by Megan Derr
Gentle laughter drifted back toward him.
Then the fog began to clear. Slowly, bit by bit, it faded from the thick soup it had become to a thin mist, to delicate tendrils, and finally vanished altogether.
Without the fog, the night was clear and cold and sharp. High above, the full moon shone bright silver, casting down its light in a dreamlike imitation of midday.
Atop a dark brown stallion, Devlin's favorite horse, sat a figure whose snow white skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. His hair looked black, but in truth was a deep, rich blue. It fell just past the man's shoulders and had probably been tied back at some point. Unlike Devlin and Barra, he did not wear a heavy coat, merely a black brocade jacket with a subtle skull and crown pattern.
He did not even wear gloves, though they were likely tucked away somewhere. His nails were as dark as his hair, and would be just as blue in full light. Like his eyes, as deep and dark as a sapphire, or the depths of the sea. His face was that of an angel's, but his smile was the devil's as he slid from the horse and swept Devlin a careless bow.
"You should not be here, Midnight," Devlin said. "I gave explicit instructions that you were to remain home this time."
Midnight rose to his full height, jerking his head to sweep his long, wavy hair back over his shoulders. He laid a hand over his heart. "The pen said one thing, but I heard quite another, Heartbeat."
Devlin scowled. "It is not safe for you, not with the draugr acting so oddly. I do not care what you decide to hear."
"I hear only you, Heartbeat," Midnight said, and Devlin refused to be soothed by the fond, gentle smile Midnight gave him. Refused.
Midnight's smile faded as he looked out over the moonlit field. "Yes," he said thoughtfully. "There is a… song. A song for the dead. It is beautiful, enchanting even. Compels the draugr to wake and walk and kill and whatever else the singer bids."
Devlin frowned. "You are not enchanted."
The smile returned, and Midnight moved toward him, reaching out to rest a hand lightly upon Devlin's cheek. "To me, even the angelic choir would never sound half as beautiful your voice, Heartbeat." Midnight touched his own chest with his free hand. "I hear you and feel you, to the exclusion of all else."
"Cease," Devlin said, refusing to flush like a schoolboy, feeling a discomfiture that only Midnight could produce in him.
Midnight laughed softly and let his hand slide away.
"I suppose it would be a waste of time and effort to order you home," Devlin said with a sigh. "Damn it, Midnight."
"You could not expect me to ignore your summons," Midnight said. "Hearing you but being forced to stay home was a cruel thing to ask of me. I had to come."
Devlin sighed again but let the matter drop. "So what is the point of origin for this siren song?"
Siren song. That was deep magic—a spell, most often in the form of music or song, that compelled those who could hear it to do whatever the spell said, to the point the victim would even commit suicide if so ordered. It took a powerful magic user to cast such an enchantment.
"I cannot tell," Midnight said slowly, frowning. "It comes from nowhere and everywhere. Peculiar. Impressive. That is sorcery at the very least, or necromancy, yet I sense neither. Only hear the song."
Devlin frowned. "The spell could be distorting your perception of the location, but neither I nor Barra has sensed the presence of a powerful magic user. I am the strongest in the region at the moment." Which reminded him he had not collected his runes. Holding out his right hand, palm up, he recalled the runes, kissing the very last one before tucking all away in his jacket.
Midnight watched him go through the ritual, an intensity to his faintly glowing dark blue eyes. "So what shall we do, Heartbeat?"
"If you are here, I suppose we can press on with our explorations," Devlin said reluctantly.
He would definitely be an extremely useful addition. Midnight was the ultimate draugr and more besides. So long as Devlin lived, so too did Midnight, but he was still a draugr, with all their strengths and weaknesses.
Sunlight was his greatest enemy, followed by the holy magic wielded by the likes of Father Winsted. Thanks to the spell that granted him life, he did not crave or need the flesh of the living to maintain a semblance of life—unless he exhausted his strength, in which case he most often drank blood from Devlin or Barra.
Unlike most draugr, he did not grow to enormous proportions as many did before they settled once more into a more human like shape. He could, however, shape shift as only the most powerful draugr could. His alternate shapes were a raven and a cat, both of a blue so deep they could be taken for black except in the sunlight Midnight would never see anyway.
Midnight smiled at him again, reaching up to brush back a long strand of hair. The movement pulled on his sleeves, drawing them back just enough to show a bit of the runes marked into his skin. A ring of runes wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and throat. A cluster of runes rested on his lower back, still more on his abdomen, with the three master runes forming a triangle over his heart. They were twin to the marks over Devlin's own heart.
Heart, breath, and soul.
"Shall we then, Heartbeat?" Midnight asked.
"Yes," Devlin said, "but do not think that you are not in trouble for defying me, Midnight."
Midnight grinned. "I will accept whatever punishment I must, so long as I am by your side."
"Oh, do stop it," Devlin said, fighting a smile, refusing to be anything but aggravated that Midnight had defied him.
"Yes, Heartbeat," Midnight replied. He stretched, and spun around in a circle. "A beautiful night for hunting, hmm? Could the magician we seek be hiding out in dragon country?" His eyes glowed brighter. "Do you suppose we might see a dragon?"
Devlin winced. "We already saw one, earlier."
"Oh," Midnight said, slumping in disappointment. "What was it like? Are they as fierce as everyone says? Do they really have silver scales?"
"More like steel, really," Barra said. "They shone more like metal than scale, for a certainty. Right bastards, if you ask me." More than a trace of bitter unhappiness thickened his voice.
Devlin's mouth tightened. "Yes. They could give me lessons in arrogance."
"That is impressive," Midnight murmured, snickering when Devlin glared at him. He batted his eyelashes. "No one wears arrogance better than you, Heartbeat."
"They called Barra a mongrel," Devlin said.
Midnight smiled sweetly. "Then I look forward to meeting them myself and teaching them some manners. I though knights were supposed to be the very definition of courtesy and chivalry and all that rot."
"Rot, yes," Devlin said. "Come, the night is passing."
They both nodded, Barra shifting back to his wolf form.
"Thank you for the horse," Devlin said.
Midnight nodded but said nothing, merely stood as though waiting for something.
Devlin conceded defeat, as undone now as he had been the first time by dark sapphire eyes. "I am still angry with you, Midnight, but I am happy you are here."
Smiling in that way of his, sweet and gentle and warming, Midnight stepped close and embraced him, burying his face against Devlin's chest.
He smelled like magic, or so Devlin had always secretly thought: bitter and sweet, rich and sharp, like copper and roses tangled together. Though he should have been cold to the touch, he was warm in Devlin's arms.
Their hearts beat together—literally as one. Sometimes he thought he could feel it, Midnight's heart beating against his own.
"Come," he said, reluctantly loosing his embrace, refusing to think of how much more he would like to do.
Midnight nodded, drawing away slowly, fingers trailing before he finally pulled away entirely. "Shall I take to the sky since Barra is covering the ground?"
"Have you the strength?" Devlin asked.
"I made certain to draw a bit of blood before I came after you," Midnight said. "A footpad who will remember nothing."
Devlin
nodded. "Then take to the sky, Midnight."
"Yes, Heartbeat." Midnight stepped back and threw out his arms. In the next breath, he was a large raven.
He landed lightly upon Devlin's shoulder, a surprisingly heavy weight, and picked at his hair for a moment before cawing and launching into the sky. He flew in circles for a minute, then cawed again and flew off into the night.
Barra howled briefly in greeting, then took off after him.
Devlin laughed softly and strode to his patiently waiting horse. Few animals could tolerate nightwalkers, even fewer could tolerate Midnight. His horse had always been unflappable, and the only one Devlin knew that would not only tolerate Midnight, but permit him to ride.
Mounting, smiling because suddenly he simply could not help it, he settled himself and then gave the horse its head, indicating only that he was to join the chase.
Nickering, the stallion eagerly obeyed, taking off across the night with confidence. They chased easily after Barra, who in turn followed the near-invisible form of Midnight flying high in the sky.
They likely would not find anything tonight, not when it was so late and their unknown nemesis had most likely retreated.
But it was enough, for now, simply to run with his oldest and dearest friends by the light of the moon.
Precious
Clouds had begun to fill the sky as night gave over to morning, the cold air taking on the feel of rain. By the time they had returned to their lodgings, the rain had begun to fall. Only lightly at first, but not long after finding the safety of their rooms it began to fall in earnest.
"Made yourself right at home, I see," Devlin said dryly, observing the satchels piled at the foot of the bed.
Barra frowned in disapproval and promptly moved toward them. He muttered to himself as he began to unpack the contents and stow them properly, setting aside various bits and pieces to be pressed or otherwise fussed over.
"Well, I couldn't know how long we would be here," Midnight said, unperturbed by the looks Devlin gave him. "Best to be prepared, is that not what you are always saying? Though, if you had seen fit to follow your own advice, you would have sent for me instead of stating I was to stay at home kicking my heels."
Devlin folded his arms across his chest. "I left you behind out of concern for your safety, Midnight."
Midnight ducked his head, immediately contrite. "Yes, Heartbeat. I realize with draugr about there is a concern I will revert fully to acting like a walking dead. Certainly if drastic measures must be taken in regards to my person …"
"You should have stayed at home," Devlin said, crossing to him and grasping Midnight's chin. "You should go back, for it would seem the danger only grows and grows. Someone who is able to use siren songs to control the draugr? That someone is controlling them at all? What if they get hold of you, Midnight?"
Reaching up, Midnight slid his arms around Devlin's neck. "I am sorry to have upset you, Heartbeat. I do not like to be the cause of your worry. If home I must go, then I will do so—but you must take more care here because it causes me pain to feel you and know you are in danger and need me, and I am too far away to help."
Devlin sighed and tugged away the arms around his neck. "Then stay, you spoiled brat, but take extra care in all you do. If ever I tell you that you must go, do it without question."
"Yes, Heartbeat," Midnight said, smiling. He braced his hands on Devlin's chest, then reached up and kissed his cheek.
"Brat," Devlin said.
Midnight merely smiled again, then spun away to stride across the room to where Barra had brought in a pitcher and bowl along with rags and soap.
Devlin turned away as he began to strip, moving to the fireplace and the books still stacked there. "Has anyone tried to get nosy, Barra?"
"Aye, Your Grace," Barra said. "The woman that owns the place. I scared her good and proper, though."
"Mm," Devlin murmured and set down the book he'd just picked up. "With Midnight here it is time to take additional precaution, I think. Have you seen my chalk anywhere?"
Barra finished helping Midnight into a night robe, then moved to the wardrobe and removed a small leather case. "Here, Your Grace."
Devlin smiled. "Thank you, Barra."
Nodding, Barra went back to helping Midnight.
Moving to the door, Devlin removed a piece of chalk and began to draw on the back of it. He went slowly, working with extra care. More than once he wiped away a mark and redrew it, frowning in concentration all the while.
Spell circles were not his specialty; he was a rune master. He worked better trusting the magic to do as it saw best. The only witches who used them frequently were those like his sister, who were not so trusting of magic. Otherwise, spell circles were the realm of sorcerers, who had long required a way to lay out their complicated, intricate workings. Hundreds of spell books around the world explained the art of spell circles and taught how to create them. Still others showed how to lay out spell circles for spells that were better off never cast.
Devlin tended to trust magic over people in all things. However, some things were best laid out and made clear. Runes were good, but in matters of wards and protections such as these, the spell circle would better serve.
Stepping back, he examined his work critically. "What say you, Midnight?"
"Yes," Midnight said. "You are much better at those things than you credit yourself."
Devlin scoffed and motioned the words away with one hand. Examining the spell circle thoroughly one last time, he nodded to himself, placed his hand in the middle and spoke the words that activated it.
The circle vanished as the spell took, spreading out to ward the whole of their rooms from any and all manner of intrusions.
Moving to the window, he repeated the work, continuing until all three windows in the suite were warded, as well as the fireplace. The windows he also warded against sunlight to be extra certain Midnight could rest without fear of harm.
He stared out the last of the windows he had spelled. "Dawn approaches," he said softly.
Midnight yawned from where he lay in the enormous bed. Dark runes shimmered with magic on his bare chest, his wrists and throat, and the blankets were settled low enough that Devlin could just see the cluster of runes on his abdomen.
Silently cursing, he turned back to the window, trying hard not to think about the way the long, dark blue hair tumbled about, rich and fine against the perfect white of Midnight's skin.
"You should rest, Heartbeat," Midnight said. "There will be much to do during the daylight, and when dark comes again, we shall have to go hunting. Come and rest awhile."
"I'm fine," Devlin muttered, but even as he said it, Barra had appeared at his elbow to drag him away to prepare for bed. He continued to fight and protest, but when it became obvious he was losing the battle, he swore loudly and finally conceded defeat.
When he was finally shoved into bed, he could not summon the energy to continue protesting. Barra called a good night to them both, and Devlin returned it before settling more comfortably in bed and attempting to glare.
Midnight simply smiled at him from where he lay comfortably burrowed into a pillow, eyes bright with mirth. "Good night, Heartbeat, or perhaps I should say good morning."
"Simply say sleep well," Devlin said and folded his arms beneath his head before he gave in to the temptation to reach out and pull Midnight to him. He closed his eyes.
"Sweet dreams," Midnight said softly, and then he was asleep, as easy as that.
Devlin had always envied him that ability.
He opened his eyes again and drank in the sight of beautiful Midnight.
For the first couple of years or so, Midnight had slept in his bed every night—in his arms, even. He'd been so small and delicate then. Devlin had feared for him. He feared for him now. Even amongst nightwalkers, Midnight was strange.
Of those who had seen him, understood what he was, too many had been frightened and rejected Midnight. It cut him deep, and Midnight deep
er still, for even before the spells laid upon him, Midnight had lacked a real desire to cause harm.
He had never hated. Even in death, Midnight had sought only for affection.
And sustenance, Devlin thought with a smile. He reached out to stroke Midnight's cheek in a feathery caress, capturing a strand of hair between his fingers and rubbing it absently for a moment before finally forcing himself to withdraw.
All Midnight had ever wanted, alive and dead, was food and affection.
He watched Midnight until sleep finally took him.
*~*~*
It was the homeless boy, Devlin realized.
He stared in shock, anger, something dangerously close to hate boiling up inside him.
They had ordered the townspeople to find shelter, to lock themselves indoors. The draugr were great in strength and number, and too many of them were coming from a location they had not yet been able to find.
No one had taken in the homeless boy?
Devlin pushed away from the corner in which he'd been tucked, moving out of his hiding place, breaking the ward he had thrown up, and striding out into the street.
The little homeless boy looked more fragile than ever. He could not be more than six, Devlin thought, anger stirring anew. He was defenseless, and so very tiny. As delicate as a bird—and one with broken wings besides.
Broken, he thought bitterly, by the people begging Devlin to protect them.
If not for his father's orders that he come, Devlin would have left them all to their own devices. But the Whites had always helped protect nightwalkers, and the normal people from nightwalkers, and he would not shame his family by failing in that duty.
He knelt and held out a hand, a lump in his throat as he took in how dirty and small the poor little thing was. Homeless people were not an unusual sight, nor were homeless children. They always caused a pang, but this one… This one struck something deeper, something he did not fully understand, if he understood it at all.
The poor thing had been curled up by the stable when Devlin had clambered from the carriage. He would not have noticed the boy, save for the sharp gasp that had struck his ears. When he'd looked for the source of the sound, he had seen pale brown eyes staring back at him as though enchanted.