The Necromancer's Dilemma (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 2)

by SJ Himes

  Simeon was within reach, and Angel could almost feel his undead mate’s presence. Simeon hummed in his space, so subtle and deep Angel could hardly distinguish the frequencies of Simeon’s energies from the beat of his own heart. The Leannán bond between them was a translucent shimmer that coiled and spun through the air, silk spun from light and energy, and Angel could see it from the corner of his eye and sometimes when he shut them, all without summoning his inner sight. Their bond was still so new, and while a thousand times stronger than it had been the first night it was forged, Angel still feared it would shatter. Simeon said it was breakable right up into the final bond was set in place, and if it was to be broken, it could only be sundered by death or…choice. Angel’s choice.

  If the bond was so powerful now, and it wasn’t complete, Angel was having trouble comprehending what it would be like once the final piece was in place. Not that he knew what that piece was, or what it meant exactly, but it was enough to make him leery.

  Angel mentally set aside that thought, and Eroch stretched around his neck before settling back down into slumber. It was an odd sensation, but a welcome one. Eroch was his familiar, and the wee beastie served as a relief valve of sorts, siphoning off excess energy that poured into Angel from the Leannán bond with Simeon. It wasn’t something Angel could stop, either. Eroch clung to him most of the time now, and Angel knew it was because the wee beastie was sensing the surge in Angel’s personal magics from the Leannán bond, and was skimming from the top of the maelstrom. Angel didn’t mind one bit—it was what a familiar was for, in many respects.

  All Angel had to do was avoid major casting, and the endless vault of power that waited within his mate existed undisturbed. He was in trouble if he was attacked, or had to do a major working—he had yet to know how the ancient death magic would react now that he was fully aware of its presence. Angel couldn’t afford to pass out again to keep himself from overloading, or destroying half the city if he sneezed.

  Angel’s fingers crinkled the edges of the paper. He resisted the urge to drop his pretense and tell Simeon. Tell him everything…but what if Simeon reacted badly? His mate said Angel was the only one who could break the bonds growing between them, and what if Simeon felt trapped? Felt used? If it was reversed, and Simeon was draining Angel of magical power, he didn’t know at all how he would react. He was torn, so deeply he hurt from just thinking about it.

  He was at a personal impasse and needed to think about his options. Protecting his lover and their bond was paramount, but it all came down to how Simeon would react if he knew. Simeon could send Angel power consciously, but seemed to be wholly unaware of the fact Angel had access to the ancient death magic that was the genesis for his existence as a vampire. Would Simeon feel used, or not care at all, generous and selfless to a fault?

  Angel knew he was being stupid, and stubborn, and he had experience with putting things off, and it never ended well.

  Simeon chuckled, and Angel relaxed. He went back to reading, but trying to focus on the words in front of him was difficult, despite his growing suspicions at the contents of the article.

  Isaac was back at the apartment, reading Angel’s Christmas present to him. Angel had gone back to Salvatore Mansion, and dug through his mother’s library until he found the tome he wanted. Their great-great-grandmother had been a fire mage, a sorceress of renowned powers who led the Salvatores during some of the deadliest years of the Blood Wars. Astoria Salvatore headed the family against the Macavoys and the now extinct Melbournes, and was one of the reasons that magical clan no longer existed. Aside from her place in history, Astoria had seen heartache and loss, and Angel hoped her trials would ease whatever haunted Isaac. Her diary spanned many years of her storied life, and was a family heirloom. He gave it to Isaac for Christmas, and he supposed it was a success when Isaac spent the day reading it. His brother read it front to back several times, and Angel felt that was some progress.

  In the weeks since Ben Stone attacked Milly, Christmas came and went, and now the town was decked out for Valentine’s Day. The troll-hybrid never made a reappearance, though Angel had some feelers out in the community, and he’d placed tracers on Milly’s apartment, geared towards those with troll blood. He would be alerted if Stone made another attempt. Milly was of the opinion that Stone was scared off, and wouldn’t be back. Angel doubted it. It made more sense that Stone was biding his time, looking for a weakness to exploit.

  Angel grumbled at the red hearts and ribbons and the ads geared towards sucking money from happy, and not-so-happy couples. Everyone, even vampires, seemed to celebrate the pseudo-holiday, and Angel found himself in the unenviable position of needing to get his lover something for Valentine’s Day. He’d never had a lover before, so he was again stuck getting presents. Maybe sex would be enough for Simeon.

  Angel went back to reading his article, one ear on the conversation at his table. Angel had begun Daniel’s reeducation, and the best place to start was with the histories of the assorted beings that made up Boston’s supernatural citizenry. No better way to learn something than from the source, and Daniel had asked Simeon if he could interview him about vampires. Pleased, Angel spent hours listening to Daniel open up to Simeon, and he loved his undead vampire lord all the more when Simeon patiently answered every one of Daniel’s questions, no matter how awkward.

  “Is it true vampires need to feed from virgins?” Daniel asked, and Angel snorted out a laugh. He kept his head down behind the paper, and bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Not true at all, Daniel. As long as our blood donor is not a practitioner, or closely related to one, we can feed from any mortal, regardless of sexual experience.”

  “I wonder how that rumor started then,” Daniel mused, and Angel heard the scratch of pencil over paper. Daniel was taking his role as apprentice very seriously, and Angel was careful not to show how endearing it was.

  “It began millennia ago, I imagine. Humans, if ill, say with any STD or other blood-borne disease, taste odd to vampires, and so we vampires as a rule tended to drink from those who were healthiest. One of the many ways to insure our food sources weren’t sick was to feed from those who hadn’t yet become sexually active, and were less likely to have diseases like syphilis, for instance.” Simeon’s reply was matter-of-fact and even, and Angel marveled at his ability to remain nonjudgmental no matter the topic. “In this modern age, with antibiotics and the medical community’s ability to treat such diseases, that precaution on our part is no longer all that necessary. The mythos still prevails though, even after all these years.”

  “How many donors do you have?” Daniel asked next, and Angel froze, highly interested in Simeon’s answer. Simeon drank from blood bag units while at home, but Angel knew realistically that Simeon drank from donors while at the Tower. It didn’t bother him, not really, since he trusted Simeon not to make it a sexual thing with his blood donors, but he still wanted to know.

  “I have none in particular that are mine,” Simeon answered, and Angel relaxed a fraction. “I had a dedicated few before I bonded to Angel, but I released them to another when I came to live with all of you at Angel’s home. If I need to feed while at the Tower, I ask for volunteers.”

  “Do you need to feed more as you age, or less?” Daniel asked hesitantly, and Angel peeked up again, curious as well. At this point he was only pretending to read the paper.

  “I need to feed every other day, and only a mouthful or two. If it’s from a living source, like a donor, I need less, and less often. Blood units sustain me for shorter periods of time, so I need to consume more of those to get by,” Simeon answered, and Angel frowned. If that was the case, then Simeon either wasn’t getting enough to eat while at home, or he was eating more at the Tower. Simeon continued, “The younger a vampire is, the more they need to feed. Fledglings need to feed twice a day, and that feeding pattern continues for the first thirty years or so, then they can
wean themselves down to once a day.”

  “So a bloodclan with a lot of fledglings needs a ton of donors, right?”

  “Yes, that’s true. Ten fledglings require a hundred blood donors if we wish to keep our donors from falling ill from repeat feedings. We hired an additional twenty when this brood rose,” and Simeon’s answer boggled Angel’s mind. They paid for blood donors? He thought it was a volunteer position, and the volunteers were rewarded with a longer life span and the possibility of being turned at the end of their service.

  Angel went back to reading the paper when the conversation veered toward the hierarchy in a vampire bloodclan. Finding his place in the article, Angel read the last half.

  In the weeks since Angel and Simeon saw O’Malley at the site of the first murder, six bodies were found. The first three were human; the next couple were wolf-hybrid mixes, and the last was a full werewolf, a young pup of about twenty or so who hadn’t been able to shift reliably yet. The previous two were considered humans, despite their publicized lineage, and the papers hadn’t made the connections yet between the human victims and the supernats killed. They were all stabbed to death, and their bodies left in semi-public areas.

  All murdered the same way. Mix of genders and ages, but all were under thirty. Ethnicities were varied as well, though species were cropping up in threes. Humans then weres? Angel imagined the local packs were warning their members stay out of town, and he didn’t blame them one bit. Whoever was killing wasn’t leaving much behind as evidence. Angel thought about it, then pulled out his cell.

  He put the paper down, and sent a text.

  We need to talk about these murders. It’s a serial killer, isn’t it? –AS

  It took ten minutes for a reply, nine of those minutes spent impatiently fuming and trying to hide it. Simeon kept sneaking glances at him, and Daniel was oblivious as he diligently took notes. Finally, he got an answer.

  How did you know? You been snooping about? –JO

  All killed the same and left in semi-public areas. First three victims were humans, now the last three werewolves/hybrids. Not coincidence. –AS

  Shit. You tell anyone? –JO

  No, but I can’t be the only one to have seen the possibilities. –AS

  Sending a car for you. Location? –JO

  Angel looked up at Daniel, thinking about it. The boy was his apprentice after all things were said and done, even if he had been skirting on the edges of treating him like a little brother instead of his student. Daniel was still wounded, pain and fear haunting the depths of his dark eyes, but there was life in him now, and he smiled more often than not.

  It was time.

  Angel texted back their location, and got a five-minute warning for a pickup.

  “O’Malley is sending a car for me,” Angel said, interrupting Daniel and Simeon. Daniel looked at him, surprised, and Simeon merely smiled, unruffled. He was probably reading over his shoulder again. “Daniel, you can go home, or you can come with me. Up to you. Simeon, you have Tower business tonight, yeah?”

  “I do, my love. A meeting with Bridgerton and Batiste. I can cancel at any time, so text if you need me. Batiste understands my priorities are first to you,” Simeon replied, and Daniel fidgeted. His apprentice sighed and closed his notebook, putting his stuff away in his backpack. Angel got up, Eroch chirping at his movement. Angel leaned down, kissing Simeon, slow and gentle. Daniel sighed again, even louder, and stood up as well, walking toward the door and waiting. Angel smiled, kissing Simeon one last time before pulling away.

  “Love you,” Angel told Simeon, who smiled at him, joy and affection plain as can be for the whole world to see. “I’ll text with details. Have fun at the Tower.”

  Simeon took his hand, and kissed the back of his knuckles. An unmarked police sedan pulled up to the curb, and Daniel waved at the car through the window in the front of the café.

  Angel grabbed his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder, adjusting his athame on his back as he met Daniel at the door. “Coming along, then?”

  “Yeah. I figure I should start pulling my own weight,” Daniel replied, pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You’ve never asked me along before. What are we doing?”

  “It’s time, kiddo. Let’s go help the cops catch a serial killer, huh?” Angel chuckled at the stunned horror on his apprentice’s face, pulling Daniel along behind him to the police car waiting at the curb.

  The precinct was loud, smelly, and chaotic. Angel followed behind the uniformed officer who’d picked them up, Daniel on his heels. They walked past several men in cuffs being led deeper into the building, and Daniel inched closer to Angel, nervously clutching the straps of his backpack. Angel smiled and pushed Daniel ahead of him, and they soon left the main entrance behind.

  O’Malley worked in the detective’s den, so called because the walls were a dark gray and the lack of windows. The large room was filled with desks, and about thirty people in rumpled suits and smelling of coffee huddled in small groups or sat at their desks, talking loudly into phones or clattering away at computer keyboards.

  O’Malley was at the far wall near a door, and their escort left when O’Malley waved him off. O’Malley nodded in greeting to Angel and gave Daniel a long, considering look. Daniel flushed and fidgeted, biting his lip. O’Malley pointed at Daniel and said with a stern frown, “No puking over crime scene photos.”

  Daniel gaped, and Angel walked past his poor apprentice with a chuckle and a wink, following O’Malley into a conference room. A long table was covered in photos, crime scene reports, and lab printouts. On the wall, pictures of the six victims, names underneath with each of their respective species in brackets. As Angel suspected, three humans and three werewolf/human hybrids. Only the last one was a full werewolf.

  Daniel eventually came in, and O’Malley shut the door with a thud behind him. Angel walked over to the crime scene photos, recognizing the street in one set as the scene he and Simeon stumbled across while shopping. It was the first, with pictures from the subsequent five murders arranged chronologically after it. He took his time, not even seeing the rivers of blood and the terror set in the murdered victims’ eyes and faces. All were stabbed, then cut open, chest cavities open to the air. Angel stopped, peered closer, and went back to the first picture, then double-checked the rest.

  “He took the hearts,” Angel said, and turned to send an inquiring look at O’Malley. “Same killer, same cuts, same MO in the body drops. Serial killer for certain, though I’m thinking blood magic of some kind since the hearts are missing and the bodies weren’t molested. There’s a macabre purpose to these killings, and it’s not psychosis or an expression of sociopathic tendencies.”

  O’Malley snorted, taking off his jacket and slinging it over the back of a chair. Daniel glanced around, eyes darting past the grisly photos, and he hovered near the door looking lost. Angel smiled, and took pity of his apprentice. For all of two seconds.

  “It took you two minutes what it took our best profilers to see in almost two months. Guess I should have called you in to begin with, huh?” O’Malley sat heavily in a chair, rubbing at his face. “It was only in the last two murders that we saw the connection. The killings were spread out across town, so different precincts caught each case.”

  “Which delayed the connecting of the murders,” Angel said, and arched a brow at O’Malley. “Thought you all had computers and the ability to connect the dots across Town now these days?”

  “Just because we can, doesn’t mean we do. Too few detectives and too little talking.”

  Angel humphed, and crooked a finger at Daniel. “Drop your stuff and come here.”

  Daniel hurriedly obeyed, and came up to Angel, beyond nervous. Angel bit back a sigh and pointed at the crime scene photos. “I’ll not ask you to look if it’s going to make you sick. If you can’t bear it, there’s no shame in it. I’m used to dead bodies,
and I know you aren’t. Think you can do this?”

  “I’ll…I’ll try.”

  “Good. Take a look, and tell me what you think,” Angel nodded at the photos, and then got out of the way, walking to stand next to O’Malley.

  “That wise? Kid looks like he wants to pass out,” O’Malley grumbled, keeping his voice low as Daniel garnered the courage to look at each set.

  “We’re about to find out, but I have a feeling he’ll be all right.”

  O’Malley grunted but said nothing, both of them watching Daniel hover over the pictures. Angel waited, patient, wondering if Daniel would see what he did. The clues were there, and if the cops had better wizards on staff, they may have caught on sooner.

  After ten minutes or so, Daniel paused, finger resting on the final picture, the young wolf murdered a couple nights past. Angel waited, hoping, and he grinned when Daniel spun, eyes wide with sudden insight. “A ritual blade! Silver-edged!”

  “Uh-huh. How do you know?” Angel coached, as Daniel went to the first picture, the human male whose bloody death Simeon had scented that evening weeks before.

  “The cuts and the slices, even the stabs all have the same shape, and the killer made the same type of injuries, but there’s a difference between the dead humans and the wolf hybrids. The wounds on the deceased wolves are seared on the edges, burnt in places where the blade lingered. Silver-edged blades would do that to the hybrids, and the burns are worse on the full-blood werewolf.”

  “How do you know it’s a ritual blade?” Angel queried, impressed but keeping his opinion to himself until Daniel was done.

  “Everyone was killed the same. Same cuts, same injuries, which I know you said already but just by looking everything really is the same. Doing the same thing over and over again means a set pattern, steps taken in order. A ritual. And the burning on the wolves killed means a silver blade of some kind, and most ritual blades are silver, or silver-edged at the least.”