetic magic since fueling kinetic magic with his own reserves nearly brought down a townhouse on his head. There were enough human blood donors in the Tower and vamp HQ to have an environment filled with ambient magic—and no practitioners to use it. Angel puddled the magic in his palm, the faint glow in the air enough for the magic to be seen by the vampires, and flipped the ball of magic to Milly. His teaching partner caught the magic with a jaunty flip of her wrist, spindling it into her own reserves, and it faded from view.
“Sorcerers,” Giselle spat out. “Always so cocky, so arrogant.”
“Also, not stupid. I felt you messing with the ambient fields.” Angel smirked when she crossed her arms and huffed, but she didn’t deny it. “Most sorcerers don’t pay attention to the magic around them since they can access the veil. Who needs a letter opener when a sword is handy? But then, I don’t feel like getting into another duel in the Tower. Last one was messy, but I did gain a familiar and an apprentice out of it.”
She eyed him with caution and some suspicion, but she wasn’t glaring as hard. Angel shrugged. “How about we start over, Professor Hardwick?”
“Start over?”
“Yup.” Angel went to an armchair near where she was standing, Milly following him to the small sitting area in the corner of the room. The vampires stayed by the door, watchful, guarding. They sat, and Giselle fidgeted for a moment before sitting across from them, gathering some of her composure.
“Hi, my name is Angel Salvatore. I am looking for the ghost you summoned, bound to a cane, then stole from your best friend, Lady Heather Kensington. I know you took it. I saw her bodyguard in your office at the college when the magisters showed up.” Angel crossed an ankle over his knee, leaned back in the chair which was surprisingly comfy, and gestured with one hand at Giselle. “All I need to know is where the cane is and the names of the others in your grave robbing ring. I already caught two of your partners a few months back at the cemetery, but they never revealed who they were working with. Cops are stymied.”
Giselle’s mouth tightened, and she said nothing, but he could read her easily enough. “I won’t give you to the cops or to the Council. Master Batiste,” Angel said, pointing over his shoulder at the handsome blond vampire standing between his two Elders, “has agreed to let you stay here until the problem with the Council is over with. I won’t involve the police if you cooperate fully. You give up your compatriots in the grave robbing crew, return the cane, and I let you go.”
“The problem with the Council?” She gasped out, shaking her head. “The High Council of Sorcery isn’t some inconvenient problem that can be swept under the rug or ignored. The set the laws for all our kind the world over. There’s no escaping them.”
“Sure there is,” Angel contested. “People think I don’t pay attention to the world stage because I keep myself here in Boston and don’t make a power play for anything more than what I have.” He heard shifting from the vampires, likely surprise, though Simeon knew him well enough not to be caught off guard by Angel’s statements. “The Council doesn’t have the political reach it used to. In its apathetic and inconsistent approach to enforcing the laws only when it benefits the Council, they’ve let their power slide. The Council has next to no power here in the States. The Council left Boston entirely after it failed to control the tide of the Blood Wars, abandoning the city to turmoil and bloodshed. They can try all they want, but they gave up any semblance of authority when they bailed twenty years ago.”
“The Council is still powerful. They are dangerous and have thousands of enforcers.” Giselle practically spat the words out.
“I don’t disagree. They’re all dangerous. But as today showed, they also have no practical experience in combat magics and fighting. They are so used to the people they threaten rolling over and not fighting back, they don’t know what to do except go into overkill mode when confronted by someone who won’t play by their rules.”
Angel looked back at the vampires watching near the door. “Master Batiste,” Angel’s lips twitched at the use of the title, but he wouldn’t disrespect the old vamp in front of Giselle, it would undermine his attempt to get her to bend. “What did the magister say earlier when you met with her and the human authorities?”
Batiste gave him a sharp glance then took a step forward. “I reinforced to the magister the Council had no authority over Necromancer Salvatore as he is now a member of my bloodclan and outside the rules of mortals. Human laws and Council laws no longer have any bearing. Magister Malis then threatened to bring more enforcers to the city, and I quote, ‘remove the problem.’ At this point, the police commissioner told the magister the city would not tolerate any more foreign law enforcement on American soil, and any more disruptions to the peace would lead to the state closing the consulate. The governor, the mayor, and the police commissioner for Boston feel the Council surrendered its claims to authority when it left Boston twenty years ago. Any more actions against Massachusetts citizens will result in a ‘diplomatic incident.’”
Angel nodded in thanks and turned back to Giselle. She was staring at him in some confusion, but she didn’t look as angry. “I’m sorry you got pulled into my mess this morning,” Angel said, and he meant it. She might have pissed him off by reading his aura with the cards, but she didn’t deserve to be arrested, knocked unconscious, and thrown into a magical dungeon in the cold and dark. Plus, she was a criminal, but she hadn’t killed anyone that he knew of, and since he knew about her illegal hobbies, he could keep an eye on her from now on. She wouldn’t be allowed to continue. But he also wouldn’t leave her to the mercies of the Council.
Giselle dipped her chin in response to his apology. “Am I a prisoner?”
“No,” and it was Batiste who answered. “If you leave, the enforcers watching the Tower will likely take you again. I will not spare soldiers to keep you safe from the Council. You are not bloodclan. But I will let you remain here, under guard, and safe from the Council. Cooperate with Necromancer Salvatore, and I will make your stay as comfortable as possible while you are here. Once the Council has been dealt with, you may leave.”
“I need to call the college, let them know I won’t be in for the foreseeable future.” It sounded like she would take Batiste up on his offer. She eyed the old vamp with a calculating gaze. Angel wasn’t surprised, but he also didn’t warn her she wasn’t Batiste’s type. Or maybe she was—Batiste could be bi or pan or anything, really. He didn’t know and wasn’t going to ask, but regardless, Batiste was too sharp to let her use him for anything more than temporary protection from the Council.
“You
’ll tell me what I need to know?” Angel asked.
“In return for protection from the Council, I will tell you everything,” Giselle said, lifting her chin.
“Agreed. Now talk.”
“I have four people who work for me after you and the police caught my two partners in the cemetery. One of them is Jackson Multon, Heather’s bodyguard and valet. He is the man you saw at the college when the enforcers took me away.”
“Is Sloan involved?” The androgynous, highly intelligent fae would be ideally placed in Lady Heather’s employ to learn financial secrets about their employer, and the apothecary saw frequent business from wealthy practitioners of Beacon Hill. Nightshade Apothecary was a good place to scope out future marks.
Giselle shook her head. “No. Sloan cannot lie, she is far too forthright and guileless. Impractical to involve her in any of this.”
Angel was relieved. He liked the mysterious fae. “They.”
“What?” Giselle frowned.
“Sloan is non-binary. Use they instead of her.”
“Oh.” Giselle looked confused then shrugged. Angel bit back a sigh. Sloan likely got misgendered all the time. He’d spend all day correcting Giselle, but she wouldn’t change her behavior unless she wanted to.
“Where’s your crew?”
She grimaced and fidgeted again. He waited. He had nothing to do until the sun went down and Simeon could go with him out into the city. “At the college. Basement of the History Building.”
Angel laughed. Milly finally spoke up for the first time. “You mean to say we were a floor away from your tiny criminal enterprise the whole time?”
“The artifacts we get from jobs and the stolen goods fit in with the college’s collection of antiquities. It’s kept in the basement, and only a few people are allowed down there. I’m one of them and no one else bothers unless they need something from the storage area, and they usually come to me to get it. No one notices my crew leaving. They use the maintenance tunnels to the utility garage then leave that way.”
“Practitioners?”
She shook her head. “Only one of the four. Water wizard.”
“Who does the summoning of the ghosts?”
“I do. Miles, the water wizard, doesn’t have the training.”
“So, while you’re here, they likely haven’t run any jobs. Do you have one planned?”
Giselle shook her head. “No. We ran one last week then the cane from Heather. She was to be our last mark before moving on.”
“Lady Heather is loaded. Her money and Greyson’s estate would keep you funded for a long time. And she’d very likely figure out it was you, so leaving was the only option.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Is the basement storage area warded?”
“Standard wards put in place by the college. I have access to them. I put up an alert to tell me when someone was heading down there, but anything else would have been noticed by campus security.”
Milly stood. “I know the Dean of the History department. I’ll make a call, get us access. When do you want to go, Angel?”
“After sundown.”
Milly nodded and left the room, Simeon held the door for her. Bridgerton was glaring at Angel, then he usually was, but there was an extra level of malice in the old pirate’s expression. Angel glared and went back to quizzing Giselle. “What do you do with the artifacts of the deceased and the things you steal that aren’t used to call them back from the Other Side?”
“Some I’ve kept. Others sold overseas to collectors. I have kept records.”
“Tell me the names of your crew, and where I can find them right now.”
Angel stood in front of the dormant fireplace in the main room of Simeon’s suite. The sun was almost down, a few minutes from the safety of twilight. The lights came on in the suite as the sun touched the horizon and slipped away with one last blinding flash of red and orange.
Simeon joined him at the wall of windows, the treated glass dulling the final flares of sunset. “The cars are coming around. We’ll be taking the SUVs and some soldiers with us.”
He furrowed his brow. “Soldiers? What for?”
“My master received word from a blood donor’s relative out at Logan. A private plane landed about an hour ago. It came from Montreal, and it bore the Council insignia. Our source did not see who or what got off the plane, but whoever it was warranted Magister Malis waiting for them as they landed.”
“More enforcers? Another magister?” Angel guessed.
“Whoever arrived, it cannot be good for us. We will have soldiers with us.”
“I’m not comfortable owing Batiste anything.”
Simeon smiled down at him and ran a hand down Angel’s back, soothing. “It was my idea and order, mo ghra. My master offered no disagreement though Bridgerton was not as sanguine.” Angel rolled his eyes. He bet Bridgerton argued about everything Simeon said and did even if it meant looking like more of an ass. “Together we are enough to handle any challenge, but perhaps having bloodclan soldiers with us will hold off any issues with the Council. They attack us, the bloodclan, it will start a war.”
That was enough to give Angel nightmares. “I lived through one war. I don’t want to be in another.”
“A precaution only, my love. I think Malis and whoever she greeted at the airport will be too wise to attack the bloodclan directly. We might be followed, but I doubt we’ll see them tonight.”
Bridgerton and Batiste were speaking on the far side of the room, the other Elder displeased, if the subtle glow to his eyes meant anything. “What’s got Bridgerton so pissy?”
Simeon sighed, a breathless motion that should have been human but only accentuated the fact Simeon was no longer human. “He complains of our involvement. He still believes giving Daniel to the Council and letting them have you for the trial is the best course of action for the bloodclan. He doesn’t understand that we need nothing from the Council. Other bloodclans in Europe have courted favor from the Council, sacrificing autonomy for wealth and property. We don’t need the Council for anything. We have land, donors aplenty, and more than enough wealth. Bridgerton has no concept of the word ‘enough.’ He is the kind of man who always seeks more, dissatisfied with what he has already.”
“I really dislike him.” Understatement.
Simeon chuckled and pressed a kiss to Angel’s hair. “I dislike him as well, mo ghra.”
“I don’t trust him anywhere near Daniel.”
“My master will not allow Bridgerton to remain here with Daniel. He is not to be trusted with our fledgling, and my master is aware of this. These are my rooms, and he is unwelcome here the moment our master leaves. He was only here as is his right as Elder to know what goes on in this clan.”
“Fledgling.” Angel smiled, leaning into Simeon’s hand, and he snuck the fingers of his right hand under Simeon’s black leather belt, into his waistband, anchoring himself to Simeon. He didn’t do anything else, just held on. “Our fledgling.” Angel grinned wide.
Simeon nibbled on his ear. “Yes, ours.”
Angel leaned into Simeon more. “I never asked. Do you have fledglings? You’re over four hundred years old. Have you sired a baby vamp?”
Simeon stilled for a moment then kissed behind Angel’s ear before straightening. He put an arm around Angel, holding him securely to his side. “No, I have not.”
Simeon didn’t appear upset, so Angel went ahead, curious. “Why not? You’re here for all the…what do you call it…raising? Rising? You’re here each time. Last time there were twenty newborn baby vamps. None of them were yours?”
Simeon shook his head, a lock of auburn hair falling over his brow. Angel reached up and gently swept it back in place. “No. None were mine. I have never sired another of my kind. My own experience was…not pleasant.”
Simeon’s emerald eyes were serene, with dark memories in the crystal depths. “Unpleasant?”
“I killed the one who made me. I killed my sire.”
Angel blinked, surprised. “I had no idea. Is this not something you want to talk about? I always figured it was one of those private things. Like asking who the first person you had sex with was, something like that.”
“We live long enough most of us already know each other’s history, or the past becomes irrelevant.” Simeon shrugged. “The one who made me was an evil being; murderous, greedy, and violent. He killed my lover, my kinsmen, and chose me at random to resurrect as one of his kind. I climbed from the earth after my first death, tracked him down, and killed him.”
“I thought fledglings were bound to their sires? How did you kill him?”
“I was unbound. He could not control me. He depended upon only his nature as one of the undead to keep him safe—I had that, and a lifetime of fighting. He was not a warrior. I took his head with my dead lover’s miodóg then burned the body. My desire to kill him, my need for vengeance, sent me after him still muddy from the grave, and I killed him the same night I rose as one of the undead.”
“Miodóg?”
“A dagger, love.”
“Ahh.”
Angel stepped into Simeon, hugging him as tightly as he could manage. Angel knew all too well the madness that came when grief and violence met on a battlefield. A single spell, and Angel set afire a bewitched bloodclan, killing over a hundred vampires. His own family lay butchered around him, strewn about the grounds and the mansion. Angel sought to end it all and take his enemies with him, but ended up surviving, watching a field of undead burn, screaming, victims of his grief-fueled actions. Grief could drive anyone to madness. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorrow for my past is something to which I am unaccustomed,” Simeon murmured, rubbing his cheek over Angel’s hair, big hands sliding down his back to take hold of his hips. “But I thank you for it, nonetheless.”
“How did you manage as a fledgling then? Who taught you how to be this?” Angel gestured, encapsulating the entire sexy, capable package that was his mate.
