The Necromancer's Seduction (19 page)

“What’s wrong?” Ewan asked, crouching next to me.

I couldn’t answer. I used to get panic attacks after my mom died. The sensations seizing
me resembled those attacks. Static fizzed in my head. I kept my eyes shut, afraid
if I opened them, I’d see only television snow. I filled my lungs in a painful struggle.

“She’s maintaining two revenants at the same time. It’s too much for one necromancer,”
Adam said.

Ewan clasped my frigid hands between his warm ones, dampening the buzz. After a few
moments, my pulse resumed a normal pace. As Ewan helped me up, a sharp pain shredded
my chest. I doubled over. Ewan wrapped his arms around my middle.

“What the hell, Adam.” Ewan’s voice was gruff as he glared at him.

“I didn’t do that.”

“I’m fine.” I coughed and stood. The pain dissipated, leaving my limbs weary. Ewan
steadied me with his hand pressed against the small of my back. Adam was right. I
was expending too much energy maintaining him and Brandon. Brandon drew on my power
less, but Adam—Adam was growing voracious, and soon I wouldn’t be able to stave his
hunger with the blood infusions. I shared a look with him, and his expression, more
curious than concerned, scared me.

Ewan led me to his car. I glanced back at Adam one last time, but he’d resumed his
study of the ocean. I slipped into the SUV and mentally prepared myself for the dreaded
conversation to come.

Chapter Eighteen

We entered the front room of my house. Neither of us sat. We just regarded each other,
the tension unbearable until I broke the silence. “Did you know about Cael?”

My heart thumped a plea.
Please say no
.

The answer crossed his face. An answer that crushed my heart as effortlessly as crushing
a piece of paper with one hand.

I folded onto the couch. “So Malthus lied, and you went along with it.”

He sagged into the chair across from me. “He didn’t really lie. Demons excel at evading
questions, not exactly telling the truth.”

“Don’t justify what he did.” My voice whipped out at him.

“I’m not. I’m trying to explain how Malthus sees things. To him, it’s his way of protecting
people.”

“It’s called being an asshole.” My tone increased in pitch and fervor.

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” he responded, raising his voice to match
mine.

“I should have known better than to trust a demon.”

Ewan’s irises turned to shards of ice. “Are you referring to Malthus or me?”

I sighed. This conversation had veered off the rails, and I didn’t want to fight him,
just to understand. “I have to believe I can trust you. Everything between us depends
on it. Why didn’t you tell me about Cael?”

He didn’t answer. He stood and pulled out his car keys. “I need to take you to meet
another demon tonight, Xavier.”

I didn’t respond, only stared at my feet, my mind and heart numb.

“Malthus has to spend some time in the demon realm. In his absence, Xavier will serve
as your custodian for this situation with the wolves. I explained the circumstances
to Xavier, and he agreed.” He paused. “He wants to meet you.”

I shrugged. Ewan emitted a sigh. His entire upper body drooped, more slipped, in such
a way as if keeping it straight took more effort than he currently had, and he needed
a break, if just for a moment.

I wanted to cry, scream, feel anger, something to fill the void that had sucked out
my insides.

“Ruby,” he said, his voice soft.

I looked at his eyes, heavy with regret. “I’m sorry about Cael.”

He meant it. It was one of the purest apologies I’d ever heard, his voice coming from
a place deep within him, a place I don’t think even he understood.

But at that moment, I didn’t care.

* * * *

Ewan called me around six, insisting on picking me up and taking me to Xavier’s art
opening, but I insisted on coming alone.

I threw on a white blouse over gray slacks, mirroring the bland tones coloring my
emotions. I entered the front room to retrieve my purse, and images of making love
with Ewan flashed in my head.

Anger bubbled inside me, small bubbles at first, a pot of water on low heat. By the
time I’d stomped upstairs to put on my necklace, the bubbles had expanded, popping
all over the surface of my body. I reached into my closet and changed into a red halter
top with a neckline that crossed below my breasts, black skirt, and black-heeled sandals.

The taxi dropped me off an hour later in front of Xavier’s abandoned warehouse-turned-art-gallery
in the Mid-Market arts district. The crowd of art collectors, artists, and art aficionados
spilled out the front entrance onto the street. I weaved through the people and entered
the mezzanine, set off by a crystal chandelier and fountain composed of granite rocks
that climbed to the ceiling.

I strolled into the main gallery, a huge two-story room with a sculpture of a twisted
silver ball in the center. The sounds of jazz mixed with the conversations bouncing
off the walls. A waiter dressed in a tuxedo offered me a drink off his tray. I grabbed
a glass of wine, glanced past his shoulder, and saw Ewan. His back anyway, but it
was definitely him from the black waves of his hair and broad shoulders tucked into
a black leather jacket over black jeans.

What threw me off and got the lava surging in my throat was the woman wrapped around
him. Her waist-length blond hair was streaked with purple, matching her purple skirt
over white fishnet stockings. Too retro glam for me, but it worked on her, dammit.

He turned and met my eyes. He extricated himself from her tentacles and walked toward
me. I pivoted and sought refuge in my admiration of the painting hanging on the wall
to my side, which wasn’t a stretch since it was a Gauguin. I liked how Gauguin painted
naked voluptuous women from exotic islands. This one featured a mulatto woman lying
naked on her stomach.

I was still mad at him, furious. He stood next to me and eyed my shirt. My fingertips
zinged like I’d inserted them into electric sockets. I hated him.

I sipped from my wine. Feeling stripped bare under his gaze, I babbled, “Is this really
a Gauguin?”

“Xavier wouldn’t display it otherwise. I like how Gauguin glorified women’s curves
and full figures. Not like the pasty, anorexic pretty-girl models and celebrities
venerated in popular culture these days.”

I agreed completely, thinking about my own roomy hips.
Oh
. I stole a glance to find him regarding said roomy hips. My face flamed. I left his
side to allow my heated blood to cool and wandered into a small alcove rounded by
windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, sporting a view of a water fountain
in a small courtyard. The water sprouted around a strangely beautiful statue of a
spider-like creature that could only hail from the demon realm.

“Xavier has quite the gallery,” Ewan said next to me.

“Why does this Xavier have to be my custodian? Why not you?” I was angry at Ewan and
Malthus, but they were the demons I knew.

“Just the way demon stuff works. Malthus and Xavier are council members or magistrates.
In this type of situation, only a magistrate can stand in for another magistrate.
He’s more than capable, and he has no love for the wolves.” He paused. “I’m surprised
you’d want my protection.” The frustration and pain in his voice squeezed my stomach.
I ignored it.

“I’m supposed to depend on another demon I don’t know when I can’t even depend on
the ones I do know?”

“I apologized about Cael. How long are you going to whip me over it? I’m bound by
certain—” He thought about it for a moment. “—loyalties.”

“Exactly.”

“I never misled you about anything else.” His voice was soft, husky, and my body understood
his meaning, but I couldn’t stop the next words from spilling out.

“No? Not even to get in my pants?” I immediately regretted the question, knowing I’d
crossed the line into bitch territory, but couldn’t stop. I hated the anguish etched
on his face.

“If I knew I could have simply lied to get in your pants, as you so artfully put it,
I would have done it a long time ago.”

The silence that stretched between us was the longest and the loudest I’d ever experienced.
The air felt charged with opposing magnetic forces. I couldn’t stand it anymore. “So
this Xavier is at the same level as Malthus? Why doesn’t he oversee the portal?”

He shrugged. “I think he’d rather spend time indulging his pleasures.”

“What cult did he belong to?”

He paused. “He was a member of
Catair Hovac
. The Death Cult.”

My mouth went dry. “That does
not
sound good. And he’s my custodian?”

“The Death Cult studied death—ways to ease the passage of a dying soul, the pain or
peace experienced at the time of death, but like all the cults,
Hovac
was abolished. Don’t worry. He’s not the Grim Reaper.”

Somehow I wasn’t convinced.

“You’re an anthropologist. You of all people should understand that all cultural practices
serve a purpose. Not all of the practices are perfect or ‘nice,’ it’s just the way
things are.”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His calm expression contrasted with his
heavy tone.

“Very nice.” A woman’s voice drew my attention.

The octopus.

She took a strand of my hair in her hand and sniffed. “Mmmm, tasty, but I much prefer
you.” She stroked Ewan’s arm and took his hand. “Xavier wants to see you now.” He
let her lead, and I followed, glaring at her swinging butt as she sashayed up a metal
staircase hugging the far wall of the room.

“Hello, Ruby, very pleased to finally meet you,” Xavier said a few minutes later.

He stood in front of a wall of windows that provided an amazing view of the bay, but
the night was inky dark, and it was hard to make out even the twinkling lights of
the boats on the water. Xavier took my hand and kissed it. He let go and waved his
arm in front of me. “How do you like my gallery?” His voice mirrored the smooth tones
of a late night DJ playing jazz.

“Impressive,” I said, covertly studying him.

Xavier matched Malthus in demon age and rank, but there the resemblance ended. Xavier
had the debonair quality of a Hollywood gangster with his gray suit over a red shirt
unbuttoned at the neck. Malthus reminded me more of the serious FBI agent, meticulous,
careful in his attention to procedure.

Xavier’s gray eyes reached into me, pulling. I tore my gaze away, reminding myself
this was a death demon.

“Xavier, you impress me, as always, with your art. I see you have some new Pollocks.”
Ewan’s voice ripped through the room, polite and gracious, with just a slight edge
of steel.

I looked past Xavier to see Ewan regarding us, his eyes narrowed to annoyed gold slits.
Xavier didn’t move his gaze from me, but he released my hand. I had the distinct feeling
Ewan knew he had to play nice with Xavier, but he didn’t like it.

“Your compliment is appreciated, Ewan. Can Fiona offer you a drink?”

He was strange and scary, but for some inexplicable reason, I liked Xavier. Fiona
I could do without. She sat on the arm of Ewan’s chair and wormed her arm around his
shoulders. I didn’t want to admit it, but I hated the fact she was hanging all over
him, and, of course, it just made me wonder if those two had ever gotten horizontal.
Maybe she was a succubus and had used her powers to seduce him? I sighed inwardly.
Not like I had any claims at the moment.

“Would you like a drink?” Xavier asked.

“No.” I decided whiskey and demons were a combination I needed to avoid.

“So how do you plan on resolving this situation with Brandon?” he asked.

I waited for Ewan to answer. He’d asked me to let him respond to Xavier’s questions
about the wolves and Cael. I chalked it up to more demon bullshit and was happy to
let them hash it out. This whole business had me antsy. I wanted to find Cael, release
Brandon, and be done with it.

“We’ll do what the wolves requested. Find him and reverse the reanimation,” Ewan answered.

“What about this Cael character?”

“We’ll deal with him, follow the codes.”

“Good, good. Cael is a stain on the necromancer race. You should not spare any expense
in eliminating him.”

“I’m not going to eliminate anyone,” I said. “I’ll let the demons deal with him.”

“Of course.” Xavier stared out the window. “The wolves could pose a problem. If they
hassle you, let me know. You did well in standing up to them.”

“I don’t want to stand up to them. I want them to leave me alone,” I said.

“They will.” He tilted his head back as he drank from his glass, his eyes glowing
at me in an expression of confidence. “We have a council gathering regarding the breach?”
He directed his question at Ewan.

“Yes.”

“The council.” Xavier’s voice dripped with derision. “Populated with fools. Their
failure to assert demon power has led to this mess. Now you, my dear,” he said to
me, “have exhibited extraordinary power. Creating two supernatural revenants. Fascinating.”

His words struck a dissonant chord within me, the tones bouncing off my mind, my soul.
No one up to this point had used extraordinary or fascinating in the same sentence
as necromancer. Usually, they use disgusting or aberration.

“Necromancers are greatly misunderstood. You should embrace your power. There is so
much about it you don’t understand, so much knowledge lost,” he said.

That much was true. Because I had rejected my necromancy, I was now juggling unlit
torches, unsure when they’d light and burn my hands. To say it made me nervous would
be an understatement. But Xavier was a death demon and I, a necromancer. The connection
seemed uncannily serendipitous.

“What do you know about power spheres?” I asked, darting a glance at Ewan. Fiona was
still attached to his arm. He straightened in his chair and fixed his eyes on me.

Xavier considered me for a moment, and a small smile played on his lips. “A power
sphere gives a necromancer access to unprecedented amounts of arcane energy. You need
corpses or revenants.”

“You can use revenants to make a sphere?”

“Yes, but not zombies since they are devoid of a soul, unlike a revenant.” He tapped
the edge of his glass on the table. “Are you considering making one?”