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

by SJ Himes

  Daniel huddled back into the cushions, his father hovering over him, peering down at him as if he were a bug, something foreign and unfamiliar. “Won’t live with the shame. None of us will live with the shame!”

  “What shame, Father?” Daniel regretted asking the instant the words left his lips, but he had to know.

  Something was different, so drastically different. His father had been getting steadily worse over the last few months, and since he came home for his first visit after Angel took him in, his father’s condition disintegrated rapidly. Leicester refused all doctors’ treatments and resorted to tossing curses at in home nurses, and Daniel was pushed out of control by Brutus. Not that he had much control as it was, Brutus following his father’s orders no matter how mad they were, and they grew madder as the seasons went on, into years, after his mother and his father’s brothers went to prison for the mass killing of the Salvatores.

  “Salvatore whore!” his father screamed, spittle flying from his lips. Leicester vibrated in rage, eyes wide, fingers curled to claws that hovered in front of Daniel’s face. “You’re his whore! You’ve beggared our name, our blood, our magic to a Salvatore! Filth!”

  “Father!” Daniel scrambled away, trying to escape over the back of the chaise, but magic, a sickly orange and black mist rose behind where he sat, and slammed him back down. Manacles conjured from thin air grabbed his hands and legs, and he was thrown to the floor. Pain exploded through his right side, and he cried out, blood in his mouth, cheek cut from his teeth. He coughed, whimpering as broken ribs made themselves known.

  “Salvatore whore…” his father was back to whispering, fingers stabbing at the air to punctuate each word. “Traitor. We kill traitors in war.”

  They weren’t at war. The Blood Wars were over. For more than half his lifetime now, the war was ended. Yet that didn’t matter to Leicester, with his fervent whispers and maniacal gleam in his eyes.

  Daniel tried to break the shadow bonds, but Leicester countered him easily, as he always had. Insane his father may be, but he was still a potent sorcerer, battle-forged and skilled, and he had forced Daniel to obey him his whole life. Daniel sobbed into the dirty, thin carpet as the bonds tightened further, straining his joints and punishing his muscles. A long, horrible minute passed and the bonds relaxed. Daniel cried, tears staining his cheeks, stinging his eyes as dust kicked up from the ancient carpet got in his face.

  Batiste was awake, and was as far from Angel as he could get without being obvious about it. Simeon kept reaching out, touching Batiste on his shoulder or forearm, small gestures the Elder appeared to make from habit. It made Angel feel odd—not jealous, not at all, just odd. There was love there, and history, and Angel wasn’t a part of it. He was thankful Batiste had awoken in a subdued mood. Battling Batiste again was not on his agenda any time soon. That perfect façade was rumpled and dirty, but to look at the master he saw nothing but calm, icy control and authority.

  Angel yanked his boot on, thankful Isaac brought him his weather gear when he followed after Angel’s rush from the apartment. He spared Isaac a thought, hoping his little brother was all right after Batiste’s charm and kiss. Now that he wasn’t murderously enraged, Angel could admit the kiss was hot, but Isaac’s face after realizing Batiste charmed him into it had set Angel’s anger off again. He was sick of being mad, so tired of it, and yet he kept getting pissed off. He couldn’t tell if he had an anger management issue for real or if he had the worst luck ever and his anger was just a byproduct of craptastic events.

  “Well, the crime scene techs are gonna be pouring over the limo and the poor dead guy for hours,” O’Malley said, reaching down a hand and helping Angel to his feet. Angel grabbed his athame and scabbard from the icy ground. He wrapped the leather waist straps in place and moved it around until the blade fit snugly to the center of his spine and lower back. “You going to tell me why you’re covered in blood and none of it’s yours?”

  “Simeon was stabbed by a fae, remember? This is his blood.”

  “Lot of blood for the vamp to be up and walking around looking like a model from a romance book cover,” O’Malley retorted, and Angel managed his first laugh of the evening since Batiste woke up, minutes before the clan soldiers and the cops arrived. “You gonna tell me how he’s in one piece? Fucking cold out here, by the way. Man’s got no shirt on. He might be a talking corpse, but it’s still cold enough to shrivel a man’s balls in this weather. You gonna tell me exactly why he’s missing his shirt? Or anything other than the bare minimum you like parsing out?”

  “Nope,” he replied with a grin, winking at the surly detective. “And get your pervy eyes off my man, or I’m telling him you think he’s hot.”

  O’Malley humphed and chewed on a cigarette butt, but said nothing more. He had no intention of sharing the fact that Simeon drank from him and lived. That was a secret he was keeping close to his chest. Let the world assume Batiste healed Simeon of the stabbing. It was why Angel called the master to begin with.

  Angel was watching Simeon when his lover sent him a long, heated glance. Simeon did indeed look like a cover model, even covered in blood and half-naked. He’d foregone his suit jacket and shirt completely after Batiste woke up and the clan soldiers arrived. Angel smirked and enjoyed the wave of intense relief that swept through him at Simeon’s answering grin. His lover was alive—as alive as a vampire could get, at least, and Angel was never more thankful for the fact he wasn’t right all the time. If he’d waited for Batiste to arrive Simeon might well have given in to his second death.

  The vampires were making the human police officers very nervous—the Greater Boston area boasted almost five million people, stretching from southern Maine to Fall River and southern Rhode Island, and the Boston Bloodclan was the only established vampire clan in that entire population center. Several hundred vampires out of millions of humans and other, more plentiful supernats meant humans seeing vampires in person, even the police officers, was so rare it left them wary and often afraid. The police officers gave the soldiers a wide berth, their nervousness thankfully not making them react badly to the silent and unmoving sentinels along the street.

  Angel was sure he was the only human to notice a small group of soldiers that peeled off from the main group, heading in the direction Simeon indicated the fae lord and Stone went. He hoped the vampires found the bastards and ate them alive. Angel had a slim idea of what was really going on, though how Stone and this fae lord were working together left him confused. From Simeon’s description, the fae who attacked him was one of the high-class lords, the near-immortal beings once worshipped as gods by human societies a few millennia ago. What a fae lord was doing with a brute like Stone left Angel worried—and he had a feeling the murders around town were connected to all of this.

  What were the odds two vampires would be attacked in the same twenty-four-hour period, and Simeon would be taken down by a silver spelled blade, wielded by a member of a race famous for ritual sacrifices? He didn’t like stereotyping, but he also wasn’t stupid. The Universe really wasn’t big on coincidences.

  “You still willing to take on the serial killer case? Or things gonna change since your man got attacked?” O’Malley appeared bored, but Angel saw the tension along his broad shoulders.

  “I may take a couple days to deal with this, but I’m still on it. Don’t worry—takes more than an ambush attack to get us to run and hide.”

  O’Malley grinned, a slow spread across his jowly face that left Angel suspicious. “What’s that look for?”

  “You’ve been saying ‘we’ a lot lately,” the detective answered, and Angel shrugged in agreement, wondering where the older man was going with his thoughts. “Used to be you did everything alone. Kept people at arm’s length and never shared anything. Never talked about anything but the odd case we called you in for when we could. Never even knew you had something in you other than snark until you went and got
involved with Simeon.”

  “Huh. Brilliant detective work.” Angel winked to soften his snarky reply, and he looked away to the corpse the coroner and forensic tech were puttering over, cameras flashing. “Cops going to take this one over since the human died?”

  “Mayor already called while you were using the storefront as a changing room,” O’Malley pointed over to where Batiste and Simeon still stood talking quietly. “Someone from the Tower woke him and set down the rules right quick. The vamps have this one under sovereignty control as the human was one of their donors and on their payroll. We’re to provide technical support and stay out of the way.”

  “Are you going to stay out of the way?”

  “I’m not crazy enough to get involved in vampire business, no matter who was dumb enough to take them on,” the detective said, and Angel huffed out a laugh. “I’ll leave this one to you.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Angel was fairly confident that the hunting party after the fae and Stone would catch up to them soon, and that there would be little for him to do after Batiste handled them. Or Simeon, for that matter.

  Simeon broke away from the Master and walked across the street toward Angel. The way he strode over the icy cobblestones left Angel dry-mouthed and shivering, and not from the cold. Simeon came close, and Angel tipped his head back, eyes locked on Simeon’s lush lips that were curled up in a smug, predatory smile.

  “Leannán,” Simeon purred, pouring on the Irish so thick Angel’s cock perked up and pressed against the zipper. He breathed in chocolate and cool mint, a heady spice that sung of blood and copper.

  “Yeah?” Angel sighed, swaying forward.

  “I’m gonna be over here, not watching you two make out,” O’Malley grumbled, walking away. Angel saw him leave out of the corner of his eye. His hands found the smooth, cold expanse of chiseled pecs and defined muscles, and his hands explored, delighting in the healed and perfect flesh under his fingertips.

  “Shall we go home?” Simeon whispered over his lips. Angel moaned, eyes fluttering shut, and he gave zero fucks about who may be watching as he leaned forward and sank into Simeon’s kiss. Simeon’s mouth was heaven, the hard press of lips and the commanding swipe of his tongue enough to shut Angel’s brain down. Simeon broke the kiss after deepening it to X-rated levels, slowly pulling back, a fang catching on Angel’s bottom lip. He gasped, and Simeon sucked on the sore flesh, making them both groan, a hint of blood on their lips. “Take you home, show you again how much I love you.”

  “Yes, please,” Angel agreed, wanting nothing more than to wrap his legs around Simeon’s lean hips and get that rock-hard cock he could feel against his belly in his ass. “Home, now, and sex. Lots of sex.”

  Simeon chuckled, and picked him up, and Angel laughed at the shocked faces of cops and vampires alike as Simeon spun on his heel and walked off down the street, heading for home. He wrapped arms and legs around his mate, and held on, and Simeon began to run so fast the streets blurred and his head spun.

  Angel clung, one of Simeon’s big hands cupped under his ass to hold him tight. The other roamed, teasing Angel, making him gasp and press closer. It didn’t take more than a couple minutes, and they made it back to the apartment, Simeon navigating the front steps, the foyer and up the three flights to the apartment. Simeon carried him inside, mouth devouring his, and they both tore at Angel’s clothing, desperate for flesh on flesh.

  “Angie!”

  Angel ignored the annoying intrusion, hand dropping between them to get at Simeon’s waistband. “Angie! What the fuck!”

  “Not now, Isaac!” Angel hissed before diving back in for another kiss. Simeon wasn’t kissing him back though, and Angel groaned, dropping his head to Simeon’s shoulder and groaning in frustration. Simeon gently set him down on his feet and Angel scrubbed at his face, trying to get his blood flow heading north again. “What?”

  He looked up at Isaac and his brother was agitated, pale and sweaty. Eroch chirped at him from his brother’s shoulder, waving his wings. Isaac swallowed and blurted out, “Someone took Daniel. He needs you.”

  Angel paused, shocked. “What? Who took him? When?”

  “Sometime after I took off after you. His smartphone is broken and yours isn’t working, I couldn’t get past your voicemail. He left a note. Someone took him home, and he asked for you to come.”

  It took Angel a moment, and he winced as his cock finally got the message and began relaxing. His balls would never forgive him but he’d make up for it later.

  “Leicester harms one hair on Daniel’s head I’ll kill him,” Angel checked to make sure his athame hadn’t fallen in their headlong dash home. “Fuck, we only have two hours ‘til dawn.” Angel looked up in inquiry at Simeon, and his mate nodded.

  “I’ll make it just fine, my love.” Simeon pulled his smartphone out of his pocket, and Angel was glad it had survived the crash. Simeon sent a text, and then headed for the bedroom. “A new car will be here in ten minutes with blackout windows. I’m getting changed. Be ready.”

  Angel blinked at Simeon’s back, then went for his bag. “Where’s the note?”

  Isaac held a crumpled piece of paper out, his hand shaking. Eroch cooed at his little brother, rubbing his tiny snout over Isaac’s cheek. Angel took the note, trying to smile for Isaac’s sake. Angel read the few words, and swore under his breath.

  “We need to go,” Angel called out as he slung his green linen messenger bag over his shoulder, the contents knocking together in his haste. Simeon came out of the bedroom, shrugging into a dark Henley tee and buttoning the waistband of a black pair of jeans. Angel bit the inside of his cheek at the sexy sight but managed to get back on task.

  Angel turned for the door, intending to wait for the car at the curb. It would take them twenty minutes, less than that at this hour, to get to Macavoy Court in Cambridge. Angel drew up short, almost running into Isaac who was holding open the front door. Angel opened his mouth to say something, but the set of his brother’s jaw and the grim set to his mouth said he was coming, regardless of his tear-red eyes and pallor. Eroch jumped from Isaac’s shoulder and landed on Angel’s.

  The three of them exited the apartment, and Angel let the other two go ahead while he set the wards. They sprang to life with a deep hum and Angel hurried to catch up.

  Chapter Eleven

  Burning Bridges

  While the Salvatores and Macavoys had spent a few hundred years sharing Boston, very rarely did the twain ever meet. The Salvatores claimed Beacon Hill, Back Bay, South Boston, west to Brookline, east to the Cape, and all the way south to the Rhode Island border and the ferries to the islands. The Macavoys claimed the area north of the Charles River, all of Cambridge and Somerville, north to Medford. The river separated them, and for almost two-thirds of Angel’s life, the river was the line they never crossed, unless they wanted blood spilled and spells tearing apart city streets and families.

  The limo, this one with blackout windows, two vampire guards in the front and one on the rear with them, crossed the Charles and headed northwest into Cambridge. Angel instinctively tensed when he saw the signs for MIT, and the limo cruised along, the suspension taking the rough winter roads and tight corners with smooth ease. Macavoy Court was ten minutes past the campus, and Angel pressed himself back against the leather seat, vibrating. Eroch purred and chirped, winding himself around Angel’s neck and nibbling on his skin, trying to calm him. Simeon was sitting to his left, and a big hand landed on his thigh, squeezing.

  Angel gave Isaac a searching glance, but his little brother appeared unperturbed, his eyes curiously scanning the dark side streets and elegant old homes they passed. For Isaac, this wasn’t a trip into enemy territory—this was a rescue mission, in a town he’d always had the run off once he grew up. If Angel had attempted to enter Cambridge when he was eighteen, his father would have beaten the magic out of him and grounded his ass for a decade.
When Isaac was eighteen and running around town, the Wars were long over and the Town safe—well, as safe as a Salvatore could ever be in this city. It once took Angel the better part of three years to even think about crossing the territorial borders, even with the Macavoys in prison or dead, and the other allied clans decimated by police raids and exile.

  If one was to be truly technical, the Salvatores won the Blood Wars, but with only a pair of free or surviving people on each side, it wasn’t much to celebrate.

  It was an hour and half ‘til dawn, but as long as they got this handled quickly, Simeon should be fine, and if not, the limo had treated glass. Simeon and their vampire escort should be safe from the sun.

  As long as they weren’t ambushed by a troll hybrid and a fae lord. Angel doubted it—the fae lord and his minion had a hunting party after them, and would need to go to ground before they were caught, if they hadn’t been already. Simeon took down Stone by himself, so the half-dozen vamps after the duo should have an even easier time of it. While Angel wanted to know how the fae got the drop on his lover, he would wait until he reclaimed his wayward apprentice and they were safely back home. All of them.

  “How are you feeling?” Angel murmured to Simeon as the limo took one of the last turns before arriving at Macavoy Court. Less than a block now, and he tensed.

  Simeon lifted his hand from Angel’s leg and gripped the back of his neck, squeezing, chasing away the tension and nerves. He sighed quietly, trying to let go of his anxiety. He wasn’t afraid—this was just one place he never, ever, in his whole life wanted to be, much less go there purposely. He thought he could handle it fine from the safety of his own kitchen, but now he was learning how wrong he’d been.

  “I am well, mo ghra, healed and restored,” Simeon answered, leaning down and pressing a firm kiss to his temple. Angel peered back up at Simeon, looking for signs of weariness or strain, but the strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones, combined with his devastating emerald eyes and the charming slant of his lips made Angel humph grudgingly, but he could agree Simeon looked perfectly well.