by Lisa Oliver
/~/~/~/~/
“You need a map and a compass to find your way to the bathroom in this house,” Brad whispered as they followed Brock’s upright form through an ornate mansion. Dakar agreed. It wasn’t his first time meeting an important personage in their private home, but generally the office was handy to the front door. So far, they’d been walking the hallways for what seemed like ages and Brock showed no sign of stopping.
The inside of the home was filled with light; surprising, given the gothic architecture of the outside. Fresh flowers arranged in tall vases were spaced periodically along the halls and every room Dakar had managed to sneak a peek at was immaculately decorated. The ceilings loomed well above his head and came complete with plaster moldings, elaborate cornices, and sparkling crystal chandeliers. Dakar would assume it would take an army of people to keep the place clean but apart from Brock, they hadn’t seen a soul.
“If you gentlemen would wait inside, I will arrange refreshments.” Brock stood by an open door, his arm indicating they were to enter the room beyond.
Stepping across the threshold, Dakar expected to see another office, or even a small sitting room, but the room they’d been ushered into was huge. Large bay windows completely covered the far wall, lined with rich dark red velvet curtains. Dakar’s boots clicked on the cool white and gold marble floor. Grecian pillars framed a fireplace large enough to swallow a Buick. Apart from a collection of ferns in large pots in one corner near the window the room was empty.
“Your seats, gentlemen, and refreshments. The Necromancer will be with you directly. For your own safety, do not move from the chairs provided.” A wave of Brock’s hand and two large red armchairs appeared complete with a table holding a carafe of coffee with the fixings and a plate of biscuits. Dakar wasn’t one for eating sweets, but he quickly poured himself a large mug of coffee. Brad added sugar and cream to his and the two men sat in silence awaiting the Necromancer’s arrival. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, given how Brock was still standing at attention not five feet away.
“What do you think all that’s about? Not being allowed to move, I mean,” Brad leaned over to whisper. “Do you figure the floor is booby-trapped or something?”
“Probably worried we’re going to pocket some of the family silver.” Dakar knew he looked rough but after only three hours sleep, grooming wasn’t high on his priorities. His two-day scruff was reaching irritation point and he’d barely had time to run a brush through his long hair, worn loose for the occasion. Okay, he might have splashed out on a new shirt, but he wasn’t admitting the why of it to anyone. It had nothing to do with a sexy young Necromancer who had yet to make his appearance.
The air suddenly hummed with magic and Dakar’s nose was filled with the scent of honey and jasmine with the tiniest hint of lavender. The smell infused every cell in his body and his wolf sat up in his head and howled. His cock pounding, Dakar ran his eyes around the room, searching for the source of the compelling scent. He half rose, only to be interrupted by Brock. “I said don’t move. The Necromancer is on his way.”
Where? Nothing had changed in the room but just as Dakar finished the thought, a burst of flame erupted in the middle of the marble floor. Splitting in two threads, twisting and turning, the flames moved with purpose, etching a design on the marble. A pentagram. Dakar shivered. As soon as the two flames met at the far side of the symbol there was a loud boom that left Dakar’s ears ringing. Another circle appeared inside the pentagram, the flames leaping ten feet into the air.
And there, sitting in the middle of it all on an ornately carved throne was the Necromancer. Gone was the party boy from the night before. His curls were slicked back, making his high sharp cheek bones more prominent. Dressed entirely in black leather, Prince Sebastian York epitomized power, yet as large gray eyes caught his, Dakar swore he saw the hint of a smirk on the Necromancer’s lips.
“Your audience with the Necromancer has begun,” Brock intoned as the young man clicked his fingers and the flames died down to a gentle simmer. “Please state your full names and purpose of your visit.”
“Detective Brad Summerfield and Detective Dakar Rhodes from the Pedace Police Department asking for the results of last night’s enquiry from the Necromancer,” Brad said formally as Dakar struggled to find his voice. Everything about the young man called to him with an instinct older than time. Mate? It’s not possible and yet Dakar couldn’t take his eyes off the younger man. It was as if the Necromancer could tell his every thought.
“The victim’s name is Warren Peterson, however the killer called him Peter.” The Necromancer’s tone was giving nothing away.
“You talked to him? You talked to our dead victim?” Dakar’s brain was on overload and his wolf, who was running around in excitement, wasn’t helping the situation.
“It’s what I do, Detective Rhodes.” There it was again, that slight twitch of the lips as if the Necromancer was reliving a private joke. “Your victim had not been dead long and was an innocent. It was fortunate you called me as quickly as you did, otherwise communication would have been more difficult.”
“Does this mean it’s too late for you to communicate with the other victims?” Brad asked, scribbling furiously in his note book. He looked up quickly. “We haven’t managed to identify the four other victims. Having their names would be extremely helpful to us.”
“No one has claimed any knowledge of the previously deceased?” The Necromancer shared a look with Brock that Dakar couldn’t interpret. “Warren was far too innocent to be a homeless person; someone must be missing him.”
“We’ve turned up nothing so far,” Dakar said, his lust temporarily dampened by the thoughts of the dead men. “I believe that’s why the Captain asked for your help. We’ve found no evidence to suggest these victims ever existed in the time leading up to their deaths.”
“And yet now their bodies are lying in your morgue, unnamed and uncared for. Those poor souls.” The Necromancer went quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Dakar was just about to ask him if he’d learned anything else, when the young man jumped to his feet. With a wave of his hand, the flames and throne disappeared.
“Brock, is my bag still in the boot of the limo?”
“Of course, sir, freshly stocked.”
“Very good.” The Necromancer appeared to pluck a staff almost as tall as him from thin air. It was fashioned from a tree limb; Oak, Dakar would have guessed, and was crested with a very realistic life-sized skull. “Come along then, Detectives, we’ve got work to do.”
“Where are we going?” Dakar asked as Brad hastily stuffed his notebook and pen into his jacket pocket.
“Why, the morgue of course. Unless you happen to have any personal effects from the victims on your person?”
“No personal effects were found on any of the victims. They were all in the same state you saw last night.” Dakar tried not to inhale as the Necromancer swept past.
“Then the morgue is our only option. Come on, chop, chop. The dead wait for no man.”
Chapter Four
“Detective Dakar Rhodes has lustful thoughts about you,” Brock said as he pointed the limo in the direction of the city morgue. “He stunk of arousal.”
“A lot of people lust after me when I’m dressed up like a comic book freak. It’s got something to do with my power levels.” Sy wasn’t worried that Brock might disapprove. Heavens, if he actually had sex with someone his stuffy butler would probably throw a party or at least celebrate quietly with a glass of hundred-year old whiskey.
“His wolf believes you are his mate.”
“Are you certain?” Well, that put an unusual spin on his day. Sy wasn’t sure how he felt about that idea.
“Animal spirits are rarely wrong about these things. It has something to do with your natural scent.”
“I took a bath; maybe he’s reacting to the smell of my soap. He didn’t notice me in that way last night or you would have said so.”
“The only thing anyone
could smell last night was that poor victim’s blood and the smell of vomit.” Brock eased the limo around a large, ugly red brick building and brought the car to a stop in the lot behind it. “This will certainly change some things. Your father will have to be informed for one thing and it will mean we’ll have to make changes in the house.”
“Now hang on a minute. There’s nothing in my social contract about taking a mate.” Sy would have known about it if there was. “You just wanted me to go out and meet people and I do that four hours every week without fail. I don’t need anything else.”
“The mating issue is a done deal. It’s only a matter of timing.” Brock turned and rested his elbow on the back of the driver’s seat. He was worried, Sy could tell, but he wasn’t sure what his butler was so concerned about. “Shifters can be quite pushy about such things. I imagine if the Detective hadn’t been so worried about this case, he would’ve stated his claim already.”
“His stating it and me going through with it are two entirely different things.” Sy wasn’t sure he liked the idea of someone just claiming to be his mate. In his observations, mating or bonding as it was known among magic users was usually the result of failing to prevent a pregnancy after a solstice celebration. True matings were something other paranormal types did.
“Just try and keep his shifting to the non-carpeted areas of the house please.” Brock opened his door and made to get out.
“Wait, you’re accepting his claim? How will I…what will I…I don’t even know him.” Sy was feeling just a tiny bit panicked, or at least he thought that was what he was feeling. The churning in his stomach and the pounding in his right temple were reminiscent of when his father used to berate him for setting fire to his bedroom curtains as a child.
“Sir,” Brock came around and opened his door but instead of standing back and letting Sy out, he leaned in. “It will be all right.” Sy looked into Brock’s deep dark eyes and saw nothing but concern. It lightened his heart to know it was for him. “If you want to take the time to get to know Detective Rhodes first, then as your mate he will respect and accept that. My biggest concern is going to be your father’s reaction. His last communication to us suggested he’s been negotiating a mating contract for you with the daughter of a powerful coven leader in France to take place sometime next year.”
“You never told me about that. Why didn’t you tell me?” Not that Sy was surprised. Even from Transylvania the man still believed he could control every move he made. Then Sy had another thought. “Is that why you insisted on that silly social contract?”
“There was nothing silly about me wanting you to experience normal life before you got dragged into your father’s politics. But it seems I needn’t have worried. Now, you are going to put this out of your mind until we’re safely home again. We will need to come up with a plan to thwart your father and keep him on his side of the ocean. I don’t believe he and your detective should meet until your bond is firmly established.”
“We weren’t expecting a visit from Father, were we?” Sy slipped out of the car and saw the Detectives had already arrived and were waiting by the door.
“With that man you can never tell. You know how he likes to keep us on our toes.” Brock straightened Sy’s coat collar. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time. Help your detective solve these murders and then we’ll discuss your personal life.”
Sy wasn’t sure which aspect of his day was going to bother him more.
/~/~/~/~/
Apparently, Dr. Barker and the Necromancer were at least passing acquaintances because the Medical Examiner had no problems arranging the remains of the previous four victims in what he called the viewing room. Dakar watched the proceedings with a mixture of awe and dread. The Necromancer, who Brock insisted preferred to be called Sy, had been absolutely focused from the moment the bodies had been wheeled in on their stainless-steel gurneys. Sy and Brock moved the two couches and coffee table aside, placing the four men in the shape of a cross with their heads pointing towards the middle.
What struck Dakar, as he watched Sy pull assorted items from a black leather medicine bag and place them around the heads, was the care and respect he’d shown the victims. As a shifter, Dakar understood the cycle of life. Death was a crucial part of the fabric of existence and with his nose full of the smell of decay, it was clear any resemblance the bodies had to the men they’d been in life was long gone.
But Sy didn’t treat the corpses that way. He stroked their hair, even on those heads no longer attached to their bodies. He spoke softly, a language Dakar didn’t understand, taking his time with all four of them, before letting out a long sigh.
“Are you ready sir?” Brock asked from his position by the door.
Sy nodded, his eyes glazed over as though in a trance. His head was tilted back slightly as though he was seeing something no one else was aware of.
“Gentlemen, I understand you are legally required to view these proceedings, but I must insist that from this moment on, you do nothing to impede the Necromancer in his job. Once he’s established contact with the spirits, he might advise you of such and you might be able to ask questions quietly if the spirits allow. That privilege is not guaranteed and is totally dependent on the spirits. No matter what happens, no one is permitted to touch the Necromancer until he is finished and if anyone yells or expresses intense emotions I will remove that person immediately.”
Brad raised his hand hesitantly. “Yes, Detective.”
“What might happen if intense emotions are displayed while the Necromancer is doing his thing. Is it dangerous for any of us?”
“Necromancy is not a game or trickery. There are no smoke, mirrors or fancy tricks involved here. Necromancy is the oldest form of magic and only a handful of people are ever blessed with the ability to handle it. To speak to anyone who departed some time ago is a risk both to the Necromancer and anyone in the immediate vicinity. Not all spirits have to be invited into a space; they come if they see an opening, intent on causing harm. Anyone expressing intense emotions are likely to become a target.”
Brad gulped, and Dakar’s anxiety increased. Even if his human half hadn’t quite got a handle on Sy being his mate, his animal half was already committed to the slender man, so his protective instincts were riding high. His erection hadn’t truly gone down since the night before and he was sure his Alpha pheromones were fighting for dominance over the smell of death.
There was another part of him that was proud he would soon call the pretty young man his own. Alphas respected power of all kinds and Sy had that in spades. Dakar had never considered there might be a dangerous aspect to using magic – frankly, he didn’t know anything about it at all and he made a vow to change all that as he felt the buzz of magic in the air. The Necromancer, his Necromancer had begun.
Chapter Five
Bracing his feet firmly on the cold tiled floor, Sy grasped his staff with both hands. A single hair from each victim was laying on the skull that adorned what he privately called his secret weapon. The magic behind Necromancy required something tangible from the person they wished to speak to. A hair from any being contained traces of an individual’s life from the day they died back until the last time they’d had a haircut. Judging from the length of the hairs he’d collected there was at least a month’s worth of experiences harbored in the strands.
Sliding through the veil had gotten easier with practice. Sy focused on the residual life force in the hair and pushed out his magic. In his mind’s eye, he was calling for “Peter” even though he knew there was a chance none of the dead men actually went by that name. But that was all he had to go on and he’d contacted spirits with a lot less in the past. The hairs he’d taken would ensure he was communicating with the right spirits.
The gray mist of the veil swirled around him teasing him with glimpses of restless souls. Focusing on a clump of them, Sy pushed harder. He’d hoped that the victims had some connection when they were alive and would gravitate to each othe
r in death. Sure enough, after a short while four young men floated towards him, followed hesitantly by Warren who’d found a partial physical form.
“Warren said you talked to him yesterday,” the most fully formed of them said, standing protectively at the front of the little group. “He said you were kind to him which is the only reason we answered your call.”
The first victim. Sy recognized the sharp facial features. He smiled and inclined his head. “I only want to talk, to hear your side of what happened to you.”
One of the others snorted. “We were tortured and murdered. I thought that was obvious.”
“The police want to catch who did this to you. Surely you want that too?” Sy had spent his teenage years alone and had precious few skills when it came to talking to young people. But this interview was important, and he had to try.
“There’s no point in us talking to the police. No one will catch the Master,” another one spoke up. “He lives in the shadows, see. Like you, he comes and goes even here, although he looks different here. We’ve seen him since we died, but he doesn’t stay here and never tries to communicate with us.”
Sy stilled. There were only a handful of beings that could navigate the veil, but most weren’t human and on this side of the veil those traits were obvious. Only another Necromancer could move about like he did but if the boys noticed a change in the person on this side of the veil he could be anything from a demon to a ghoul.
“The police need your names,” he said quickly. “Your real names, something so they can trace your life.”
“I barely remember my life before the Master,” the second victim whispered. “I could barely walk when I was taken. He told me my name was Peter. All I remember from before is a kindly woman with bright red hair. She used to sing to me.”