by SJ Himes
He had no intention of waiting that long.
Life as a necromancer, a small population of the practitioner population, wasn’t easy. Other practitioners who didn’t know him assumed he was evil, a madman, a killer. Those who did know him were either afraid of him, with good reason, or knew him too well. There were only fifteen of them in the world, out of the millions of practitioners across the planet. Such rarity meant other practitioners, unless they had first hand experience with a necromancer and how they fought, never closed all the magical loopholes.
Shields, depending on how the practitioner structured them, could be made weaker or stronger, hardening them or lessening them, to do everything from preventing debris from entering, blocking spells and curses, to a variety of other things and situations.
They rarely, if ever, guarded against the dead.
Angel took advantage of the dust and debris still falling, racing ahead, dodging the cyclones. He pushed again, twice more, with kinetic, throwing up a wall of dirt and earth into the air, raining it down over Malis, blinding her and keeping his position hidden. She flung spells at him, or where he had been—he ducked down, a foot from the outer wall of her shield, and risked it all to drop his own shield. Someone screamed in fear outside the dueling circle.
Angel grabbed the forgotten corpses of her enforcers. They lay in the dirt, half buried, and the shield, while it was complete, blocking Angel’s pestilence curse, it was not blocking the dead bodies partially under the shield with her. To her shield, they were nothing. Dead organic matter, much like leaves or a stick. But to Angel, they were weapons.
“Ego mortem. Mors me. Surgite et audite,” he whispered, and forced the servantus curse, the zombie curse, into the bodies. The bodies were whole, and the spell took hold, breaking the shield wall where the bodies lay across the boundary.
“Get her,” Angel growled, and unleashed the corpses.
They erupted from the earth with startling alacrity. They jumped on Malis, inside her own shield, and she fell screaming to the ground. One latched onto her arm, teeth biting deep, and the other bit into her side, ravaging her flank. She screamed, terrified, and she lost her concentration. Instinct told her to escape the things locked inside her shield with her. The shield fell.
His pestilence curse found her at last.
She screamed, a sick, weak sound. She was strong, and fought the curse, but the zombies tearing into her kept her from fighting for long.
“Forfeit or die!” Angel shouted.
It was quiet, the world stunned outside the circle. Her cyclones of fire twirled into nothing. Debris was still randomly falling, little spatters of sound in the silence. She gasped, skin growing grave-pale, veins blackening, her blood pouring to the earth from where the zombies held her pinned.
She sneered, her face twisted by hate and anger. “Never,” and she flung fire in his face.
He leapt to the side, and the fire caught his right cheek and jaw. He landed in the dirt, smothering the flames. He pushed up off the ground, in agony. He had no mercy in him. “So be it.”
“Morte.”
The pestilence curse took her life before the zombie ravaging her side could do the deed. Her eyes went corpse-white, her body limp. The zombies spat her out, a dead body unappetizing. They stood, disjointed, lumbering abominations, and they turned as one on Angel.
He ripped the spell animating their forms out of them. They fell to the earth, empty corpses again, blood on their hands and faces.
Angel stumbled to his feet. His breathing was harsh and ragged. He needed a moment.
The dueling circle winked out, her side fading away first. Angel’s side flared bright, then it too faded away.
Victory.
“Mo ghra.”
Angel blinked, dazed. The right side of his face was aching like a sonofabitch. He raised a hand to touch his jaw, but Simeon was there instantly, stopping him. “No, mo ghra. Don’t touch it.”
“Ok,” Angel replied. Simeon was standing in front of him, an expression of concern and pride of his handsome face. “She’s dead.”
“She is, my love. You won. You gave her a choice in the end, and she refused. The challenge is over.”
“Angel!” Daniel yelled, racing to his side. Daniel went to hug him, but Simeon stopped the young man, who gasped in horror when he saw Angel’s face. “Oh! Simeon, his face.” Daniel looked like he was either going to pass out or vomit.
“Simeon,” Angel said, swallowing. Even that was horribly painful. Damn fire mages.
“My love? Don’t worry, I’m going to heal you. Let us just get away from the dead bodies, yes?”
“Okay. Sounds good. You’re in charge.” Angel lost control of his legs, and Simeon was there, sweeping him into his arms. Angel looked up at the sky, the stars bright, the cool air soothing.
An entire twenty-four hours of some of the most intensive magics he had done in the last decade, and he was ready to sleep for another ten years. Fighting enforcers, freeing himself from iron, raising and banishing an undead wendigo, masterclass spellwork reconstruction on an ancient lich, and then a duel to the death. He was sure he was missing some things. He was tired. Vampire mate bond notwithstanding, he was still mortal. And he wanted a nap.
He blinked, slower that time, and the last thing he saw before he slipped into blessed unconsciousness was Milly, Daniel, and Simeon staring down at him.
He was in his own bed. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know. Someone was talking nearby, trying to be quiet. Eroch was snoring in his ear.
Angel smiled, and his face didn’t hurt. Simeon must have healed him. He stretched, enjoying the burn in his muscles, and flopped over on his side. Eroch woke and sniffed his face. The sun was up, though shining from the west side of the apartment, so it was in the afternoon. He had no idea if it was the same day or days later, and since Daniel was sitting beside his bed and talking on the phone, Angel didn’t really care.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Daniel smiled wide, looking gorgeous and sweet. “Angel! You’re awake!”
“Yeah. In one piece, I think?” He rubbed a hand over the right side of his face and felt unblemished skin. “Simeon healed me, huh?”
“He did, and Rory helped.” Daniel said into the phone, “He just woke up. Want to talk to him?”
“Who is Rory and who’s on the phone?” Angel asked as Daniel handed him the phone.
“Rory is Ruairí Brennan, super-hot fae swordsman with healing powers, who Daniel has a serious case of lust for, and it’s your little brother,” Isaac said over the phone, voice rough. “If you slept any longer, I was gonna bust out of here and come see you.”
Angel settled in to his pillows. “Hey, kid. No escaping rehab. How long was I asleep?”
Isaac coughed, clearing his throat. His brother was emotional and trying to hide it. Angel smiled, even knowing Isaac couldn’t see him. “You’ve been asleep for two days, man. Two fucking days, and if it weren’t for Danny calling me every couple of hours with updates, I would have set this building on fire and walked out.”
Angel winced at the fire comment. “Yeah, no. Don’t do that. Replacing a building would put a dent in your trust fund.” He took a second. “I gave myself a case of magical exhaustion. I haven't done that in a long time. I just needed to recharge. I’m glad you stayed. I know how hard it must have been. I’m proud of you.”
“And I am so pissed at you! A deathmatch with a high magister? Are you kidding me? I almost went crazy when the news reported the duel! Cops have smartphones, you idiot! You had to have a duel to the death in front of the half of the city, didn’t you?”
“Go big or go home?” Angel mused, and Isaac swore at him. Angel laughed. Daniel got up from the chair beside the bed, squeezed Angel’s shoulder, and left the room, closing the door behind him. “I just woke up and don’t know what happened after I passed out. Did the Council leave?”
“Oh, they did, tails between their legs. It helped that Milly and O’Malley, alo
ng with the bloodclan, let it be known Malis kidnapped a Canadian minor, blackmailed her mentor, and then messed with the entire city for the last week and change. Nothing got held back. The whole world knows what happened here.”
“Shit. Eroch?” Angel sat up in bed, leaning on the headboard. Eroch was curled up next to him, asleep again, unconcerned his secret might be out to the whole planet.
“Reports of a giant dragon are being considered hoaxes, and the few clips of video out there of him flying over the city are pure shit. There were eyewitnesses, but Batiste has the bloodclan on lockdown, so no one is confirming anything.” Isaac sounded odd saying Batiste’s name. “He apologized, by the way. You can stop being mad at Batiste.”
“I’ll stop being mad at the asshole when Hell becomes an arctic resort,” Angel answered, sliding out of bed. His legs felt like jelly, but he could move. He needed to piss, brush his teeth, and find his mate. “What about Bridgerton?”
Isaac chuckled, a low and evil sound. “Batiste found him last night, trying to get out of the city. He has him locked in the Tower, and Simeon Challenged him. They’re waiting for you to wake up before they go ahead with it.”
“Oh…fun,” Angel was glad they waited. “Anything else happen while I was out? I gotta piss and don’t want to do it while on the phone.”
“Gross, man.” Isaac snorted. “Everyone is alive. Your friend Nicademus and Alice went back to Montreal. Milly has your stuff. The dead enforcers, the busted enforcers still living, and the consulate staff are all gone. Building is up for sale. Council pulled out of Montreal, too. Canadians are scary as fuck when mad, man. Call me later. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Isaac hung up, and Angel tossed the phone to the bed.
He escaped to the bathroom, took care of business then wandered out to the front of the apartment. Daniel was tossing on a green and brown cloak, the fabric and design older than Daniel and Angel combined. It looked vaguely fae, and Angel smirked. “Where you off to?”
Daniel grinned, cheeks pink, adjusting the cloak on his shoulders. He actually looked really good in the old fashioned garment. “I am showing Rory the library. Then maybe some coffee on Tremont.”
“Rory, huh?”
Daniel bit his lip, dark eyes shining with more life than Angel had ever seen in them. “He’s still learning about this era. Two hundred forty odd years of catching up to do. He’s my friend, and I want to help him.”
“You feel safe with him,” Angel realized, and he remembered the way Ruairí hovered over Daniel just before the duel. “Does he carry that sword everywhere?”
“No,” Daniel said, blushing hard. The fae totally did, and Daniel found it sexy. Angel grinned.
“Have fun with Rory. I want to talk to him when he’s got time.” Angel said, and Daniel ran to the door, opening it. He felt like a parent teasing a child about a date. He didn’t think it was a date. Maybe one day.
“I’ll tell him, but he’s easy to find. He’s living in your greenhouse. Bye!” Daniel darted out of the apartment, and Angel heard him clomping down the stairs. Twenty-year-old young men were never quiet.
“What greenhouse? I have a greenhouse?” Angel mused aloud, but then he shrugged. He was too relaxed to care right now. “Thank fuck,” Angel laughed. It was almost all over, and he could finally take a moment to just exist.
Simeon chuckled from the kitchen. Milly was smirking, sipping her tea. “Hey.”
“‘Hey’, he says.” Milly sighed. “You’ve been unconscious for two days, you nearly died several times in the last week, and you say, ‘hey.’ Simeon, he’s all yours.” She gathered her purse, and Angel saw Greyson’s cane, the bespelled stone spear head, and Giselle’s tarot deck on the kitchen island. Angel spared a glance and saw his athame in its scabbard hanging by the front door. Milly patted the cane. “I called Lady Heather, said you’d be by sometime this week after sundown to talk about the cane. And Giselle is gone, left the city. The deck is yours if you want it. And if you need help figuring out what to do with the spear, let me know.”
Milly came to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She wiped away her lipstick, smiling, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I’m so glad to see you awake, my boy.” She hugged him, and Angel groaned at the rib-cracking embrace but hugged her back.
“Love you, Millicent Mildred Fontaine.”
She grumbled at him. “I love you too, you pain in the ass. I’ll see you at the office next week. I’m taking the rest of the week off for my fucking nerves.”
Angel laughed and walked her out. He shut the door, locking it.
“Hello, mo ghra,” Simeon smiled, putting down the blood unit bag he’d been sipping. He must have gotten hungry while Angel was sleeping. Angel had a feeling it took a lot of Simeon’s blood to get him back to his pre-crispy state. Simeon came over to Angel and took him in his arms. Angel wound his arms around Simeon’s neck and jumped up, wrapping his legs around Simeon’s waist.
“Kiss me then fuck me, and never let me go,” Angel demanded. Simeon smiled wide. The mate bond between them was a golden shining rope of perfection, joining them together for eternity.
“I will love you forever, mo ghra. Our love will outlast the sun,” Simeon promised, right before kissing Angel breathless.
Epilogue
Love Changes Us All
The silence was expectant. Tension rode the servants and sired vampires of Bridgerton, his people clustered together, speaking not a word and reserved. A Challenge within bloodclans was not like one of the mortal world. More than just the master could end up headless and left in the sun.
The floor was not marked off; instead the crowd was gathered in a large, irregular circle, the fight to take place with the bloodclan as witnesses. If the fight lasted long enough to place the witnesses in danger, they would get out of the way or risk injury.
The bloodclan stood around the edges of the grand ballroom, the balconies above full, the entire clan there to witness the end of one Elder at the hands of another. Bridgerton accepted a sword from one of his vampires, Ellora Sumar, who darted away once her master had it in his hand. Short of temper, and seemingly very aware he didn't have long left to enjoy his second life, Bridgerton glared and bared his fangs. He was as temperamental and pathetic as any bully about to receive his comeuppance.
“Begin,” Batiste ordered, and Bridgerton gave a desperate snarl of impotent rage, and swung his sword. There was no training in it, no thought beyond anger and the need to survive, and the inadequate skillset of an undead man who never learned to merge who he had been with what he had become. Bridgerton might be a brute, and dangerous to humans and less experienced vampires, but he was woefully unprepared for the challenge.
Simeon took one step forward, angled his body so the old pirate's sword cut through nothing but air, and lifted his own sword into a swift, decisive blow inside Bridgerton’s guard, across his throat, and followed through the blow, spinning out of the way of the gush of dark blood flowing forth.
When Bridgerton died, it was swift, anticlimactic, and clean. His head rolled across the wooden floor of the huge ballroom, eyes wide, shocked, disbelieving until the very end death was coming for him at last. His sword fell to the floor with a clang beside his body, dropped from limp fingers.
Simeon walked over to the body and drove the sword he wielded into the dead vampire’s chest, dragging the blade down. Ribs and muscles separated under the pressure. Simeon reached in and yanked out the old pirate’s heart.
It was over.
The clan erupted in cheers, vampires and humans alike applauding Simeon’s victory. He crushed the heart in his hand, black blood running down his arm, then tossed the remains to the floor.
“Simeon Ó Daimhín, First Elder and Champion, is the victor.” Batiste announced. “As victor, you may claim all the slain possessed, including his sired fledglings and donors.”
“I relinquish my claims to the spoils, my master, and offer them to you and into your safekeeping
. May those who looked to Bridgerton learn from you how a true master rules his people,” Simeon announced formally, and Batiste was surprised but graciously accepted.
Simeon looked for Angel. His mate was in the crowd, Daniel with him, Eroch on Angel’s shoulder. Angel was grinning and cheering with the crowd, his mate delightfully pleased at Bridgerton’s death. Simeon killed quickly. He didn’t play with his prey.
He passed the bloody sword to a waiting vampire, the young fledgling awed and appreciative of the honor of cleaning the blade and seeing it returned to Simeon’s suite. He only ever used the sword for Challenges since it was too precious for more frequent use. It was as old as Simeon.
He accepted a damp cloth from another fledgling and wiped down his arm, heading for his mate. Bloodclans members reached out as he passed, touching his arms and shoulders, congratulating him on winning. He nodded as graciously as he could, and eventually his people let him pass, until he stood in front of Daniel.
“He is dead, true-dead, and can never harm you again. His betrayal earned him this death sentence,” Simeon said to the young sorcerer who was pale, emotions swimming in his dark eyes. “Always mourn the loss of life but strive to realize judgment comes to all of us, and everyone must pay the price. Cleave to your friends and family, and they shall cleave to you, and you’ll always be safe.”
