by SJ Himes
His family, all of them but for Isaac, were dead. Their bodies burned to prevent their enemies from using their remains in spells and stealing their magic, and the ashes were scattered on the holy ground of King’s Chapel. His parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts. His few cousins, too. All of them dead in an attack that left the Salvatore Mansion a ruin and then spilled out into the streets, leaving bodies of vampires and sorcerers alike littering the ground like leaves. Over a hundred undead had been sent for the Salvatore Clan, and he and his family had cut them all down…but not before the greatest of losses.
Only Angel and Isaac survived.
Angel’s body seized up, and curled in on itself, as if covering a mortal wound. He clung to the fence, the only thing keeping him upright as memories clamored to be heard, and garish visions of loved ones torn to pieces of bloody meat danced across the inside of his eyelids.
He let one sob escape before he bit his lip, tasting blood, staying conscious against the incipient panic attack that threatened to sweep him under. He breathed through the pain and regret, the terror and the horrible, devastating grief that haunted him every time he was weak and let it under his guard. Angel went through his days as if the past was only that, gone forever and forgettable. If he dwelled on the agony of his loss, he would never get back up.
If not for Isaac needing him, depending on him, Angel may well have joined his family after that horrific night. Angel might have ended the Blood Wars in a terrifying display of death magic, but his efforts came too late. No wonder Isaac wanted nothing to do with him. Who would want to be around the person who let his whole family die? Now that he was grown and on his own, maybe dealing with Angel was too much for Isaac to stomach.
He let go of the fence, dropping to his knees. The wet pavement instantly chilled him, but he was beyond caring. Angel stared through the iron, the ground covered with a thin layer of fresh snow. It covered the markers of people long dead, no one left to remember them or mourn.
Chapter Five
Mourning Sickness
The half-finished arcs made by the youngsters’ shields meshed for a heartbeat before cracking and falling apart in a burst of light and smoke, ozone filling the heavily warded workroom.
Angel hit a switch on the wall next to him, and fans circulated in fresh air from the vents in the ceiling. Milly sent him a look that on the surface that was calm and controlled, but Angel saw the frustration under the mask. Two weeks now they’d been teaching defensive shield theory to the Serfano kids, and today’s practical lesson was a failure. Not unusual, but it was with these two—both bright, strong academic backgrounds, and quick studies, Samuel and Mark Serfano were twenty and twenty-one respectively, and had both graduated from the Hollingsbrook Academy with high marks. They shouldn’t be having such trouble in melding magics. It was common curriculum for students to meld magic with each other and instructors, and happened routinely in courses throughout a student’s time in the practitioner’s academies. And as brothers, their magic was similar and should meld easily.
Should—but it wasn’t happening.
Angel pushed off from the wall he was leaning on and walked into the center of the room, knocking down the reforming fledgling shields with a negligent wave of his hand and a minor expenditure of power. The eldest brother, Mark, glared at him from beneath heavy brows, and Angel thought for an inappropriate second that a face like his was the same as every bully Angel faced growing up. While Mark was intelligent, he was also spoiled and self-centered, and any lack of success on his part was a result of bad teaching instead of his inability to bend his pride and say he needed help learning.
Samuel, the younger brother by a year, was quiet, and reminded Angel of Isaac as a teenager. Before the attitude and simmering resentment, at least. Where Mark led, Samuel followed, and Angel had a feeling that Samuel understood the basics but refused to show his brother up, and let his half of the shield work collapse when he saw his brother struggling.
“This isn’t working,” Mark complained, dark eyes and wrinkled brow teeming with what Angel imagined was embarrassment behind bruised pride. “Why should a sorcerer learn to meld shields with another anyway? I thought the higher ranks didn’t need to combine magics like this—this is witch-ranked stuff for weaker practitioners.”
“Mark, come on…” Samuel started, but his brother shot him a glance and Samuel snapped his mouth shut.
Milly sighed, and pushed away from her position on the far wall opposite Angel. The floor between them, where Samuel and Mark stood, was heavily warded, and overlapping concentric circles of varying sizes were burned into the wood floor, shimmering in the overhead lights and the sun pouring in through the skylight.
“Mr. Serfano, every sorcerer learns how to meld magic, whether it be with blood relations like your brother, or a perfect stranger they’ve just met,” Milly stated as she daintily picked her way over the black and iridescent lines that hummed with energy, even powered down. “While blending magic is indeed a common practice among the lower ranks of practitioners when they need to increase their power base, the joining of shields is a crucial skill that can one day save your life. Not all dangers in this world are seen from afar, and not all confrontations with magic are handled on a field of honor between single combatants.”
“And joining shields is the most basic of skills, and the one most likely to save your life. Instead of having to tap into the veil and drawing attention to yourself, you can meld magics and shield yourself and your companion faster if you know how to meld your magics with another sorcerer. If an enemy is as powerful as you are, or even more so, tapping into the veil can create a surge that he or she can detect, giving away your position.” Angel spoke without much hope of Mark truly grasping the necessity of learning the defensive spells of shield work. He was temperamental and aggressive, only putting his best efforts into the offensive arts. One day that lack of study could be his undoing.
“Enemy? Giving away my position? The Blood Wars are over, Salvatore. No one’s fighting anymore, everyone is dead. This is stupid,” Mark blurted, crossing his arms over his beefy chest and almost pouting. “And speaking of the Wars, I’d rather learn how to beat someone in a battle, but that’s never gonna happen here. Fucking waste of time. I bet you won on a fucking fluke. Stroke of luck.”
Angel tensed at the mention to the Wars, and Milly and Samuel both sent Mark a nasty glare. Angel mentally brushed off the young man’s attempt to rile him, instead keeping his face a blank slate. Mark glowered when his remark fell flat, and Angel turned away before his lips could quirk up in a small smile. Milly saw though, and he could see her relief that Mark’s barb missed its mark.
Long practice teaching told him when things started to get nasty, end the lesson and pick it up after a break. He needed to step back, for his sake and theirs. Years of teaching together gave Milly the impeccable ability to read him, and she nodded when he tilted his head at the door.
“Let’s pick this up next week,” Milly said as Angel went to the door, opening it. Fresh air rolled in from the rest of the suite, taking away the scent of ozone and attitude. Samuel looked like he wanted to argue, but Mark wasted no time in escaping the workroom and heading for the closet where their gear was stored. Milly escorted Samuel past Angel, and Angel gave the younger man a sincere goodbye before Milly walked the boys out.
Angel left behind the workroom, heading for the office he and Milly shared that overlooked the street below. It was late afternoon now, and Angel wanted to head home. He heard the door shut behind the brothers, and Milly’s heels on the hardwood as she headed his direction. Angel had time to find his chair and kick back before Millicent sweep in majestically, radiating tension and aggravation.
“Maybe we need to let Mark go as a student,” she said, working around to take a seat at her desk, his and hers facing each other from either side of the room, their backs to the walls and a wide space between them covered by a thick rug and several chairs for guests and prospective stu
dents. “At this point in his development, he won’t change his thoughts or attitude unless something drastic happens. Samuel is leaps and bounds ahead of his brother, and is handicapping his own progress so as not to show up Mark. That isn’t good, for either of them.”
“You read my mind, Millicent,” Angel said, dropping his head back and staring at the ceiling. He was so tired. “Samuel would do better without Mark’s influence, but that won’t happen unless he wants it enough.”
“Perhaps we can call them in for different sessions? Alone, so Samuel can grow into his full potential and Mark can try and pull his head out of his ass?”
Angel cracked out a surprised laugh, looking at his friend, Millicent’s guileless expression enough to make him shake his head. He felt a bit better, though he was still tired as hell. He thought longingly of his bed and soft pillows, though sleeping in his bed would have to wait. He needed a new one after the demon’s attack, and the couch was slowly killing him.
“Give it a few days and call Samuel, see if he’ll go for it,” Angel said, and Milly nodded in agreement. “Their parents are paying an obscene amount of money for lessons, it won’t matter really if the boys are taught together or separately.”
Angel reached for his keys and cell, the device left on his desk so the magical energies in the workroom didn’t fry it. He checked his messages, but there was nothing. Isaac only contacted him for bail or a ride home, and it seemed a certain Elder was deciding it was prudent to avoid him. He might get to enjoy his undead existence longer if he stayed away from Angel. He rubbed a hand over his heart as a soft pang of regret echoed at that thought.
“Has anything happened since the demon’s attack?” Milly asked suddenly, and she fiddled with the immaculate surface of her desk, adjusting a neat row of pens with slim, manicured fingertips.
“Not a blessed thing,” Angel said, “Did you see if I suddenly had an arch enemy sprout from the list of the rejected students?”
“You are so funny,” Milly retorted, and Angel smiled, standing. It was time to go home. He wanted something to eat, and a pillow under his head. The couch would do for another night. “I couldn’t find the name from that one young man who you turned away months ago. Do you recall anything about him in particular?”
“He was rude and arrogant,” Angel said, pocketing his stuff and walking for the door, Milly standing and following him out. “Not unattractive, but nothing that makes him stick out in my mind. Young, twenty or so, blond, and swore at me when I ordered him out of the office after he got too nosy about…well, you know.”
The young man had asked after the night Angel’s family died, and the spell Angel cast to strike down the undead that killed his loved ones. Though it was years since someone asked him point blank to his face about what happened that night, the avid and callous nature of the curious still left him bitter and angry. Of course, with the way Mark Serfano was acting lately, that idiot was probably gearing up to ask about it as well. Nothing appealed more to belligerent people than spells of mass destruction. If Mark asked, Angel would cut him loose as a student and hope Samuel stayed.
“That’s almost every student we’ve had the last few years,” Milly stated, and Angel would have to agree. Milly thankfully, and with more kindness than most people credited her with, didn’t touch on the topic of his family. She knew enough of what happened that night to leave it all well enough alone. “Most of the magical families have ill-behavior and arrogance bred into their bones.”
“No argument from me,” Angel agreed, thinking briefly of his own heritage. The older and more powerful the family, the more arrogant and insufferable they became. Though his had redeemable members…. before they all died.
“Did you do as I asked? You got some sleep?” Milly said as they walked to the front of the suite, collecting their coats from the closet. Milly hit the light switches, darkening the space as Angel got his keys.
“Eventually,” Angel said, opening the door and holding it for Milly, the small landing right outside their door barely large enough for the both of them to stand. He locked the door, and was about to make up a spectacular lie about going to sleep and not gallivanting about town when Milly let lose a shrill scream.
Angel grabbed at Milly, yanking her behind him so she stood between him and the wall. A shield rose in front of him, his instincts coming to the fore, a shimmering wall of glass-like energy that coursed with thin green rivers. He slammed it forward, making space between where they stood and figure on the stairs.
The stairs were shadowed and quiet; no breathing, no words, just his pounding heart and Milly’s startled gasps.
And the sound of blood dripping.
He knew that sound; hard not to, even a decade later. Blood splat with a particular cadence, a lazy roll of patters and drops that crept into his nightmares.
Angel eyed the figure in the dark stairwell, and there was no movement. “Angel?” Milly whispered, clutching at the back of his coat with one hand, trying to peer around him.
“Milly, call 911,” Angel ordered, straightening from the protective stance he’d fallen into when he pulled Milly behind him. He poured more power into his shield, and green hellfire illuminated the walls and steps. “And an ambulance, but I think it’s too late for that.”
The body leaning against the wall on the lower landing a dozen steps down was covered in blood, which made sense since it was torn to shreds. Angel would guess it was a man, going by the remains of the clothing and the size of the body, but he couldn’t tell much beyond that. Blood, fresh and dripping in small waterfalls, pooled and eddied on the landing, running in a cascade down the turn on the landing to the next set of stairs. Angel couldn’t see past the ninety-degree turn in the stairs, and whoever left the body there could be right around the corner.
Milly had her cell out, and she was talking to the dispatcher, giving their address and describing the situation. Angel was about to suggest they go back inside to wait for the police when he heard what sounded like movement on the stairs. If he were alone Angel would have run down the stairs and confronted whoever was leaving freshly killed corpses on his stairs, but Milly’s presence reined him in.
His shield snapped and thrummed with power as Angel tapped into the veil, augmenting his own reserves, and he kept his eyes on the stairs and the body as he walked backwards, herding Milly back inside the suite. The sound came again, and Angel held a hand up, silencing Milly.
A sigh, a sliding susurration of hissing air….and Angel knew that sound. Like blood dripping from a body, Angel would never forget the sound of a hunting vampire. It was the kind of sound that made prey break cover and run, only to get caught in the open and eaten. Another hiss and a mocking chuckle drifted up the stairs, and Angel could hear the taunting challenge in the rasping laugh.
“Do you dare, Angelus?” Words spun out from the hiss, barely decipherable, and Angel tensed as understanding flooded him.
He was being taunted. A person was dead and laid out like a tossed gauntlet, and the monster on his stairs was laughing. It was still daylight, though the light was waning, but it was dark in the staircase, no sunlight whatsoever. It must have snuck in through the back alley, a narrow strip of cement that never got any sunlight, the shadows deep enough to provide cover. A car parked at the mouth of the alley would be under cover of deep shade as well.
Vowing to have skylights put into the stairwell ceiling as soon as possible, Angel held his ground as the monster’s words finally sank in.
“Do you dare? Come face me, necromancer.”
Rage unlike anything he’d ever felt before swelled up from his center, and Angel took a step forward before caution could pull him back from the edge of recklessness. He wasn’t alone—Milly was here, and while she was formidable and skilled, she had never been in combat with a vampire before, and her last duel was over twenty years ago. Milly caught him by the arm, and he would have shrugged her off, but the steely determination on her face and the fear behind it cooled his fur
y. Angel swore under his breath, and took a step back, leaving his shield active, barring the unknown predator out in the hall. Milly dragged him backwards, and she grabbed his keys from his hand and unlocked the door, and yanked him into the suite, slamming the door and clicking the lock.
It was hard to hold onto his patience, but Milly’s arm around his waist kept Angel from tearing into the uniform police officer taking their statements. Angel knew it was routine procedure to separate witnesses, but he must be pouring off more energy than he was aware, since everyone was giving him a wide berth and he was getting wide-eyed stares and was hearing cautious whispers from the milling crowd.
They were on the street in front of the University Bookstore, and their offices were on the top floor of the building. It was a redo of the other morning, cop cars and ambulance and forensic techs running around, plainclothes detectives drinking coffee and directing the uniformed personnel. Except it was evening now, and twilight was slipping away into the dark of night. Angel was exhausted again, but his collared rage was fueling him enough to keep his senses on high alert and his magic writhing like a caged beast under his skin. Traffic was blocked at either end of the street, yellow crime scene tape and the coroner’s van in Angel’s line of sight. A gurney was being wheeled down off the curb, frame squeaking as it headed to the transport, a black body bag weighing it down.
Angel shifted, and Milly tightened her grip on him, as if she was afraid he would spontaneously combust and destroy the whole street. He was barely holding on to his temper, and the snide attitude of the sergeant taking their statements wasn’t helping.
“So what did the voice say again?” The sergeant asked, brows raised as he stood with arms crossed, hip cocked out, pompous attitude rolling off him in waves. Angel narrowed his eyes, and drew in a breath, preparing to verbally flay the jackass when Milly answered for him.
“The vampire said, ‘Do you dare’,” she stated calmly, “it used his birth-name, and that’s all it said before we went back inside and locked the door. The lot of you showed up two minutes later.”
