12. The Grand Master

"Grand Master de la Roche, Lord Onfroi, sir—I was hoping you would wait until I was done, as we discussed."

"Necromancer Salvatore has routed you soundly. Your intervention is no longer needed. You may go," the man said, waving a hand elegantly in a cruelly casual dismissal. Kenzie went red in the cheeks, but with a short nod, he left the room without looking at Angel or saying another word.

The blood mage's accent was heavy, French, though Angel had trouble parsing the regional dialect from so few words. Angel was fluent in French, thanks to his upbringing and schooling, and said, "Nous pouvons parler en fran?ais si vous préférez?"

The man waved his hand again, and came around the chair and sat in Kenzie's old seat. "Non, I speak English well, and I prefer it in this moment. Less chance of misunderstandings."

"Alright," Angel said. He saw Simeon appear in the doorway, cuffs gone, his mate silent and eyes aglow, brightly shining in response to the danger of his mate sitting across from the Grand Master of the High Council of Sorcery. This man was the most powerful sorcerer, at least politically, in the entire world.

Angel had few qualms about taking him on in terms of magical strengths.

"You're consuming the ambient magic from the humans," Angel confronted. "And you're why the practitioner agents aren't here, they've been sent away for their safety. Whatever deal you've got with the Feds, they don't trust you at all."

"They should not, and it is quite prudent of them," de la Roche replied, sanguine. "Such prudence is commendable."

Harvesting the ambient magics in an area was something wizards, the next rank down from sorcerers, did to augment their own power reserves. They could be nearly as powerful as sorcerers, some even an equal match—both ranks depended on their personal stamina and reserves and harvested ambient magic. The biggest difference lay in the tapping of the veil, the liminal space between dimensions in their universe. It was a boundless place of infinite power, and tapping into it provided limitless magical power to a sorcerer, for only they had the ability to tap into that source. The only restrictions lay in the personal strengths, skills, and talents of the sorcerer tapping the veil. Some sorcerers never tapped the veil, as they plainly sucked at it. Others used it almost exclusively, forgoing ambient magic or depleting themselves first. Most were an even mix of inner reserves and tapping the veil.

And blood mages had additional means of garnering resources, but Angel had to keep his mind on the man in front of him—not think about the blood-drenched past he carried with him.

"Are you a threat to them?" Angel asked. Simeon entered the room and stood beside Angel's seat, a loving sentinel and feral guardian in one. De la Roche ignored him completely, aside from a single, brief glance from head to toe.

"I would never dream of hurting federal agents of the United States, how foolish," de la Roche replied placatingly. "They've graciously allowed me this space to speak to you face to face, without…interference."

"From the Bloodclan, you mean, or my friends."

De la Roche bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, that is true. I wish to speak to you of a truce."

"A truce? You had my apprentice kidnapped, his mate too, and then you planted bombs in a hotel to kill those coming after them. One of your own people died!" Angel refrained from shouting but just barely. "You're tracking my ancestor and his mate and his son, and you tried to kill them to take the boy! A truce? You are the aggressor, and why you aren't in jail after the bombings is a fucking mystery."

"How fiery." De la Roche gave him a crooked smile that looked difficult, as if a smile were hardly seen on that handsome face. "I have been here in this monotonous building for hours, well before your apprentice was taken. I sat here with Special Agent Kenzie several hours into the night, right here in this room, and spoke not a word to anyone from the Council. How could I be the villain?"

De la Roche had seconds to spit out what he wanted before Angel lit him up with hellfire, and that must have been evident on his face as the Councilor sat back in his seat, steepling his hands in front of him, waiting for Angel's reply.

"Really not hard to see you gave yourself an alibi using the fucking Feds," Angel grit out. De la Roche reacted with a faint twitch at his vulgarity, making Angel want to cackle and swear like only a Bostonian could—and damn the consequences of losing his temper. "And setting a plan in motion isn't hard, either. You've got minions."

"So argumentative, how delightful. At your age, I thought you would be more agreeable, but I can work with this anger. You wish for everything to stop. Violence, threats to your family and clan. Non?"

Angel had no idea how this man thought thirty years equaled ‘agreeable' but he was not going to be a pushover in this oddball discussion.

"Va te faire foutre," Angel spat out. De la Roche chuckled at Angel's outburst, as if his righteous anger were amusing.

And de la Roche had no intention of leaving or engaging in real peace talks, not when he brought an army of enforcers to Boston from around the country and the world.

"What do you want for peace?" Angel asked, Simeon tensing imperceptibly beside him.

"Nothing much, merely the boy, the dragon, and your promise to cease interfering in Council business," de la Roche said calmly, as if his words weren't a declaration of war in themselves.

There was no way in Hecate's Threshold to Hell he was giving the Council his dragon or the kid. Not a fucking chance.

The rage came not in a fiery show of shouting and red faces, but a slow, languorous ebb and flow that welled up from the center of his belly and flushed out to every cell in his body.

That rage shimmered in tiny hellfire sparks around his shoulders, across the mate bond to Simeon. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and gently squeezed, either in caution or solidarity, likely both.

"You want the boy." A statement. "His name is Leandro, and he's a little kid who loves his dads. You gonna take them too? Are his fathers not part of the equation?"

"Apprentices are fostered at such a tender age, even in these modern times," de la Roche replied. "The boy will be fostered with a Council member suited to oversee his training."

"Even the Council avoids messing with necromancers, and yet you're after Leandro. It's because I bonded to a bloodclan vampire, isn't it." Not a question, not really. Angel knew the truth in his gut.

A wave of one elegant hand to the grip Simeon maintained on Angel's shoulder. "In ancient times, a necromancer bonded to a clan vampire…they were problems. Historically, the Council has been needed to intercede for the betterment and protection of the practitioner community. It was always too much power for one mortal to wield wisely."

De la Roche knew that a necromancer bonded to a vampire within a clan gained access to the primordial death magics that animated the sentient undead. Angel's power was unmatched when he tapped into the veil—and these days, he hardly needed to do that, instead accessing the death magics that poured into him like a river without a dam from the mate bond. It was more power than Angel knew what to do with. But what he did know was that he was not a necromancer of old—a bitter, jealous, egomaniacal madman bent on world domination or genocide.

All he wanted was to live in peace with his beloved and enjoy his family, friends, and career.

Angel already had a world—his world, his life. He was content, and even better, happy.

"You make it sound so simple. A bonded necromancer is a threat, so you come for me. Trumped-up charges of proscribed magics, try to get to Daniel, pointing Malis at me like a loaded gun. Every turn I've made since Simeon caught my attention, the Council has been trying to either get me under your thumb, or dead. All for power. I don't believe the magnanimous bullshit of protecting the world from an evil necromancer—I see a corrupt authority taking out challengers to their power if they can't subvert that power to their will." Angel paused, glaring at de la Roche. "That's why you want Leandro. I'm uncontrollable, but he's young enough to be brainwashed and made to work for the Council. I bet you'd even find him a vampire friend once he was old enough, entice him to fall in love."

Angel stood, Simeon threading his nearest hand through his arm, nestled at his elbow. Angel clung discretely to his mate, happy for the support.

"With Eroch it's easy to understand why the Council wants him. Only living dragon in the world." Angel shook his head, breathing out his rage as it slowly left him, letting his thoughts become crystal clear. "Billions of dollars, dead or alive, and he's a baby. You might think the same of him as you do Leandro—young enough to be brainwashed into being an ally, or be controlled easier."

"His summoning was an act of proscribed magic," de la Roche said, but Angel cut him off with a slicing motion from his free hand and a shake of his head.

"Made under duress while a hostage, and it was Deimos who did the final summoning in the ballroom, in front of hundreds of witnesses. Daniel is safe from blame."

"Yet the geas is released and you still have the dragon," de la Roche said, showing at last some anger. "It should be sent home."

"He wants to stay," Angel replied, and he smiled up at Simeon. "Time to go home. Are you ready?"

"I am indeed, my love," Simeon answered in a soft rumble, pride shining from the emerald depths.

"An animal told you it wants to stay? How convenient," de la Roche stood at last, though he carefully stayed where he was, Simeon's sharp regard keyed in on the blood mage. "It is a familiar that tips the balance of power too far in your favor, Necromancer Salvatore. This situation cannot be allowed to remain as it is."

"Call Eroch an animal to his face, please. I'd love to see the funeral pyre he makes of your corpse." Angel shook his head once then headed for the doorway, Simeon at his side.

De la Roche said nothing as they passed him, the blood mage frowning, appearing deep in thought. Angel wanted to get away from the man as quickly as possible. He had the desire to shower in scalding-hot water after that conversation.

No one stopped them from leaving, oddly enough, though part of Angel expected it. Their arrests were orchestrated to get Angel in a room with the Grand Master of the High Council of Sorcery without backup. Simeon being there was probably to keep Angel from having to fight his way out. He doubted it would have remained a polite conversation if Angel were alone, confronted by a blood mage that wanted to steal a child, kill him and his mate, and take away a beloved adopted scale-y toddler who happened to be a dragon.

Special Agent Kenzie was at the elevators, and handed Angel's athame and its scabbard over to him without a word, walking away while they waited for the elevator to arrive. It was unharmed, without any tampering, and Angel checked it over for tracking spells or tracers, and found nothing amiss. It wasn't like he was planning on running, and the Council knew it.

Fuck it. Angel was planning on a war regardless.

The hospital room was well lit, and Rael sat on the bed beside his mate, Jameson reeking of vinegar from the impromptu bath he got in the pantry and the additional soaking he got in the ER when he came in for aconite poisoning.

Thankfully, the overall exposure to the wolfsbane wasn't for too long—he was set to be released in the morning once he tested clear after another vinegar shower.

"My nose is burning," Jameson complained quietly, rubbing at his face. "Damn vinegar."

"Mine too," Rael said, leaning on Jameson's shoulder, his mate holding him close to his side as they sat on the bed together. "We can shower when we get home."

Angel walked into the room with Simeon and Scylla at his heels. "Home isn't going to be safe. The Council wants me dead, and they aren't above taking you again and using you to get me to surrender."

"What? Why?" Rael burst out.

"I have too much power for them," Angel said simply, without fanfare. "My mere existence is a threat. Everyone in my orbit is in danger. How do you feel about moving in with me for a couple weeks? I have plenty of room."

"At the Mansion?" Rael asked, furrowing his brow. It smelled a bit like death, his sensitive nose picking up on the mass death event that happened over a decade earlier.

Angel shook his head. "My new place in Beacon Hill. Spacious, lots of rooms, soundproofed bedrooms. I can start your training immediately, too."

Rael turned to Jameson. "I know we were looking for a place to stay, but we can hold off for a couple weeks, maybe? Search online, do video calls with a broker? Beacon Hill is just across the river from Cambridge, so it's not far at all from the Cambridge pack."

"Are my employees in danger?" Jameson asked. "I employ over two dozen people."

"If they can work remotely, let them," Angel replied.

Jameson nodded. "I'll email them to work from home until further notice. Do you want to stay with Angel?"

Rael leaned into Jameson, and thought about it, looking to his mom, who leaned against the far wall by the door. "Mom?"

"I've got my own place I'm moving into," she replied. "It's not soundproofed. I don't need to hear any more post-bonding coitus going on, so stay with Angel for now. I'll be fine."

"What if the Council goes after you?"

Scylla snorted in disbelief. "Then I get to eat them."

"Mom!"

"I've eaten people, hun. I'm over two hundred years old and people have tried to kill me before. A smart wolf never wastes a meal."

"Oh my gawd," Rael breathed out, scandalized by his mother. Jameson was chuckling, and everyone else looked amused. The horror.

"Ok, we'll stay with Angel, thank you," Rael said quickly.