by SJ Himes
“So it’s not a spell?” Angel asked again, turning on his heel and skewering Simeon where he stood in his rumpled tux, still looking hot enough to melt Angel’s resolve. “I’m not magically your mate or something? I didn’t promise away my soul or something equally ridiculous?”
“Where do you get your ideas? Were you watching that dreadful TV show over my shoulder?” Simeon cracked a smile, shaking his head side to side, and Angel glared at him some more. “No, mo ghra, you’re not magically my mate. We vampires are not wolves, to take mates in bouts of passion and with no thought. I asked because I’ve wanted you for years now, and you left me overwhelmed by your generosity. You gave me the sun, and it only took you a thought’s time and some ingenious tinkering. My restraint is now non-existent where it comes to you. So I asked, as any man would, for you to give me your heart, as you’ve always had mine.”
“Give you my heart? I haven’t said anything about my heart.”
“No you did not, but I see the way you look at me, and the desire your body holds for me. You are not indifferent to me, and one day I hope to earn your love.”
“Oh, okay then,” Angel refused to admit he was blushing. He could blow up a street with a demon trying to rip him apart, but have a centuries-old vampire admit to wanting him and he lost it. He turned back to the door, and yanked it open, making the board nailed to it rattle. He glared at the door, and walked out into the hall, letting Simeon follow. Simeon shut the door and Angel locked it, powering up his wards with a quick thought before having a small epiphany. “Wait, are you saying you’re in love…”
Angel was interrupted by a kiss, cool lips molded to his own, and a hand holding his chin. The kiss was chaste and brief, but Angel got the message. Grumbling, he pulled away and strode off down the hall. Declarations of love were not what he was expecting, not like this, and never from a vampire. His relationship with the local Bloodclan was an aberration; his name and affinity was anathema to all vampires past the borders of Boston and its surrounding towns. He never knew why Simeon and his Master hadn’t fought to get out of Angel’s non-aggression agreement, or even why they sought him out as often as they did for magical assistance that any other sorcerer-level practitioner could provide. Simeon, from the night they met, had always set his attentions on Angel, and only in the last week had Simeon moved from polite but intense appreciation to open affection and endearments. Angel didn’t know what prompted the change in Simeon, but it left him confused, horny, and his heart hurt.
He wanted what Simeon was offering him. Yet the wary side of his nature, the one scarred by War and death, told him not to believe and keep himself safe. He was tired of listening to that side of himself, yet he couldn’t stop. And to love a vampire? When Simeon’s kind hated him, and with good reason? How would that work in the long run, if at all?
“What are your plans for this evening? Someone, or several people, want you dead,” Simeon called after him. “Leaving your apartment and its wards is not wise.”
“I’m aware!” Angel called back over his shoulder as he took the stairs down, Simeon following on his heels. “But I’m not going to wait around for this asshole to make another move. He took someone from me. Sure, August hasn’t been around for the last decade, but he was still part of my family, or what’s left of it, anyway. I refuse to let this go any further. Milly or Isaac could be next—hell, even you, and I will not let that happen. This fucker is going down.”
Angel hit the street, and he did take a look both ways down the darkened street before heading south towards the Commons. Thankful that the sidewalks were still intact, Angel walked past the crater at the three-way intersection, the hole covered in metal sheets and surrounded by a forest of orange warning cones. Through traffic was nonexistent now, and Angel grinned for a moment, thinking about the piece in the paper that morning about how he managed to get the statehouse employees a day off from work due to “magical disturbances” near the building.
Simeon followed him and walked beside him once there was room. It was cold, and damp, and the tiniest of flakes fell around them. The snowfall might pick up, but the days’ worth of rain was slicking, turning to ice, and the wind blew in from the ocean. Brine, smoke, and fish assaulted Angel’s nose, but he was used to it.
Angel pulled out his cell, and after checking his messages, sent one of his own.
You okay?- AS
A minute passed, but he got a reply. Milly wasn’t a texter, but she knew enough to respond.
I am. What are you doing? You NEVER text me. -MF
Have you heard from anyone at BPD? Are they looking into anyone from the old families who may be after me? -AS
My contact says no. There’s been next to no casework done on August’s murder or who sent the demon after you. The videotape of the summoner outside your townhouse hasn’t been processed either. Someone high up has stalled things. -MF
Not surprised. They probably know who it is or want the killer to succeed in getting me. -AS
What are you doing? -MF
Asking an old friend who killed him.-AS
NO. DON’T YOU DARE!-MF
Angel smiled at her use of CAPS, and replied.
You know what to say if the fools in blue come by?-AS
I won’t have to say anything if you don’t do it!-MF
True. But I’m going to anyway. -AS
You tell me just so I freak out, don’t even act nonchalant. Don’t get caught. Goddamit. Erase your texts. -MF
Angel chuckled and erased his texts before sending one last message.
Isaac—August Remington was murdered yesterday and his body dumped at my office. BE CAREFUL. -AS
As usual, he got no reply. He knew Isaac’s cell was back on as he paid the bill himself yesterday morning, so his brother got his message. Whether he heeded Angel’s warning or not was another thing entirely.
“What do you mean, you’re going to ask a friend who killed him?” Simeon asked from next to him as they crossed the street, the Commons rising out of the fog as they moved down another block. The lamps were lit, the shadows through the trees ominous and spooky, but Angel wasn’t concerned. He was recognizable enough that muggers stayed clear, and most vampires stayed out of Beacon Hill, due to the heavy practitioner population. No one to snack on. The other supernats in the city were more likely to avoid trouble than humans, and wolves, as a rule, avoided cities. Too many chances for trouble, and none of it ending well for the supernat in question. Boston had a very high population of practitioners and mundane humans, which kept the supernatural numbers down. Most large cities could boast several bloodclans, but Boston had only the one.
And the big vampire walking at his side was a deterrent for trouble. “Were you reading my texts over my shoulder?”
“Yes. Do explain, I hope you don’t mean what I think you do.”
At least, he wasn’t hiding it. Angel could appreciate the honesty. “I meant it. I’m going to ask August Remington who killed him. The morgue conducts all autopsies on murdered sorcerers in the first twenty-four hours, and then the body is burned once COD is confirmed. I checked the news, and no COD has been released yet. His body should still be there. Which is kind of odd, since he was torn to shreds, but the BPD is notorious for messing up so they may have put a hold on the cremation. I also don’t see BPD rushing this investigation. Most of them would be glad to see me dead.”
“I thought raising the dead was banned. It’s considered a sacrilege by many in the magic community, I believe.” Angel sent Simeon a sideways look, the vampire gazing back at him. He didn’t see any condemnation, just curiosity, and some wariness.
“It is banned, by the High Court of Sorcery and blah-blah-blah. In fact, life-long imprisonment and castration of gifts are a common punishment. Though if I want to stop this asshole, I’m going to break some rules. No one else is dying.”
“Walking around at night is not the best way to stay alive, Angelus,” Simeon retorted, though Angel could see a soft glow in Simeo
n’s green eyes. “And then raising the dead.”
“You don’t have to come with me if you’re afraid, Elder,” Angel snapped.
“I’m afraid of what will happen to you, mo ghra, if I leave you alone,” Simeon replied, voice smooth and rumbling and making his heart skip.
Afraid to think about what that meant, Angel snarked back, “Are you going to follow me around all night? Don’t you have some blood slaves to drain and nefarious evil vampire things to do?”
“I ate last night, thank you. I could make some trite generalization about necromancers, but as we are apparently going to be raising the dead, I find myself withholding comment.”
Angel laughed, delighted despite the danger inherent in his errand. Simeon smiled at him, that same soft look in his eyes, and Angel briefly smiled back before minding the sidewalk in front of them.
Angel stared at the chain-link fence from half a block away, the coiled barb wire on top giving him some doubts about his plan. The coroner’s office and the city morgue was a fairly large building, not too far from the hospital, surrounded by scattered parking lots, narrow streets, and a marvelous view of downtown and the harbor that was wasted on the occupants. The building was a few stories tall, with an attached multi-bay garage around the back that vehicles could pull up to, discharging and picking up the deceased.
Near the front, the lobby was lit by flickering fluorescent lights and glass walls, the sterile colors and tiled floors giving a cold impression. Angel knew it well, unfortunately. He’d been here the first time many years before, identifying his family and their slain mundane human retainers. Several times since then for the BPD and private citizens for after-death investigations and consultations.
“What is your plan, mo ghra?” Simeon whispered over his shoulder, and Angel flicked at his nose to get him to back off. Simeon chuckled and pressed closer to his back, and Angel sighed. The vampire felt good back there, reassuring.
“The place never closes down. City is too big—people are rudely dying all the time, so it stays open. The staff isn’t as heavy at night as it is during the day, but there’re at least six people in there right now. Living ones, I should say. Plenty of dead.” Angel kept surveying the exterior of the building, noting the lack of foot traffic. The overnight shift was just that—the shift change was around six am, so he had several hours before there was movement. Unless a body showed up, and it was only suspicious deaths or murders with police priority that typically spurred the night-shift coroner on duty to leave his office.
“And just how do you know that, my love?”
“Not the first time I’ve been here, actually. I’ve gotten calls before, from the cops or family members requesting I check to see if someone was killed by sacrificial magic or died from hexes. I’m the only necromancer in the state, so it happens a few times a month. Haven’t found a lot of those cases were actually malevolent acts, but sometimes people can’t accept a loved one’s death, so they go looking for answers that aren’t there. And the DA has put the screws to BPD hard enough that they call me, even if they’d rather not. Most of them aren’t very willing to reach out to me for help.” Angel leaned forward a bit, peeking around the corner, checking the traffic out by the main road. A few random cars, but nothing coming down the morgue’s access road. Simeon put a hand on his hip as if afraid Angel were either going to bolt or tip over. Angel couldn’t help the hot flush on his cheeks or the flutter in his belly, but he kept his mind on his task. He leaned back, and bit his lip, thinking. Simeon’s hand stayed on his hip, the vampire’s fingers rubbing his skin where his shirt rode up a bit. “You sure you want to come? As an Elder, you can probably get out of being arrested or shot if we’re caught, but I don’t want you to think you need to do this.”
“Stop stalling, and tell me your plan,” Simeon teased with a growl, and Angel poked his gut with an elbow.
“The night receptionist is someone I know. Same guy the last dozen times I’ve been here. He’s going to know I haven’t been called in, and there’re no police cars in the lot, so there aren’t any cops in the building waiting for me to come in and offer an opinion.”
“Security?”
“Cameras at the garage doors, all regular doors and fire access. Keycard swipes and access pins. Cameras feed into the screens at the reception desk. One security guard. He stays in his tiny little office until his rounds, which aren’t for another two hours.”
“And your plan is what, exactly?”
“Get in there and not get caught,” Angel quipped and went back to watching the open space between their hiding spot and the rear of the morgue.
The lights from the high-rises in downtown glittered over the water in the harbor, and while it was some distance away, the scent of brine and exhaust overwhelmed each breath he took. The wind carried the damp sea air over the shore, up through the parking lots and low warehouses before swirling around the morgue and then on to where Angel and Simeon hid in the shadows. The air was chilly and damp and sank into his bones. Angel shivered and pulled the weather-proof collar of his heavy sweater up higher around his neck.
Angel pulled his bag around and dug inside. He’d brought what he need for the raising and an assortment of spellcasting odds-and-ends for any contingency. Angel searched until he found a small silver and glass jar of powdered sea salt, topped with a cork and bound in twine. The jar and its contents were older than the city they stood in, and he had to be careful with it. He closed his bag and slung it back over his shoulder, and kept an eye on the morgue and the access road.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Angel warned quietly and leaned back on the building, thankful Simeon didn’t ask what he was doing.
Angel knew elemental magic, as all higher-ranked casters did, but his affinity was for death and came easiest for him. He could use elemental magic, but it took more focus, and more preparation though he had the power base for it. He couldn’t use the veil—the coroner was a wizard, and while the coroner couldn’t access the veil, he might be able to sense Angel accessing it since he was so close. Accessing the veil created a surge in ambient magic fields, and the higher ranked practitioners could sense it when a sorcerer made contact if they were close enough.
Angel carefully unwound the twine, pulling the cork free and letting it dangle from the cord. The sea salt inside was ground to a fine powder, and the strong, clean odor rose and filled his nose. His mouth watered, and he cupped his hands tighter around the jar.
“Ventus et mare, spiritus et aqua,” Angel whispered, staring hard at the shiny contents, and pulled power from his center and fed it through the jar. This was an old spell, ancient as the shores of far-off Greece that was the home of the salt, and it was used once upon a time by the seafaring battle-mages of that island-rich country.
The fine particles moved, rolling like tiny waves as they danced. A thin stream rose from the jar and hung in front of his face as he continued to whisper. He sent his awareness out, and the salt followed. His second sight kicked in, and the harbor glowed with a powerful green-blue light, the elemental energies moving in a near constant exchange between the air and the water.
The weather report for that night gave a high chance of rain and snow, but the sky was clear right now, and so if anyone was watching at the moment, the sudden increase of fog in the harbor might raise some brows. The fog roiled and swelled, and crept toward the shore. The wind blowing over the water picked it up and pulled it inland. With half his mind on the spell, Angel carefully closed the jar, making sure the cork was seated and the twine tied off. He put the jar back in his bag and gave the spell his full attention.
Feeding it his own energy, Angel whispered the incantation over and over, the words now meaningless, all they were now just a means to focus. The fog rolled over the shore in heavy waves, and quickly filled the lots and streets, thicker than pea soup and salty and tangy on his tongue as he breathed it in. Angel relaxed, and weaned the spell from his consciousness, letting the words fade away. The spell was sti
ll being fed by his personal energy, but he could hold it long enough to finish his task. Once he was done, the fog would remain, though not as thick and cloying. It would stay like this for the next few hours, the majority of it burned away by the dawn.
“C’mon,” Angel whispered, and pushed away from the building he was leaning against. Simeon stayed at his heels, the fog thick enough that they would lose sight of each other in seconds if they separated.
Sounds were muffled, even their footsteps, and light absorbed after a few feet. The world took a dim gray hue, bright enough to see, but nothing more than a stride away. Angel kept moving straight, counting on the curb and the chain link fence to lead him to the lowered bar that kept all but emergency and mortuary vehicles from entering the garage area of the morgue.
Angel hurried, not wanting to be on the road if a vehicle decided to drive through, and found the curb, turning left toward the gate. He concentrated on watching his step since he could barely see the ground beneath his feet. They made the gate, and Angel looked up, unable to see the camera that covered the gate. If he couldn’t see the camera, the camera couldn’t see them.
Angel ducked under the bar, the fog eddying around their legs as they ran across the rear lot, heading for the garage bay doors. There were several, and Angel knew from past visits that he wanted the one on the near side, so he could take the short hall that led to the storage room where the bodies were kept post-autopsy.
It took him a few minutes in the fog, but Angel managed to find the right door, the gray concrete and steel building looming above them. He pulled a pair of thin leather gloves from his bag, and tugged them on, not wanting to leave behind prints. Getting away with casting a prohibited spell would be ruined by being hauled in for felony B&E.