Chapter Three

Thanks to the stress going on before the flight, the flight itself, the difference in the time zones, and loving on his mate for much of what was left of the night, Dixon wasn't surprised he'd slept late. Waking up in a massive four poster bed – anyone in California would call it party-sized – he was surprised not to see Benedict snuggled in among the covers, or anywhere else in the richly appointed room.

"I'm damn sure I tired that man out. I'll have to try harder next time," he muttered as he rolled to the edge of the bed and got up. There was a bathroom attached to the bedroom. A wet towel hanging on the towel rack let Dixon know his mate had showered. A quick sniff under his armpit, and Dixon did the same thing, rushing through his morning routine, his bear anxious. The urge to protect their mate had been in force since well before the plane landed, and Benedict not being in the room with them didn't help.

Leaving the bedroom, Dixon refused to let the grandeur of the place get to him. He dressed in black jeans, and a light gray Henley, trusting on his bear to keep him warm, although the whole house was heated nicely. As Dixon went down the hallway, he could see fires burning in most of the rooms.

Everywhere he looked spoke of opulence, but Dixon couldn't see a spark of what he knew was Benedict's personality anywhere. It was as if someone had furnished the house in the way they imagined a high ranking magic user would live, with no consultation with the person who actually lived there. Dixon gave a passing thought to the clutter in Benedict's San Francisco home – the books stacked on the coffee tables, the rugs, and bright cushions. That's comfort. This is… Dixon didn't know what the British mansion could be described as, but it wasn't reflective of who Benedict was.

"Excuse me, miss." Dixon spotted a woman dusting in one of the rooms. "Can you tell me if you've seen Benedict anywhere this morning?"

The woman dropped a curtsey, her face bright red. "He's gone for a walk in the grounds, sir," she said, her accent making it difficult for Dixon to understand her. "If you head out to the rose gardens on the east side of the house, the gardeners there can direct you."

Dixon would've rather found the kitchen. He was missing his coffee, but he clattered down the stairs to the main hall, only to be stopped by a uniformed man in the hallway. "Excuse me, sir. Lord Dule said you'd be expecting coffee when you woke. I've set a tray in the sitting room for you. Just through there."

"I've just been informed Lord Dule is out in the grounds."

"Yes, sir." The man had a cheerful smile. "Your coffee is through there."

It was only a short debate in Dixon's brain. "Tell me. Is there a travel mug anywhere in this establishment?"

"I'm sure I can find one for you, sir."

Dixon was able to drink two cups of coffee, one after the other, while a travel mug was found. It wasn't new. In fact, someone had stuck a skull sticker on the side of it, which meant there was a good chance it belonged to one of the staff. "Let the owner know I'll return it shortly. Hopefully, my mate and I will have time for me to buy one when we're out later." He emptied the last of the coffee pot into the cup, nodding his thanks.

"You'll probably find Lord Dule over the hill, sir," the man said as Dixon went to leave.

"Over the hill?" Dixon hadn't even had a chance to see any of the grounds yet. Is this some British slang I don't know about?

"This house was built on Dule family land, sir. The site of the previous home is just over the hill, out of sight of this one." He pointed out the window, and Dixon could see a hill. "You'll probably find Lord Dule there."

"You've been helpful, thank you." Dixon raised the borrowed cup in salute and quickly strode out through the main hall and out the front door.

Benedict had been right the night before. The air was different, but then Dixon wondered how far Benedict's English home might be from the sea. He wasn't picking up any salt in the air. Again, Dixon couldn't help but compare the manicured lawns and meticulous gardens with the overgrown shrubbery of Benedict's American home. His bear shifted uneasily under his skin. Yeah, I know. We don't belong here, but we're here for Benedict.

Speaking of which. Dixon couldn't see any paths, only a wide expanse of lawn stretching up a hill. I'm sure no one's going to complain if I walk on the damn grass. Striding straight up, Dixon kept his nose busy, seeking out the scent of his mate. It wasn't even a minute, and he was on the top of the ridge. His breath caught, and his heart hurt as he took in the scene on the other side.

The house site was like a giant black scar on the pristine green surroundings. The rubble and debris had been cleared, probably years before, but not even a weed had raised its head in the house's footprint. As he headed down the hill, Dixon could feel the weight of the family deaths as if it was a blanket on his shoulders. He spared a thought for Emma, his late sister. How in hell's name is Benedict coping when his entire immediate family was wiped out in one blast.

Benedict cast a lonely shadow, standing as he was to one side of the blast site. He was wearing a long thick coat, his hands buried in the pockets, and the collar of the coat turned up against his neck. It hurt Dixon's heart to see his mate's bleak expression.

"You should've woken me," Dixon said softly, wrapping his arms around Benedict's shoulders. "This is not the sort of thing you need to face alone."

"I had to see. I had to feel this. It wasn't something I could do before." Benedict turned his face into Dixon's shoulder, and Dixon felt the tremble in his mate's shoulders. He held him close, lending him his strength, even as his bear stirred. I know. We don't like it when our mate's upset. But he has good reason.

As if he'd heard the bear, Benedict straightened, although he didn't move out of Dixon's arms. "I'm being ridiculous, I know. It's been so many years. I seriously believed I had a handle on this, but fuck, being here is like walking into a time capsule. Nothing has changed."

"You have," Dixon reminded him quietly. "You're stronger, you're more determined to be yourself. You've built a life to be proud of, away from the paranormal world and any expectations people had of you. That takes real power well beyond your already formidable magic."

"If you're saying such wonderful things about me, I can only assume you're trying to distract me from the fact you really don't like that house, do you." Benedict teased. "I can't blame you. Can you believe I grew up in a house exactly like that one and until I was about five years old, I thought that was how everyone lived?"

"If that's all you've seen, then that's all you know."

"True. Very true. I'd seen other people's houses on holiday trips and things like that, but there were certain standards my father had insisted on from the way I wore my hair to the clothes me and my siblings were expected to dress in every day. You know, I remember, one of the first things I did when I moved to the States was buy myself a pair of jeans. It was my first time wearing anything that wasn't specifically tailored to fit me. My gods. I had so much to learn back then."

"No jeans today?" Dixon looked down at Benedict's legs. He was wearing suit pants.

"Not today. You look incredible in yours. As for me…" Turning in Dixon's arms, Benedict looked out over the blast site. "Don't let me lose who I am while I'm here. I know the house is a culture shock, but it's what my staff expects – they are comfortable with it that way. Does that make sense?"

Dixon tightened his hold, leaning his front on Benedict's back. "We don't have to live here, do we?"

"Gods, no. Never. Definitely not."

"Then there's no need to change anything." Dixon looked out at the bleak, soot-filled space. "What can we do to help you make peace with your memories? Your family deserves you speaking of them, even if it's just with me, and remembering them with love and affection for the happy times I'm sure you had."

"It's not really something we've had time to do, either of us, is it? I want for you to be able to do the same by sharing your happier memories about Emma." Benedict leaned back on him. "There were some truly fun times in this place if you can imagine it. My amazing mom was raising six boys and three girls, then out of nowhere I came along – the seventh son of a seventh son. The house was filled with noise and so much laughter. I was born sniffing herbs and even now when I smell white sage, I think of my mom."

"You'll have to point it out to me some time. I might have an acute sense of smell, but I haven't got a clue when it comes to what the different herbs are and things like that."

"Stick with me, you'll learn."

"I'm not going anywhere." Dixon knew his mate could sense the truth of his words through their bond. "I have to ask, and you can tell me it's none of my business, but that house on the other side of the hill looks as if it's been there for centuries. Did this place originally have two houses on the estate?"

"No. There was only the one mansion. The house you see today, the one we slept in last night… That is my family home, or what's left of it." Benedict's words wavered and Dixon wished he'd never asked, but then Benedict continued.

"What you see here… it's impossible to describe what was left that night. My gods, immediately after the explosion there were just piles of rubble everywhere. Broken slabs of stones and burned beams. It took so long sifting through it all, looking for the bodies, and then salvaging those little things like the ring you're wearing. But the level of destruction was unimaginable. That's why I knew it wasn't a spell gone wrong, like the council tried to claim. There would be very few spells that could create that type of carnage, and if there was one, it would've been made illegal centuries ago."

"But you're saying, the house that's standing over the hill used to be this house?"

"I know how that sounds." Benedict chuckled. "I promise I haven't gone crazy. But that house – I made it from the ruins of this one. I took all the rubble from here, and ‘poof'." He flicked his hands in the direction of the hill.

"Poof?" Dixon worried there was something wrong with his ears. "You mean you just magicked up your family home out of the rubble, but on the other side of the hill?"

"Pretty much. I made a few adjustments, and it was just the main framework of the building. The decorating and furnishings and all that stuff was put in afterward. Monica arranged for one of her friends to decorate everything. I just signed the checks."

"You knew you weren't going to stay even then."

"Yep." Benedict let out a long breath. "I wouldn't have bothered with a house on here at all if it wasn't for the people who'd worked for my family for so long. There's always been a Dule here, and while I think the staff have long come to terms with the fact I am never coming back here to live full time, they still keep the house running as if I was, and that means a lot to them. Besides," he added, looking at the land beyond the house. It really was a beautiful spot. "I wasn't about to let any of my extended family have this place. That was never something my father would've wanted."

"You've mentioned before you have a huge extended family. Didn't your father get along with them?"

"From all accounts he did originally. He and Mom were forever entertaining huge family parties that would go on for a week or more at times." Benedict sighed.

"I probably shouldn't ask what stopped all that, because it sounds as if, from the way you're telling it, that it was something that happened before you were born, or when you were very young?"

"You are a smart, smart bear." As Benedict turned so they were facing each other, Dixon was struck with how sad his mate looked, and it tugged at the core of his heart and soul. "Apparently having a Necromancer in the family was considered bad luck. After the explosion I even had one uncle, who lives just two miles down the road – he told me to my face my family's deaths were all my fault. Apart from Monica, and maybe her mother, Aunt Silvia, the rest of the family still feels that way."

Dixon tried to imagine what that might feel like. Benedict, already shocked by the death of his entire family, then facing hatred and stupid discrimination purely because of something he was born to do, something he had no control over. "I don't have words," he said softly. "I can't fathom, when those people should've supported you and they…" He couldn't even say it, yet Benedict had lived with it.

"That is why we will never live here, although…" Benedict inhaled sharply and grinned. "I could always raise that zombie army for the council and then we can fly back to the States."

"I thought you were determined you couldn't do that."

"I wouldn't do that. I have no wish to disturb the dead. But maybe I could get Uncle George, who is on the other side of the veil, to call for a few volunteer spirits who have their own gripes with the Council. They might be prepared to come along and cause their own brand of mischief."

"But zombies aren't real." At least, Dixon was fairly sure they weren't.

"No, not in the sense of decaying bodies roaming the earth looking for brain matter to snack on. But a summoned spirit army could do a fair bit of damage, especially if the summoner decided to decamp to another country and just left them here." Benedict's hand was warm on Dixon's chest. "Come along my amazing mate. Let me introduce you to the joys of an English cooked breakfast and then I'd better get in touch with the Council and get a gauge on just what's going on."

Dixon's stomach took that moment to rumble, and Benedict laughed. "You go along," he said, as he patted Dixon's middle. "I just have one more thing to do."

Respecting his mate's right to privacy, Dixon let his arms drop and moved toward the hill, although he didn't climb it. He watched as Benedict murmured something far too low for him to hear. After a few moments, Benedict flung out his arms, and Dixon felt the gentle wash of his mate's magic. Bending down, Benedict scooped up a handful of soot covered dirt and wrapped it in a handkerchief he'd pulled from his coat pocket.

"Hearth magic," he said as he straightened and came closer, stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket. "It's one of the strongest forms of magical talisman you can get, especially with a family as old as mine."

Dixon had never heard of it. "Whatever works for you, my mate. I'm just the muscle on this assignment."

"No." Benedict shook his head. "You are far more than that. You're my reason for living. You're also the one element the Council is likely to have underestimated when they came up with their half-baked plan to try and force me to do their bidding."

"Because we're fated, or because I'm a big-assed shifter."

"Both." Wiggling his eyebrows, Benedict held out his hand. Dixon felt a tingle in the ring he was wearing as they slowly walked back up the hill. I will protect him. Dixon didn't know anything about communicating with the dead, but his bear got the impression his message was received.