by SJ Himes
“Do you know where he is? Did the boy tell you?” Simeon asked, and Angel nodded as they entered Simeon’s room. He let Eroch go, who jumped from his arms and flew to the bed, crawling under the blankets and disappearing.
“I have a really good idea where Deimos is,” Angel replied, stripping down to his underwear, heading for the bathroom. He took care of business and came back out moments later, and headed right for the food cart a blood servant was wheeling into the room. Simeon was shifting on his feet, and the servant was waiting, both of them looking at Angel.
“Oh,” he said, and it clicked. Simeon was hungry, too. Angel could not feed Simeon—his blood was poison, and the Elder had to eat. “Um, Simeon, if you need to eat, go ahead. You want me to leave? Or I can stay, either one, up to you two.”
The blood servant gave a relieved bow and walked out of the room, Simeon following. They were gone maybe five minutes, Angel staring at the door when it opened and Simeon returned. His clothing was intact, and he was discreetly wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. He stopped when he saw Angel staring, and the door swung shut behind him. “Does it bother you, a ghra? My need to feed on humans?”
“I won’t lie. It does, a little bit, but only because I’m not used to it. He offered willingly, right?” Angel said, meaning the servant.
“Yes, I do not force-feed from humans. They offer their blood, in exchange for a safe place to live and an increased lifespan.”
“How increased?” Angel asked, grabbing a sandwich on a plate and heading for the bed.
“A blood servant gets another fifty or sixty years added to whatever age they are when they begin to feed us. Repeat exposure to our saliva when we bite halts all aging, and when it begins to wear off, we either turn the human into one of us, or we let them go, depending on their wishes.”
“Damn, sounds like a sweet job. Where do I sign up?” Angel quipped, and Simeon relaxed, smiling.
“I was afraid you would not be able to accept this part of my nature,” Simeon revealed, undressing. “Many humans have trouble with it.”
“I’m not really all that human,” Angel said, taking a big bite of his sandwich, moaning happily at the flavor. He chewed and swallowed. “And you went and broke the law with me, and helped me raise the dead. If anyone needs help accepting his significant other, anyone would think it would be you.”
“Your gifts don’t bother me, a ghra,” Simeon said, naked and resplendent and so gorgeous Angel had to force himself to finish eating. “You are a marvel, and my love for you grows deeper every day.”
“Great answer,” Angel smiled, and set aside his now empty plate, crawling into bed, Simeon following him in.
Simeon pulled the covers over them both, and Angel found himself draped over Simeon’s chest, head resting on his lover’s muscular shoulder, staring up close at several of his woad tattoos. The ancient designs were as wild as the man, and Angel grinned. Even when his life was full of danger and death and old rivalries, he was happy. He couldn’t recall the last time he was happy.
Angel was nearly asleep when Simeon startled, moving his legs. Angel heard a reproachful chirp from under the blankets and smiled, just before he fell asleep.
Angel drew his weather-proof sweater on over his head, yanking down the thick garment. He tried to fix his hair, but gave up on it, reaching for his bag and athame. The blade spun easily in his hand, the weight familiar and reassuring. It had once been his father’s, and it was one of the few items he took from Salvatore Mansion when he and Isaac left.
Eroch chirped at him from the bed, stretched out on the blankets, waving his wings. Angel gave him a smile, and said, “Stay here, my friend. I’ll have you freed before dawn, okay? Just relax, and you’ll be home soon.” The dragon chirped, and began rolling happily in the blankets.
Angel moved to the door, meeting Simeon at the suite’s door. Daniel sat on one of the couches, freed from the IV and moving about. He was still weak, but improving, the scars on his neck still raw looking and bright red. Angel met Daniel’s gaze, who promptly ducked his head and looked away, and the boy would have blushed in shame if he’d had enough blood left in his body to do so.
“Daniel,” Angel said, making the boy look at him. Daniel lifted his eyes back to Angel’s, and he gave him a short nod of approval. “You are not in danger here. You’ll be safe, and you and I will talk when I get back.”
“Will you be back?” Daniel dared to ask, worried, his dark eyes nearly black with swirling emotions.
“Yes, I will. I am going to kill Deimos; do you understand?” Angel asked, making his plans clear. “He’s gone rogue—he has to die.”
“I understand,” Daniel said, his voice soft and thin. The boy curled in on himself and buried his head in his arms. Angel sighed but turned for the door anyway.
“Angel?” Daniel called just before they stepped into the hall.
“Yeah, kiddo?” Angel called back, half turned, to see Daniel peeking up through his thick bangs.
“Is Isaac still alive?” Daniel asked, biting his lip. “Did you find him yet?”
“Isaac…what do you mean?” Angel asked, taking a step back towards Daniel. “Is my brother in danger?”
“I think Deimos kidnapped him the other night.”
“What!” Angel shouted, every hair on his body standing straight up, his breath stalling in his chest. He forced himself to breathe, and pointed at Daniel. “Explain!”
“Deimos tried getting to him before Remington, but Isaac only goes to the clan bars where everyone knows who he is and no one will bother him, and Deimos couldn’t snatch him without drawing attention to himself. He even tried to get in his place, but the wards kept him out. So he took Remington instead,” Daniel said, curling tighter in on himself. “But the other night he said Remington was a bust, and he was going to get Isaac to force the truth from you. He disappeared a couple nights ago, and he came back smelling like smoke and his hands were burned.”
“Oh fuck,” Angel swore, and tore away, running for the elevator. Heart racing, pulse thumping in his ears, Angel pulled out his cell and dialed Isaac’s number.
“Angel, does he have your brother?” Simeon asked urgently as they got in the elevator, the door shutting with a ding. Simeon got them moving, scanning his palm and hitting the button for the garage.
“Come on Isaac, answer the fucking phone,” Angel gritted out, wishing he could pace but he felt trapped and helpless in the confines of the elevator. The phone rang out in his ear, over and over, unanswered. That was not unusual, as Isaac ignored him on any given day, but this time he was tormented by what-ifs, images of his baby brother torn apart, his eyes dull and lifeless, blood spilled across the floor of his unkempt apartment.
“Breathe, a ghra,” Simeon said, gripping the back of his neck, squeezing hard. Angel sucked in a deep breath, and redialed Isaac when it went to voicemail. “Calm yourself. Losing control will only endanger yourself and your brother.”
“He isn’t answering. He never does when I call, so use your cell. Here’s his number,” Angel said, turning his cell so Simeon could see his brother’s number on his screen. “Call him, see if he answers. We need to get to his place, now.”
The elevator finally stopped in the garage, and Simeon dialed his cell as he took Angel’s arm, both of them sprinting towards a low, sleek black car. Simeon tossed Angel his cell, and he held it to his ear, his chest growing tight as it rang unanswered, over and over.
Simeon brought the mechanical beast alive, and with the tires screaming, they leapt out from beneath the Tower, heading for Isaac’s apartment.
Angel sprinted up the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator in Isaac’s building. Angel burst through the door in the stairwell, running full tilt for Isaac’s door. The hall was dark, the lights flickering. Isaac lived in a fairly posh building, and the shared spaces were always well-maintained, so the bad lights were new. Angel dug out his keys, and tripped.
He flew forward, Simeon’s hand gr
abbing him by his upper arm and stopping his descent a foot from the floor. Angel gasped, staring down at the dead eyes of Gregory Doyle. Simeon lifted Angel back to his feet, and they both looked down at what remained of Isaac’s erstwhile boyfriend. Greg was torn to pieces, an arm ripped from his body, torso sundered, and blood was dried and pooled beneath his body. Several bags of groceries were spilled across the floor, a milk jug punctured and the milk mixed with blood. A pizza box was wrecked, and the contents were strewn across the hallway.
Scorch marks littered the walls and floor, and even the corpse. Which was bloated, flies and bugs crawling upon it, and the food was well on its way to rotting in the warmth of the hallway. Isaac lived alone on this floor—the only traffic through here was his brother, and Isaac rarely left his place except to head to vampire bars. The groceries on the floor were the first he’d seen any evidence of since Isaac moved out.
Angel put a hand out and rested it palm flat on the door of Isaac’s place. The wards hummed, intact, and he sent out a tendril of thought, seeking his brother on the other side.
Nothing.
“He’s not here. They never made it back into the apartment before they were ambushed,” Angel said, backing away from the mess in the hall. He gave Doyle one last look of regret, and backed away. “Doyle’s been dead for at least two days. Deimos has Isaac.”
“Are you sure? Should we not check the apartment?” Simeon asked him though he followed Angel as he jogged back down the hall, back to the staircase. “How did no one find the body?”
“Isaac is gone. Whether Deimos has him or not, I can’t tell, but my brother put up one hell of a fight,” Angel huffed out, taking the stairs down three at a time, Simeon keeping pace. “Isaac and Greg have that floor all to themselves. No other tenants, so there’s no reason for anyone to get off on that floor. It’s a closed building, so no one wanders around.”
“How do you know Deimos has him, or that he’s not in there still? I thought your brother was a mundane mortal,” Simeon said, and they left Isaac’s building and ran for the car. They got in, and Angel pulled out his cell and answered Simeon as he dialed 911. As much as he disliked Gregory Doyle, Isaac had loved the man, and Angel couldn’t leave his corpse to rot in the hallway with the spoiled milk and pizza.
“He doesn’t practice, hasn’t since he was a kid. I sent Isaac to public school with the human kids after the Wars, and taught him at home. He’s still fully trained, I made certain of that before I let him move out. Isaac is a sorcerer, just like me,” he said, hitting Send on his cell. “Deimos is in for a world of hurt if he has Isaac.”
“How so, a ghra?”
“My little brother’s affinity is for fire,” Angel said, and Dispatch answered his call. “I need to report a murder and potential kidnapping.”
Angel gave Dispatch the barest of details, then hung up. Simeon gave him a glance, and Angel took a deep breath, centering himself as best he could. He reached for the veil, charging himself and his reserves past his normal levels, spindling the power inside of him, until his fingers tingled.
“Where to, a ghra?” Simeon asked, turning the ignition and waiting for directions.
“Salvatore Mansion,” Angel answered, and buckled himself in. Simeon was startled, but pulled out into the evening traffic, heading south.
Daniel had said, “home.” And that was where Angel would go.
The long street was lined by tall, straggly pines and barren deciduous, dormant with the onset of winter. Simeon parked the car outside the community gate, and they got out, approaching the iron wrought fence and stone wall.
The community was ostensibly still inhabited, but the main gate had moved to the other side of the community, leaving the few remaining residents the ability to come and go without having to drive by the Salvatore Mansion. Set back a few hundred yards from the road, Angel got glimpses of his familial home through the trees as they walked down the pothole pocked street, the sidewalk cracked and reduced to rubble in many places. Old scorch marks from pyres and melted slag from what was once street lamps made puddles and ripples across the ground, like lava cooled to obsidian.
“Have you never been back?” Simeon asked, his voice hushed. Angel stepped around a scorched and melted section of asphalt, kicking aside some pieces of charcoal that may or may not be a piece of some burnt-out car, hell, even a bone.
“I took some things from the house, packed up Isaac and myself, closed up the house, and left,” Angel replied his athame in hand, glad he left the bag in the car. They would need to move fast, and Angel wouldn’t be taking the time for structured casting.
They were walking down the main avenue where most of the vampiric army sent for the Salvatore family was destroyed. Where he killed them. Angel paused, breathing in deep, the fresh air familiar and poignant with memories.
“My love?” Simeon whispered, standing at his shoulder, blocking the meager wind. Memories ate at Angel, and he had to regain control, or there would be no rescue and no vengeance met out tonight.
“My father didn’t teach me when I was done with school, that was August. But one thing he did teach me when my affinity for death was confirmed was an old family fable,” Angel exhaled roughly, tears threatening to run down his chilled cheeks. This was no time for him to fall apart. Remembering his father’s words like a lifeline, Angel rested his forehead on Simeon’s shoulder, breathing slow and deep.
Simeon put his hands over his shoulders, giving him something to focus on, rubbing and soothing. “What was the fable, a ghra?”
“It’s too long to tell the whole of it, but the moral is fairly simple. That the life of a necromancer is a complicated, twisted path, strewn with pitfalls and steep inclines, dangerous decisions and prejudice. We are feared for our powers, as much as we are needed. Necromancers make the best priests, the strongest healers when all hope is lost, and yet we are the most skilled at killing, causing misery and pain and death. We commune with the dead and ease the soul’s passage, taking up priestly vows as often as we stray from the path and raise armies of undead. He said my life would follow the same path as those that came before me, and that my story would depend upon me. The tale is a cautionary one, called the necromancer’s dilemma, but he called it the necromancer’s dance—he was dancer, and his metaphors followed suit,” Angel whispered, lifting his head, wiping at his eyes, closing them for a moment as he recalled his father’s face, how he sounded in that long ago conversation. “He told me my dance would be no less fraught with peril and choices to make, and he hoped I would make the right decisions.”
Angel breathed in, held it, and let it go, slowly, his calm returning. He was on his family’s land, home at last, and it was time to finish what was started all those years ago. Deimos betrayed his people, and sent them for Angel’s, and they were all dead as a result.
“I never intended to survive that night,” Angel said, stepping back from Simeon, meeting his lover’s concerned gaze, strength returning to his voice, his heart beating with purpose. “I had no idea what I was doing, and with what I thought was my last breath I cast a spell that was meant to put an end to the death around me. I tried to die, and ended up killing my enemies instead. But tonight I intend to survive, and I have a purpose. Deimos dies, Isaac gets home in one piece, and I sleep for a week after this.”
“Excellent plan, my love,” Simeon smiled, and Angel walked on, his calm returned.
“Is Isaac here?” Simeon asked as they came up to the house’s driveway, following the gravel and stone road toward the old mansion, rising from the unkempt gardens like a lost castle in the wilderness.
“He is,” Angel affirmed. “He’s still alive, too. The land recognized him.”
“Can you sense if Deimos is here, too?” Simeon asked, and the Elder was watchful, cautious, eyeing the surrounding wild growth and the shadows under the trees. “Does the land know you?”
“The land knows me,” Angel whispered back, his awareness stretched out across the width and breadth
of his heritage, feeling the near-dormant pulse of the land that saw the birth and death of six generations of Salvatores. Isaac’s presence was a brilliant red glow, a single flame that shimmered amidst several deep pits of cold void—fledglings. “Deimos is here, as is…five, no six…six newly risen fledglings.”
“I can handle them,” Simeon stated, absolute conviction in his voice. “They cannot withstand my power.”
“Even against their sire’s will?” Angel asked, and he gestured with the athame, guiding Simeon away from the wide, tall windows in the front of the mansion, heading towards the side door to the garden that would take them into the depths of the house.
“Etienne has attempted many times in the last decade to sire fledglings bound to him, and each time he failed. Another master had to take them in hand, or they were killed,” Simeon informed him, and Angel grumbled.
“Great, so they will be wild. Any idea if you can handle that many at once?” Angel asked, approaching the door cautiously. There was no point in trying for stealth—a vampire’s hearing was sharp enough to hear Angel and Simeon out at the gate.
“I have done so before, a ghra,” Simeon said, a feral smile on his lips.
Angel made the door, the thick wood panel set with stained glass his mother’s favorite, and he pressed his hand to the metal doorplate, feeling it warm under his fingers. The door unlocked with a soft snick and swung inwards.
The study was dark, the furniture standing out in the shadows like ghosts under their dust covers. Angel stepped inside, Simeon at his side and Angel closed the door, the solid thump echoing through the house. Subterfuge wasn’t an option when against enemies who could hear his heartbeat from across the house.