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

by SJ Himes

  This column too had words carved into the details. He tried deciphering them, but the alphabet was wholly foreign to his experience and he couldn’t figure it out. “Fae language, maybe?”

  Eroch chirped at him, the little dragon confused as well. Eroch made no move to leave his shoulder and explore, and Angel couldn’t blame him. The columns were beautiful, but the room was cool, the atmosphere chilling and somehow sterile.

  It felt lifeless.

  “Angel.” Simeon’s voice echoed off the walls, his lover sounding far more distant than he was. Angel jogged towards the call, and he passed nearly all of the columns before he came to the end of the room—

  It wasn’t the end.

  A long, low dais about twelve feet long and three feet high was near the far end of the room. The wall, about twenty feet beyond the dais, was crumbling in, large stone blocks tumbled about like children’s toys. Roots grew through the broken wall, a whole mass of them, as thick about as Angel’s waist and dark brown in color. Thousands of offshoots and minor roots sprawled across the wall, ceiling, floor, the longest of which touched the dais, and the object on top.

  Simeon came out from the shadows, startling Angel. Simeon put a hand on his shoulder, and pointed to the dais. “What magic is this?”

  “Dear Hecate, fuck me,” Angel breathed, eyes wide, heart pounding. “Is that a coffin?”

  Shaped like a coffin, the glass box was longer than it was tall, the planes grimy, shadowed, but clear enough Angel could see that it was occupied. Angel summoned the hellfire sun, and set it to glow above the box. “It’s a coffin.”

  “I can’t smell death. Maybe a very old body?” Simeon asked, stepping forward. Angel grabbed his elbow and tugged, shaking his head.

  “Don’t step any closer.” Angel pointed to the floor, and the runes etched into the stones made his pulse race. “I may not be able to read the language on the columns but those runes are clear enough. Anyone who steps in there is at risk of being affected by the stasis spell.”

  “Stasis?” Simeon backed away, and gave Angel an incredulous look. “What’s a stasis spell and who’s in the box?”

  Angel looked down at the runes, noting the age and the style of the carved symbols. They were old, older than anything he’d seen still in use, except for the runes maintaining the wards at the Tower. Those were two centuries old, at the minimum, placing them around the era of the Revolution. These runes appeared similar in presentation.

  “Angel?”

  “Give me a few minutes,” he replied, distracted. “Make sure we aren’t ambushed.”

  Simeon grumbled at him, but walked away, calling to his hellhound. Eroch sat on his shoulder, tiny head tilting and twisting as he peered at the glass coffin on the dais. He made no move to leave his shoulder, which Angel was thankful for. Whoever cast the stasis spell knew dark magic, ancient spells of which their only purpose was torture and misery.

  Angel walked around the dais, careful with each placement of his feet, not wanting to step on a rune hidden by root or dirt from the collapsed wall. Some of the roots were as large as tree themselves, and the smallest made nets of pale cream tendrils across the stone dais. The thinnest of the roots just touched the glass of the coffin, as if it had taken them centuries to grow that far and only just made it.

  The top of the coffin, covered by dust set to grime, clouded the planes of glass and rendered the occupant impossible to discern. The coffin appeared to be sealed, unopened since it was placed. There was a dark smear across the top, and the closer Angel got, the more his stomach wanted to turn over.

  “Fuck.”

  “My love?” Simeon appeared out of the shadows, concern on his handsome features.

  “There’s burnt and rotting bits of flesh on the top of the coffin,” Angel said, wanting to spit as the odor that arose from the mess filled his sinuses. “I think we found where the hearts were going.”

  “So the fae lord and Stone are the serial killers?”

  “I’m pretty damn sure at this point,” Angel confirmed, kicking aside some roots to look at the runes beneath. “I have a theory, and it’s crazy, but so is finding a creepy Snow White under the city in a fae temple.”

  “We’re alone for now, my love. The hellhound hasn’t picked up a new trail yet. He keeps coming back to the roots and the coffin when I ask him to track.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe he needs another hit off the scent scrap.”

  “Perhaps. What was your theory?”

  Angel pulled his bag off, mindful of Eroch on his shoulder, and put it down next to a big root. Angel jumped over a mess of roots, getting closer to the outer band of runes. “These runes are for a stasis spell. Stasis spells are proscribed, forbidden, just like the resurrection spell I used on August. It’s dark magic, death magic, but this spell wasn’t cast by a necromancer. This sorcerer was talented, knew the runes and incantations, but not a necromancer.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because I can access it,” Angel said, and let his own death magic loose.

  The runes lit up, golden symbols that blazed like bonfires, before cooling to subtle embers of light. “If a necromancer cast this, it would be locked to him or her, and I wouldn’t be able to take it over so easily.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Not really, but if I want to know what’s in the coffin, I need to,” Angel replied, and with a shrug, stepped inside the stasis field.

  “Angel!”

  Angel held up a hand, stopping Simeon from crossing the runes. He waited, and the spell remained stable, the runes waiting. “I’m fine, I promise.”

  “Your recklessness will drive me to an early grave, a ghra,” Simeon muttered, glaring at him, arms crossed.

  “Pfft,” Angel smiled back. “You’ll outlive me.”

  “I’d rather not, thank you,” Simeon retorted, still scowling. “What are you doing now?”

  “Getting a closer look at our mystery host.”

  Simeon muttered something in Irish that sounded like swearing, and Angel winked at his mate.

  The spell still stable, Angel strode to the dais, climbing up on it next to the coffin. Nose wrinkling in distaste at the decaying mess, Angel leaned over, and wiped the glass above where the head should be. Blinking in surprise, Angel sat back, took a moment, then looked again, longer this time.

  “My god, he’s gorgeous,” Angel murmured, shocked and pleased.

  “He?”

  “Simeon, there’s another fae in here.” Angel sent a flash of fire over the rotting organic crap on top of the coffin, burning it to ash instantly. He wiped it away, and eventually the glass was clean enough to see the fae, from head to waist.

  So perfectly preserved he may have been sleeping, dressed in garments that reminded Angel of paintings from the Revolution. The light cream shirt he wore was open at the throat, pulled back to expose a muscled chest and a lean build. And the gaping wound over his heart.

  “That’s why he’s in stasis,” Angel murmured, looking up at the roots spilling from the wall, to the tiny tendrils just touching the coffin. “They were trying to save you.”

  Angel looked up at Simeon, and explained. “He suffered a mortal blow. There’s what appears to be a sword wound to his chest, and it damaged his heart. I know some fae are so hard to kill they may be considered immortal, but I think a blow like this to the heart would be enough to stop one. The stasis spell was primarily used as imprisonment, for captives and hostages, rendering the person inside perpetually frozen in all ways. But they aren’t meant to be permanent—the spirit of the person in stasis is left in limbo, hovering between this world and the next, deprived of sensation, emotions, thoughts. It was once used as a means of torture—anyone woken from a stasis spell would find themselves very willing to cooperate with their captors.”

  Angel stood, and jumped from the dais, crossing the ru
nes again with a flash of golden light. He picked up his bag, and carried it over to Simeon.

  Angel put down his bag, and faced the whole dais, the collapsed wall behind it in perfect view. He pointed to the roots, following them down to the dais. “A stasis spell lasts until the sorcerer who cast it releases it, or it runs out of power on its own. Usually that’s after a few weeks. Never have I heard of a stasis spell that lasted longer than that without it being shut down, and recast.”

  Simeon smiled at him, tugging him close and pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re so happy discussing horrible things, my love.”

  “Funny.” Angel poked Simeon in the side, and continued explaining. “The roots served as a time fuse of sorts. The stasis spell was set, and the roots were drawn to the coffin. When the roots reached the coffin, that was a signal that the spell was failing. In this case, once the spell fails, the fae inside will die, unless he was healed in time.”

  “How did the sorcerer who cast it make the spell last so long? Those roots have been growing for hundreds of years,” Simeon mused. “And you said he wasn’t a necromancer? How then has it lasted this long?”

  Angel was about to answer, but another beat him to it.

  “I slit his throat, and his sacrifice powered the spell, vampire,” a beautiful, accented voice said, and the roots within the wall writhed and split, cracking like kindling.

  A door, shadowed and dark, opened inside the roots. A pale hand appeared, wrist covered in gray leather.

  Simeon crouched in front of him, a shriek of bloodcurdling decibels coming from his fanged mouth. The hellhound barked, appearing from the shadows, sliding to a halt in front of Angel and Simeon, its hackles raised and head down, teeth bared.

  The fae stepped out from the hole in the roots, green hair slipping in a long braid from his shoulders. His other hand held a mass of flesh, dark blood dripping from the sundered heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brotherly Love

  Angel raised a shield, surrounding him and Simeon, the hellhound just outside the barrier. The beast would be fine—it couldn’t be hurt. The shield burned hellfire green, clear as lightly colored glass and impenetrable. The fae lord gave him a lovely smile and a nod, as if greeting him on the street, calm and collected, an immune to the discordant image he presented—beautiful and bloodied.

  Simeon stayed crouched, and Angel cautiously put a hand on his mate’s shoulder. He rubbed, hoping to soothe Simeon back from the edge of his hunting rage. He needed a thinking, wise Elder in this moment—the time for the apex predator might be needed, but not yet.

  “Greetings, Elder Simeon. I am Cian Brennan,” the fae offered with a sweet, short bow, an elegant motion that brought to mind dancing. The words, polite and endearing, cut through Simeon’s rage and made him shudder under Angel’s hand. Simeon stood, but kept an arm in front of Angel, despite them being safe behind his shield. “It is a pleasure to see you again, and whole.”

  “No thanks to you,” Angel shot back, pissed off. “You gutted him like a deer and left him to die.”

  The fae, Cian, jumped gracefully from the roots, walking across the expanse of floor and net of roots, stopping on the other side of the dais directly across from them. He placed the bloody heart on the coffin, amusement crossing his features as he took in the cleaned glass. He smiled down at the figure in the coffin, and Angel sucked in a breath.

  Twins. Cian and the fae in the coffin were twins.

  “Elder Simeon appears whole and unharmed.” The fae replied, his smile sweet, beautiful. Angel’s heart tripped at the perfection, his breath stuttering. “Did Constantine get to him in time, or perhaps you healed him? I heard such things were possible, when a vampire bonded with a practitioner.”

  “My mate restored me to health,” Simeon said, his words carrying a hissing undertone.

  “Congratulations,” Cian said in turn. “Your bonds are complete, then. A blessing upon you both.”

  “This is creepy as fuck,” Angel interrupted. “Can we get back to the fact you’ve been killing people for the last few months so you can resurrect your almost-dead brother?”

  Cian’s face went blank. His eyes, a mercurial mix of gray and blue, pulsed with an inner light. Magic moved in the temple, and Eroch hissed quietly in Angel’s ear. Cian’s eyes flicked to the tiny dragon, widening a fraction, the only response Angel could see in the fae.

  “How do you know what I intend?” Cian asked, words flat, sharp. He looked down at the runes, which still glowed, and he made a soft sigh, as if he’d just received good news after waiting far too long. His gaze narrowed to Angel, and then his eyes pulsed again, the colors swirling. “You are indeed a necromancer, then. I was not sure. I’ve been…away.”

  “Don’t know how you missed that,” Angel grumbled, and Simeon gave a reluctant snort of amusement. “That’s what you’re doing with the hearts—trying to repair your brother’s heart, so he’ll survive once the stasis spell collapses.”

  “Ruairí is my brother,” Cian said quietly. “For him, I would do anything. I would kill a hundred pure souls if it meant his survival.”

  “Is that what you’ve done?” Angel asked, pointing at the heart dripping on top of the coffin. “Is that a pure soul, sacrificed for your brother? It’s going to fail, you know.”

  “A vampire’s heart. Immortal, and so perhaps worthy of restoring Ruairí.”

  Simeon growled, tense as piano wire and just as ready to snap. Angel’s own heart ached for his lover’s loss, and he wanted nothing more than to smack the superior and patronizing smile off the fae lord’s face. “You killed one of the vampires Batiste sent after you and Stone.”

  “Regrettably, yes.” Cian pulled a silver dagger from a hidden sheath on his thigh, and held the blade above the intact organ. “I will kill them all to restore my brother.”

  Recalling what Simeon said about returning a removed heart to a fallen vampire, Angel acted without thought.

  “Solvo,” Angel whispered, and loosed the spell. It arrowed across the room, and tore through the runes of the stasis spell. The runes burned and smoke rose, and the root system groaned and creaked.

  The whole temple shook, and Cian was knocked back from the coffin, falling amidst the roots. “No!” His scream was tormented and furious, and foreign magic, unlike anything Angel had felt before, rose in the temple.

  “Go now!” Angel shouted, and dropped the shield in time for Simeon to blur towards Cian.

  Eroch screeched, and leapt into the air, circling above Angel’s head. The hellhound chased after Simeon, and shouts and vampiric screeches came from the other side of the dais. Angel sprinted for the coffin, intending to stop this once and for all, the heart still resting on top.

  A blow landed on his side, and Angel tumbled head over heels, crashing into a column. He coughed, blood flying from his lips, and gasped, trying to draw air into his abused chest. He looked up, eyes streaming tears, and fear slithered over him as he watched Ben Stone emerge fully from the opposing column, the mountain troll-hybrid stepping from the stone as if it were living. The huge man grinned down at Angel, cracking his knuckles and laughing.

  Stone had been here the whole time. The hellhound brought them to Stone—he’d been a part of the temple, in the stones around them. A trait that usually only came with full-blood status, Angel realized he’d made a terrible error in calculating their prey’s capabilities and he was about to pay the price.

  “C’mere, little man,” Stone said, his voice deep and reminiscent of gravel crunching underfoot. “Smash you to bits of blood and bone, then I’ll go for my bitch of wife.”

  “Fuck you,” Angel said, spitting blood at Stone. He pushed up the column, regaining his feet. A fist the size of a melon came swinging at his face, and Angel ducked. The column behind his head shattered, and Angel ran, ducking a follow-up swing.

  Stone was slow, but he had
one goal—to crush Angel.

  Eroch dived, latching onto the back of the troll’s head, and flame erupted from his jaws. Stone bellowed, shaking his head, trying to dislodge Eroch. Angel took the distraction, and summoned as much kinetic energy as he could, pooling it between his hands. “Eroch!”

  The dragon leapt away, flaming as he went, leaving behind scorched flesh. Angel released the kinetic energy, and air warped as it barreled ahead.

  Stone took the blow, and nothing happened. “Fuck!”

  Angel scrambled away, running behind another column. Stone was laughing, obviously enjoying himself. He must have had kinetic energy added to the nullifier charm. A complete charm would be impossible to deplete without sufficient time—Stone would crush him before he could.

  Stone lumbered around the column, looming over Angel. Eroch was flying above them, shooting flames at Stone. His skin burned, clothing failing under the intense dragon fire. His coat and shirt fell to scraps hanging from his waistband, and Angel used the distraction to get further away. Eroch was too fast for Stone to hit, his flames traveling farther than Stone could reach. Eroch forced Stone back, away from Angel, his little dragon enraged and letting the troll know it with prejudice.

  Angel ran for the center of the temple. Stone shouted and came after him, one arm up to block the flames coming from the furious beastie above him. “Simeon!”

  A streak of green and shadows raced past Angel, the hellhound colliding with Stone. The ground shook, Angel falling to his knees. Pain raced up his legs, jeans torn, but he climbed back to his feet and turned.

  The hellhound ripped into Stone’s leg, the troll bashing at the hound, blows landing on its head and shoulders. The hound growled, impervious, chomping through Stone’s clothing and hide like a hot knife through butter. The hound may be born of death magic, but it had a physical form—and teeth that was as real as any canine’s. The flames that burned over its fur and haloed about its head and eyes made no mark on the troll, the charm deflecting the death magic of the hound, but not its bite.