The Necromancer's Seduction (3 page)

Chapter Three

The restored Victorian that served as demon headquarters towered before me, its burnished
red walls conspicuous against the yellow homes that surrounded it, a sentinel overlooking
the streets and park where upper class bohemians hung out with the homeless.

I was late to the meeting called by the demons. I hated being late to anything, but
today I dismissed the complaints of my inner scheduler. After finding the body yesterday
afternoon, I’d passed the evening hiding out in the library to catch up on research.
I’d whittled my poor nails down to ragged stumps, unable to shed the haunting image
of the surfer and his lazy smile. I’d left my cell off, but when I turned it back
on, the message prompt flashed with the missed, inevitable call.

My stomach churned like a blender set at chop. I couldn’t remember the last time I
was in a room filled with supernaturals or the last time I saw—surely
he
wouldn’t be at this meeting?

Flat, gray clouds threatened the afternoon sun. San Francisco weather is as changeable
as the seas that beat its shores. Hard to forecast, I eventually stopped trying and
layered my outfits, equipped for the cold or fog or whatever the late summer cast
my way, like now.

I forced my apprehension down in one thick swallow and climbed the stairs leading
to the entrance of the demon lair, as I liked to call it. I halted to admire an immense
gargoyle resting on the stone balustrade. Sharp teeth protruded from its open mouth.
Dragon eyes kept a watchful vigil over the park. I ran my hand on the stone scales
forming its body.

I jumped back, looked at the gargoyle’s eyes, then stepped closer to examine its skin,
careful not to touch it again. Nothing but white stone. No evidence of the rippling
scales that had just tickled my fingers. I rubbed my hand and continued up the stairs
to face the large wooden door painted the same red as the house and carved with intricate
geometric swirls and patterns. I leaned in to get a closer look.

The door opened. “Ah, Ms. Montagne. Come in.”

I balked at the odd man who looked like he was about to take his last breath. The
smile pasted on his face creeped me out more than it welcomed me. He wrapped his bony
fingers, resembling pale spider legs, around the door frame.

“Please, come with me.” His wide-eyed stare made the blood vessels stand out against
the glaring whiteness of his rounded eyeballs.

I entered the foyer and followed him up the rounded staircase, perfect for making
grand entrances. He climbed with long, unsteady strides, and I braced myself to catch
him in case he toppled over.

He glanced back at me. “The others are gathered in the study.” He lost the uncomfortable
smile of a moment ago and replaced it with an amused smirk, as if he sensed my malaise
at the impending encounter and enjoyed it.

When we reached the top of the stairs, my heart ceased to beat . . . for a split second
anyway. Shit. In front of me loomed the six plus feet of chiseled muscle and coiled
sexuality I’d hoped to elude.

Ewan March embodied all the hot, luscious things that made me wish I wore a bodice
he could rip off. I fought the compulsion, made easier because I don’t own a bodice.
Each time I run into him, I want to wrap myself in the velvet swath he drapes over
the air. Every. Time. Instead, I spend the next few days in a hectic blaze trying
to eject his dark, wavy hair and thick shoulders from my mind.

“Gus, I can take it from here,” he said, his deep voice making my pulse hiccup.

My hormones screamed fuck me, but Ewan is a demon, and I was not about to give in
to said hormones. He blocked the hallway, leaving me no exit strategy.

I lifted my chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “Hello, Ewan.”

His grin widened, and my resolve wavered. He leaned his hand against the wall next
to my shoulder and bent closer to me. All my nerve endings willed me to inch closer,
but I stood firm under his scrutiny.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Although I have to say I don’t like that skirt.”

What the? I placed my hands on my hips. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t dress to
impress you.” I fingered my skirt, chiding myself for caring what he thought. I liked
my gray pencil skirt.

“You want to know why?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Not particularly.”

“It’s too straight. It doesn’t show off the nice curve of your hips.”

The blush started in my toes and blazed a trail up my body to heat my face. I was
secretly pleased he even noticed my hips, but I refused to look at his teasing smile
and glared at his neck instead.

A mistake.

My eyes wandered along the sleek cords of muscle forming his neck and shoulders, watching
them flex under his blue T-shirt. My admiration turned to astonishment when the skin
on his neck shimmered in alternating shades of gold. I flicked my eyes to his in awe
and inhaled sharply at the sensuous curl to his lips.

“We should join the others,” I said, using the words to shield me from my own weakness.
I squeezed around his unyielding frame, my skin tingling at the brief contact with
his chest, and made my way toward the voices down the hall.

I wanted to jump his bones. I wasn’t delusional. But I didn’t need him complicating
my life, just like I didn’t need this meeting. After a few loud heartbeats, I heard
his footsteps behind me. I told myself the sway of my hips was a result of navigating
the thick carpet in heels and not a brazen display of my curves.

* * * *

“Our necromancer has arrived.”

The voice belonged to the demon leaning against a large desk that dominated the study.
Malthus Green. I hesitated. Last chance to turn around, except Ewan stopped behind
me, the heat from his body driving me forward. He stepped around me and sat on a stool
next to the bar, the sexy tease of moments ago wiped from his face.

I spotted Kara sitting on the arm of an oversized leather chair occupied by a demon
with a soothing tan and exotic eyes. Slimmer than the other demons, but no less potent,
I mused, noticing the sleek muscles stretching the brown leather of his pants. Kara,
as always, was dressed like she’d stepped off a hip boutique display window. I fingered
my skirt again.

“Ruby, let me introduce you,” Malthus said. “Seated next to the fireplace is Julian,
one of our demon council members.”

Julian smiled at me while he played with the silver chain lying against his chest,
his lanky frame draped over an armchair. Despite his casual posture, his expression
was too self-satisfied for my comfort, like he was holding a full house in a poker
game and didn’t give a damn about bluffing.

“Next to Kara is Jax.”

Jax winked, his face welcoming me with a humorous smile. He reminded me of men I’d
seen gracing the beaches in Rio.

Malthus gestured toward tall, dark, and sexy. “You know Ewan, and seated in the corner
is our werewolf representative Brandon.”

I wheeled around. I hadn’t noticed anyone behind me. Brandon’s quirked eyebrow reached
the bangs of his wavy brown hair. His thin frame, straddling a wood cathedral chair,
belied the power visible underneath his worn jeans and . . . surprise fluttered through
me at the sight of his priest habit. A werewolf priest?

He stood and walked over, taking my hand in a firm shake. He smiled. “I’m used to
that look.”

I’m not even going to try to understand how a wolf can reside within a priest. As
if reading my thoughts, he said, “Even the beasts need to confess.” He returned to
straddle his chair. Wow, did Cora ever meet this guy? She would have loved him.

“My dear, please sit down,” Malthus said.

I took the edge of the antique baroque chair next to Kara and squeezed my knees together.

“Adam was not the first supernatural murdered,” he said, not mincing words.

Anger flared and heated my face. Kara looked away at the glare I leveled at her. Oh,
hell. I pushed the anger down. This wasn’t her fault. But supe murders? Why hadn’t
anyone told me until now?

“How many?” I asked.

“Adam makes three. A demon fell victim before him.” He folded his arms in front of
his chest. “I’m aware of your reluctance to participate in our affairs and have always
respected your wishes. Normally, we’d involve your grandmother.”

I nodded and bit my lower lip. “Wait. That’s only two.”

“I also believe your grandmother’s death is related.”

His words jerked my head up. “What?”

I pressed my palms against the thick cushion of the chair and lifted an inch, my body
ready to pop.

Malthus studied me. He spoke as if choosing his words with care, almost hesitant.
“The car accident was not an accident.”

“What about the police report?” I questioned in a sharp tone.

Cora had been visiting a friend in New York, driving upstate at night. The police
found her rental car down a ravine, compressed like an accordion. They didn’t find
evidence to explain the accident. Her blood tested clean. No additional tire marks
on the road. They theorized she fell asleep at the wheel. A common occurrence on that
stretch of road, they’d said. Bullshit, I’d said. Cora loved singing to music while
driving. The blaring sounds always kept me from dozing and sure as shit kept her awake.

I’d traveled to the crash site seeking another explanation, something to allay my
bafflement at the second tragedy to hit my family. I’m not sure what answers I expected
to find on that road, but I’d come away with no reason to think she’d fallen victim
to some nefarious plot.

“Are you sure?” I asked Malthus, settling back on the chair’s edge, deflated.

“Absolutely. Don’t tell me you bought that business about sleeping at the wheel.”

I mulled over his words, finding myself speechless. Since her death, I’ve been looking
over my shoulder, waiting for the strike. All the women in my family had suffered
strange, untimely deaths, and now someone had killed my grandmother. I couldn’t help
thinking I could have prevented it.

Malthus reached for his crystal glass, taking a slow sip of an amber liquid—whiskey.

“So what’s your theory?” I asked.

“We believe a supernatural killed your grandmother and the others.”

“How?”

“We detected arcane residue on the bodies, evidence that some sort of ritual was attempted
on the corpse.”

The silence in the room pounded my chest. The only supes that perform rituals on dead
bodies and leave arcane residue are witches and—fuck—necromancers.

Malthus stared into his glass as if guessing my thoughts.

“You think another necromancer might be responsible?” My hands fluttered. “The killer
was trying to make supernatural zombies?”

“Possibly, or create supernatural revenants.”

I clasped my throat. “I—Cora never mentioned other necros in San Francisco.”

“We’re not aware of any other necros either,” Julian said.

I focused on a stained glass window on the opposite wall depicting aberrant winged
creatures far from anything found in this realm. I rubbed my hands, remembering the
feel of the gargoyle when a chill gripped my spine. “You don’t think I . . .?”

I darted my gaze around the room. Now would be a good time for someone to voice a
vehement denial, but enough seconds passed to make me nervous.

“We didn’t ask you here to accuse you.” Brandon’s voice calmed the undercurrents of
power swirling in the room, easing my chill. I shifted back into the armchair. He
sought my eyes, sympathy in his expression. I’m not Catholic or any religion, but
I must go to confession one of these days.

“Don’t worry,” Kara said. “Most likely we’ll find out it was Mr. Green in the billiard
room with the candlestick.”

Brandon chuckled, clasped his hands behind his head, and leaned back in his chair,
impervious to Malthus’s pinched face. “You have a billiard room, Malthus?”

I scanned the tense faces in the room, thinking the scene did remind me of a whodunit
movie. A thunder strike and a French maid would complete the picture.

“So why am I here?” I asked.

“We think Adam might have information, maybe even the identity of the killer. It’s
no coincidence that you and Kara encountered an unknown visitor at Adam’s apartment.”

The breath caught in my throat. “You want me to raise him.”

Kara gasped, and her only-the-devil-cares façade collapsed. I was relieved she didn’t
know about Malthus’s plan to raise Adam. I would have been more than a little peeved,
especially after she neglected to inform me about the other deaths.

“That is one option,” he said. “A better one is to make him a revenant.”

The greens, blues and yellows of the stained glass merged into a quivering, unfocused
blur. At some point during the conversation, Julian had slid off his chair and returned
to slip a drink into my hand. I sipped on the whiskey, letting the spicy liquid numb
my jangled nerves.

“You want me to create a supernatural revenant to help you find out who is killing
other supes?” I almost laughed the words.