The Necromancer's Reckoning (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 3)

by SJ Himes

  “Do you think they would?” Angel asked, waking the smartphone screen and unlocking it. He scrolled for the switchboard at Nevermore, thumb hovering once he found it. “They only mentioned me and Daniel in the letter, and Malis made no mention of Isaac.”

  “Not in recent years, or perhaps a mortal’s lifetime,” Simeon began, “but I have seen the Council go after not only the accused, but the family members of those accused of crimes. Collateral against the accused running or disappearing. And they may yet believe Isaac to be only mortal and of no consequence. The bloodclan did research on the both of you before we moved to this city, and his magic, much less his affinity, was not discerned.”

  “Never thought Isaac’s reluctance to embrace his magic would come in handy,” Angel said quietly, and he dialed Nevermore. It rang once before it was picked up.

  “Mr. Salvatore, this is Nadine Masters. How can I help you today?” Nadine’s voice was polite and professional despite the early hour, and Angel gathered his resolve, putting trust in a stranger to see Isaac through what was coming.

  “Ms. Masters, I need to speak to Isaac. But first I have some information to share with you.”

  Isaac slapped the wall in frustration, glaring out over the dark, pre-dawn, pristine gardens.

  The windows of Nevermore didn't open. Wards buzzed along the frames, and he grumbled as he spun away from the window and went back to the bed, throwing himself down on the tumbled bedding.

  He wasn't planning on escaping—he had nowhere to go and no one to see, and one thing he didn't want to see was the disappointment on Angel's face if he left Nevermore early. It was just so bloody hot in the room, he wanted—needed—some fresh air.

  Isaac groaned and flung himself off the bed, pacing. His skin felt too tight, his clothes stifling, and sweat gathered in uncomfortable places.

  The suite Angel paid for at the clinic was huge. The bedroom was enormous, bigger than their parents’ bedroom at Salvatore Mansion, and the attached bathroom was the most extravagant waste of marble Isaac had ever seen. He paused his pacing, thinking maybe a cold shower would be helpful, but he was too restless, needing to move.

  He hadn't expected things to be this...uncomfortable. Angel might not think Isaac was an addict, but Isaac knew the truth. He was addicted to anything that would numb the guilt and grief burning relentlessly inside. He cringed in self-loathing as he thought about signing out of the clinic and heading to the nearest bar. All the vamp owned bars in town had stopped serving him alcohol after Angel and Simeon hooked up, but the human bars came with anonymity and plenty of cheap liquor. He could find a place to spend his money.

  Isaac sat abruptly on the floor.

  He had surrendered his phone, wallet, and ID when he signed into the clinic. He might be able to leave anytime he wanted, but he was certain Angel would be waiting for him in the parking lot the second he stepped out the doors.

  Somehow, the thought was as comforting as it was annoying.

  Isaac looked at the landline next to the bed. It rang out to the front desk, and he knew if he asked, they would put him through to Angel without any fuss. And they might even let him open the windows too, but the effort to get up and ask like an adult was exhausting him already, and he hadn’t done more than think about it.

  Calling Angel without needing a ride home or bail money...Isaac flopped onto his back, blinking away tears as he stared at the ceiling. He couldn't remember the last time he called Angel while sober.

  Isaac lost track of time, the coolness of the floor helping to soothe his nerves. He blinked when his eyes grew dry and began to burn, focusing on the hard floor where it met his hip bones and shoulders. Sweat cooled, and he shivered, feverish yet clear-headed. He didn’t want that—he didn’t want to think.

  The sun rose, light dancing over the furniture of the suite, glancing off the gilded frames of portraits sealed to the walls. Tiny specks of dust swirled in the current from the central air, catching in the light, flaring like tiny bursts of fire.

  The rational part of his mind knew he wasn’t overheated, it was his brain reacting to the lack of alcohol in his system. Usually after a binge, he would sip on some whiskey or vodka for a few days, weaning himself off the high cliff he walked each time he went out. This time, though—he had nothing. Nothing but his twitching, shaking hands, the sweat dripping into his eyes, and the infuriating cheerful light that teased him with the knowledge of his own shadows.

  He was tainted. Dirty, stained by guilt, by grief. It ate him, tore his memories to shards of glass that cut him, bled him dry with every nightmare, every reminder of what he’d done.

  Despite Angel’s denial, his brother’s surprising magnanimity, Isaac knew the truth with every uncomfortable beat of his heart.

  He killed his family.

  Tears dripped down his temples into his hair. Steam rose as his skin heated, this time from magic he hated and refused to bring to heel. He knew what control felt like, knew what to do. He was raised by the great Angelus Salvatore after all. Angel pounded technical skills, spells, wards, and runes into his head from the week they were orphaned until the day Isaac moved out of the apartment they shared for a decade. If he wanted, he could rein his magic in, bank the fires, ease the seething embers that writhed under his skin.

  He liked the burn. The pain made him feel better. Not that fire could hurt him—since the day his affinity blossomed like a curse within his magic when he was a boy, heat and fire left him unmarked. Burns from the sun, scalding hot water, hot cement of the sidewalk under his feet in high temperatures, it all stopped the summer he embraced his affinity for fire.

  Except going cold turkey from alcohol, apparently. Alcohol withdrawal burned in a way he could not counter. It always burned, the only flame to penetrate his affinity and hurt him.

  How fitting. He would burn, punished by the very means he sought to ease his conscience.

  He laughed, the manic sound startling in the quiet. He rolled on his side, curling in, hands pressed to his stomach. Laughter blended with tears, hacking sobs and body shakes morphing him into a slobbering, wretched mess.

  He wanted nothing more than to let the fire of his guilt and grief eat away at him from the inside out, taking with it his exhaustion and pain. Fears and wants. Leaving him a burnt-out husk of a person with no need for autonomy or a future.

  Isaac thought the knocking was his heart, slamming against his ribs to escape, but the low, insistent voice that accompanied the annoying sound brought him out of his…fit? Manic episode? Breakdown?

  “Isaac? It’s Nadine Masters. Are you awake? I’m sorry for the early hour, but I have a phone call from your brother.”

  Isaac wiped his face, wincing at his swollen eyes and stuffy nose. His whole body felt strung out and sore. “What?” he croaked out, forcing himself to sit upright, arms shaking.

  “Isaac? Do you need help?” Nadine asked through the door, and he thought he heard another voice. “Isaac, we’ll come in to see if you’re okay if you don’t answer the door.”

  “Hold on,” he managed to say, loud enough he hoped she heard him. He didn’t want Ms. Masters and whoever she had with her out in the hall coming in here and seeing him laying in the middle of the floor, looking like he just woke up from an all-nighter after tying one on. He crawled to the door, and once he reached it, he used the wall to climb to his feet. He leaned on the wall beside the door, and slowly opened it, determined not to hit himself in the face with the panel.

  Nadine Masters stood in the hall, a dark-skinned man with bright silver eyes towering over her. The man was hot in a professional way, with thick dark hair twisted back in short braids and a short, smooth beard hugging the chiseled planes of his face. Sharp eyes took in Isaac’s disheveled and sweaty state, rumpled clothes and pasty skin, and he felt the near overwhelming urge to close the door, go take a shower, and redo the last thirty seconds of his life not stinking to high heaven.

  “Isaac,” Nadine smiled at him, though she surely saw what
the sexy stranger did. She held a smartphone in her hand, and he could see there was a call locked on hold, muted. “This is Dr. Otto Mephaestus, he’s one of our psychologists on staff here at Nevermore.”

  “Um, hey Doc.” Isaac squinted, shifting. The doctor gave him a short nod and another perusal from head to toe, but it wasn’t the sexy undressing with the eyes Isaac usually got from other guys. This dude was very much a doctor. Isaac sniffed and wiped at his face, hoping he wouldn’t fall over, and addressed Nadine. “You said something about a call from Angel?”

  She held up the muted phone and smiled. “Yes. Your brother would like to speak with you, and Dr. Mephaestus is here to help you with any troubles you might have after the call.”

  Isaac went cold. “Is someone dead?”

  Nadine gasped, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that was poorly thought out of me. No one is dead, no one is hurt. Your brother does need to speak to you about something important. Can we come in?”

  Isaac breathed out hard, rubbing his face. His heart restarted, and he nodded as he pushed the door open wide. “Yeah, c’mon in.”

  Nadine followed him into the room, and the new doctor shut the door before joining them in the small sitting area opposite the wall with the bed. Isaac nodded his chin at the phone Nadine held and she shook her head, indicating they should sit. Isaac took a seat on top of the coffee table, deciding to be as cooperatively difficult as possible since he had yet to learn exactly what the call was about and why he didn’t have the phone yet. Nadine chose to sit in an armchair while Dr. Mephaestus sat on the nearby loveseat.

  “Isaac, before I give you the phone, I must ask you to promise not to make any rash decisions or choose to leave Nevermore without speaking to Dr. Mephaestus beforehand. Can I get you to promise that?”

  Isaac frowned, but he really wanted the phone, and he would talk to the doctor if it meant he got it. “Sure thing.”

  She handed over the phone without hesitation and Isaac tapped the hold button to find it was on speaker already. “Angel, are you there?”

  “Isaac, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Nadine said it was something serious, what happened?”

  There was a rumble from the other end, and Isaac heard Simeon but couldn’t make out the words. Angel sighed and came back. “The Council is back in Town.”

  Isaac frowned, wondering what the big deal was. “The town council? You mean the BH Historical council? They never left, right? They upset about the wards on the apartment or something? Complaints about Eroch chasing flaming pigeons in the alley again?”

  “Isaac.” A beat. “The High Council of Sorcery is back in Boston, and a magister is after me. I’m being charged with a host of felonies and my trial is set for a month from now.”

  Blood rushed in his ears, and Isaac swallowed, throat dry. “What?” It had to be a bad joke, except Angel had a shitty sense of humor. He didn’t do things like that. Angel was talking again, sounding way too calm for the magnitude of the problem, and Isaac snapped. “Are they going to arrest you?” Isaac interrupted. “Don’t let them. People don’t come back after they’ve been taken!”

  “No. Isaac! I’m fine. I’m in the Tower with Simeon and Daniel.” There was a squawk. “And Eroch, too. The Council has no authority here.”

  His heart rate calmed, but his confusion ramped up. “Daniel is in the Tower?” He never thought he’d hear Daniel was in the Tower again. Not after what happened before. He smiled, briefly lifted from his worry by pride for his friend.

  Angel murmured something he couldn’t catch. “Daniel says not to worry.”

  “I’m not worried about Danny.” That much was true. Daniel was stronger than everyone thought, including himself. “I know the Tower is sovereign territory, but can you stay there indefinitely? What about the charges? Are they arresting you?”

  “I’m not sure why they haven’t tried to arrest me. They’ve had plenty of chances. We’re being watched whenever we leave the Tower as it is. Batiste has the Council at bay for now, they won’t try and take us here. It would be suicide.”

  Batiste’s name hit him unexpectedly, chest aching, breath hitching. The last time he saw the city master, his lips were still wet from their kiss, his heart racing, mind spinning. Charmed into the kiss or not, it was still enough to occupy his mind and heat his body. “Isaac, you there?”

  “What?” He snapped back then exhaled roughly. “Sorry, yes, I’m here. What do you want me to do? The trial is next month? Are you going to live in the Tower for a full month and never leave?”

  “I want you to stay and get better, for starters,” Angel said, not that Isaac would expect otherwise from his older brother. “Just be aware. I refuse to let the Council dictate how I protect my family or city. I have a problem to take care of and I can’t stay in the Tower like a maiden fair, so I’ll be risking the enforcers every time I go out. They’re after something. They’re following me for certain; they may try to get to you or have someone watching the clinic. Be careful. Don’t leave without letting anyone know. Simeon says the Council has gone after family members of the accused before, to ensure cooperation.”

  “Most practitioners think I’m a mundane human,” Isaac scoffed. “Hell, half the city only knows I’m your brother because the vamps know. What would the Council want with me?”

  Angel made an exasperated sound. “You’re my brother, idiot. My only family left aside from some distant cousins across the pond we’ve never met who don’t count anyway. The Council takes you, they’re gonna wish they’d never crossed the ocean to return to Boston.”

  Angel burned the vampire traitor Deimos to ash for taking Isaac. The same incident killed his boyfriend, Greg. He winced, feeling guilty. He should be more devastated than he was, seeing as how Greg was dead only since late the previous year.

  “I could come to the Tower,” Isaac ventured.

  “You could stay there, where you’re currently safe, and get healthy.” Angel retorted. “Get healthy, and by the time you’re ready to come home, I’ll either have this situation handled, or you can help me finish it.”

  Isaac sighed, rolling his head on his tight shoulders, wishing he were anywhere but here, and understood the wisdom of the doctor coming to oversee this phone call. Angel needed him. His family needed him. “I love you, little brother.”

  Isaac closed his eyes. “I love you, too.”

  “I’ll see you in a month.” Angel hung up without another word, and Isaac handed the phone back to Nadine, who took it with a faint smile.

  “How are you feeling, Isaac?” Dr. Mephaestus asked. Isaac tensed, hands clenching on his thighs, and tried to remember he wanted to get better. Be better.

  “I don’t think that went as badly as I feared,” Angel eyed the phone, wondering if it would ring again, Nevermore telling him Isaac was burning his way out of the clinic, Angel’s wishes bedamned.

  “You told him nothing of Daniel’s involvement,” Simeon said. Angel snorted and nodded.

  “I wanted him to stay in rehab.” Angel smiled at Daniel, his apprentice still rumpled and staring at him with tired eyes. Daniel’s recent moment of lucidity was swallowed up by the early hour. “Go take a shower, kiddo.”

  “M’kay…” Daniel mumbled. He shoved to his feet, one hand holding the crystal, the other his half-empty bag. Rainbow light swirled under his fingers, and it made Angel smile. His affinity might be taking its time settling, but the boy’s power was formidable. A pile of clothing and some toiletries remained next to Daniel’s plate, and Angel snorted out a laugh when a ubiquitous blood servant appeared from nowhere, gathered the personal items, and chased after the muddled young sorcerer.

  Eroch grumbled then took to the air with a chirp and a hop, winging after Daniel. Eroch took Daniel’s safety very seriously—Angel was thankful for his familiar’s choice to stay with his apprentice. Eroch might be tiny, but he had a giant secret. Anyone thinking Eroch was an easy mark would find themselves missing limbs.

&nbs
p; “What are your plans, mo ghra?” Simeon asked, taking one of Angel’s hands in his on the table, rubbing and holding firm. It was day, so Angel would be out and about on his own without Simeon. “I’m calling Milly then I’m going to school.”

  Angel stood, and Simeon tugged him into an embrace. Simeon’s mouth opened under his lips, tasting of warm blood, spices, and the one sweet, minty flavor that was all Simeon. They separated after a long kiss, and Simeon smiled up at him. “I’ll mind our fledgling today. Perhaps Dame Fontaine can keep you company on your adventures.”

  “Any time with Milly is an adventure,” Angel joked, laughing. “Love you.”

  “Love you as well, mo ghra,” Simeon murmured, emerald eyes warm. Angel backed away, grabbing his satchel and athame, and tore his gaze away from his mate as he finally left the room.

  10

  It’s in the Cards

  “Are we truly being followed?” Milly asked, looking back out the rear windshield of the cab. She narrowed her eyes as if squinting would help her pick out their tail. Angel knew they were there—he’d picked them up the moment the limo dropped him off at Milly’s townhouse. The college loomed ahead, the campus bustling with students and staff.

  “We are,” Angel confirmed. “Two for certain. One peeled off after I left the limo—I think he went to report my activities in person. They’ve made no move yet to apprehend me, but it’s coming soon. It’s daylight, and Simeon isn’t with me. I think they might try to grab me when I’m alone.”

  “Which is why you brought me along?” Milly asked, aggrieved.

  “Only slightly a lot,” Angel smiled. Milly rolled her eyes. “Plus, I figured you’d love to come to the college, breathe in some education.”

  She jabbed him with her elbow. “Tell me again why we’re going to see Giselle Hardwick?”