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

by SJ Himes

  “Yes, you did. All mine, a ghra,” Simeon whispered, nibbling on his earlobe. “Did you have plans for the day, or may I show you again how much I desire you?”

  “Aw man, not fair,” Angel sighed, groaning. “I need to call Milly and see if the cops came by and if she’s okay, and since my office is still a crime scene, I guess I have no plans other than tracking down a killer.”

  “Then call the lovely Millicent, and afterwards we shall spend the day creating more alibis,” Simeon kissed him, deep and hard, making him moan and arch up, burying his fingers in thick auburn hair and humming his approval. “Unless you’d rather hunt down that killer now….”

  “Shut up and kiss me!”

  “So demanding.”

  The kiss Angel got was enough to make him forget his name. Full of tongue and chocolate, fangs and mint, Angel drowned in Simeon’s kiss.

  He was working his fingers down to unbutton Simeon’s waistband when a chime went off, stilling Simeon atop of him. Angel pulled back and stared up at his lover. “What is it? What’s that noise?”

  “My master summons me,” Simeon said, face closing off, and he carefully got up from the bed, pulling Angel up with him. “I must attend him.”

  “Shit. All right. I’ll stay here then? I’ll just find my cell and call Milly, see what’s going on with her. Maybe order a pizza, I’m starving.” Angel put his hands in his pockets, oddly nervous. He gave a thin smile to Simeon when the Elder cocked a brow at him. “What? It’s not every day a guy starts a new relationship and then his boyfriend gets summoned by an all-powerful master of vampires. What if your master wants me to leave? And I swear to god, I sound like a kid freaking out over his first boyfriend and whether or not the parents like me. What the fuck.”

  Simeon interrupted his rambling by kissing him, strong hands curling over his shoulders. Angel stilled, tipping his head back and losing himself in the touch and sensations. Every time Simeon touched him, every kiss, it was getting harder and harder to hold on to himself, keep his focus and his desires in check. Simeon was wearing him down, consuming his control and becoming the focal point for all his wants. He had never once felt like this, and between feeling as if he were adrift on currents outside his control, and the need to place his heart solely in Simeon’s hands, Angel was fighting with everything he had to survive from one moment to the next.

  “Leannán,” Simeon whispered as he pulled back, lips moving over Angel’s, making him shiver with need. “Just breathe, please. All will be well. I must go, though. I will be back. If you wish to call Milly, your cell is with your bag. It’s on the coffee table in the front room. You left your bag in the limo last night.”

  Angel pulled back, licking his lips, Simeon’s eyes tracking his tongue. He grinned, then blinked, focusing. “No one messed with it? My bag, I mean?”

  “Please check if you want. If anything is missing, I will rectify the problem when I return. The phone on the table beside the bed calls to Housekeeping. Order yourself something to eat. I must go.”

  Simeon kissed him one last time and walked from the room. Angel watched him go, heart jumping, oddly worried.

  His cell was where Simeon said it would be, in the huge living room on a coffee table. Angel put it in his pocket, intending to call Milly in a few minutes. His bag was there too, and he didn’t hesitate to check the contents. Everything was there and looked unmolested. The sea salt and venom jars were beyond priceless, and it showed how fucked up he was the night before that he forgot all about them. He pulled out his athame and went back to the bathroom. He cleaned the blade, wishing he had holy water to properly do the trick, but tap water and a quick prayer was enough to cleanse the residual energy from the blade. He stuck the blade behind his belt at the small of his back, his long, heavy sweater enough to cover the hilt and the blade from casual observers.

  Taking out his cell, he dialed Milly. It was late enough to be a decent hour to call since she got up late on days they weren’t offering classes. With their studio a crime scene, neither of them were working.

  “Hello?” Milly said, cranky.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Angel quipped, sitting on Simeon’s bed, catching a whiff of their activities in the night. Angel smiled, and fell back on the bed, wincing when the hilt of the athame dug into a rib. He shifted, and listened to Milly grumble at him.

  “Don’t call me sunshine, young man,” she snapped, obviously upset. Angel bit his lip and tried not to laugh. “Your BFF Detective Collins was here earlier. Asshole woke me 7am.”

  “Did you turn him into a rat? I’d pay to see that,” Angel said, thinking about it. Transformation spells were incredibly difficult and ran the risk of killing anything living, but it might be worth it to see Collins match his personality.

  “No, and I’m regretting that now. They went to your apartment and tried to get past your wards. I saw a few detectives sporting your tracers, so I don’t know if they managed to get in or not.”

  “If they tried hard enough they may have, though my tracers will stick to anyone who’s determined enough to breach them. I wasn’t woken by any sensory echoes from my wards falling, so I don’t think they made it in.”

  “Hmmm,” Milly hummed, and he could hear her clinking around, water running. “I, of course, had no idea as to your whereabouts if you weren’t at home, and since I informed them I’m far too young to be your fucking mother and as such I have no idea what you do at night, I was able to tell them nothing. I’m assuming you had to go somewhere other than home after your adventure last night?”

  “Ummm,” Angel said, thinking. He could lie, but she routinely caught him out at it anyway. He was safe enough on the other side of town he could tell her the truth. “My old friend hadn’t been autopsied, and I left evidence behind. We had to rectify that, and almost got caught. So now I’m…. Making an alibi at the Tower, actually. With Simeon,” he added, as if his location wasn’t a big enough to clue to let her know what he’d been doing late last night.

  Crickets. That must be what he was hearing through the silence on the line. Crickets, followed by a long, even exhale and a deep breath. Wincing, waiting for a lecture or a shriek, Angel was left flabbergasted when Milly merely said, “It’s about time. Took you fuckers long enough.”

  “Thanks, mum,” Angel sighed. “So glad you like my boyfriend.”

  “Stop it!”

  Angel laughed and got back to his feet, cell pressed to his ear. He heard something in the front room, and he headed that direction thinking Simeon was back. “Let me know if anything happens, please? And the bad guy’s name is Deimos. Sound familiar?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Milly said, humming as she thought. He heard a kettle in the background, she must be making tea. “I’ll ask around?”

  “Do it carefully, please. August is dead, I don’t want to get a call from the cops saying they found your body. You could be next—the asshole wants to know how I survived that night and what spell I used.”

  He didn’t need to elaborate—Milly understood. “As I don’t know what spell you used myself, and have told numerous idiots that who’ve asked me in the last several years, I think I’m safe, but I will be cautious, dear. Give my best to Simeon.”

  “Sure,” Angel said and hung up as he entered the living room. Simeon was back, and his lover wasn’t alone.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Angel asked. “And Milly says hi.”

  Simeon gave him a tight smile, fangs hidden, but stepped to the side. “Leannán,” he said with a short bow, “May I present to you my esteemed colleague, Elder Etienne Gaston. Etienne, my Leannán, the necromancer Angelus Salvatore.”

  The Master of Boston was odd in some ways, like his near-total recluse status and the fact he only had two Elders. Most Masters of a city had several, sometimes up to a dozen, but here there were only two, Simeon and the dark-haired, slim vampire eyeing him like he was dessert.

  “Hi,” Angel said, not offering his hand. The vampire Elder was a couple inches tal
ler than Angel, slim, and just as pale as Simeon, making his dark brown eyes stand out even more, his chocolate-brown hair brushed back into an elegant wave. “So what’s going on?”

  Simeon smirked at his abruptness, and the new vamp’s eyes narrowed, probably in annoyance, but Angel couldn’t care less. Angel saw a hint of fang before the new Elder got himself under control. He was hungry, he wanted to get fucked again, and he had a bad guy to burn to ashes, and being polite wasn’t something he was all that skilled at anyways. Simeon was acting odd, but then he had never seen Simeon in the presence of an equal, always seeing his lover around lesser masters and fledglings, so it made sense he would act differently in the presence of someone with ostensibly as much authority as he.

  The new vamp was very pretty, in a strong, masculine way, but Angel preferred the wild warrior with his dark red hair and tattoos standing at his side to the polished exterior of the other Elder, and his obvious lack of awe at meeting this new Elder came across fairly clear. Simeon took Angel’s hand, and Elder Etienne rallied, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in his fine jacket.

  “I have come to offer the sincerest welcome of our Master, and ask that do him the honor of attending him for your repast,” Elder Etienne said, his French accent smooth and heavy, but his words were perfectly understandable. As was his annoyance. “The police are reportedly searching for you, and our Master wishes to speak to you about such matters in person. As your connection to the bloodclan is widely known, I believe the police have correctly assumed you are here. My master wishes to speak to you before the police arrive.”

  “Shit,” Angel swore and turned to Simeon. “Did I get you in trouble?”

  “Not at all, my love. We should go, though, as my master has ordered brunch for you.”

  “Brunch. Sounds special. Alright, after you,” Angel said, hiding his nerves. He wasn’t afraid, not really—he was more worried about Simeon in this whole mess. Was he in trouble for dragging the clan into Angel’s shitstorm? And why did Etienne come back with Simeon instead of his lover returning for Angel alone?

  Angel followed Etienne out into the hall, the three of them walking to the elevator and its guard stationed outside the doors, this time, a human man, dressed identically to his undead counterparts. Angel kept his hand on Simeon’s, and when they got in the elevator with its human guard and Etienne scanned his palm, Angel was additionally worried when Simeon made it a point to stand between him and the other Elder as if protecting him. Angel got a quick look at Etienne’s face and the sneer twisting his lips before the elevator stopped at the penthouse.

  A guard stood outside the doors in the hall, and two more stood down at the entrance to the penthouse suite. Angel walked down the hall at Simeon’s side, Etienne in front and one of the guards following behind. He refused to be nervous, but he clutched a bit tighter at Simeon’s hand.

  The doors were opened by the guards, and they swept into a grand room, tall windows tinted the same as the ones in Simeon’s bedroom, but their height allowed more natural light into the space, even if the view was just as boring in gray-scale tones. Even the vibrant hues of scarlet and burgundy, snow-white and rich cream were dulled by the oppressive nature of the view, despite the distance to be seen across the harbor and most of Downtown. Though absolutely minuscule compared to The Hancock’s 60-stories of glass and steel, the Tower was placed so as not to be near any other taller buildings; its placement in one of the most historical areas of Boston prevented newer developments and taller buildings from devouring its view of the city. The vamps further protected their territory by buying the surrounding properties and having them all declared landmarks to some degree or another.

  An unlit chandelier above his head caught the meager light and threw rainbow-hued spots across the walls and floor, and over the golden hair of The Master of the City. Angel met crystalline blue eyes that glittered as brightly as the ornaments above them and froze.

  Chapter Nine

  The Master

  Angel had only ever seen the Master of Boston once, from a distance across the grand floor of the casino buried at the base of the Tower. He had been leaving the room as Angel entered it, heading for one of the private rooms adjacent to the main playing floor where high-stakes games were played. A young vampire had bitten one of the servers, a woman who had a witch in her family tree close enough to poison her blood with latent magic. Angel was able to cure the vampire, and scold the undead in charge for not schooling both their younglings and their employees to avoid such mistakes in the future.

  His one glimpse was insufficient to prepare him for the sheer magnitude that was The Master. Tall, Simeon’s height at least, and broad across the chest and shoulders, muscles moved as a cat’s would as the ancient vampire stalked away from the windows towards where they stood. Pale skin, unlined and smooth, glowed white as snow and just as pure, with deep pink, lush lips that revealed pristine fangs and shiny teeth flashed in a charming grin.

  A scent as familiar as apple pie and pine, with a hint of lemon washed over him, making him breathe deep and hold it in to enjoy it better. He breathed out when his lungs began to burn, eyes meeting bright blue once again, and found his tongue incapable of forming words.

  “Simeon,” the vision spoke, accented with such a foreign influence that it left Angel floundering, “Is this creature of magic and allure your necromancer? Surely not, for one so young and beautiful to be so powerful.”

  At the first hint of bullshit, Angel snapped back to reality. The Master knew exactly who he was, and back-handed compliments did nothing but piss him off. He held his tongue, but narrowed his eyes a smidgen, taking a better look at the ancient undead in front of him. The Master was beyond attractive; he exuded an aura of raw masculinity and power that Angel could feel, cloying and purring as a cat would, trying to entice him into touching, to wanting. Angel had a thing for big men, but this creature before him was too much dangerous wrapped up in a tame exterior. Not to mention the charisma rolling off him in waves, trying to suppress Angel’s will, left him royally pissed.

  “Yes, Master. This is Angelus Salvatore. A ghra, the Master of Boston, Constantine Batiste.” Simeon’s words were pure courtesy, but the tension in the hand Angel held warned him to tread carefully.

  “Angelus, greetings.” Angel found his free hand in the Master’s, without noticing how it got there. The fucker was fast and too slick. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Angel, please. Only my mother called me Angelus, and that was when I forgot to clean my room,” Angel replied, trying to discreetly pull his hand away, but Batiste held him without effort. Cold, hard fingers that sucked in his own body heat, rapidly warming, and as the cold receded he could feel the smooth skin, the satin glide of perfect flesh. Too perfect, somehow, and it bothered him.

  “Of course, Angel. And you are an angel, are you not? I can feel your power, it burns around you in a verdant halo, just under the surface,” Batiste said, damn near purring. The ancient vamp could sense Angel’s aura, meaning his own power was substantial. Not that Angel had any doubts, considering how easily he was almost swept under by the vampire’s charisma. “Will you dine with me? Food has been prepared, and I am eager to see your enjoyment of what I have had arranged for you.”

  Holding back his retort at just how fucking creepy that sounded, Angel gave a tight smile and nodded once. “Sure, sounds great. Did you order something for Simeon, too? Poor guy must be parched.”

  Simeon stiffened, and Angel felt a minor tremor in the hands that held his, but there was no sign of anger or annoyance in the perfect face of the master. “I shall have something brought out immediately. Please, this way.”

  Angel finally had his hand back, and they were led to a small table underneath the windows, a single place setting with fruit, pastries, and what looked like a rasher of scrambled eggs and bacon. He was hungry and sat. Servants appeared, and while Batiste and Simeon sat, Etienne stood nearby. The servants put a goblet in front of both Simeon and the Master, a
nd Angel got a hint of metallic heat on the air. Blood in the goblets, not that he expected anything less. A clear water goblet was placed next to his left hand, and Angel sipped, watching both the master and Simeon. The master gave him a charming smile and Simeon sat still, both hands flat on the table on either side of his goblet.

  He piled food on his plate and dug in. The odds of being poisoned were next to none here—Angel could heal himself of anything deadly, eradicating the toxins with a rush of hellfire through his system, and the motive behind such an act wasn’t obvious or apparent enough to be likely. Unless Deimos was a highly ranked vampire and in this room or preparing his food in the kitchens, and somehow able to hide his scent from Simeon, no one here wanted him dead… yet.

  Not able to remember the last time he ate anything substantial, Angel went back for seconds, Batiste watching him the whole time, amusement stamped on his features. The servants left the room as silently as they entered it, and it was just Angel and three vamps, only one of them he was certain wouldn’t try to either kill him or bewitch him.

  Angel swallowed, and said, “Not used to seeing people eat food?”

  “I am not, no,” Batiste agreed, “I do not spend time with my donors outside of my own sustenance.”

  “So no wining and dining? You just have ‘em come over for a snack and send them on their way afterwards?”

  Simeon went extra still, if it was at all possible for someone to become so frozen that they all but vibrated with palpable tension while not actually moving, but Simeon managed it.