by Lisa Oliver
“Because if he hadn’t done, Brock would have recognized him as a magic user and sought relief for his dick somewhere else. No magic user shares his body, mind or magic with another unless he knows that exchange can be trusted.”
“Even during celebrations?”
“I am not sure when you’ve had a chance to view a coven celebration, Brad,” Sy said, standing and clicking his fingers. His shoulders sagged under the sudden weight of his leather coat and his fingers curled around his staff. “But if you have participated, I do hope you used condoms and disposed of them yourself afterwards. Brock, shall we?”
“I’ll get the car.” Brock disappeared.
“Sy,” Dakar stood and was standing in his way. “I’m not comfortable with you visiting this man alone.”
“I wasn’t comfortable with the way you and your partner treated the highly secret information regarding Brock’s origins.” Innocent he might be, but Sy was no pushover. “No one outside of the family has been trusted with that information before.”
Dakar nodded. “You have my word no one will ever hear about it from me.”
“Or me,” Brad added. He was the only one still sitting at the table, another croissant on his plate.
Sy looked back at Dakar. “Thank you.” He struggled to know what to say. “I realize protecting me is in your nature. But dealing with magic is in mine. Until you are adequately warded I don’t want you near any magic user but me. I will meet you back at the precinct when we’re done. And Dakar,” he added as his heart lurched at the sight of his mate turning away. “I do value your concern. Perhaps we could share that meal out tonight? The one you’d promised me yesterday? That is, unless you want more time to consider our relationship before it goes any further?”
“My mind’s already made up.” Sy could see the wolf lurking in Dakar’s eyes. “I will claim you in a heartbeat as soon as you give the word.”
There was a simple elegance and dignity in Dakar’s confession that reached deep inside of Sy’s soul. Lifting his chin, he said softly, “I have reached the same decision as you have. Unfortunately, at the moment, time is our enemy. Till later?”
Sy swirled around and left before he did something stupid. Like falling to his knees and finding out what the fuss was about oral deposits.
/~/~/~/~/
“Did he say what I think he said?” Dakar leaned on the table as his knees went weak.
“Sounded like he was ready to be claimed to me,” Brad said cheerfully, taking another bite of his croissant. Dakar noticed he’d dipped the end of it in honey.
“That’s what I thought. But what about my job, my house? I don’t know anything about magic.”
“It’ll all work out.” Brad swiped his finger over his plate to catch the crumbs then stuck it in his mouth. “First rule of mating?”
“Mates come before all else?”
“Well, that too. But the first rule of mating is the Fates are always right. You two are perfect for each other and if you stopped worrying about mundane things like making a living and where you’ll live, you’d see that for yourself.”
Stacking the plates, Brad put them in the large sink before collecting his files. “We might not be useful in terms of the magic side of this mystery, but let’s see what we can find out about Mr. Forth. Friends, acquaintances, things like that. Maybe we’ll find a provable link between Forth and Lloyd Peterson.”
“That other guy too,” Dakar agreed, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair he’d been using. He needed to get home and change his clothes first. “What was his name? Gowitch? Odd sort of name, don’t you think?”
“Got a gut feeling about that one, do you?”
“Never hurts to do our homework.” But as they left the house, Dakar’s mind was more on Sy’s words rather than their case. He had a feeling his upcoming date was going to change his life in way’s he’d barely considered. He glanced at his watch. It was only half past nine. Gods, it’s going to be a long day.
Chapter Thirteen
Sy shivered as he stepped out of the car parked in front of Michael Forth’s shop. Like most apothecaries, it appeared small from the outside and the windows looked as though they hadn’t been washed in months. The streets were quiet, but with the plummeting temperatures and high risk of snow, that wasn’t surprising.
“Did you glamor your appearance when you met this guy?” He asked as he studied the surroundings, letting his senses flair. Apart from a few restless ghosts there was nothing in the shop exterior to suggest an issue for him.
“There was no point,” Brock said roughly. “I didn’t pick up any indications of magic users in the air and I rarely have the need to hide who I am.”
That’s a fair comment, Sy thought as Brock moved in front of him and opened the shop door. An annoying little bell let the occupants know they had visitors. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, Sy’s skin prickled as it reacted to the magic inside. It wasn’t much, he realized as he scanned the room. A few protection wards, some low level spelled items likely sold as magic love potions or health tonics, and the presence of a familiar.
It was likely the familiar who greeted them now. The tall, slender young man with a haunted expression around his eyes, bowed low. “Welcome to my Master’s humble place of business, Necromancer. How might I serve you this chilly morning?”
“You can tell your thieving boss who’s cowering out the back to present his ass and show his respect when the Necromancer calls.” Brock loomed over the hapless familiar. Sy was always happy to let Brock take care of the rough end of their business. When he’d first taken over from his father, Pedace was suddenly flooded with magic users, all keen to be the one who could wrest his authority away from him. They were never successful, of course, but Sy never interfered with Brock’s handling of things.
“My Master sends his apologies,” The familiar’s hair was brushing the floor. “He’s indisposed. If you could leave your card, I’ll be sure my Master will contact you as soon as he’s well.”
“Unless you wish for your Master to be indisposed permanently,” Sy said quietly, in contrast to Brock’s angry presence, “I suggest you comply with my companion’s orders.”
“Permanently?” The familiar’s shock was enough to have him looking up. “This isn’t just a random inspection of our premises?”
“Have I ever done that?” Sy caught the familiar’s eyes, knowing Brock was already scanning the young man’s thoughts. Brock’s slight shake of his head was barely noticeable, but it was enough for Sy. The familiar was innocent. “Your Master is through there, am I right?” He pointed with his staff to the curtained area at the back. “You stay here. That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“No, you can’t.” The familiar leapt forward to intercept him as Sy moved. “I mean, my Master, he gave me orders; no one can see him right now.”
“Brock.” Years of working together combined with their enhanced abilities, meant Brock knew exactly what Sy wanted. Grasping the familiar by both arms, Brock forced the young man to meet his eyes.
“Sleep,” Brock ordered, catching the young man as he crumpled to the floor. Stepping over the now sleeping familiar carefully, Sy crossed the floor, pushing back the curtain leading through to the back with his staff.
The stench in the small sitting area was impossible to ignore. Dried sweat, semen and old blood battled with lavender, sage and basil. Sy already knew what to expect as he made his way to the shivering figure, huddled under a mound of blankets.
“Mr. Forth? Michael Forth?” he asked.
“Go away. I told that wretch no visitors.” The voice quivered, but the figure made no move to get up.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Sy said, prodding the blankets with the end of his staff. “My name is Prince Sebastian York, the Necromancer of Pedace. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
“The Necromancer?” Rasping laughter billowed from the blankets before Forth was wracked with coughs. “If you want to talk to me,”
the voice continued once the hacking stopped, “you’d have more luck beyond the veil. My time on this side is limited to mere hours.”
“And yet you are still on this side for now, and you will answer my questions.” With a sweep of his hand, Sy magically removed the blankets, barely remembering to mask his shock. In the photo Michael Forth was a big burly bear of a man. Now his skull bones were evident through his skin and his thick black hair was nothing more than wisps of gray.
“From your appearance, it would appear you’ve dabbled in magic beyond your capabilities,” Sy said once he managed to find his voice again. “You’re fading.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Forth doubled over as he coughed. Sy waited, his mind still trying to process what he was seeing. Brock interacted with this man no more than two weeks before and he’d been hail and hearty enough to attract his butler then. There was nothing healthy about the magic user now.
“All this for the sake of a few wards?” Sy asked quietly, dropping into a crouch. There was no way he’d sit on any of the furniture tucked into the corners of the room. “You gave your life just to stop my companion from entering the room of a dead innocent. Why?”
“There are forces at work you have no comprehension of,” Forth muttered and Sy could see the madness in his eyes. “He who lurks in the shadows is just biding his time. You’ll see. One day real soon, it’ll be you crossing the veil for the last time and when you do, I’ll be there to spit on you.”
The naked hatred in Forth’s voice sent a shiver down Sy’s spine and he straightened, tugging his coat around him. Brock’s silent presence behind him was a welcome support.
“What did I ever do to you?” He asked. “I’ve never met you before.”
“You exist,” Forth tried to spit but his saliva just dribbled down his skin. “You and your kind don’t belong among the living.”
There really isn’t an answer to that. If there was anything worth gleaning from the fading magic user’s mind, Brock would have already done so. As unpleasant as it was, Sy had to do his job. Tapping his staff on the dirty tiled floor, Sy caught Forth’s eyes and said formally, “For the crime of stealing another’s essence for the purposes of harmful magic, you are hereby sentenced to death. How do you plead?”
“Do your worst,” Forth cackled opening out his skinny arms to reveal decidedly unclean long johns that were clearly made for a larger man. “Just remember there are stronger forces at work than you in this piddly town, boy, and when they come for you, I’ll be there laughing in the front row.”
Sy had only passed judgement a dozen times since he took over from his father ten years before. One of the more onerous jobs in his position, he liked to believe he conducted himself fairly and never took a salvageable life. Forth was drained beyond repair, the force of his spell evident in the lack of power he held now. Killing him would be a mercy, rather than punishment.
Holding his staff firmly, Sy muttered familiar Latin phrases, watching as tiny threads of power left Forth’s ravaged body, weaving their way to the skull on his staff. It wasn’t a long process. Barely a minute passed before Forth slumped into the dirty cushions, his eyes glazing as he took his last breath. In true magic user fashion, within seconds Forth’s body disappeared, his physical mass, what was left of it, returning to dust; ensuring no others could use his body for archaic practices.
“Did you get anything from his mind before he passed?” Sy asked as he handed his staff to Brock. The skull shimmered with the magic it stored and Sy knew he wouldn’t be allowed to touch it again until Brock followed the rituals necessary to cleanse the staff and skull of Forth’s essence.
“His mind was a dark and twisted place,” Brock said curtly, holding the staff away from his body as he indicated Sy should go in front of him. “I did find out the bond with his familiar was forced, however. The young man will now be free to choose his own witch.”
“We’ll have to set him up in the guest wing then, I suppose,” Sy looked at the sleeping familiar. “We’ll discuss his future with him when he’s had time to adjust to the loss of his bond with Forth.” Another one of his duties, as Necromancer, was to ensure all and any familiars in his jurisdiction were cared for. Familiars were human born as a rule, with no magical power of their own. Instead they were a conduit for magic power, often enhancing a magic user’s spells. Fortunately, due to the lack of coven in the area, Sy didn’t come across familiars very often. He never intended on taking one of his own. But helping the young man wasn’t a duty he would shirk.
“I’m not sure your detective will approve,” Brock said, scooping up the familiar with his free arm and nudging Sy towards the door. “Until he’s claimed you, the wolf will be hellishly protective.”
“And after he’s claimed me as well, so you told me,” Sy replied, opening the Limo trunk for Brock to put the staff in, before slamming it shut. “The familiar is innocent of any crime. This young man is my responsibility until we find another place for him. Dakar will get used to it.”
“You can inform him of your plans when I drop you off at the precinct,” Brock opened the passenger door and laid the young man on the seat behind the driver. “I’ll take this young man home and get him settled and then come back for you.”
“You’re not coming with me?” Brock never allowed Sy to go anywhere alone and Sy was used to his stalwart presence.
Closing the doors, Brock got into the driver’s seat but turned and leaned on the back of the seat before starting the car. “This mating is going to be an adjustment for all of us, as I’ve said before. I’m sure your detective can protect you among his colleagues, but please advise me if he takes you anywhere else. I was planning to be back for you within the hour.”
Sy nodded, his mind still whirling from the events of the morning. Forth’s comments suggested someone was out for him personally. At any other time, Sy would dismiss the ideas as fantasy and nothing more. Enough magic users had tried, one way or the other over the years. But if this threat is tied to the killings…a sacrifice to some long dead deity perhaps?
There was a part of Sy that longed to be home among his books; he was sure he was missing something in this case. His other half’s needs surprised even him – he wanted to see Dakar even if it’d only been a few hours since they shared breakfast. I need to talk to him about the case anyway, Sy justified to himself. It had nothing to do with the way his dick perked up and his skin flushed under his clothes, just thinking about the hunky detective. Nothing at all.
Chapter Fourteen
“We have three unidentified victims left. Forty-seven possible files of missing kids, always assuming that both our current victims and the ones still being held were reported as missing,” Dakar sighed as he slapped his hand on the files in question. “How the hell are we going to match anything up?”
“Searching for ties between the magic users and Peterson isn’t getting us anywhere either.” Brad chucked his pen across the desk. “You know we’re going to have another body within the next day or so and we’re no closer to preventing it happening than we were when the first victim’s body was found.”
“What would happen,” Dakar leaned back in his chair and eyed his partner, “or rather what does happen in Pedace when a magic user moves into town? Is it possible we’ve got someone else working behind the scenes, who isn’t in your files? That Gowitch might be a letch but he’s more the type to molest our missing youngsters than kill them.”
“We can’t rule anyone out at the moment,” Brad stood up and strode across to the giant whiteboard that covered one wall of the office they shared. “We have three known magic users in town, four if you include your Sy, but we already know he was at a club when the last killing went down. Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, buddy, I’m just writing out the facts.” He scribbled on the white board.
“We can rule out Lorna, the third magic user,” he continued, marking an asterisk by her name.
“I thought you said we can’t rule out any
body,” Dakar was still pissed Brad thought for a second Sy could be a suspect.
“She’s the Captain’s niece.” Dakar’s expression didn’t change, and Brad rubbed out the asterisk. “Gowitch is still a possibility,” he said continuing to write, “and then there’s Forth.”
“Forth’s dead.” Dakar spun in his chair to see Sy standing hesitantly by the door still clad in his Necromancer garb. “Is it okay if I come in?”
“Dead? What do you mean dead? Who…what…?” Dakar jumped up, unsure what to do first.
“Here, Sy, take a seat,” Brad said sweeping a pile of files off a chair and dumping them on the floor. “We’re just going over what we know so far.”
“Well, you can cross Forth off your list,” Sy said as he made his way to the chair. Every cell in Dakar’s body came alive as his gentle scent swamped the room. “Forth was responsible for the wards in Warren’s room, but he expended too much power to do it. When Brock and I found him, he was hours from death. I hastened his departure.” Flicking out the tails of his coat, he sat down, his back straight.
“We could’ve questioned him,” Dakar growled, searching Sy’s body for signs of a fight. The Necromancer looked as unruffled as he had done at breakfast.
“Brock searched his mind,” Sy said calmly. “Not that there was much left to find in it. Over use of magic drains everything from a person and I mean everything. He was quite mad when we confronted him.”
“This is still a police investigation,” Dakar was frustrated, and it showed in his tone. “We needed to question him.”
“Really? Question him, how? For one thing, he would’ve refused to see you,” Sy held up a finger. “Second, he was incapable of leaving his bed,” he held up another finger. “Thirdly, the stuff he spouted had nothing to do with your investigation and everything to do with a threat to me. Four….”
“A threat to you?” Dakar interrupted his mate rudely, his hard cock draining any commonsense from his brain. “What do you mean and if you’re in danger, where the hell is Brock?”