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

by SJ Himes

  The lich was attacking the far side of the shield, snarling. Angel moved, trying to see past it.

  A figure stood in shadow on the other side of the dome, blending in with the night. He was about to call out when a handful of figures came out of the shadows near the park.

  Enforcers came out of the night, the brooches on their chests glinting. They wore the dark leathers and silks the others had worn, and Angel didn’t recognize any of them. Angel pulled on the mate bond and raised a smaller shield around himself, calling hellfire to his hands. The ambient magic fields trembled. Multiple sorcerers were accessing the veil.

  He was done with the interference of the Council.

  “Malis!” Angel shouted, angry enough he was shaking from adrenaline.

  He walked around the curve of the dome to the right, counting enforcers as he went. They too erected personal shields, in light grays and whites for wind and air, soft browns and red for earth, and a few mellowed oranges for fire mages. A mix of elementalists, and he could handle them all.

  “Malis, you coward! Face me now!” Angel called. He reached the first enforcer who threw a spell at him that twisted through the air like rope. Angel reacted faster than thought, hardening his shield, and the spell ricocheted off the surface and bounced into the ground, burning the earth and setting dried leaves aflame. If it had hit Angel, it would have severely burned him.

  Angel brought his hands together as he walked, never halting. Hellfire mixed with a dissolution spell, and he charged it into a roiling mass of white and green flames. He pulled his hands apart and it shot forward, out through his shields and he sprinted the last distance between himself and the enforcer. The spell hit the enforcer’s shield and clung. The enforcer scrambled back away from Angel, and he couldn’t counter the spell eating its way through his shield, too busy trying to get himself physically away from Angel. Angel moved his shields forward, hardening them again, and used them to ram against the other sorcerer’s shield, and the enforcer fell backward just as Angel’s spell ate its way through his opponent’s shield. It collapsed in a shower of sparks, and Angel lessened his shield until he could step forward, lifted his boot, and kicked the downed enforcer in the face. The man went limp and lay still on the earth, limbs splayed out.

  A spell came from his left, and Angel twisted to the side, letting it fly past him into the night. It hit something behind him with a thud. He ran again, reinforcing his shield, and this time two enforcers closed with him. They pulled in their own shields close to the bodies, wearing them as armor, having seen what Angel did to their compatriot. Angel did not copy them, instead leaving his shield out at arm’s length, and slid to his knees between them, the two enforcers missing him and bouncing off the edges of his shield. One tripped and fell, and Angel laughed, blood racing, magic singing in his soul.

  A battle mage once in his youth, so he was again.

  Angel slapped a hand to the earth, connecting to the layer of death magic clinging to the surface. It was faint, the layer thin, but where all things lived and died, death magic existed. No place more so than a forest floor, decomposing organic matter expelling death magic. It was everywhere, especially under their feet. He reached out to the layer within the surface of the earth and claimed it all. He changed the way it moved and made it an extension of his own magic, structuring it into a spell without thought. The enforcer who had tripped was on her side, trying to get up, and like most inexperienced sorcerers, her shield did not extend to underneath her feet or any place touching the ground beneath her. She lay touching the ground, head and hand and hip, and Angel struck. He sent the curse up into her body, and she screamed. Flesh went gray, veins black, the magic fouling her body. It was a magical pestilence, and it took her from the fight immediately.

  The other enforcer saw what happened to the one on the ground, but Angel slipped the curse into his shields before he could close them beneath his feet. He screamed as the pestilence curse swarmed up his feet and legs, and he collapsed to the ground, shield blinking out.

  They weren’t dead, not yet, but they would be soon.

  Angel got to his feet. He brushed off his hands and headed toward the last three enforcers. One of them was shorter than Angel and was back in the shadows, watching, but he or she was not casting. In fact, no shield was raised, so Angel dismissed the watching figure for now.

  The vampires had joined the fray. Simeon circled Malis, who had come from the darkness while Angel was dispatching her people one by one. She cast at him, swearing each time she missed, Simeon twisting and dodging so fast he was a blur of dark colors and a smudge of auburn. The soldiers were attacking the other enforcer, slashing at his shield, the points of contact flaring with silvery white light. An air elementalist, but one not accustomed to facing vampires. They moved too fast, and the fool was trying to hit them one at a time. Angel smirked when he saw the enforcer had not closed the shield, so the bottom of his shoes were touching earth and not protected. Angel knelt, briefly, just enough to touch the ground, and he sent the curse through the earth.

  The enforcer paused mid-spell, coughing, then he too screamed and fell to the ground, skin waxy pale and veins in his flesh gone black. The shield winked out of existence, and the vampires came to awkward, staggering halts. They stared down at their opponent, flabbergasted, then saw Angel. He stood and walked by them, the vampires left in stunned stillness behind him.

  Simeon was taunting Malis, speaking in what seemed to be French, scorning her attempts to hit him. Her shields weren’t vulnerable like those of her subordinates—she must have joined the fight after seeing what happened to the first two he dropped with the curse. His curse was active in the earth beneath them, so the second she dropped her shields or an opening developed, it would latch onto her. The short figure in the shadows was unmoving, a hood pulled high around their head, and they could see the reach of the pestilence curse in the ground as they took a few steps back as Angel advanced on Malis. She was panting, more in frustration and anger than exhaustion.

  The pestilence spell was pure death magics. Any practitioner could see death magics, but some had to look harder, beneath the glare produced by the ambient and pooled magics created by life. This person saw it with ease to back away the exact amount steps needed to avoid the curse. Angel stopped, and his ire cooled as a stray thought invaded his battle fury.

  This stranger sensed death magic. With ease.

  “I will burn you to ash, fanghead!” Malis yelled at Simeon, who stopped his evasions and appeared next to Angel. The pestilence curse had no impact on the undead, only targeting the living.

  “Hey! That’s my mate you’re insulting.” Angel sniped, and Malis finally noticed him.

  “You! You will pay for my enforcers!” She straightened, her shields a pale orange. She was a fire mage. He sent a tendril out his own power out and touched her shields. She was powerful, and well-trained—there was no breach in her shields and they would withstand his more standard spells. She was dangerous.

  She turned to the figure standing nearby. “Take them,” she snarled, pointing to Angel and Simeon. “Fulfill your purpose here or you will pay the price!”

  “What price?” Angel asked. He sensed no aggression at all from the shrouded figure. He would almost say it was a teenager or tween from the height, but the shoulders were a bit too broad, and a calm, peaceful aura emanated from the figure.

  Malis flung a spell at Angel, but he deflected it with ease, sending it off into the trees. Fire broke out where it impacted but died quickly. Both of their shields were too good to quickly outmatch the other. She spun back to the figure. “Do as I say, or you’ll never see her again,” Malis ordered, and it clicked for Angel.

  The plane from Montreal. The short figure. The sense of peace and calm emanating from under the hood.

  Last year, a young girl resurrected her neighbors’ dead dog, naming it Snickerdoodle. She was a necromancer, and Angel stopped worrying about her when he heard Nicademus Miel, a necromancer from R
omania, had gone to Montreal to be her mentor. He had never meet Nicademus, but he knew almost everything about the necromancers still living around the world. They numbered fifteen in total, and as he knew them and their territories, so they knew him. He’d only ever met one other necromancer in his whole life, a man now dead, passing away in his sleep at the exalted age of one-hundred-fifty-seven.

  “Nicademus?” Angel asked quietly, certain. His breath caught in his chest, and the wind stilled, the night air colder, frost gathering on the grass. Even the lich within its prison was quiet, watching them all.

  21

  The Lamb

  The figure lifted hands to the hood, pushing it back while stepping into the moonlight. A sweet, round face, handsome in a soft, classical way, with dark hair shaved short. Wide set dark brown eyes, a wide, gentle smile matched the pictures Angel had seen of Nicademus Miel, the necromancer of Eastern Europe. He had a reputation of being a gentle, quiet soul, compassionate and generous with his gifts. He lived in seclusion in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania, where he had a menagerie of undead pets, risen undead beings of numerous origins, and a mysterious habit of appearing out of nowhere, healing children with terminal diseases, and then disappearing as stealthily as he appeared.

  If any necromancer could be called a saint, it would be Nicademus. His last name was Miel, and it meant ‘lamb’ in Romanian. He was as close to a pacifist as any practitioner could get.

  “Hello, Angelus. A pleasure to meet you,” Nicademus said, clasping his hands at his waist and bowing. His voice was soft and soothing, accented from his home in Romania. He rose and gave Angel a smile he was not expecting. “I have long thought of coming to visit you, but violence tends to erupt in your territory too much for my comfort. I am glad to see you though since I need your penchant for violence.”

  Nicademus was pale, but for black designs etched into his scalp, visible through the short hairs, down either side of his neck, and around his hands and wrists. Old runes and spells tattooed into his body; on others they might be intimidating, but on Nicademus it was art.

  “Silence!” Malis snarled, and Angel glared at her. The vampires had surrounded her shield, and while she was safe behind it, she couldn’t leave without facing them all and Angel.

  Nicademus didn’t even look at Malis. A smile transformed his face into something otherworldly in beauty. And Angel found himself smiling back. “I need your help, Angelus.”

  “Call me Angel, please. And what’s wrong?” Though Angel had an idea. Nicademus was not a violent man. He would not be here willingly.

  “Twelve hours ago, my apprentice was kidnapped from her school in Montreal. Alice is ten, and her affinity and powers came too early. I had to bind her powers until she matures more, and she was left without her magic to defend herself. It was the best decision at the time, and one her parents agreed with, but it meant she could not reach me when the Council stole her away.” Nicademus frowned, worry in his eyes and tightening his jaw. Alice must be the child who resurrected the dead dog. “Before I could begin to look for her, the Council magister of Montreal came to me at my apartment and told me I would never see Alice again unless I did as he said. I found myself on a plane south, to here. I was to fight the Necromancer of Boston, disable your mate, and help contain you both under the authority of the Council. If I did not, then they would keep Alice forever. They threatened her life. Said she was guilty of proscribed magics and they could punish her for it.”

  Angel glared at Malis. She didn’t look a bit repentant for orchestrating the kidnapping of a child, threatening her life, or blackmailing her mentor to get his compliance. “What the fuck is wrong with you all?” Angel all but shouted, and Malis pursed her mouth and looked through him like he wasn’t there. “That is despicable.” Angel spoke to Nicademus. “Where is Alice?”

  Nicademus pointed in the direction the enforcers had come from. “She is about a quarter mile away, in a large SUV with Council plates. Two enforcers hold her captive. They have her ensorcelled with spells to keep her asleep and are draining her magics. If she isn’t saved soon, it will harm her, perhaps irreparably.”

  “Simeon,” Angel said, his mate reading his mind since he nodded in response. “I will handle Malis and the lich. Save Alice.”

  “Mo ghra,” Simeon gave Malis a look of pure disgust, and he gestured to his soldiers. “I will protect the child.” They left in a blur. At their tops speeds, they would find the vehicle in seconds.

  Angel mused over their options. The Council needed to leave, and permanently, or there would be all out war between the Council and Angel and the bloodclan.

  “Nicademus,” Angel began.

  “Nica, please.”

  “Nica.” Angel smiled. “My mate will save Alice.” He pointed to Malis. “I am formally challenging her to a duel. Death or forfeit. The Council will leave Boston and Montreal immediately when I win. Do you witness my Challenge?”

  Nica chuckled, relief brightening his smile and eyes. “I hereby so witness the Challenge.”

  Malis gasped. “You can’t do that!”

  “Yes, he can.” Nica rebutted. “You are the High Magister of the Council. If he defeats you, then the prize is the removal of the Council from Montreal and Boston.”

  “I witness as well,” Simeon said, and he stepped from the shadows. He was gone less than two minutes.

  A child clung to him, a girl, drowsy and out of it. Blood was on Simeon’s jaws and hands, and the soldiers came from the trees at his back, dragging the corpses of more enforcers. Simeon hadn’t spared the girl’s captors. He passed her off to Nica, the child crying when she saw her mentor. He pulled off his robes, revealing he wore a sleeveless t-shirt underneath and dark jeans and boots, and wrapped the girl in the voluminous material. His arms were covered in more ancient symbols, and he wore a large wristband made of leather and gemstones on his left wrist. He was not fat in any way—stocky with muscle and short, he appeared to be softer than he was. If it was in his nature, Nica would be a terror.

  “I witness the Challenge. I am First Elder of my Bloodclan, Champion of Constantine Batiste. I will not have my word denied. The Challenge stands. Fight or forfeit,” Simeon demanded. He was a scary sight, eyes glowing, fangs down, bloody, and sexy as hell.

  “The lich,” Angel said, addressing Nica. “I was going to bind it to myself before the enforcers came. Then destroy it. It has killed eight people tonight already.”

  “A shame. It is old, and such a construct may never be see again,” Nica eyed the lich as it growled and slashed at the ground. “A compromise, if you would?”

  “Sure?”

  “I will bind it to me, diminish its strength, and tame it.” Nica gestured to Malis. “In turn, I will support you if the Council refuses to abide by the Challenge terms after you win.”

  “He won’t win!” Malis snapped, but no one paid her any attention.

  “It needs to be gone from Boston as soon as possible,” Angel replied. “The humans won’t like it if it’s still here.” He paused. “You can tame it?”

  “Certainly,” Nica said with a side smile. “I have several liches in my menagerie.”

  Angel blinked. Nica was scary. In an incredibly fabulous way, full of danger and casual awesomeness, and Angel realized he’d probably just found a new friend, one he wouldn’t need to worry about judging him or disapproving of him for being who and what he was. He thanked Hecate Nica was such a gentle soul, or the world would be in trouble. “Ok, we have a deal. Can you manage the shield?”

  “If you allow me access, I will cast the binding and then you may dismiss the shield. It will take but a moment.”

  “I have to see this,” Angel muttered.

  Malis was fuming, arms crossed, not a person paying her any mind, though she was ringed by the vampires again. “Try anything, I will drop a shield around yours, suck out all the air, and suffocate you where you stand. No duel. I’ll just kill you immediately, consequences bedamned.” She huffed in anger, th
en pointedly looked past him as if he weren’t there.

  Nica gently placed a now sleeping Alice on the ground, wrapped in his robes. Nica was so short the child was nearly as tall as him, but there was nothing childlike about Nica. Angel and Nica went to the shield, the lich charging. It smashed into the shield and bounced away. “A marvelous feat of magic, my friend,” Nica approved. “May I?” He lifted a hand to the shield, pressing his hand to it. Angel put his hand over Nica’s, and Nica’s own energies rose. Angel melded theirs together, and he transferred some of the dome shield spell to Nica.

  Immediately, the shield shifted colors, tinges of blue flame mixing with hellfire green. Nica hummed under his breath, and Angel could feel him examining the spellwork of the lich, and the pieces Angel had repaired. “It is a miracle, my friend, you can still stand. This is intricate work, exhausting and tedious. A masterpiece.”

  Angel had no idea what to say, so he just shrugged, and Nica gave him a slow smile. “May I proceed?” He felt the spell Nica gathered in his mind, readying to cast it and bind the lich.

  “Cast it now,” Angel murmured.

  The spell that sprang from Nica was simple and powerful. It was old magic, the structure matching that of the lich’s creation. And it snapped into place instantly. The lich dropped, crashing to the ground. Angel could see the chains of ownership, of mastery, slip into place without effort. Nica owned the lich. “By Hecate, that was impressive.”

  Nica laughed. “You may drop the shield. It is mine.”

  Angel stepped away from Nica. He reached inside himself to the part that was even now, hours later, maintaining the shield dome, and let it go. The drain on his power was gone in a flash, and Angel breathed through the disruption. He felt the beginning edge of exhaustion encroaching on his mind and body. While the flow of primordial death magic from the mate bond was infinite, Angel was still mortal. His body could not operate forever at such high levels of power without a price. He let the primordial death magics fill him, breathing, letting his mind relax, the mental muscles that held the shield dome for so long easing.