Chapter Sixteen

Still frazzled from the dream the night before and certain he'd missed something important in that family portrait, Benedict had spent the entire trip calming his nerves and ensuring his wards around his person were as strong as they could be.

He was almost certain he was going to have to talk ad nauseum about the night his family died. He knew, or at least had believed, the Councilors would make him rehash things over and over again, seeking to trip him up on any discrepancy between his testimony ten years before and today.

That's what he'd prepared for, because there was no way that was going to be an easy conversation for Benedict to go through.

So when Councilor Jefferson had the gall to imply, just from the way his question was worded, that Benedict was a renegade Necromancer, that was enough to shatter Benedict's composure, and he wasn't sure he could get it back.

"For your information, Councilor ," Benedict sneered the title, but honestly he was beyond fed up with the whole setup, and the meeting had barely started. "If you'd read the records regarding the incident reported on by the Paranormal Council in San Francisco and New York, you would be aware that the dead were not raised, they were rumbled, and while it was my magic used, it was being used by a rogue changeling so severely demented by being incarcerated for goodness knows how long, she was seizing anything she could get to save her soul. I'm failing to see how any of that constitutes a ‘rising'." Yes, he used air quotes, but Benedict was furious.

"Indeed, that account does fit with the information we were provided." Councilor Porter, someone else Benedict had worked with in the past, nodded. "However, during that incident you did take a life."

"If by taking a life, you mean offering the dignity of death to a changeling who'd lost their mind, then yes." Benedict's jaw tightened. "I was informed by my friends beyond the veil that the soul of the changeling was trapped, the being had morphed beyond anything that was controllable, and with their mind splintered, there was no hope of rehabilitation for the changeling without endangering a living person's life. The Councils in America thanked me for my service."

"Understood." Porter flicked through a couple of papers he had in front of him and then said, "Who was it beyond the veil who gave you the information about the changeling in the first place? Did you summon someone, or was the information given to you by someone you used to know, perhaps?" The insinuation was plain, and Benedict mentally kicked himself for backing himself into a corner.

Oh fuck. Do they know it was my father who came to me. How?

The only people who knew what happened that night was himself, Dixon, Gordon, and Monica. Did Monica talk to her mom about this?

"I summoned the changeling's brother after his death, to find out who was in the jar in the first instance. I didn't summon anyone about the mental state about the second changeling, no."

"And yet you received a message from the spirit of a dead person about the second changeling?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, Necromancer Dule, but it is my understanding, the understanding of the council members here, that a Necromancer does not simply get messages willy nilly from anyone who has passed. One would assume if that happened a Necromancer could go insane from spirits visiting them every five minutes wanting to pass on messages about how they hate their living relatives' choices in new clothes, for example." Porter glanced at his allies as he chuckled. "I would find that infuriating, I'm sure."

You are playing with me. You and your buddies. Benedict could feel it deep in his core and chose his words carefully. "It is true that experienced Necromancers ward themselves to prevent spirits from intruding on their daily life. There are exceptions, spirits who aren't impacted by those wards as much as others, obviously, but you are right for the most part, yes."

"And those exceptional spirit types." Porter's lips twisted – Benedict couldn't tell if he was grinning or grimacing. "Would one of them be departed family members?"

Benedict already knew that if the council was playing a game, he was holding the losing hand. It was evident in the way the councilors agreed with each other. "Yes, definitely dearly loved family members come through on occasion, although the dead family members of a Necromancer are, from what I understand from anecdotal accounts, more inclined to not pester the only living relative they're likely to have who can still hear and see them. It's considered disrespectful in magical circles."

Porter wasn't going to take that lying down. "The concept of respect aside, it would not be a stretch for anyone, such as the members of this Council for example, to believe the message you received regarding the damaged changeling came from a deceased family member?"

"That is true." There was no point in dragging out the inevitable. "The message I got regarding the changeling was from the most recently deceased Lord Dule."

The sudden electricity in the air, as if the Councilors couldn't believe Benedict would admit talking to his father, had Benedict glancing around the room to make sure no one else had come in. But no, everything was as it was originally, although he was aware of how closely Dixon was watching him, and that support was welcomed.

"Are you…" Jefferson seemed to be having trouble getting his words out. "Are you telling us, the Magical Council, you've been in recent conversation with your late father?"

"I would hardly call it a conversation." Benedict couldn't work out what was going on. He was so sure that when he mentioned he'd talked to his father, the Councilors would jump on him, demanding he do it again. "He had a message for me. He gave me that message and then he left."

"His message was contained to the business with the changeling?" Porter and Jefferson were sharing worried glances.

Benedict couldn't help it. His gaze flicked to the ceiling where he knew everything was being recorded. All of the rooms in the Magical Council were bound by a truth spell. He couldn't lie. The best he could do was be as vague as possible.

"He told me the changeling had to be put out of their misery. I had left the iron container that held what was left of them behind the veil for safe keeping. That is why the spirits on the other side were able to discern their state of mind. I accepted that, knowing that my father valued life in all forms. The second message was for me personally. I didn't have a chance to ask any questions before he disappeared again. That is often the way of spirits, so I didn't see anything unusual in it."

"Necromancer Dule." Hancock, one of the longest standing Council members, spoke up for the first time. "We were given to understand that you hadn't spoken to any member of your family since their accident ten years before."

Frowning, Benedict said, "That was the statement I made ten years ago relating to my very recently deceased immediate family at the time. That was the truth. However, like most of us in this room, I have a lot of deceased family members, stretching back generations. I can't say I make a habit of speaking to any of them, although some of them pop in to see me from time to time."

"Our focus is on your immediate family, Necromancer Dule, and this new information is very disturbing. You will excuse us while I consult with my colleagues."

There was a rush of magic, and then it was as if the Councilors all disappeared in a puff of magic, although Benedict knew that was an illusion. The Councilors were still there. It was just that their presence had been masked with a curtain.

But still, it was a reprieve, and Benedict sat down with a thump. "Okay," he said in a very low voice. "Does anyone know what just happened there? Langley, I thought the Council was going to insist on my summoning my family members, but you had to feel how the atmosphere in the room changed when they pretty much forced me to say I had been in contact with my father."

"I might pop over and see if our friendly clerk, Bobby, has anything to offer in the way of information," Terrence said as he pushed back his chair. "I'll be quick."

"Just remember the Councilors are all still within hearing distance even if you can't see or scent them," Benedict reminded their new friend. "Don't go losing Bobby his job if he's an innocent in this."

"Noted and noted." Terrence slinked off, looking every inch the tiger on the prowl.

"I have received nothing," Langley said, rustling through his papers. "This is all very irregular. All of the missives I've had insisted they wanted to use you to communicate with your family because no other Necromancer could summon them."

"Wait on a minute," Dixon said. "Langley, I thought you said that other Necromancers had summoned Benedict's family, but that the spirits couldn't be compelled to talk, which was why they needed Benedict. In fact, I distinctly remember Benedict telling me the Council was threatening to charge Benedict for his family's murders if he didn't appear and didn't follow their orders."

"That's what I thought. Give me a minute." Langley frowned as he scanned his pile of papers.

"Did you notice something else?"

Benedict tried to clear the confusion from his head when he noticed Dixon was talking to him. "I'm not sure what way is up right now. I'm starting to think nothing has made sense since we arrived in England. What did I miss?"

"That old guy, the one sitting in the middle of the others," Dixon lowered his voice. "Did you notice he called the explosion that took out your family an accident? I don't know how it works in England, but from where I come from an accident would imply that the Magical Council wasn't looking at anyone in relation to the explosion, and that the case was closed. How can they arrest you if that's what they believe?"

"There're precedents. It would have to mean new information had come to light," Langley muttered, still going through his paperwork. "Look. I knew I was right. There and there. Communications in writing that state very clearly that previous Necromancer's efforts to get your family to talk had failed."

"But that's in writing," Dixon said, reaching over and tapping the papers. "Didn't you tell me, after that business with Uncle Hugo that a truth spell won't pick up anything done in writing?"

"Yes. It's how magic users have gotten around that clause for centuries." Benedict turned to Langley. "Think. This is important. Can you recall anytime when you were told, verbally, that the Magical Council had a Necromancer summon my family and that they failed to talk?"

"No. I'm almost certain of that." Langley shook his head. "I always insist on communications in writing so I have a paper trail for when things go wrong, or that I can use to go back and verify something I've been told." He put down his papers, staring at them in shock. "Oh my goodness. That could mean that everything written here is completely false, and if that's the case, then it's unlikely anyone has even tried to summon your family before."

"They haven't, Langs old man," Terrence said, coming back to their table, "because up until about five minutes ago, the Magical Council believed, or rather the line they are holding in public, is that the extent of the explosion that took out the Dule's household and killed all but one of the family living there, was so powerful even the spirits themselves wouldn't have survived. They've never believed summoning or talking to your family was possible.

"I have no idea what's going on behind the scenes, causing them to raise this ruckus now, but it's possible the Councilors were planning to use your refusal, to summon spirits they don't believe exist as a means of stripping your title or something similar. You'd know more about that than me." Terrence slid back into his seat as a soft chime indicated the Magical Council would be reappearing.

Leaning past Dixon, he added in a soft voice, "It's just my opinion, but from the way poor Bobby was shaking in his boots, you were meant to call on your family, zombie army or spirit army, call it what you want, to save yourself and our plucky bear here.

"They even brought in another Necromancer, cloaked of course, who could identify the spirits who did turn up. That wasn't necessary because you'd power-boosted the spirits so they could be seen, which is why we have tales of ghost bears running around the Tower, but the fact your family didn't turn up to support you had the Councilors believing their hypothesis was true - that there were no spirits of your family left to talk to."

"Do you know the Necromancer involved?" Benedict asked quickly as the curtain shimmered and fell away. The Councilors were all in their seats and none of them looked happy.

"You can bet I'll find out." Terrence grinned as he leaned back in his chair.

You have to get the Councilors to insist on you summoning your family. Dixon's voice came through quietly but firmly.

I've already tried to do that. You know this. My family won't come.

I think they will this time.

Benedict glanced at his mate. Dixon's expression was giving nothing away, but Benedict could see Dixon's jaw was tight as he watched the Councilors with hooded eyes.

Think about it, my wonderful mate. If the Council was responsible for the explosion, and you're already on record for not wanting to disturb the dead due to the zombie army business, then the crooks responsible will think they've gotten away with their crimes, especially with you leaving and living in the States. This is just a hunch, but wouldn't it make sense for a man like your father to resist being summoned until it was in front of the people responsible, so he could call them out, all under the truth spell you claim covers this whole building?

Benedict wanted to slap his forehead. Dixon's reasoning made perfect sense. The Magical Council had been trying to control the narrative since he'd been all but ordered to have dinner with Charles the night of the explosion. His father had been involved with the Council in some way. His brothers as well. That's what the dream indicated. That's what all those pins were about. But there was a huge gap between knowing that and the family's sudden demise.

Reaching over Dixon, Benedict grabbed a piece of paper from Langley and quickly scribbled, Cover me. No matter what I say, back me up.

Then he sat back in his chair and took Dixon's hand, waiting to hear what the Magical Council was going to do next. When playing a game, it never paid to show the winning cards too soon.