by SJ Himes
“You aren’t boxed in, my love. You have all the freedom in this relationship, all the control. I swear you’re not trapped.”
“No, I’m only responsible for your mental and emotional wellbeing, and if I screw you over and turn my back on you, or if we just don’t work out long-term, I haven’t just messed with you for a few months while you get over a bad breakup—I’ve broken your heart forever. That is a huge responsibility.”
Angel found himself in the air. The room blurred, and suddenly he was standing on the far side of the room, overlooking the northern part of the city, the overcast day appearing drearier through the heavily-tinted glass. Simeon cupped his face, holding him still, eyes locked on each other.
“Is that what you fear? Hurting me?”
“Fuck, Simeon. You tell me I’m your one and only, literally, and how can I not be afraid of hurting you?”
“You won’t, a ghra. It’s not in you.”
“I suck at interpersonal relationships. My brother hates me, who by the way I need to make sure is still alive, and I have one friend. My students all think I’m an asshole, and they’d be right. I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than an exchange of top versus bottom, and I don’t know what I’m doing,” Angel said, holding onto Simeon’s wrists with both hands.
“Neither do I, Angel. I’ve never been in love before.”
“Then we’re the blind leading the blind?”
“I prefer to think of it as finding our way together.”
“I will say I told you so if this goes sideways.”
Simeon smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I have faith in us, Leannán.”
“The police are on their way up,” Simeon said, walking back to his side from where he’d been speaking quietly to Master Batiste and two other vampires, one of which was wearing the most expensive suit Angel had ever seen before in his life, and that was saying something. The other vamp had an unassuming air about him, marking him an assistant to the wealthy vamp. They had both shown up after Batiste sent Etienne away for them, the Elder not returning. “A Detective Collins and two uniformed officers.”
It took Angel a moment, but it clicked fast enough. One detective—questioning. Three cops, two of them uniformed officers for backup, meant they had either a warrant for his arrest or plausible cause to toss him in handcuffs. And if he went to jail, Angel had no doubts about how long he’d last behind bars. “They’re here to arrest me.”
“Then can try, a ghra,” Simeon said, flashing his fangs with a grim smile. “We shall see what they want first.”
“There’s a Collins leading the charge,” Angel said one eye on the door to the penthouse. The cops should be there in a few minutes. “Every encounter I’ve had with the cops in the last few weeks has gotten steadily more aggressive. I may yet walk out of here in handcuffs.”
Angel looked at Batiste, and there was no doubt the Master and the two new vamps heard every word. “Is the Master going to break his seclusion and stay, or is he leaving the establishment of my alibi to you? You’ve got the clout to back me up. You okay lying for me?”
“Lying is the least I would do for you. You did what was necessary to find the truth behind your friend’s murder. I don’t care about the legalities of human customs; I care about keeping you safe.”
A commotion broke out in the hall, voices raised through the door. Batiste straightened, the portfolio from brunch tucked up under his arm. Angel stood with Simeon along the windows just as a thick cloud cover took a firm hold over the horizon, and the lights came on in the penthouse.
The doors opened, the cops surrounded by angry vampire guards. Detective Collins was bristling with anger and annoyance, and Angel could guess it had something to do with the fact the vampires were carrying the cops’ weapons.
Angel didn’t know much about the inner structure of vampire society, but he knew enough about how vampires interacted with human society—the top two highest ranks of vampires, Elder, and Master, were considered a type of sovereign and independent authority, and few human laws pertained to them, but the ones that did were set in stone and would bring the attention of the human authorities, typically in the form of the federal government if violated. The Master and Elders then placed laws upon the clans underneath them, maintaining control and making it possible for humans and vampires to interact in their daily lives without anarchy. If a human joined a clan, then they fell under the authority of the master and the Laws of the Bloodclans and were no longer subject to human laws. There were few exceptions, and this structure was copied amongst the supernatural community—which is why the Blood Wars raged on for so long—the human casualties weren’t high enough for the human government to step in until it was too late.
Practitioners existed in the gray areas—they were human but supernatural, and the level of accountability and responsibility changed depending on the particulars of each practitioner’s situation and family. There was a Council of High Sorcery, but it was based in Europe, and they rarely looked across national boundaries unless the infraction was severe. Like raising the dead…
Detective Collins saw Angel, as if he were a compass and Angel true north—and ignored the ruckus around him, pointing.
“Salvatore! You’re coming downtown to the precinct; you’ve got some shit to answer for!”
He may not have his gun, but he still had his cuffs, and Collins pulled them off his belt and tried to get through the mess of people in the doorway. Hissing rose as the cops tried to bulldoze their way through the guards, shouting and threats rising. Things were disintegrating quickly, and Angel hadn’t even said a word yet. For once, this couldn’t be pinned on his big mouth, and he grinned, which only made Collins shout louder.
Years ago, the night Simeon and Angel met, the Elder contained the lower echelon of vampires at the Halloween party through an exercise of power Angel had never experienced before, or after. He knew it was Simeon, as it smelled, even tasted and felt like the Elder, and it was potent enough that Angel could still recall it years later. But what he felt rise in the penthouse now eclipsed Simeon’s power as a hurricane would a gentle rainfall.
Power swept across the floor, an almost tangible wave of energy that felt like the cold touch of ice and tasted like the sharp bite of hard cider, reminiscent of apples and spice and chilled orchards forced into slumber by the advent of winter. Hairs all over his body rose and his breathing stilled, and Angel froze, eyes wide. Voices cut short, and movements were aborted as Batiste made his presence known.
Collins dropped his arm and stepped back, the guards relaxing. The expression on Collins’ face made Angel snort, as he finally had a prime example of what it looked to see someone so shocked as to be called ‘shitless’. It was clear the cops had made no effort to think about who else would be present, and to Angel that was the height of stupidity—they were in vamp HQ, in the penthouse of the Tower—who else other than the Master would be present?
Collins gaped like a fish, and Angel finally couldn’t hold in his laughter. His instinct for self-preservation must be faulty as the incredulous looks he got from both the vampires in the room and Collins just made him laugh harder, bent over, hands on his knees, dissolving into giggles. Simeon put a hand on his shoulders, and Angel finally relaxed, wiping his eyes. A few weeks’ worth of stress escaped in those spare moments, and he felt better, a wide smile on his face.
“Welcome to my home,” Batiste said graciously as if Angel didn’t just have a laughing fit. The Master waved a hand, gesturing to some plush armchairs nearby. Collins awkwardly pocketed his cuffs, but he apparently realized just who he was standing in front of if the red crawling up his neck was any indication.
The cops were herded to the chairs, Collins and the two uniforms bracketed by the vampiric guards. Collins coughed into his hand, and his eyes bounced around the room, sweat gathering at his temples. “You are the, um, Master? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name…sir.”
Batiste glided acr
oss the floor, every action less human, too elegant for a mortal to pull off. Feet stayed on the floor, but he may as well have been flying for the resemblance to a human he maintained. Angel found himself transfixed, a mouse in front of snake, and he gripped Simeon’s hip, holding on. His heart jumped, and the other humans in the room were just as affected. Batiste gave Angel a single flick of his blue eyes before sitting just as graciously as he walked, and to see the effect Batiste had on humans was startling.
They couldn’t look away—and Angel was fighting the desire to stare just as hard at Batiste. Simeon’s presence at his side grounded him, and he was very grateful for it as he watched the humans fall under Batiste’s charm. Batiste sat, unbuttoning his suit jacket, leaning back and looking for all the world to be a dignified prince or esteemed CEO, elegance and power gilded in luxurious hues.
“I am Constantine Batiste, Bloodclan Master of Boston. How may I assist the finest BPD has to offer this evening?” Slick bastard served them up and had them eating out of his palm, the cops were swept under.
“I need…we are here for Salvatore,” Collins was able to get out, slow blinking. Angel couldn’t tell if Batiste was deliberately trying to charm the detective into submission or if the human just had zero resistance to the sheer power oozing off the ancient undead.
“He is right here.” Batiste gestured at Angel, who stayed exactly where he was. He didn’t trust Collins not to jump him and cuff him, and good luck keeping things from going nuclear then. “Mr. Salvatore, as a consultant for the bloodclan, has use of our lawyers,” Batiste gestured now to the well-dressed vamps standing off to the side, “Is this a matter that requires counsel?”
“A body was stolen from the city morgue last night. A murder victim’s body, one that Salvatore identified as one August Remington, former teacher of the high arts here in Boston,” Collins said, and with each word he was able to speak more clearly, his control returning, though his eyes were still locked on Batiste. “The coroner, a highly trained wizard in his own right, said it was done by a sorcerer. Magic was used during the theft.”
“My condolences on the theft, Detective. Bodysnatchers in Boston? Disturbing. And to Mr. Salvatore as well, as I understand the deceased was a friend of yours?” Batiste gave Angel a vague smile, politely cool. Angel nodded though obviously Batiste knew everything. “And why do you need to speak to Mr. Salvatore?”
“We need to verify his whereabouts—there is some concern necromancy may have been the motivation for the body theft,” Collins now broke away from Batiste’s allure and stared hard at Angel. “And he was the one to identify the body.”
“As I understand it, Detective Collins, Boston has the highest concentration of magical practitioners in New England. Some reports even place Massachusetts at the top of the list in terms of natural born practitioners for the entire country—that means there are thousands of sorcerers in this state. How does this then translate to Mr. Salvatore being involved in the theft of a murder victim’s body?”
“Like I said, we suspect necromancy. Salvatore is the only necromancer in the city.”
“And your proof of necromancy? You do have proof?” Batiste asked, smiling. There was none. Angel knew this, at least he hoped he left no clue behind, though he was certain he hadn’t.
Collins was quiet, eyes darting between where Angel stood half in Simeon’s embrace and Batiste. “Last night, witnesses placed Salvatore and an unknown man leaving his apartment on foot, heading in the direction of the city morgue. The unknown individual’s description fits the man…umm, vampire, standing with Salvatore now.”
“Yes, he was in the company of Elder Simeon,” Batiste said, lip curling up in a charming grin that revealed a hint of fang. The detective gulped. “They were on a…what is the word humans use these days? A date? The bloodclan limo picked them up at the Commons after their walk.”
“And what time was that?” Collins demanded.
“Just after sunset I believe. They then came here.”
Angel and Simeon broke in about two hours after sunset. They may have seen him leave his place after sunset, but they hadn’t managed to follow him to the morgue. Simeon would have sensed the cops stalking them through the city streets. Humans weren’t capable of that level of stealth against a vampire. If Batiste maintained their alibi, then the break-in couldn’t be pinned on them. Angel held still, face blank, waiting.
“Were they here the whole night?”
“I cannot ascertain that personally. Simeon, my child?”
“Yes, Master?” Simeon replied, the sexy rumble of his voice not just affecting Angel but Collins as well. The detective gave an infinitesimal shiver, and Angel bit back a grin. Simeon tended to make people want him, no matter their persuasion.
“Were you and Mr. Salvatore here all night?”
“Yes, Master. We spent the night in my suite.” Simeon sounded smug as fuck and deeply satisfied, and Angel actually blushed at the heat in the Elder’s words. He leaned into Simeon, rubbing his hands up the Elder’s chest and shoulders, relaxing even as he burned with need. Simeon gave him a smile and a kiss, giving their audience an example of their middle of the night activities.
“So rude to inquire, my apologies, my child. And I had breakfast with the pair this morning just after dawn. Is that sufficient to satisfy your questions?” Batiste asked Collins.
Detective Collins knew he was getting played. He may be distracted by Batiste and Simeon’s sexy undead vibe they both were rocking, but the cop wasn’t completely fooled.
“I still need to question Salvatore. A body is missing.”
“And that body is one of a murder victim, who, from descriptions provided by Mr. Salvatore as he was the man who found the body, was slain by a vampire. Slain as any would be when they are not palatable to our kind. Yet I don’t see you inquiring after the whereabouts of my children when this poor man was slain. You come in here asking about his body, when the poor soul is past all caring what happens to his earthly remains. Why are you not asking me to provide proof of my whereabouts when August Remington was killed? Or any of my children, for that matter? No need,” Batiste said, standing abruptly, making the humans jerk in alarm. “There is no need for you to ask where the members of my bloodclan were the other day during the murder, as they were all here and accounted for.”
Batiste wasn’t done. The portfolio, which he’d had all morning, suddenly landed in Collins’ lap, the detective reflexively grabbing at it to keep it from spilling. Batiste stood over Collins, predatory and cold. “In that file are six murders. Committed by a rogue vampire, one that BPD has done nothing to find. All mentions of the killings have been kept from the press. Family members would be up in arms if not for threats from BPD to remain quiet about the killings. In the last two weeks, six people are dead, and just as many are missing from the deceased individuals’ families. The victims were fed upon, killed, and then a family member was taken from the murder sites. Those taken were all young, healthy and without heavy emotional entanglements such as spouses or lovers.”
Collins gaped. Angel was shocked.
Anger kindled in his heart. Indignation, disbelief, righteous fury—he felt it all. There was a rogue, most likely Deimos—since the odds of two vampires going about killing people in one city ruled by an omnipotent a leader as Batiste made that scenario unlikely—and the cops were literally doing nothing. Nothing at all to stop it. The corruption in the room was enough to make Angel sick to his stomach.
“There is a rogue in Boston. A rogue that is siring fledglings,” Angel growled out, taking a step from Simeon’s side. He was so enraged he was shaking. “That’s the behavior of a rogue vampire siring new baby vamps. Gorge themselves just before they sire a new vamp. That’s why there are people missing from each murder scene! There is a rogue vamp in this city and you aren’t trying to stop it!”
Simeon grabbed him about the shoulders, holding him back. Batiste nodded, looming still over the cops. “There is indeed a rogue in this
city. He or she may be siring newborns. And they will have no control. They will kill indiscriminately once they rise. More humans will be killed. I will not have my city descend into madness, turning the populace against my bloodclan, which is what will happen.”
Collins sputtered, but nothing came out. Batiste reached down, and yanked the detective to his feet, making him clutch the portfolio. Batiste leaned in and spoke quietly in Collins’ ear though Angel could hear him clearly.
“You come here on a literal witch-hunt. You come for my necromancer, and do so contrary to your sworn duty. No proof but hatred fueled by old prejudices that should have died in the Wars. Someone is trying to kill Angelus, yet you seek to throw him behind bars where he would surely die,” Batiste stalked Collins back towards the door, driving the cops ahead of him. “A rogue hunts the streets of Boston, killing and turning innocents by force. The police do nothing, and those who would do something are silenced. If the police do not act, I will. Under my authority as Master of this city, I have hired Mr. Salvatore to find the rogue and bring him to justice, whether by blade, sorcery, or death at my hands. Any attempt to stop him will be treated as an act of aggression on the part of BPD.”
Batiste paused and gave Collins such a feral smile that the detective paled whiter than a corpse.
“The Mayor is attending my gala tonight, and I will be discussing the matter with him, so it is in your best interests to get to work.”
Batiste, with the guards at his side, all but chased the police from the room, the doors closing.
“Get out, and resume your sworn duties.”
The door shut.
Chapter Ten
Unexpected Festivities
“I’m your what, again?” Angel asked, sitting on Simeon’s bed, watching as the vampire removed his shirt, fingers flying over the buttons. Pants quickly joined the shirt on the floor, and Simeon prowled toward the bed.
