Chapter Twenty-Four

"It was never my intention to stay apart from you for so long, my son," Franklin said, and he sounded genuine. "Indeed, one comfort your mother and I took when we found ourselves on the other side of the veil was that with our remaining son being such a powerful Necromancer, we could at least touch base with you from time to time. However, there were other things going on, part of the bigger picture you used to tell us the dead saw when they were on the other side, that became glaring apparent once we were there."

"It's fine, Father. You always raised me to respect all beings, and to me that included those on the other side of the veil. I figured you always knew where I was if you needed me."

"Yes, well." His father frowned. "I could've done without you rushing off to the States for ten years, but then I blame Blakely and Paxton for that. All that nonsense about a zombie army. Do you know how that came about?"

Benedict shook his head. "That was put to me about a month, maybe two before the explosion. If you recall, my position at the York offices was only a lowly one."

"I wasn't happy that you took the job at all," his mother said softly. "I know your father arranged it for you, but he only did it because he hoped the friends he had, like Dr. Morgan, would keep you safe. But I never understood why you took the job when you were offered it."

"I wanted to be normal." The public gallery, the Council members, even Dixon faded into the background as Benedict talked to his mom the way he'd wished he'd been able to for ten long years. "You tried so hard to make me feel as though I fitted in, but I was always different. I didn't look like my siblings, my magic wasn't useful except when I was playing hide and seek as a kid, and then only for me. I'm not saying my magic was useful for the Council either – I couldn't believe it when I was getting missives from the London office every second day. Messages, people turning up, Charles…"

Benedict shook his head. "I didn't want to upset either of you by losing that job, especially when Father worked so hard to get it for me. I thought if I said I wanted to quit you'd be disappointed in me. But the pressure to do something that went against everything I stood for, every value I had, was getting intense, and I didn't know what to do. Sounds silly I know. A hundred years old, and I was clueless. I should've known better and stayed home and studied like I used to do."

"The zombie army idea was something that had been floated around by the Magical Council for the past three hundred years – well before you started work there shuffling papers." Franklin said. "The Magical Council, more than any other group from what I could work out, was paralyzed with fear about what might happen if news of the paranormal become public knowledge."

"I can't think why, but more importantly, I'd suggest that having a zombie army wasn't going to help with any potential assimilation plans." Benedict frowned, trying to fit pieces together that still didn't make sense.

"The idea was that if the Magical Council had command of undead soldiers, then in the event of a public backlash against paranormals, the Magical Council would have an unbeatable army to use as a threat – as a means of consolidating power. It had even been suggested at various times over that three hundred years that an army of that type could result in the Magical Council reigning supreme over all beings, considering dead bodies can't be killed a second time."

"But that's ludicrous." Benedict's legs wobbled for a moment as the magnitude of what his father said hit him. Dixon's hand under his elbow grounded him. "The creation of zombies on that scale would require hundreds or thousands of spirits, free thinking spirits, to be imprisoned in flesh… No. That level of cruelty is unfathomable. Who, in this room, would believe such nonsense was an acceptable practice? Who?"

"Councilor Jefferson, have you got anything to say?" his father asked, and Benedict turned to see the man's face go completely white as he shook his head. "What about you Hancock? Sitting under the spell of truth, do you want to explain your part in the zombie army tragedy?"

"I don't answer to spirits," Councilor Hancock said brusquely.

"You'll be on my side of the veil soon enough, Hancock." Franklin actually grinned. "We'll see what you say then. But what about you Blakely? The asshole who separated my son from his family the night we died. Did you want to explain to all who listen here about why you peddled your son's saggy ass to my son, putting Benedict in the untenable position where he had to endure your son's attentions or lose his job?"

"It was Charles who couldn't stop drooling over the Necromancer," Blakely snarled. "There was no coercion involved on our side of the equation. What my boy ever saw in yours I don't know, but I was damn glad when I got my son married off when I did."

"That's not answering my question either. Interesting." Franklin floated a little higher above the floor. "Ladies and gentlemen of the public gallery, we have an unusual situation here. Three men who have sat on the Magical Council for over a hundred years – in Hancock's case, two hundred – and yet none of them can answer a straight question. I can tell you they have spent decades sitting in their dusty robes, dreaming of world domination. And all they needed, in their pathetic minds, was one powerful Necromancer. Not an easy thing to find."

"Does anyone know how many Necromancers there are currently living? Anyone? No. I'll tell you. Eight." The ghost floated from one side of the room to the other, and then back again. The eyes in the gallery followed his every move. "Only eight people in the entire world have the power to summon, speak to, and potentially control the dead. A very rare, very valuable, and very unique set of skills among magic users. In the UK there used to be four.

"Note the used to be. Now, there are only two. One who is well past his prime, eking his final days as a council puppet. You're looking a little peaky there, Wilson, sitting up there in the back thinking you can hide. You've barely got any of your powers left, by the look of you. I'm guessing you'll be on my side of the veil soon enough as well, and boy we're going to have some fun then. I might not have been there for you to see, but I saw you were involved in the attack on my son and his mate just last week. I won't forget, and I've got nothing but time. On your deathbed remember I will be waiting for you."

"Franklin, please," Dr. Morgan said, and it sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. "Can we stay on topic here?"

"Actually I was. You might like to have the Paranormal guards standing ready, because Wilson is part of this sordid business as well, right up to his scrawny neck. They might have to knock though because I've locked all the doors. I've waited for ten years for this day and I'm not losing any of the key players." Franklin floated higher still, and Benedict marveled how even dead, his father still knew how to work a room.

"It's story time, people. Once upon a time, ten years ago, my family and I were enjoying our lives at our country estate just outside of York. There were a lot of people who used to wonder about our family. So many adults still living together in the same house. Six unmarried sons, three unmarried daughters, all grown by the time Benedict came along. There were people like my brother Hugo who believed we were even trying to form a type of cult. Caught up in the web spun by our youngest son, who just happened to be the seventh son of a seventh son. Our Necromancer."

"I never saw anything unusual in the way we lived," Benedict said.

"No, and nor did we. But there was an element of truth to the rumors if you like. We did have a common purpose, although I would hardly call that a cult. You see, when you were born, we as a family, made the decision to stay together, to pool our magic to keep you safe. The first time you disappeared behind the veil when you were four, the Magical Council came calling, wanting to take you away for ‘training' so they called it.

"My own brother, Hugo, was in on it, coming around every couple of months for years, insisting that I give you up – that we as a family give you up – claiming your magic would tarnish the Dule name. We stood alone but we stood strong." Floating over to where Hugo and Percival were sitting, cowering down in their seats, Franklin yelled, "WE STOOD STRONG!"

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Benedict cried as Franklin floated over the heads of the awestruck gallery, the disgust for his brother and nephew evident. "I would never have expected… I… my brothers and sisters deserved lives and families of their own. Why didn't I know about this?"

"Because you would've spoken up about it, just as you are now," his mother said, gliding across the floor to his side. "We had a family meeting and all agreed that your father and brothers would all work behind the scenes to try and get the Council to back off, to leave you alone. We knew it would take time – we're talking about a Magical Council that's only had one new member in the past one hundred years and that's only because Paxton died. We figured, a hundred and fifty years, give or take and we'd still have plenty of life to live."

"But you didn't get that chance." Benedict's hands itched to start throwing fireballs. There were more than enough targets.

"Benny, hon, we all agreed. We all knew with our magic combined, we weren't quite as powerful as you are, but we could keep the vultures at bay until you were old enough to speak your own mind."

"That was so unfair on all of you." Benedict's voice wavered.

"No, it wasn't," Franklin said sharply. "What was unfair, was the Council leading us on, making us believe that they had another Necromancer who could conduct their sordid experiments, and that they were going to let you know you'd be no longer needed for their despicable plots. The contracts were prepared, ready to be signed. Your brother Austin had spent months making sure every word on the contract was concise, that the whole thing was completely solid.

"The night you went out to dinner, we were pleased even though we didn't like your choice of date. But we didn't need to make excuses to get you out of the house. We were all in the dining room when they arrived – Blakely, Jefferson, Hancock, and Paxton. Sherries were served, everything appeared fine. Until masked men arrived. An army of men we'd never seen before. They weren't magical, but they were heavily warded against magic. Even on our home turf, we couldn't fight them. Nothing we did would stop the droves from coming. Your brothers fought to the end to stop from being taken, but they were dragged out like dogs."

Franklin floated right up the ceiling and then slowly drifted down. "The only blessing was that they killed your mother and your sisters quickly. At least, that's what I saw. I was the first target, so as you can imagine by that stage, I couldn't do anything."

"Wait. Please stop a minute." Benedict needed a second to process. "You're saying you were all dead before the house exploded?"

"Yes… well, me, your mother and your sisters were. Your brothers…"

"No, no. Wait just one minute more, please," Benedict pleaded. "I have to get this clear so there are no misunderstandings. These three men, three supposedly reputable Councilors, plus Paxton, were in our house when the troops came in and attacked you?"

"Sipping your mother's finest sherry, making sure no blood got on their suits."

"NO!" Benedict swirled, fire forming in his hands as his powers burst through, his Necromancer form now looming bigger and meaner than his mate or anyone else in the room.

"You will die! You will…" He raised his hands, stopping as his father and mother blocked his way. "Respectfully, I don't know what you think you're doing. You're translucent. My fire will go right through you."

"Save your energies," his father said softly. "You will need your powers to save the spirits of your brothers."

"What do you mean? I was told you all died in the explosion. All of you." There was a flurry of movement. Benedict could see Dr. Morgan had thrown a glass ward over the Councilors at their table, including Wilson in the public seating. Terrence and Dixon were both prowling in front of the ward as if ready to pounce the moment any of the Councilors moved. "What happened to my brothers?"

"You could ask Wilson, but it would probably take too long to get the story out, so do me a favor, would you, my son." His father's hand left a chilly impression on Benedict's cheek. "Summon your brothers."

"Summon? Force them to come?" Even in his Necromancer form, Benedict's brain was reeling.

"You have soil from our hearth in your pocket, don't you? I was there the day you picked it up."

"Yes." The package looked so tiny in Benedict's enlarged hands.

"Tip it out in the center of the room," his father instructed. "And then scatter it."

Benedict did as he asked.

"Now you call them. Force them to come. Use all the power at your disposal."

Lifting his arms, Benedict said firmly, "Brothers of the Dule family, heed my call." He could feel his power weaving through the energies of life, seeking the veil, finding… nothing. "It's like… it's like there's a blockage. They're not there. They're not behind the veil. I've tried to call on them before… how did I…"

"You've never tried to actually summon them. You were always polite," Franklin said. "You have to call them again, but this time cast your power around the Tower. From the highest tower to the lowest dungeon, send out your power."

"Er… there's a lot of dead in these walls." Benedict remembered the issues he had at the San Francisco golf course.

"Just call your brothers. Please. Reveal the truth I've waited ten years to be told."

Sending out a magical apology to any spirits lurking around the Tower, Benedict focused on his brothers. He remembered them tall and strong, always taller than him. He remembered their patience, their good natured teasing as he went through the pimple stage. He remembered snippets as if they were a slideshow of the life he had growing up. His brothers were always there.

"It's time to come home, brothers." His magic was strong. Closing his eyes, Benedict sent out waves of energies, piercing thick stone walls, ceilings, and floors. The floor began to shake under his feet, there was a rattle as a vase, or something similar fell over. Someone in the audience started to cry, and then another person and another person… and then someone else screamed, and Benedict's eyes flew open, meeting Austin's pleading stare coming from deep black eyes.

"Free us, brother. You're the only one who can." The words were raspy and harsh, but the plea cut to Benedict's heart.

Six zombie soldiers stood in front of him. His dead brothers who had been chained to their decaying bodies, never being allowed to cross the veil. The stench of magic keeping the corpses upright was eye watering, but all Benedict could focus on was the talismans the Necromancer had used to tie the spirits to the bodies, rendering them under his control.

Magic Council pins.

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. In that moment, Benedict was flooded with regrets. How if he'd stayed in England, pushed harder to find out what happened to his family… If only… If only…

"This is not your fault." Benedict's mother said, translucent tears cascading down her cheeks. "I promise, any questions you have we will answer when we can have some privacy. But not now. End your brothers torment, and set them free."

"You can't destroy my work, you puny excuse for a Necromancer!" Wilson jumped to his feet, smashing through Dr. Morgan's ward, crowing like a mad man. "This is what true Necromancy is. This is why we should be feared. You are looking at the sum total of my life's work, everything I did was for this. My crowning achievement. I did what you said was impossible. I did it. Me!"

"You did what I would never do. This is not Necromancy, this is black magic through and through. No respect for the living. No respect for the dead. This is a desecration, a cruel act with no purpose."

Holding out his hand, Benedict focused on the pin worn by his closest brother. "Be free Jason," he said as the pin flew into his hand, and the body fell to the floor.

Dropping the pin into his other hand, Benedict held out the first one again. "I'm sorry I took so long, Austin." Another pin flew into his hand.

Six pins. Six stinking bodies. Six slightly battered, but whole spirits floating with Benedict's parents.

"I'm sorry I didn't push harder to know. I just…"

"You needed your mate beside you before you could face the truth. He'll protect you now."

"I don't usually need protection," Benedict said, crumbling the pins to dust in his hand at the exact moment Wilson came flying across the floor.

"You destroyed them, you bastard. You took away my whole life's work. I'll kill you and send you to live behind the veil with the others."

There was another scream from the public gallery and then it was as if the whole audience stood up and cheered as a familiar looking bear dashed past, taking out Wilson before he even got close.

"You were saying, son?" Franklin chuckled, as the family swarmed around Benedict – a form of ghostly hug. "You may not ever think you need protection, but you have it all the same."

"I guess I do." Benedict closed his eyes, letting his necromancer form recede as the energies of his family filled him. All that was missing were his sisters, but in that moment he understood why his father had not let them attend. He knew that this time, when he said goodbye, it would only be temporary, and he would see his family again.

"We love you. See you soon. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Soft words whispered across the breeze as the spirits slowly disappeared. His mother was the last. "Live your very best life, Benny," she said, and Benedict could hear the love in every syllable. "You can't change the past, and what's done is done. All we want for you is to enjoy the life you have with that hunky bear of yours, understood?" A lump formed in his throat, and with tears in his eyes, all Benedict could do was nod as she disappeared, too.

It's over.

Benedict knew he would process the morning's events in his own way, in his own time. The revelations could wait until he could be with his mate, in private. Speaking of which, Dixon lumbered over on his furry feet, blood coating the bottom of his muzzle. "I think we're done here, don't you?"

You've had a rough morning. Hop on, and I'll give you a lift to the car.

Just walk by my side, my loving bear. This is one time where I get to turn my back on them, and I will walk away. I'm not going to waste that opportunity by falling over now.

Head high, my powerful Necromancer. Hold your head high, and I'll catch you if you stumble.

Just be ready to prop me up, just a little bit, if I need it.

Always.

And that's what they did. Benedict and Dixon together turned their backs and walked out of the Main Hall, out of the Tower and back to the car, where surprisingly, Langley was already waiting for them. "You've certainly caused me a lot of new paperwork – the pair of you. I grabbed the blanket for you Dixon, and for goodness' sake wipe your mouth before you get in the car. Let's get out of here."