21. The Poisoned Well

Miguel wasn't sick yet but he would be shortly. Angel had a narrow window available to him to burn out the spell before the structured magic killed the vampire. Not enough of the potion in Sawyer's blood had made it into Miguel to trigger the spell—but enough made it in that Miguel was about to get very sick, very quickly.

"Simeon, keep an eye on our guy, please," Angel tilted his head toward Sawyer, who was still sulking on the couch, as if he were being grounded and not facing consequences for attempted murder of a bloodclan vampire.

Simeon nodded in agreement, even as he spoke in low tones to someone on the phone. Angel went to Miguel and the shirtless retired Marine eyed Angel with some curiosity, but Angel saw mostly hurt from Sawyer's betrayal in Miguel's dark eyes.

"I'm sorry," Angel said. "This sucks, and the cure is also gonna suck. You'll feel like death warmed over, again." That made Miguel snort out a surprised laugh, making him smile a bit.

"Do what you must, sir." Miguel replied, standing straight and almost at attention.

"You might wanna sit down?" Angel said, but the only place to sit was the couch beside Sawyer, and Miguel was shaking his head no before Angel even finished the sentence.

"I'll stand, sir. If it gets bad, I can sit on the floor."

"Alright. Hold still and don't move."

Miguel set his jaw and his eyes were steely with determination, and he went vampirically still, a stillness no human could ever achieve. It was unnerving, but Angel was used to seeing it from Simeon.

Burning out spells—structured magic—from vampires to prevent lethal poisoning was something Angel could do thanks to his death affinity. Death magic did not burn like regular fire, not unless Angel wanted it to—hellfire was not normal fire. It could and did consume structured magic that was anathema to the sentient undead. Vampires were meant to consume the unstructured, unaltered life magics made by mundane humans in a natural process all living beings went through. Structured magic was found in the blood of practitioners and their close relatives as a side effect of spellcasting, and was lethal to vampires. It was indigestible to the sentient undead, unless mated to a practitioner and fully bonded, as with Constans and Simeon.

Angel reached out and touched Miguel's chest over his silent heart, and shut his eyes. It took concentration to send out waves of microscopic hellfire through Miguel's body, and he'd need to blanket the man's entire form. The spell traces were thin and wispy, and corralling them would take too long. Better to employ a scorched-earth maneuver than to be precise about the process.

He closed his eyes and mentally followed the hellfire waves as he sent them burning through the vampire, who shook infinitesimally under his fingertips as the hellfire did its work. It was uncomfortable, Angel was sure, and he was not used to doing this procedure on a vampire who wasn't unconscious or deathly ill enough to be mostly unaware of the process.

There was no way hellfire raging through the bloodstream wasn't painful.

Miguel was tough as nails.

Angel finished the entire sweep of Miguel's body twice before he was confident the poisoning was gone completely, and he withdrew carefully from Miguel. He removed his hand, and opened his eyes.

Miguel appeared paler than usual and his eyes glowed a bit, his vampiric nature rising to the surface. Angel was pleased to see it. "How do you feel?"

"Weird, sir, but well enough."

"Weird and well are perfect. Are you okay to help us this afternoon? I know it's early."

Miguel nodded. "What do you need?"

"First, I want Simeon to share the memory of blood magic with you, the one he got from Batiste, so you'll be safe going forward. And then I need help finding and holding any new donors contracted to the Tower who might be here, and we need to check on their vampires."

"I can do that. I'll get dressed and be out shortly."

Miguel left to do that and Angel eyed Sawyer on the couch. He appeared to be stubborn, almost childish, as nothing was breaking through the pouting session he was throwing all by himself. Angel dismissed him and waited for Simeon to hang up the phone.

"Batiste and Tower security are aware. A team is coming for Sawyer and he will be held in quarantine and questioned about his involvement. Master Batiste is sending out a clan-wide alert to warn everyone about poisoned donors."

Right then, three phones chimed in unison in the suite with an emergency alert, and Angel sighed in relief. It wouldn't help anyone already sick, but it would make vampires and donors aware of the problem. Any traitors would be ferreted out shortly; he had little doubt.

"All unranked masters are checking those under their care and their donors for blood magic, and they'll text us if they've found something." Simeon added, keeping his phone in his hand, waiting.

Angel suspected he had a long night ahead of him.

He raced after the poisoned fledgling, dodging thrown furniture and broken glass as the young vampire ran headfirst through a glass wall of the casino into one of the private card rooms.

People scattered, screaming. The fledgling leapt at a nearby gambler, a human woman who shrieked in terror, and Simeon grabbed the fledgling by the ankle and yanked him out of the air, slamming him to the top of the card table. It shattered, collapsing to the floor, and Simeon sat on the struggling fledgling who howled in rage and scrambled to get free, to no avail.

He let his power go, the cold, quiet pool of strength that eddied about his soul in the darkness, his vampiric nature rising to the fore. Eyes aglow, fangs descended, and talons freed, Simeon smothered the fledgling in a wave of power, knocking him unconscious, and the young man promptly went limp.

Other vampires in the room backed away from Simeon, heads bowed, eyes on the floor. Simeon growled, the desire to fight roused, but he refrained, content to sit on his prey and wait for his beloved mate to arrive and cure the dying vampire beneath him.

"Simeon?" Angel called from the main floor of the casino, looking for him. Simeon heard people directing Angel after him, and soon enough Angel stepped through the mess and into the card room.

"You caught him! I had no doubts." Angel said with a proud smile, unperturbed by Simeon's wild appearance. "Hold him while I get that poison out of him."

Angel knelt beside them in the wreckage of the card table, and Simeon waited patiently as Angel quietly worked his magic on the fledgling.

This was the third vampire in the last several hours afflicted by poisoning—all from donors who betrayed their mandates and allowed the Council to poison their blood and therefore the vampire they were contracted to feed.

Security arrived and began herding spectators from the room, and two men waited for Angel to finish, ready to take the healed fledgling to Batiste for further care. Batiste was feeding them his blood, giving them the memory of blood magic to prevent poisoning in the future, and helping them recover quickly from both poison and cure.

Angel pulled away from the fledgling. "Done. Get him to Batiste before he wakes up to minimize any trouble. He's gonna be out of it for a bit."

Simeon stood and the security team came in and took the fledgling, hoisting him in their arms and striding out of the destroyed card room.

Angel went to his side and gave him a sharp smile, and Simeon wrapped both arms around his smaller mate, pulling Angel flush against his body. He leaned down and breathed in Angel's scent, the spice and sweetness of it, hellfire and dragon scale, blood and death.

Delicious.

"Are you sniffing me?" Angel asked with a happy laugh, and Simeon was thrilled to hear it. He would sniff his mate daily to get that laugh again.

Angel was warm in his arms, heating him the longer they touched. Angel's body heat was as familiar as his scent or voice, his touch, and Simeon loved it.

Especially after a hunt.

A short hunt, but it roused his desire and his hunger. Simeon growled, low and deep, making Angel shiver in his arms. Not from fear, but from desire of his own.

"Not yet," Angel said, teasing. "Later."

Simeon agreed—he did not want to taste his mate in front of prying eyes.

There was little in the way of planning when it came to finding and curing the assorted vampires afflicted by the tainted food supply. It wasn't difficult—but it was sporadic, waiting on an emergency alert to be sent to security, and then Simeon and Angel were directed to the scene. Thankfully, so far no reports had come from outside Headquarters or the Tower—meaning no cursed vampires were wreaking havoc on Boston.

Yet.

That was a concern, and Angel conveyed it to Constans. "I'm not sure how many vampires you've got out in the city right now, but check on them. Some fledglings are dangerous enough—we don't want a repeat of the Deimos situation."

"I've alerted the entire Bloodclan—and the unranked masters are personally accounting for all their people. No further incidents are being reported."

Angel sighed in relief into the phone, and Constans chuckled on the line. "I will apprise you of any changes, necromancer."

"Thank you," Angel replied. "Be warned. The bill for this is gonna be huge."

"I look forward to the invoice."

Angel hung up and looked for Simeon. He was talking to several vampires on the far side of the room they were in, one an unranked master who was head of the household whose suite they were in. The last poisoned fledgling was asleep on their bed, having not even made it out of their room before Simeon was called.

Simeon's power was tremendous when he let it loose—a cold rush of energy that swamped everything, and dropped the fledglings like day-old corpses. For all that Simeon never wanted to sire a vampire and have his own fledglings, he was patient, kind, and generous with those he considered fledglings, whether in manner or fact, and he was gifted in dealing with young vampires and humans alike. He took to Isaac and Daniel immediately, loving them because Angel did, and then for their own sakes.

Simeon was a wonderful father, for all that he was a vampire who refused to sire fledglings. From what little Simeon shared with him of his Turning, Angel suspected the trauma of it was what kept Simeon from siring his own fledglings.

Angel never had the urge to be a parent, not even when raising Isaac. That he did out of love, necessity, and sheer stubbornness. Milly came along not long after the Massacre and her experience with teenagers came in handy for Angel as Isaac gradually imploded and fell into destructive behaviors. He managed to keep Isaac alive, but barely.

All that was before Simeon and the Bloodclan moved north to Boston. Angel was glad Simeon hadn't been around back then for Isaac's sake, considering the painfully embarrassing bouts of teenage rebellion, but Simeon might have been good for all of them during that trying time.

Simeon was there now and that was what mattered most.

Angel joined Simeon by the door, the vampires there nodding or bowing to Angel in respect. It was odd to him but it was their culture and he went with it, giving them all a single nod in greeting before turning to his mate.

"Anything I need to know? It's getting to be dinnertime."

"Thank you, Necromancer Salvatore, for your assistance with our James. He would be dead without your help." The unranked master, a vampire named Hestia, said as she graciously dipped into an elegant curtsey, which was impressive considering her skinny jeans, high heels, and tank top. She was lovely—tall and lean with tanned golden skin, white-blonde hair piled high, and dark green eyes set in a striking face that drew attention like a moth to flame. She was an older vampire, too, having that vibe about her that struck a chord with Angel—she was Power. Not as old as Constantine, but certainly over a thousand years.

"Not a problem, it's what I'm here for," Angel murmured, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was with the praise. He was more accustomed to people yelling at him than praising him. "Send word to Batiste if he needs my help again. And make sure to share the memory of blood magic with him so he can protect himself in the future."

"An oversight on my behalf that will be rectified once he is fit," Hestia replied. "My failure almost cost him his life. I owe him, and you, a debt I shall repay."

Angel merely nodded and gave her a tight smile, but she seemed not to expect a response from him about the nature of her debt. She went past him into the room and went to the bed, sitting beside the slumbering James. The other vampires dispersed and left Angel and Simeon alone at the door.

"Let's go get some supper," Simeon said, leading Angel from the suite.

Out in the hall, Angel took the arm Simeon offered and walked beside his mate to the elevators. "The donors?"

Simeon checked his text messages. "We have them all in custody, including Sawyer. Master Batiste is questioning them himself."

Angel grimaced, glad that wasn't his task. "His Charm is powerful enough to force the truth from them. If they're smart, they'll tell him everything."

"Sawyer Edens, twenty-three, first-time blood donor," Ellora read off the file she held for Constans, carefully ignoring Miguel off to the side. "Was Miguel's boyfriend prior to the incident that prompted Miguel's Turning. I interviewed him myself after Miguel was Turned. He seemed a bit shaken by the preceding events but wasn't put off by his lover becoming a vampire. Or so I thought."

"Unlikely you missed anything," Constans reassured her. "Money turned him from Miguel. That flaw was there before Miguel became one of us. The shame belongs solely to Sawyer Edens for his betrayal of someone with whom he shared intimacy."

Miguel was heartbroken. He didn't show it, controlling his features, but he was heartsore and focusing on work to get himself through the betrayal. Constans was monitoring him through the sire bond he shared with Miguel—Constans was the one who Turned him, after all.

"Miguel, do you wish to stay for his questioning, or do you wish to assist Elder Simeon?" Constans asked the security chief, who was standing by the doorway of the detention center of the Tower.

"I…" He paused, and Constans waited patiently. "Would you think less of me if I don't stay, sir?"

"Never," Constans replied. He let the sir slide—Miguel was newly Turned and was still adjusting to being a vampire. "I shall get the truth from him and tell you everything when you want to know. You may leave, Miguel."

"Thank you, sir," Miguel replied quietly, and he slipped from the detention center out to the hallway, retreating to the elevators. Constans withdrew as much as he could from the sire-bond with Miguel, giving him privacy.

"Which room is he in?" Constans asked, turning to the door that led to the detention rooms. They were suites, or single-room cells, depending on whether the person was simply being detained or was lodging there under long-term punishment. Three of the cells were currently occupied—the donors who poisoned their vampire counterparts were currently under arrest and imprisoned until Constans decided on their punishments.

"He's in the second room on the left, Master," Ellora informed him and Constans headed for the room.

The doors in the long hallway were bio-locked, opening only to certain security personnel and vampires of high enough rank, like legates, or Simeon and Constans. Unranked masters had no access—the cells were meant to house powerful vampires if death was not warranted for their transgressions. Anyone who lived in the Tower under Constans' authority was subject to his laws and could be held in the Tower detention cells as punishment for breaking his rules. He didn't employ them often—this was the most people in the cells at one time since he had this entire floor retrofitted into the detention center the year before.

Vampires tended to resolve issues with violence, with the potential for death. It was rare for a vampire to break a law and end up in their version of jail. Mostly, it was used for badly behaving fledglings needing a place to cool off if their masters couldn't contain them—though that was seen as a black mark against the masters—and for donors breaking the laws of the Tower, or disturbing the peace. Like drunken brawls over a vampire lover, things like that.

But mass poisonings resulting in violence, and violence against Tower guests no less—that was a new crime spree that Constans was determined to sort out.

He found the right room and unlocked it with his handprint, the lock beeping as it released. He opened the door and stepped into the studio-sized cell. It had an alcove for the toilet, a single twin bed, a small table, one chair, an empty bookshelf, and a television that was off on one wall. Constans did not believe in depriving people of mental stimuli as a punishment—the confinement was the punishment—so the cells and the suites were more comfortable than their human equivalents.

Sawyer sat at the small table, arms wrapped around his torso, eyes red from crying and face scrunched up from anger. He shot to his feet when Constans and Ellora entered the room, Ellora pulling the door shut with a hearty clunk.

"Master Batiste, I…" Sawyer began, tears welling up to fall to his cheeks.

"Be quiet until I ask you a question," Constans ordered, unleashing his Charm and aiming it at the mortal, sparing Ellora from the effects. She stayed behind at his shoulder, ready and waiting for orders.

Sawyer snapped his mouth shut, eyes bulging a bit in alarm at his body disobeying him.

"Sit down," Constans ordered, and Sawyer sat instantly. Good. He was highly susceptible to Charm and would need little power expenditure to get him to tell the truth.

Constans circled Sawyer where he sat at the table, and listened intently to his racing heart. "Who gave you the potion to drink, the one to poison your lover?"

"I don't know his name," Sawyer blurted out, "but he was some guy from the High Council." His heartbeat remained in a steady beat and rhythm. The truth so far.

"Describe him," Constans ordered. He came around again to face Sawyer, who was staring at him in open-mouthed horror.

"No…he'll…. Dammit!" Sawyer swore, grimacing as he tried to fight Constans' Charm. "An enforcer. I recognized the silver badge they wear. White guy, dark brown hair, kinda fit, sorta cute."

"How detailed." Constans drawled and Ellora bit back a laugh. "What did he want?"

"He wanted me to drink the potion and let my vampire bite me like usual."

"Did the enforcer tell you what it was going to do?" Constans asked. This was the important bit.

"Not really? He paid me ten thousand dollars, half up front, and then half again once I got back to my apartment tonight."

"Ellora," Constans said, all he needed to say.

"On it," Ellora said, and she left the cell immediately.

"It's a shame, Sawyer, that you chose money over loyalty." Constans said as he eyed the young man, shaking his head slightly in disgust. "You've violated the contract you signed with the Tower, and the more personal bond you had with Miguel. For money."

"It's only fair! Miguel is a vampire now! He's rich!" Sawyer burst out, sweating a bit.

"How so?"

"What do you mean, how so? You Turned him into a bloodsucker and now he's loaded. He told me you didn't have any fledglings of your own in the clan! And you're richer than hell, so that means Miguel is too!"

"You failed in so many ways, Sawyer," Constans drawled. "One of which was keeping your word, and another was far simpler—using your brain." Constans shook his head and went to the door, and he paused with his hand on the knob. "You made many errors, and made many assumptions, and never asked questions, or read your contract. If you needed money, all you had to do was ask."

Sawyer's face went slack in shock. Constans shook his head. "I am sentencing you to serve the bloodclan amidst the very people you betrayed. Not donating blood but labor. Five years of labor, minimal pay, with no social media contact, and limited time outside the Tower. May you immerse yourself among the very people you tried to hurt, and learn what it is to trust."

"You can't do that! I'm human, not a vampire, you can't lock me up in here!" Sawyer screamed as Constans left the room.

"You should have read your contract."