by SJ Himes
“We still need to talk about what happened,” Angel stated, and Simeon gave him a small half-smile.
“We shall, I promise,” Simeon agreed, and Angel had to content himself with waiting until after the dealt with Daniel and his father.
“Any plans?” Isaac grumped from the forward side seat, squinting as he tried to see past the dark window tint and the shadows outside.
“Get Daniel and go home,” Angel said, and Simeon snorted softly in amusement.
“That’s it? Get Daniel?” Isaac asked, incredulous. “No master plan? Just walk up and knock, then?”
“Yup,” Angel replied, and despite the situation he smiled when Isaac gaped at him in dismayed shock.
“I thought Dad taught you all these combat maneuvers and battle plans and stuff,” Isaac grumped, scowling.
“Combat maneuvers and battle plans?” Angel chuckled, shaking his head. “He taught me how to survive, and how to keep others alive. Nothing more fancy than that.”
“Any suggestions on how not to die, then?” Isaac snarked back, and Angel got the first real glimpse of the Isaac from the last few years.
“Sure. Never make the first move unless it’s to save a life. Shields up, and watch your back. Never fails.”
It failed all the time, actually, but handing over fear and doubt before a conflict was the fastest way to lose. He’d never tell Isaac how many times he saw friends and family members die in conflict during the Wars. That was one part of their history he was never going to share. The Wars were over.
Isaac opened his mouth but shut it with a snap and a frown after a moment, brows making a dark slash across his brow. Angel could see his brother battling with questions he surely wanted to ask, but the limo coming to a stop on the street outside the main gates of Macavoy Court made them turn and look.
Once a grand Georgian mansion, the seat of the Macavoy clan was in disrepair and falling apart. The tall, wrought iron gates were open, and the wide stone courtyard was strewn with debris and trash. The front of the mansion was dark, though just off to the right, a dim red glow came through partially open curtains. Someone was home.
“Isaac, keep your shield ready to go, and don’t hesitate to tap the veil. Don’t do anything aggressive unless we’re met with violence. If Leicester or his servants give us any trouble, I will handle it. You’re to get Daniel out and into the limo. Our vampire friends,” Angel said, nodding to the soldiers who still sat quietly in the limo with them, “won’t be able to enter the premises without invitation. Simeon, too, but if anything goes to hell I will do my best to get it outside the building where you can help.”
Isaac was nodding, and Simeon gave Angel a slow, single nod in agreement. “Okay, let’s go knock on the door.”
Simeon held him back from exiting the limo first, but he didn’t mind as Simeon would be stuck out in the courtyard without an invitation while Angel and Isaac went in after Daniel. Angel wasn’t taking no for an answer—his apprentice was inside, and after learning about Leicester’s abuse, Angel would be damned before he let Daniel spend another hour under his father’s roof. Angel was fiercely pleased he wasn’t restricted to needing an invitation—as long as the mansion wasn’t warded he could get in.
The wind cut through his sweater, and Eroch chirped in dismay from under his collar. Angel tugged the fabric up higher and drew in an even breath, calming himself before opening his mind and inner sight to the building in front of him.
“No wards,” Angel murmured in surprise. Maybe they weren’t expected? Didn’t Leicester expect a visit from Angel once his apprentice was stolen? Rescuing Daniel was a certainty that Angel never disputed—but maybe not for everyone else?
“I don’t see any spells or shields up, either,” Isaac volunteered, and Angel agreed.
“I have no trust this is as innocent as it looks,” Angel said, and Simeon nodded, his sharp senses presumably searching the wide courtyard for dangers.
“I smell Daniel, an older practitioner, and another human male, indeterminate age,” Simeon supplied after a few deep inhalations. “I can smell blood, though it is faint.”
“Daniel’s?” Angel asked, breathing through his fear and anger.
“Perhaps, but the scent markers are dulled by distance and the wind,” Simeon said, shaking his head, auburn hair catching the light from the few street lamps. “I can hear three heartbeats though, so the boy is alive.”
“Perfect, let’s get him back. Don’t let anyone in or out except us. I don’t want company at a bad time.”
“I will be waiting for you here, my love,” Simeon answered with a quick grin. Angel gave Simeon one last look before walking across the courtyard to the front door, Isaac at his shoulder.
Daniel heard Angel’s voice, and thought he was dreaming. He’d lost track how long he’d been on the floor, struggling to breathe with what felt like some broken ribs. His grasp of his magic was sporadic, and he drifted in and out, his mind cloudy from lack of air. He wasn’t too sure how he was sprawled out on the floor, but however it was, he could barely breathe. The pressure on his ribs was too much, and he wheezed and coughed every few breaths.
Trying to break his father’s restraints while in one piece and cognizant was hard enough—Leicester was an adept practitioner, a sorcerer once feared across the entire Northeast for his strength and skill. It was only his mental state that left his power chaotic and unstable—and even then, Daniel was defenseless against it.
Angel’s voice came again, his master’s tone sharp and angry. Why was Angel angry? Daniel squirmed, trying to flip onto his side or back so he could see, but the spectral restraints holding him captive tightened and he coughed. Weakness came over him in a sick wave, and he gasped, trying to suck in enough air to hold off the darkness.
“Angel,” he whispered, black swallowing his vision.
The door opened easily enough, the foyer beyond empty and shadowed. Angel took one last look over his shoulder, Simeon standing tall and strong in the courtyard, soldiers at his side. Angel turned back to the foyer, and cautiously stepped inside.
The urge to raise a shield and pull Isaac behind him was almost too much. Angel quivered with barely restrained emotions, his nerves afire, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He felt like he was back on Boylston Street when he was sixteen, fighting off a Macavoy cousin and his pals. This was horrendously surreal, and he was having trouble wrapping his brain around it.
The Blood Wars are over. Over. Just find Daniel and go home.
The door shut with a soft sigh, cutting off the cold. Isaac shifted, twitchy, and Angel gave him a small smirk. Isaac shook himself free enough from his anxiety to glare back at him. Angel slid a hand back behind his hip and gripped the hilt of his athame, and called out, “Hello? Anyone home or is this going to be the creepy intro to a horror movie?”
Isaac made a weird sound that was a cross between a gasp and a snort, and Angel grinned in the darkness. His heart was thumping, and his senses were in overdrive. Battle-fever.
He held still when a shadow pulled away from the deeper dark, and coalesced into a man, nondescript except for the looming shoulders and heavy, thick arms. The older man was built like a tank, his body laughably confined by a suit that screamed butler. Thinking back to some old Bond movies, this man was the stereotypical henchman, except he seemed to have natural teeth and his face was free of menacing scars or eye patch.
“Mr. Salvatore, my lord is expecting you,” the bruiser rumbled out, and with the wave of one meaty paw, indicated to the right, where in any logical world a study or sitting room would be. Double doors were partially open a foot or so, the silence past them incriminating and ominous.
“How about you go first?” Angel said with a smile, showing some teeth. “I might get lost if you don’t lead the way.”
Isaac gave him a startled glance, but Angel held his smile and waited. The big man
glowered, but slowly moved over the tiled floor of the foyer, pushing open one of the doors. Angel took a few steps forward and looked inside, his jaw clenched so hard he felt his teeth creak. Angel slid his athame free, and held it out in front of Isaac, barring his brother from stepping forward to look.
“You can either step inside the room or step out the front door,” Angel gritted out, and gave the butler a stern, fierce glare. Hellfire danced in brief, firefly bursts of flame that lit the air between him and the tall, imposing man. “If you step in that room I’ll take that as an admission you’re partially responsible for why my apprentice is bound and bleeding on the dirty floor and that you’re the one who took him from my home. If you step out the front door, I won’t kill you.”
The butler was a foot taller than him at least, and easily outweighed him by fifty pounds. Yet he saw something in Angel’s eyes that made him blanche and carefully lower his arm from the door. The manservant backed away, and Angel kept one eye on him as he slowly walked to the front door, opening it and smoothly stepping out of the mansion.
Angel poked at the other door with the tip of the athame, and pushed it open fully. Daniel was bound in an elegantly wrought laqueum, a spell-trap that was used on large prey animals back when man needed to hunt their food. It later shifted into use as a booby trap, and was a favorite of feudal lords cruelly punishing those under their authority.
Like the bastard confining Daniel now. Leicester looked like hell. Wrung out, dirty, manic, and cloaked in despair and a shifty wildness that made Angel want to back away from the not-rightness of the man before him. Dressed in a faded robe and a bed gown that was threadbare and ratty, the slippers on his boney feet and the thin strands of hair on his head all combined to give Angel a prime example of what happened to evil men who went insane. Leicester stared at him, eyes alight with a feral gleam and his thin, lips and sunken cheeks were twisted into a smile that chilled him to his core.
“Hello, Leicester. I’ve come for Daniel.” Best to get things off on the right foot—his apprentice, and leaving. Fast. “Release him.”
“Angelus. I haven’t seen you since you were a boy,” Leicester said, one hand lifting up, bony fingers waggling at his spoke. His voice was a thin hissing, the words so softly spoken Angel had a hard time hearing them over Daniel’s labored breathing. “And is that Isaac? He stinks of humanity. Where is his magic? Has he none of his own? I heard he was mortal, a disgusting human spawn defiling a long revered house.”
“Fuck you!” Isaac spat out, and Angel agreed.
“Foul tongue. Will you discipline him?” Leicester asked, head tilting to the side, like a bird. A crazy as hell bird.
“I’ll pat him on the back later. Talk to me, and leave him out of this. I want Daniel, now.”
“My son.”
“My apprentice.”
“He’s a traitor. Whored himself to a Salvatore. I gave him to Deimos to make him worthy of our name, but he spreads his legs for a Salvatore instead. Traitorous brat, whoring magic and loyalty. Traitor to his name.” Leicester said it so matter-of-factly that Angel wanted to choke him. “Traitors burn in war.”
The spell erupted from Leicester so fast Angel had no time to counter. Flames screamed to life along the walls and ceiling, the dry and dusty furnishings catching faster than kindling. Angel pushed Isaac toward Daniel where he lay on the floor, and cast in the same breath. “Solvo!”
His spell raced ahead of Isaac, and silver and white shards of fractured light lacerated the spell holding Daniel. Isaac grabbed Daniel and pulled him into his lap, and Angel had enough time to see Isaac raise a shield around them both before Leicester attacked.
Angel ducked the foul spell flung at him, and Eroch leapt from his place around Angel’s neck, screaming fiercely as he flew right at Leicester’s face. The little dragon ripped into flesh and flayed open Leicester’s face along his brow, wings flapping and claws digging deep. Leicester screamed and grabbed at Eroch with both hands, tearing the dragon from his head and flinging him to the floor.
Angel shouted, a wordless challenge, and flung a spell of his own at Leicester, the athame flaring to life in green hellfire as the room filled with smoke and intense heat. Angel raised his shield as the fire roared in close, unable to see if his spell connected with Leicester or not, smoke obscuring his vision. The entire room was an inferno, and Angel fell to his knees. His shield would protect him from the heat and flames, but the lack of oxygen would kill him just as fast.
Angel knelt and was able to see past the worst of the smoke. Isaac was up on his knees, dragging Daniel behind him, the apprentice trying to help. Isaac was unaffected by the heat and flames—his affinity protecting him. Isaac could tame the flames, but he had his hands full with saving Daniel. Asking Isaac to find his peace and calm and then tame the flames would be impossible—his brother was better suited to saving Daniel first.
Angel stood and dashed ahead, pushing out his shield as far as he could, keeping the flames and smoke at bay. He coughed, air thinning, and looked for Eroch. One step, then two, and he saw a crumpled tiny green form on the floor. He swooped down and reached out through the shield, thinning it enough to grip Eroch and pull his familiar back in. Eroch squirmed, but calmed once he saw it was Angel. He stuffed Eroch into his sweater and looked for an exit.
He was turned around, unable to see where the door was. He tripped, and fell to the floor, catching himself on his elbows so he didn’t crush his dragon. Pain ricocheted up his arms, but nothing was broken. He looked back, and saw the foot and ankle he tripped over. Leicester was limp and sprawled out on the floor, face bloody and Angel was unable to see if he was even alive.
“Fuck it,” Angel swore, and reached back. He wrapped his fingers around a bony ankle, and yanked. Even malnourished and skeletal, Leicester was too heavy for him to drag like this.
Angel dropped his head, keeping his grip on Leicester’s ankle. He sucked in air, trying to calm his racing heart and focus his thoughts. The fire was close, the carpet and furnishings falling to the flames and heat. Angel let down his guard, and the ancient death magic that now lived in his core came to his call.
Kinetic magic was usually powered by the gathering of ambient energy that was then expressed as inertia. Angel rarely needed kinetic for more than adding weight behind a blow—he used the death magic instead to give himself strength. He was smaller than most men his age, and never before had he regretted the lack of stature, and he called to his magic to make up the difference. He pulled, and Leicester was no longer a dead weight. Angel pushed himself up on his knees, cradling Eroch to him with one arm while he pulled Leicester forward another foot, out of range of the encroaching flames. He couldn’t keep the shield up and get Leicester under its protection entirely—he had thinned it out so much it was nearly useless. And if Leicester wasn’t dead and came to while under a shield with Angel, he would be unable to protect himself if the old man attacked. Angel called to the magic again, and dropped his shield, pulling Leicester close enough for him to switch to one of the old man’s wrists instead.
Angel staggered to his feet, and guessed what direction to go. Walls of flame blocked his view in almost every direction. Leicester was easy to move but it was impossible to see, the heat so severe his lungs felt singed and his eyes dried out between every blink. He must have guessed wrong, as he fell against a wall. He coughed, even as he pulled Leicester closer. He sent his inner sight out through the wall, and laughed in relief when he learned the wall was exterior, the courtyard just a few feet out of reach. He looked down at the unconscious man next to him, and made a risky as hell decision. He raised a shield, a solid, vertical half-sphere of green energy between them and the rest of the room—the backdraft from an influx of oxygen would sear them alive if he didn’t.
Angel let go of Leicester, and made a fist. He summoned more magic, and sent the wave of kinetic energy ahead of his strike, punching the wall. Plaster,
wood, and stone building blocks shattered as if a giant were redecorating, and fresh air rushed over him, cold and clean. He hit again, and then again, and the hole was big enough to crawl out.
Angel tugged and shoved Leicester, pushing the man through the hole in the wall, dumping him to the stone courtyard. Angel crawled out after him, and a pair of strong hands caught him under his arms and lifted him free from the debris. He dropped his magic, and he would have fallen on his face if not for Simeon.
“Mo ghra! Angel!” Simeon lifted him upright, clutching him close. Eroch screeched, and Angel leaned back far enough to drag his battered familiar free from his sweater. Simeon picked them both up, swinging him into his arms, and carried him away from the building.
Angel looked back, and saw the big man he sent packing similarly lift Leicester and carry him away from the building, surrounded by Simeon’s soldiers. Angel could give zero fucks about whether or not Leicester was alive—he turned back around, and was happy to see Daniel sitting in the back seat of the limo, the door open, Isaac waiting anxiously a couple feet away.
“I’m never letting either one of them out of my sight ever again,” Angel said, coughing so hard he thought he might lose a lung.
“I’ll help you with that, my love,” Simeon said, gently cradling him all the way to the limo. Isaac ran over the last few steps, his fire-affinity bearing little brother pristine and soot-free, relief in his eyes.
“Eroch! Hey buddy, you okay?” Isaac cooed, reaching down and scooping Eroch up in his hands. Eroch gave a pathetic chirp and let Isaac snuggle him under his chin. Isaac walked back over to the limo, crawling in past Daniel.
“I get stuck in an inferno, rescue myself, my familiar, and the bad guy, and my brother worries about the dragon,” Angel grumbled, and Simeon chuckled. “You can put me down, I’m okay to stand for a minute.”
