by SJ Himes
Angel shook his head. “I can’t destroy it like I did with the wendigo. It wasn’t yet a lich, and it was bound to me already since I raised it. This lich is unbound, fully formed, the magics used in its creation set and immutable. I’m gonna have to do this the hard way.”
“Explain,” Simeon said, worried.
“I don’t have a reliquary ready to trap it, and I refuse to bind this thing to me, so that means I’m gonna need to destroy it. Which means undoing the spells in its creation, and it’s gonna take some time.” Angel let his inner vision rise to the fore, and he grimaced. “Fuck. It was created by a necromancer. I can’t assume control over the spells easily. And these spells are old, not the style or discipline I’m familiar with. This is not going to be quick.”
The lich screamed again, tail thrashing behind it, and a few smaller trees along the path paid the price. Overhead, the sound of a helicopter echoed over the park. Simeon eyed the horizon, but the helicopter was off some ways yet, not in range. “What would be quickest and easiest, mo ghra?”
“Binding it to me. Once I get through the spells its former master used to claim it, I can bind it. But if I bind it to me, I cannot hide it, put it someplace out of sight, or lock it away. I would be as locked to it as it would be to me. Which means a fifteen-foot-tall monster that killed four kids would be my pet until I could kill it for good. I don’t know the spells to make it change shape or size, not without some in depth study of the creature. I would be able to destroy it eventually, but I don’t think I’m gonna have enough time.” Shouts and beams of light came through the park. The cops were coming. “By Hecate, I told them to stay back! They’re gonna get themselves killed!”
“I will handle the police. Get started on your spells, mo ghra.” Simeon took off for the cops.
“Okay, I’ll just sit here alone, in the dark, with a monster and a hellhound,” Angel grumbled, though he wasn’t worried. “I really wish I had my dragon.” He did miss Eroch though, and he spared a thought for his familiar and apprentice, hoping they were all right. Eroch was savvy and Daniel was smart. They’d be fine.
He hoped.
Isaac stared at the television in the common room of Nevermore. A monster was rampaging across Boston College, killing students and wrecking dorm rooms. He groaned when Angel’s name hit the banner, a reporter speaking about the carnage. At least they weren’t blaming his brother for any of it. He didn’t know which was worse—Angel usually being blamed for such things, or the fact he was after the undead creature himself.
“Authorities are asking citizens to stay out of the wooded areas of Boston College and the adjacent park. Angel Salvatore, Boston’s only necromancer, is attempting to contain the threat now. So far, seven people are confirmed dead, with speculation more people may be dead at the scene.” The news reporter seemed too happy about the prospect, and Isaac got up and left the common room, the tv echoing down the hall behind him.
“Isaac?” Nadine Masters was coming down the hall, her heels tapping as if agitated.
“Oh, hey,” Isaac said in greeting.
“Did you see the news?” She asked, looking past him to the common room. He nodded.
“Yeah. Angel is in the thick of things again, not all that unusual. He’s with Simeon though, so he’ll be fine.” Isaac didn’t doubt it for a second. He was still worried but not frantic.
“Good, I’m glad. We’ll keep on eye on the news and inform you immediately if things change, or if we hear from him,” Nadine said with a wide smile. “There is someone here who’d like to see you, if that’s acceptable.”
“A guest?” Isaac asked, confused. “Who is it? Is it Daniel?”
Nadine appeared flustered, her cheeks pink and eyes bright. “He said his name was Constantine.”
His mouth dropped open. He blinked, his thoughts tumbling over each other. He coughed then spoke. “Tall, blond, blue eyes, fangs? Beyond hot and with an accent?”
Nadine smiled. Batiste must have made a big impression. “I didn’t see any fangs, but yes, that’s him. He is a vampire? Visiting hours are over for the evening, but we make allowances for guests who are nocturnal. If you want to see him now, it’s perfectly fine.”
He nodded before he could think of anything else to say or do. Nadine smiled wider and started back down the hallway, Isaac trailing along at her heels. “Excellent, he’s awaiting you in the foyer.”
Isaac wasn’t listening. He couldn’t feel his feet and his ears were ringing. Why was Batiste there? No way did Angel tell Batiste Isaac was here, his big brother would not endorse a visit from the supreme fanghead of the city.
The journey to the front of the building was a blur in his mind. The foyer was well lit, even this late at night, the welcome desk staffed, and the security office at the back of the foyer was staffed all day and night as well. A woman and a man in dark clothing were talking quietly at the welcome desk, somber and tear-stained, and Isaac looked away, not wanting to intrude. His gaze fell on the man standing on the other side of the room, back to him, examining a boring piece of art.
Instead of a suit, the blond Adonis was wearing charcoal gray slacks, dark leather shoes, and a thin, light gray cashmere sweater clinging to his broad, well-defined shoulders, muscled back, and trim waist. The world’s most perfect ass was lovingly cupped in the slim slacks, and Isaac had to swallow before he could breathe again. Bright, golden blond tresses swept back in a perfect wave completed the package, and that was just the back. Isaac’s breathing hitched, and the man heard him, even from the far side of the room.
He turned.
“Batiste?” Isaac whispered, stomach fluttering. The memory of a kiss welled up in his mind, heart skipping, skin electrified. He could taste apples and ice on his tongue, and he shivered, remembering the taste of cider in a slumbering orchard. The taste of this undead man’s kiss.
“Oohhh,” Nadine sighed out beside him, as if having an epiphany. “I think I’ll give you some time alone. Take as long as you need.” She left, and Isaac kept his eyes on the undead man who captured his attention.
Constantine Batiste gazed back at him, expression giving away nothing. He was beyond handsome and dangerous. Charming. Mesmerizing. Cosmopolitan, suave, and sexy.
And an asshole. “You charmed me.” Isaac snapped out, glowering.
Batiste gave a short dip of his chin, hands in his pocket, accentuating the supremely fine fit of his slacks across his groin. Isaac wrenched his eyes away and swallowed again, trying to remember he didn’t really like this vampire. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure.
“I did. And before I get to why I have come here, I must do something.” Batiste approached, carefully, and to Isaac’s horror, the Master of the City of Boston knelt before him. Both knees on the floor, oblivious to the dust on his expensive clothes and the stares from the humans near the desk. Batiste’s ice-blue eyes were bright and full of some emotion that tugged at Isaac’s heart and made his stomach flutter again. A rueful smile twitched lush pink lips, and Batiste put both hands on his thighs, flat, palms down, and settled into this calm stillness, a heavy sense of expectancy in the air.
“What…”
“Isaac Salvatore, I sinned deeply the last we were face to face. I used my ability on you, and in my arrogance, saw nothing amiss. Your brother beat my wrongdoings into my head, and the disappointment in my dearest child’s face drove it home. I surrendered my honor the moment I charmed you into a kiss.” Batiste took a breath, one he didn’t need, and continued. “I offer you my sincerest and most regretful apology, my sorrow for my actions, and a boon of your asking in recompense.”
“Ahhh-what? A boon? A favor? And bullshit, Angel hexed you. That is why you’re sorry,” Isaac stammered, still glaring. Batiste stayed on his knees, even with the desk clerk and the two strangers at the desk watching now, curious and rude. Batiste bowed his head, blond tresses falling over his face, neck arched. Vulnerable. He rubbed his hands in a small motion on his thighs as if nervous. The tiny movement caugh
t Isaac’s eye, and he stopped talking.
Isaac wasn’t the genius in the family. Angel could dissect a person’s motives after a ten second conversation. Isaac had spent the last decade avoiding people or drunk. Greg, his dead boyfriend, was not a bastion of intelligent thinking or logic.
There was one thing, though, Isaac knew well. Guilt. He understood guilt like he knew how to breathe. It lived in every fiber of his being. And it destroyed every attempt to heal, to move forward, to be someone new, someone better. He knew what guilt and regret looked like, and it looked like Constantine Batiste, kneeling on the floor of a rehab clinic, in full view of strangers and a cranky, mentally damaged sorcerer.
“Get up, please.” Batiste lifted his head, eyes conveying a waiting expectancy, but not hope. He expected Isaac to shut him down, shut him out, and kick his ass to the curb. But he came for a reason, and while apologizing was a part of it, something else was going on. “Do you mean it?”
“I do, yes,” Batiste murmured. “I truly regret my actions and what I did. It will never happen again, and not just due to the hex.” Batiste put a hand to his chest, where Angel told Isaac he placed the brand. He shut up then, as if thinking the more he spoke, the lesser the impact of his words. Isaac was leaning toward agreeing.
“I won’t ask Angel to take the hex off,” Isaac warned. “You’re wearing it for the next thousand years or so, pal.”
“I will do so without complaint,” Batiste said.
“Ok, then. I accept your apology. Now get up and tell me why you’re here,” Isaac stated firmly and crossed his arms. Batiste blinked at him, startled, then stood quickly in one smooth, graceful movement.
“Thank you.” Batiste stared at him as if astounded by Isaac’s decision, which he likely was. Angel would be pissed—though Angel liked to pretend he was the forgiving sort, Angel held grudges like a motherfucker sometimes. The only thing saving a ton of people from his brother’s wrath was Angel was very good at figuring out when people were truly blameless for horrible shit, and when they deserved his ire. Batiste likely sat in the I’m Gonna Be Mad Forever Camp with Angel.
Isaac was too tired to hate. He realized, staring at Batiste, while Batiste was an asshole and an arrogant jerk, he wasn’t a bad person. He sighed, uncrossed his arms, and rubbed his face before dropping his hands away. “Why are you here now? I know Angel didn’t give you permission to come. Hell, he probably told you nothing. I’m in rehab, man.”
Batiste nodded once, a slow dip. “I am aware. I…have my sources.”
“Simeon doesn’t tell you shit either.”
This time the city master smiled wide, fangs visible. The desk clerk squeaked in alarm. They still had an audience. His smile disappeared quickly as it came, the city master once more serious. “My child does not speak to me of your family at all except to say you are well. He holds your privacy close and shares nothing. And it is…acceptable. I have many connections, sources, placed in all sorts of locations around the city. I know more than the mortals about what happens here. But in this one instance, I am confounded.”
“What happened?” Isaac demanded.
“Bridgerton has betrayed the clan. The Council sought to steal Daniel and Eroch from the Tower with the aid of another traitor. Eroch did…” Batiste frowned, as if searching the right words.
Isaac had an idea though. “Did he get really big and destroy things?”
“Yes.” Batiste looked a bit put out, and Isaac thought he looked cute. Wait, not cute. He couldn’t think of Batiste as cute. The city master gave a light frown. “Apparently, I’m the only one who did not know the small lizard was capable of doing such a thing.”
Isaac shrugged. “Oh well. Are Danny and Eroch okay?”
“They left. Eroch flew them away.”
“Oh shit.” The humans were going to lose it.
“Where would they go? The Council is after Daniel. Angel surmised it was to gain control of him. Angel is dealing with the situation at the college and cannot abandon his mission. I would like to find Daniel before the Council does.”
“Yeah. Angel is really protective, so if the Council had either me or Danny as leverage, Angel wouldn’t be able to say no,” Isaac frowned, thinking. “If the Council went after Daniel, I’m really surprised they haven’t come after me here.”
“This place is very well guarded. Not even I may enter past the foyer.” Batiste shrugged, and Isaac recalled the wards built into the building. “The Council may very well have attempted to gain entry here and been denied.”
“Huh. Angel is paying out the ass for this place. Guess it’s worth it.” Isaac thought about it, and the only place a giant dragon could go that wouldn’t bring the human authorities and tanks to his doorstep was…home.
“Check the mansion.” Isaac said quietly. “It’s on acres of private land, huge gardens, and the house is big enough to hide a dragon.”
“The Salvatore Mansion?” Batiste questioned, and Isaac nodded.
“Eroch might take Danny there.” Isaac paused. “Simeon was able to get into the house without a spoken Invitation, but he was with Angel, and Angel walked him in, so maybe that was enough. But regardless, I can’t…I can’t leave Nevermore. If I leave…I won’t come back. I need this place right now. I can’t help aside from trusting people.” Isaac paused, searching Batiste’s perfect face, looking for something. He took a small leap of faith. “I still call it home in my heart, and if an Invitation is needed, you are invited to enter the mansion and its grounds to save Daniel or stop the Council. You’re welcome in my home.”
Batiste stepped into his space, a hand catching one of his. Cold and smooth, but so strong, the hand holding his was enough to make him shiver. Heightened awareness and electric touch, skin to skin, Isaac wanted more. Batiste wasn’t charming him—Angel’s hex was nearly indestructible. This was all Isaac, responding to the man touching him. Batiste lifted Isaac’s hand and turned it, pressing a soft, cool kiss to the center of his palm. “Thank you, Isaac.” His lips brushed over Isaac’s skin, and his arm jerked, the nerves aflame. Batiste held him for a long second more then stepped away, slowly releasing his hand. It hung in the air for a moment before Isaac blushed and dropped it.
“Save Danny and Eroch.”
Batiste bowed, an elegant dip making Isaac blush even harder. “As you command, Isaac.”
The city master was gone in an instant. The doors swung wildly before settling. Isaac yearned to follow. His family was in trouble. He could help. His palm tingled. The memory of the soft kiss clung to his skin, and Isaac closed his hand, as if to keep the kiss there longer.
A long, dreamy sigh drew his attention. The desk clerk and the two humans were staring at him, eyes wide, entranced. They’d obviously heard the whole thing. The woman smiled, eyes twinkling. “Your boyfriend is very handsome.”
“He’s not…” Isaac paused. It was too complicated to explain that Batiste was not his boyfriend. He was something...maybe. He could still feel the kiss to his palm. “Um, yeah. He really is.”
20
Persistent Folly
The lich was destroying the area where it was trapped by Scáth’s jaws, a radius of about twenty feet. Path reduced to rubble, a nearby park bench in splinters, and several trees reduced to toothpicks. The only thing undamaged was Scáth, the hellhound crouched on his belly, jaws locked on the lich’s hind leg. The lich had already given up trying to dislodge the hellhound, and now it was trying to crawl away. Scáth was having none of it; the hellhound was immovable.
Simeon managed to halt the police, but they were closer than Angel preferred. They set up a perimeter about 200 yards in all directions, and the helicopter still patrolled overhead. The police helicopter kept the civilian news aircraft away from the area, which Angel appreciated since he didn’t want to see himself ad nauseam online in badly edited video clips.
The dead human was still behind him on the path; Angel had permitted paramedics to come and retrieve the injured human, but they were
as close as he was letting anyone get. Simeon stood watch over his shoulder, and while the vampire’s cell phone was on vibrate so the noise from notifications didn’t disturb him, the phone kept going off in Simeon’s hand. Something major was happening out there in the city aside from the monster show in the park.
He really hoped it wasn’t his dragon and apprentice.
Angel sat cross-legged on the path, hands on his knees, about ten feet past the lich’s reach. He slipped into a meditative state, a place he rarely went to when doing magic. He hadn’t needed to meditate since he was a teenager learning to control his powers. It was a struggle for a short while before it suddenly clicked, and he was in the calm place from which he could examine the spells animating the undead creature. He was torn between trying to destroy it out right, and binding it to him then dismantling it at his leisure once it was under his control. He did not want to deal with a fifteen-foot-tall monster that had just finished eating eight people, so his preference was to destroy it.
His eyes were shut while his inner vision was wide open, and the death magics and antique spells were visible in the night air, glowing like ropes of light green and sickly yellow. The hellhound was a bright beacon of green hellfire to his inner vision, and there was a clear demarcation between the two beings. He could see a faint tendril of energy twisting back from the hellhound past Angel to where Simeon stood behind him. The hellhound was bound completely to the owner of the whistle that summoned it, but the same could not be said for the lich. It was unbound and out of control and the places within the spell work which should have been anchored to a master were empty or broken. The places where the spells were broken, he would need to repair before he could initiate the binding process. As it was, the lich was immensely powerful and ancient. It was vaguely Celtic in design, and he could see very faint hints of where an ancient necromancer had pieced this being together from the remains of other creatures. Such a thing as this lich had never existed in nature before, at least not to Angel’s knowledge.
