The Necromancer's Dance (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  “Uh-huh. And how do you know what a vampire sounds like? How do you know it was a vamp? Did you use a spell or something?” The cop was making it clear he didn’t believe a word coming from Milly’s mouth, and Angel clenched his free hand, holding back the urge to toss a hex at the man’s face.

  “It was a vampire,” Angel stated firmly, voice flat and crisp. “That was the hissing sound they make while hunting. It typically frightens prey into running. I know that sound better than I know my own voice. I didn’t need a spell. There is no doubt to me that the killer is a vampire.”

  “But you didn’t see the other person on the stairs. You just said you didn’t cast a spell to learn who it was on the stairs. You said whoever spoke was around the corner from the landing. So how do you know?”

  “Because I’ve heard vampires hunting before,” Angel snarled, and the air snapped, small bright green sparks flashing to brief life around them. Milly pinched his side, and Angel pulled his magic back in, struggling not to show it on his face that he was losing control. “I heard it the night a bewitched army of vampires swarmed my family home and tore my kin to pieces of meat. Like the poor man on the stairs! That’s how I know!”

  The green sparks finally registered with the sergeant, who took a cautious step back, arms coming down, one hand hovering near his firearm on his hip. “Your name is Salvatore, you said?”

  “As if you don’t fucking know already,” Angel snapped, seeing the epiphany in the sergeant’s eyes. “I am Angelus Salvatore. And whoever the vampire is who killed that man on the stairs is coming after me because of who I am. He knew my name.”

  “Heard you killed a hundred vampires with a thought back in the day,” the sergeant said, suspicion clouding his words. “Why wouldn’t you take on one? Sorcerer like you should be able to handle it.”

  “Fuck. You,” Angel gritted out, and the sergeant put a hand on top of his firearm.

  “Doesn’t make sense that a bad-ass sorcerer with your reputation wouldn’t have taken out one vampire in that situation. You sure someone was there? Maybe you were just hearing things. Maybe there wasn’t anyone else there at all, and you put the body there.”

  “Angel!” Milly said, yanking him backward when he raised his right hand, green fire snaking between his fingers. “He’s just an asshole. He wants you to attack him. Look at his name tag!”

  Angel tore his eyes from the smirking bastard’s face and looked at the silver tag resting over his right breast pocket. Sergeant Collins, BPD.

  “A fucking Collins. What they hell, do the lot of you go around planning on how you’re going to harass me every time something happens? Is there a secret ‘We hate Salvatore’ club I’m not aware of?”

  “I’ve half a mind to throw a set of iron cuffs on you,” Sergeant Collins started, patting the leather case on his other hip that presumably held his cuffs. Iron was used to incapacitate most magic-users, as it dampened the internal energy a caster carried.

  “Half a mind is too generous,” Angel retorted, and the sergeant mottled red with anger.

  Angel could probably burn through iron cuffs with enough veil power, but he wouldn’t do such a thing unless the need were dire and his life was in danger, and escaping police custody and being hunted as a fugitive was not a viable option compared to calling his lawyer.

  A couple of plainclothes detectives were walking over, apparently deciding that they didn’t want the sergeant flattened on the pavement. They stepped up next to Milly and Angel just as Milly took up his defense.

  “Angel didn’t kill the victim,” Milly snapped at the sergeant, “We don’t even know who he is.”

  Angel dragged in a breath, trying to cool his temper. Grief battled anger, merging to become rage in his heart. He wanted to leave and track down the monster who decided to one of the kill the last remaining links to his past. “Actually, Milly, I know who that dead guy is. I saw his face before the cops pulled him off the wall.”

  “What?” Milly gasped out, turning to look up at him. “Who is it?”

  “My old mentor and my father’s best friend, a sorcerer named August Remington.”

  Chapter Six

  Dearly Departed

  Angel trudged up the stairs to his place, rounding the last landing before getting to his floor. If he never saw another staircase again it would be too soon. It had to be around three or so in the morning, and he was exhausted. Running on fumes and anger, and then a dose of grief and painful memories left Angel cursing his decision to wake up that morning. Or yesterday morning, now.

  He dug out his keys, so tired he was tripping over his own feet. He stopped in front of his door, but the sight of two feet clad in black leather shoes, topped by long, muscular legs in dark navy slacks and then a lean waist and broad shoulders under a perfectly tailored tuxedo jacket short-circuited his brain and left him gaping.

  Resplendent in a dark blue tux with a crisp white shirt and shiny blue silk tie, Simeon leaned against the wall next to Angel’s apartment, hands in his pockets, a charming smile on his lips. Angel caught a tiny flash of fang as Simeon smiled wider, chuckling. Angel flashed back to the first time he ever saw Simeon and felt the same wrenching need to reach out and touch.

  “Not often that I see you speechless, mo ghra,” Simeon purred, seductive lilt on full force. By all that was unholy, he had an undead Irish James Bond in his hallway. “What has you so tired, and out so late?”

  “Dead guy,” Angel whispered, coughing before trying again. Simeon in a tux was the last thing he expected at three in the morning. His heart was jumping all over the place. “A vamp left a dead man outside my office. I just spent the whole night at the police station.”

  Simeon went still, a motionless state of being that no human could achieve, and his green eyes lit over Angel with a swift examination. Suddenly, so fast Angel couldn’t see when Simeon went from the wall into his personal space, Simeon was leaning over him, sniffing deep, stone-cold hands gripping Angel’s biceps and holding him still.

  “I cannot scent another vampire on you, Angel. He or she did not touch you. Which is good for them, for they would not live another night if they had.” Simeon pulled Angel in, roping thick arms around his back, and Angel found himself cradled in a deep embrace, cheek resting over the silent place where a heartbeat should be heard. “Tell me what happened?”

  “Why are you here?” Angel asked instead, too tired to listen to the tiny voice in his head saying that snuggling with a vampire Elder when another vampire was depositing dead people at his feet like an evil cat was a bad idea. He squashed that voice, and did something he rarely ever contemplated—took the comfort offered.

  “I am here because I thought perhaps it was time,” Simeon whispered, his cool lips gliding over Angel’s hair, strong hands rubbing his back. “And I arrive to see I am more needed that I expected. Tell me what happened, mo ghra, so that I may help.”

  “What do you mean, you think it’s time for what? And are you okay?” Angel asked, pulling back enough to look up into Simeon’s face. “The demon tossed you so hard, and then dawn broke…”

  “Nothing but a few bruises and a mild sunburn, Angel. My limo was a block away and I made it just in time for you to blow up the street. Now stop changing the subject. Will you tell me what’s going on?”

  “You’re one to talk about changing the subject. I’ll tell you, but not in the hall,” Angel gave in, sighing. If anyone could help him find out who killed his old teacher it was Simeon. He was Elder of the only vampire Bloodclan in the city. He lifted his keys, but Simeon took them from his hand and opened Angel’s battered front door, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. Angel humphed, and followed Simeon in, closing and locking the door.

  Simeon stepped gracefully into Angel’s living room, the blanket and pillow he’d used still on the floor, and Angel was about to go around Simeon and pick them up when he halted, in shock.

  He stared at Simeon, who was the epitome of masculine elegance and sophisticatio
n, every fangbanger’s wet dream come to undead life. “How…how did you get in here? I’ve never invited you in. And my wards let you through. They’re still active, and they aren’t reacting at all. In fact, you were in my bed the other night, too!”

  Simeon unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, and sat on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. Angel narrowed his eyes, and somehow found the strength left to summon a bit of green hellfire about his fingers, spitting, and hissing. “What the fuck, Simeon.”

  “Peace, Angel. Your vulgarity is charming, has anyone told you that? Come sit beside me.” Simeon patted the cushions again, and Angel snapped his fingers, a tiny dart of hellfire slinging past Simeon’s face to spatter and smoke out on the hardwood floor behind the couch. Simeon didn’t even flinch, his smile in place and his green eyes glowing with what Angel uneasily identified as appreciation and…affection?

  Angel stood, unyielding, and Simeon chuckled, a deep rumble that made Angel’s cock twitch despite his best efforts to keep himself under control.

  “Fine then, my love. The other night when I brought you home, you were so exhausted you barely had the cohesive thought to invite me in, but your invitation was explicit enough that the geas which prevents the undead from entering the dwellings of the living was lifted, and as such, it translates to your wards as well, whether or not they were active at the time. My invitation into your home means I am allowed to be here, and so your wards have no effect on me whatsoever.”

  “Holy shit, an invitation makes you impervious to wards,” Angel breathed out, incredulous, letting the hellfire die. “Why doesn’t everyone know that?”

  He mentally smacked himself, thinking it would be a foolish move to disclose such an advantage, especially since the rest of the world believed a vampire could be kept out by wards, even with a standing invitation into someone’s home. “Is that just you, or all vampires?”

  Simeon sent him a wry glance, and Angel shrugged. “Had to ask. So you can now come and go, and no matter what wards I have in place, you can still pass through them?”

  “Yes. Until you decide I am no longer welcome in your home, and you revoke my invitation. You do that, the wards will be effective once again and I will be forced to leave.” Simeon gave him an answer so easily that Angel had to doubt the veracity of his revelation, but he was too damn exhausted to do anything other than mentally file it under Things He Would Freak Out Over Later. Yet Simeon had never lied to him, or offered him anything but the truth, so maybe, this time, his inclination to distrust was not warranted. “Come sit with me, Angel. Tell me what’s going on. Is it to do with the demon attacking us, this dead man?”

  Angel mentally said fuck it and stumbled over to the couch. He sat down heavily, and Simeon gave him a mild look of exasperation before he reached out and with one long arm, pulled Angel to his side and held him close. Snuggling was a foreign experience, and Angel held himself stiffly until Simeon made no further moves, just held him.

  “Always so prickly, so wary.” Simeon cradled Angel to his side, the vamp smug yet also tender. Angel spied him with suspicion, but he was willing to be held as long as Simeon kept his hands in PG-13 areas of his body. While his cock would disagree, Angel didn’t want a repeat of the other morning in his bed…he didn’t think he did, at least. Every time he saw Simeon these days, he ended up allowing one more little thing, from a touch to this…this snuggling. Angel was used to quick, hard fucks that scratched an itch with no names exchanged and no numbers, not this quiet intimacy. “Mo ghra, you are a delight.”

  “I am not your love, Simeon,” Angel groused, peeved. He was tired and cranky, and bothering a cranky sorcerer was a recipe for disaster. Simeon merely responded by manhandling Angel, ignoring his growls and complaints, until Angel straddled Simeon’s lap, hands on his chest, palms cushioned by the soft and decadent fabric of Simeon’s tuxedo jacket. “I’m not some twink you can play with, either.”

  “Twink. I hate that word, reminds me of a snack.” Simeon flashed his fangs, and Angel humphed again, unimpressed. “This modern age leaves me despondent some days,” Simeon said, putting a hand on Angel’s back and pressing him forward, leaving no space between them. Angel was small enough compared to Simeon that he still had to look up to see Simeon’s face, even sitting on the vamp’s lamp. “A man has the freedom to love another though any hope of intelligent conversation needs to be abandoned at the door. Not so with you, Angel. Never a disappointment.”

  “I thought you wanted to know about the dead man?” Angel asked, arching a brow, yet settling in comfortably. Simeon may be cool to the touch, but he was warming where their bodies met, and Angel was so tired that for once being held wasn’t something to be borne but enjoyed. In fact, he could not recall at all the last time he was just…held.

  “Yes, tell me of this dead man. He meant something to you?”

  “How do you know?” Angel asked, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric covering Simeon’s chest.

  “I can smell your sadness.”

  “What? Can you really?” Angel tried to lift his head, curious, but Simeon shushed him and put his head back down. Angel growled, but all Simeon did was chuckle. “I knew vamps can smell certain things, like anger and, um, arousal.”

  A hand slid down to the base of his spine, fingertips dipping briefly under his waistband. Angel tensed, but the hand went no further, and he relaxed.

  “So I can, mo ghra.” Simeon was all but purring, and Angel had the insane image of a fat Cheshire cat licking its lips, sharp teeth gleaming in the shadows. Oddly enough, that thought made him smile, and he relaxed even more. The words came before he even realized he was talking.

  “Augustus Remington was my last teacher, and my father’s best friend,” Angel said. “He was out of town at a wedding when the…. when….” Angel’s whole body shook once, hard, and Simeon soothed him, rubbing his back and shoulders. “Well, you know. When my family died.”

  “I do, Angelus. I know the tale. No need to explain.”

  “Yes, well…. I saw him at the funeral services afterward. He was broken, destroyed. He loved my father a great deal. August and my father were inseparable as children and young men at university. He was a natural choice, according to my father, to teach me the finer points of high sorcery once I left school.”

  “Why did your father not teach you? It’s my understanding that Raine Salvatore was the premier instructor of high sorcery in all of the Northeast.”

  “And he was.” Angel coughed, his chest tightening at the thought of his father, but he kept going. “My father and I were too much alike. The teacher/student dynamic was too much on top of father/son.”

  Simeon chuckled, and Angel thrilled internally that he could hear the sound at its genesis, his ear pressed tightly over Simeon’s chest. “I imagine that was difficult.”

  “That’s one word for it. I would have chosen apocalyptic, but whatever works.”

  Simeon laughed, and Angel smiled despite the grief-tainted memories.

  “So, anyway…he wasn’t there that night when my family died. He came back as soon as he heard, but obviously, it was too late. August just…broke. I’d already passed my trials, so technically he wasn’t my instructor anymore, but the relationship was still there. I thought of him as an uncle of sorts, I grew up with him in my father’s shadow.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Simeon asked, quiet, almost gentle. A vampire with a heart was an oddity, and Angel was charmed despite his reservations. It helped he was sprawled across the supernat’s lap like a lazy stripper or a housecat.

  “It was just after he released me from my student status, and confirmed I passed my trials. He told me that even if I hadn’t already completed them, that …that night would have earned me sorcerer rank anyway. It was a cruel thought, that I…never mind. I saw him again a week or so later, after the funerals, and then that afternoon at the police station when they finally dragged me in for questioning. Apparently humans had an issue with an army of u
ndead spontaneously combusting and then setting a whole street on fire.”

  “The police arrested you for stopping the undead legion that killed your family?” Simeon sounded aghast, grievously peeved in fact, and Angel laughed this time. It was harsh and bitter, but a laugh all the same.

  “There were enough neighbors from the surrounding estates as witnesses, and the wizards on the police forensic squad were able to piece together what happened after the fires were put out. I wasn’t charged with anything, cleared by self-defense. It was just bullshit from the Collins family since most of them are in the BPD. The Collins are related to the Macavoys, the family that led our enemies in the Blood Wars.”

  “From what I understand, the Macavoys are no longer a power player in the city.” Simeon would know since the Master probably knew everything about all the magical families in the state, let alone the city. It stood the reason that Simeon, as an Elder, knew just as much as his Master. Simeon’s clan had only been here a few years, arriving not long before they met for the first time.

  “No, not anymore. After that night, the humans were able to intervene, since the undead that came for us tore through anyone in their way, and that meant the human guards and staff in the house and on the grounds that night. Thirty humans died. So the cops came in, the state authorities finally had enough to use against the Macavoys, and most of those responsible for the attack on my home were sent to prison.”

  “Most of them?”

  “I’m not sure the cops got all the people responsible. I have no proof, but the people who went to jail weren’t the ones in real positions of power. The head of the family is Leicaster Macavoy, and nothing happened to him, and his son Daniel was only ten or so at the time. All he got was a slap on the wrist for not controlling his people better.”

  “Didn’t you just say that the Collins in the BPD are related to the Macavoys? Makes sense they would cover up his involvement as best they could,” Simeon said, a growl under his words.