survey says: SUX0R
Nov. 3rd, 2007 08:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI give up. I gave up writing other stff to write this, and much like the story I wrote last week -- it sucks it sucks it sucks. woud not cooperate at all, is a pile of CRAP that needs another part to even be complete, and I'm tired of trying to make something good out of this. Fuck it. I give up.
Annother day totally wasted.
I'm going to go make a pot of coffee and then try to write something good. Or maybe I'll just fucking give up and go read, since it's hard for even me to fuck up reading.
For sheer fucking amusement, by all means read. but I'm warning you right now it's crap. I'm just tired of burying the poor corpses of these stories before they get to see the light of day =_=
So tired of sucking. I fuck up everything - work, friendships, and now my writing. Whee!
Excuse me while I go take my cranky, drama queen self elsewhere. Honestly, if the highway was closer I'd go make myself a statistic *rolls eyes and goes to make coffee*
The knock at the door jerked him out of sleep – and, unfortunately, back far enough that he unbalanced his rickety chair, tumbling him painfully to the floor.
Grunting, he picked himself up and glanced toward the clock.
Two in the morning.
So he'd fallen asleep working again. His body was tight and achy with a need for sustenance, but he stubbornly ignored it. He could go a day more, a day and a half if he pushed it, without eating. It wouldn't be pleasant, of course…but starving was better than the humiliation that came with obtaining his meals.
He shoved his hair out of his face, wondering when in the hell he'd lost the rubber band holding it back. He'd been asleep, how did it go missing?
Why was he awake?
Another knock at the door reminded him, and he heaved a long sigh, wondering what in the world anyone could possibly want at this hour.
He strode through his workroom to the hallway – then froze. "Just one minute!" he called out, then turned and strode instead to his bedroom. Stripping off his ratty old tank top, he pulled on a clean undershirt, then a faded blue t-shirt, trying hard not to think about the way a certain bastard ex had once said it complimented his eyes.
Oh. Maybe the knock at the door…"
Quickly he changed into a clean pair of jeans, then pulled on socks and raked his hand through his hair. He doubted there was anyone at the door he wanted to see, but oh what if…
Walking quickly back down the hall, he threw the locks and yanked the door open – and struggled to hide the disappointment that made his chest ache. Well, stupid him for thinking Edmond might have actually come to his sensed…
He focused instead on his curiosity and confusion. "Can I help you?" he asked, wondering what in the hell a noble and an imp were doing on his door. But the imp was mature, and clearly free of binding spells. Fascinating. Mismatched eyes, he bet that only added to the imp's power.
"Sorry to disturb you at this hour," the vampire said, tucking back a strand of his long, long black hair. "My name is Zach, this is Doug. We're with the White Detective Agency. Are you the Necromancer Phoenix Fairchild?"
Phoenix frowned. White Detective Agency. He'd heard of that. It was tied to the demon lord two territories over. They'd once solved a case for the DeLovely family…oh! "You're the Alucard Zachariah Delovely, aren't you? And yes, I'm Phoenix. What did you want?"
"That would be me," Zach said with a smile. "Though I am no longer an Alucard. I surrendered the title. We require your assistance with a case, if you would not mind offering it. You'll be generously compensated for your time, of course."
He could see the curiosity in their eyes – after all, there was no such thing as an ugly vampire, was there? At least they weren't gawking like most idiots did, or pretending not to see him, as vampires usually did. Then again, they apparently needed his help.
Stepping back, he beckoned them inside. "Why on earth do you need my help?" Closing and locking the door, he turned and led the way into his living room, snapping his fingers absently to turn on lights and light a fire.
Motioning them to the couch, he took one of the chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table. "I cannot see of what use I'd be to a noble and a mature imp.
Zach laughed. "I dabble in magic, like most vampires. Doug is powerful, certainly, but vampire magic is something else entirely. We were recently hired to investigate a series of vampire murders – tenants, in a territory along the west coast."
"The demon lord," Phoenix said, and they nodded in reply. "I still don’t see why you need me?"
"As I said, I know very little about vampire magic, despite my age. Disgraceful, I'm sure, but magic was never of great interest to me – and I sense even if I did know a great deal, this would be beyond me. Sable Brennus himself confessed little knowledge of the intricacies of vampire magic lore." He reached into the pocket of his black wool coat and extracted something – a piece of paper, Phoenix realized.
He took it when Zach held it out, and gasped as he finally got a good look at it.
"We found it at the sight of one of the murders," Zach said quietly. "We don't think it belonged to the victim, but are not certain. As I said, even Sable Brennus could not say much about it."
Phoenix snorted, speaking absently as he looked the little scrap of paper over. "Of course he wouldn't. Most vampires know nothing about their own magic. The majority of it was lost during the earliest witch hunts, when vampires were nearly wiped out. Those who survived opted to purposely forget the vast majority of the magic that they felt helped bring about the mass slaughter of our race. Of course a demon lord would know nothing about it, especially one who is only what, roughly five hundred years old?"
Soft laughter jerked him from his thoughts, and he flushed as he looked up. "I meant no disrespect."
"None was construed," Doug said, speaking for the first time. "Sable himself said that if we could not locate a necromancer who might assist us, then we should speak with those very demons you mentioned. This is easier – assuming you will help."
Phoenix shrugged. "Not sure what help I can offer. I recognize two of these symbols, and can make a very good guess at the third – but they're general starting sigils, used to begin each stage of a spell. What spell is impossible to say; there are hundreds of possibilities." He frowned at the paper – something obviously ripped from some sort of spell book, likely the personal journal of whoever had cast the spell. "What can you tell me about the murders?"
"They were drained of blood," Zach said flatly. "The oddest thing I've ever seen. Humans empty of blood – that's not quite as strange. But vampires?" He shook his head. "That's a new one on me."
A cold chill ran down Phoenix's spine. "Drained of blood?" he echoed, brow furrowing as he contemplated the sigils on the scrap of paper. He set it down and stood up, vanishing through the door behind the couch. "Wait here one moment."
He ran his fingers along the books in his study, murmuring soft words of release, finally pulling out one book. It had taken him three years to copy what remained of the original text, and the better part of a hundred years to fill in the missing pieces. Even now, he was never certain he had accurately filled in those gaps. Necromancy involved far too much guess work, but there was no help for it.
Opening the book, he swiftly turned pages until he landed upon the one he wanted. Absently reactivating the protective spells, he returned to the living room. Moving around the couch, he flipped the book and held it out. "Three lines match up with this scrap you've given me, which may or may not mean anything. Still, this spell requires the blood of vampires – but certain kinds of vampires, as you can see. But note this is one of the spells I had to recreate…it may or may not be accurate."
"Incredible," Doug breathed, his mismatched eyes glowing as he looked up at Phoenix. "I've never known anything about necromancy. Not in a million years would I have actually though to see a necromancer's spell book."
Phoenix shrugged. "Necromancy is of little interest to anyone but vampires, and even they do not really care."
"There are only fifty registered necromancers in the world," Zach said, not looking up from the book, his fingers touching the pages almost reverently. "Two live here in the United States. If you had refused us, we would have been forced to look abroad for a necromancer."
"Probably," Phoenix agreed. "I exchange letters with Ceadda fairly regularly, but I haven't seen him for at least fifty years. He's more reclusive than even necromancers tend to be." Mostly because, unlike Phoenix, he'd given up trying to be understood. Vampires respected the past, and clung tightly to their traditions – but they had long ago made the choice to give up the greater part of their magic for the sake of survival. So precious few tolerated vampires who thought it better that necromancy was not forgotten entirely.
Forgetting it was stupid, Phoenix firmly believed that. There were dangers, certainly, but those could be overcome. It wasn't the magic that had caused so much trouble – it was the poor way it had been regulated and controlled. If handled properly…
Unfortunately, the opinion of a meager fifty eccentric vampires didn't count for a single thing against their thousands of brethren.
Still, it looked like his eccentricity might be rather vital now, didn't it? He tried to quell the selfish part of him that was glad of a chance to prove the importance of understanding this long forgotten aspect of vampire lore, because the fact was that vampires were dead.
And quite possibly their deaths were leading to something terrible.
"So what is this?" Zach continued, tapping the pages Phoenix had indicated.
Phoenix sat back down in his chair, stifling a yawn. A brief glance at the mantle clock showed it was now three in the morning.
"Once upon a time, there were three grades of magic in vampirism," Phoenix said, warming to his subject despite himself. "Four, really, if you include apprentices, but traditionally one did not receive a title until he had passed the apprentice stage. The first grade is 'Revenant' and it might interest you to know that even the newest Revenant is significantly more magically capable than all existing vampires. By the old standards, you would barely be an apprentice."
Zach laughed. "I believe it."
Phoenix continued, "The second grade is Necromancer. Today, as you well know, it's simply the term used to describe those of us who study the lost lore of vampire magic." No point in admitting he was a necromancer by old world standards as well as new. "The third and final grade of magic is Nosferatu. Even back when magic was common, Nosferatu were rare. It's a dangerously high level of magical power. Nothing like a demon lord or kitsune, since vampires just don't need magic the same way those races do…but close enough not to be sneered at by those races. Higher in ability than a mature imp, though."
"So why can't you achieve Nosferatu?" Zach asked, curiosity filling his face.
"It's demanding," Phoenix said quietly. "The average vampire needs to feed only once every two to three days. Younger vampires need to feed once a day, older ones perhaps once a week. Magic users need to feed as often as a young vampire, and more often if they use a great deal of magic. A true necromancer might be required to feed twice a day, and as much as up to four times a day…"
Zach whistled. "I see. A Nosferatu?"
"Let's just say there were very good reasons vampires were hunted so voraciously during the witch hunts," Phoenix said. "Also good reason the survivors decided to abandon magic altogether. Forgetting it, however, is equally stupid – but I won't rant to you."
Doug nodded, obviously pondering all that Phoenix had said. "So what does this have to do with the dead vampires?"
Phoenix made a face. "The answer is fairly obvious, once you stop and think about it. The stronger the blood, the longer it lasts and the better the spells will be. The blood of an abnormal human is stronger than the blood of a normal. An abnormal human who can use magic…better blood still. Vampires need human blood to live…"
Zach hissed, eyes flashing with dismay. "So human blood processed by a vampire's body would be stronger still." His face twisted in disgust. "He's feeding on his brethren. That's vile."
"Exactly," Phoenix said quietly. "I could be mistaken, but right now it would seem a necromancer, registered or no, is trying to become a Nosferatu – or at least trying to cast an incredibly complicated spell. How many are dead?"
"Five so far," Zach said. "We were brought in after the fourth, but two days later a fifth turned up."
Phoenix nodded and voiced a question which had been nagging at him. "How do you know I'm not the culprit?"
Doug grinned. "Oh, we checked you out thoroughly. Anything is possible, but we all concluded that you were unlikely to be behind these murders."
"I'm perfectly content being a necromancer," Phoenix said. A lonely, ugly, eccentric necromancer.
Zach nodded. "Would you mind if we dragged you away from here for a time? Hopefully only a day or two – we really would like your help, and perhaps visiting the murder sights would reveal something to you that we missed?"
Phoenix hesitated. He lived as a peasant, in lands unclaimed by any abnormal. Amongst normals, because as obnoxious as humans could be they tended to be far kinder about his appearance than his fellow vampires.
It hurt sometimes (all the time) to catch glimpses of vampires, peasants happily traveling the world or tenants living in perfect contentment on the territory of a Dracula. Zach was the fist noble he'd seen in at least a hundred years, and he rather thought it was closer to a hundred fifty.
Only three hundred and fifty years old himself…rejected for his eccentricity for most of that…and his ugliness for nearly as long.
That the spell had gone awry was not his fault; he'd taken all his own precautions and told the bastard to be careful…yet here he was living with the consequences, and he had no idea where Boris was anymore.
"I'll come along," he finally said. "I don't know there's anything I can actually do, but I'm willing to try. At the very least, it will broaden my knowledge of necromancy."
Zach smiled. "Excellent. Then how about you simply join us tomorrow…later today? Here's the address, and a focus sigil so you can teleport there."
Phoenix didn't bother to tell him he didn't require the focus sigil, accepting the slip of paper with a brief smile and thanks. He showed them out a moment later, and his smile withered as he once more locked the door.
Damn it.
If he was going to help them, he would have to feed. Zach had probably noticed he was half-starved, but thankfully too polite to ask about.
Even after all this time, it never grew less humiliating.
He wanted to be like his brethren, beautifully devastating. Just once he wanted to see eyes filled with desire, not glazed by enchantment. If not for his necromancy, he'd have a hard time feeding peacefully.
Resigned, because no matter what he had to make a good impression – not only would he be working with a DeLovely, Zach and Doug had been hired by another noble. The good it would do, for a necromancer to make a favorable impression upon nobles…
Then again, he was likely going to reveal a highly unethical necromancer.
He pulled open the front closet and retrieved his denim jacket, then grabbed his keys from the hallway table. Locking the door behind him, he hit the streets and went to find a human to enchant and feed upon, shoving back the pain of knowing his face and smiles would always repel, and never attract.
*~*~*
"Phoenix!" Zach called out, striding down the drive to greet him, shaking his hands. "This way, I'm glad you made it. I thought I'd introduce you to the man who hired us, then we can go and examine where each murder took place."
Nodding, Phoenix followed tamely along, hoping he wasn't about to be jeered or laughed right back out of the house.
A fine house it was – magnificent. Something out a book, utterly fitting for the Dracula Derrick and his family.
Phoenix gulped as Zach dragged him inside, wishing he'd never answered the damn door and was still sitting safely at home, bent laboriously over scraps of old text, working diligently to recreate them to compare with the efforts of the only forty nine other people who understood his fascination.
At least he'd have something interesting to write about to the rest of them, when this was over. Hopefully there would still be forty nine to whom he could write. If one of his own was responsible for this…
"Zach, is this the necromancer you were mentioning?" A warm voice asked.
Something in Phoenix's chest tightened to hear it, though he couldn't say why. He slowly dragged his eyes away from the wall to look at the speaker.
As if he hadn't already felt miserably ugly and pathetic. This wasn't a noble, he didn't have the right vibe…but he no mere tenant. His magic was respectable, so far as ordinary vampires went.
Gods that didn't exist, the man was stunning. Honey blonde hair cut short, blue-green eyes that stood out so brilliantly against his fair skin. He was dressed in a dark suit, but the blazer was absent, leaving him in just a crisp white shirt and a dark green vest, both set off nicely against black slacks. The tie matched the vest, and a small gold tie pin gleamed in the light.
Phoenix barley resisted the urge to transform and flee. He was grateful no one had put up mirrors in the hall way, he might have started crying at that point.
Once his hair had been auburn. Now it was a mish mash of auburn, gray, white. It resembled a calico cat on a good day…and some horrid disease on most. Exploding glass had shredded his face, and the spell gone awry that exploded the glass had done something to prevent his healing properly. He tended to think it looked like the calico cat on his head had raked his face several times before settling down.
His body was just as stained and cut as the rest of him, all because that asshole Boris hadn't been paying proper attention…
A thousand spells later, Phoenix had given up trying to ever cure the ugliness inflicted by the magic he loved and the carelessness of a friend who'd handled the matter by running away.
He'd thought Edmond, who'd claimed not to care how he looked, would be different…
The handsome vampire held out a hand, and miserably Phoenix shook it, relaxing a little bit when the vampire met his gaze, smiled politely, and did not voice the curiosity that was in his eyes.
At least he hadn't recoiled. That was two vampires now that hadn't all but run screaming at the sight of him, or jeered at him. It was almost enough to start hoping, if not for the fact he wasn't stupid enough to hope for anything anymore.
"So you're a necromancer," the vampire said. "My name is Korbin, I'm personal assistant to Dracula Derrick. He has asked me to work with the two of you today."
Phoenix frowned, curious. "Where is Doug?" he asked.
Zach smiled. "He's speaking with some other vampires, on the chance we gather no clues here. That the necromancer is killing vampires here is no guarantee he lives here. Hopefully we will discover something by the end of the day, one way or the other."
"I hope so too," Phoenix said with a sigh. "So where do we start?"
"The first murder was actually alarmingly close to the house," Korbin replied. "Six blocks away, behind a café I frequent. If you will follow me?" He vanished, and Phoenix followed after him, led by the traces of his magic.
They reappeared in an alleyway that defined the words filthy and disgusting.
Phoenix wrinkled his nose. "Why would a vampire be caught here? Certainly one would not hunt here…" He frowned in thought and unthinkingly began to mutter, the rest of the world fading out as he put to use the skills he loved enough to make himself a reject amongst his own people.
Tracing the sigils in the air, muttering them beneath his breath, he looked for the telltale traces of necromancy. Magic of the living races left a warm residue. Vampires cast magic with energy stolen from others. Second hand, converted upon taking into what they needed to live – a cold residue.
That he was definitely spying, though only faintly, as though the necromancer had attempted to erase all signs of his presence. Certainly he'd erased enough of it; Phoenix could not get enough of it to capture a personal identification.
So this was a necromancer of not insignificant skill – but not of great skill either.
Twitching his fingers in an intricate pattern that would look like so much nonsense to spectators, he muttered the sigils that would erase any signs of his own magic. "Definitely a necromancer," he said, and finally looked toward the other two – starting to see they were staring at him. "What?" he asked, tensing.
"That was incredible," Korbin said, moving closer. "You use magic like an imp or a demon. Like you breathe it, rather than simply find it occasionally useful like the rest of us. I've heard about necromancers of course, but actually seeing one…"
Phoenix flushed, disconcerted by the utter lack of hostility or mockery, the way he sounded genuinely impressed. "They're basic spells," he said, then cleared his throat when his voice sounded a bit more strained than he liked. "A child could learn them, or anyone else who was inclined. First and second level spells are nothing."
"Still more than I could manage," Korbin said, smiling. "What else can you do, I wonder?"
The look in his eyes was one Phoenix didn't trust for a minute. Edmond had looked at him like that, or seemed to, before Phoenix had figured out he'd just been hoping an adept vampire could make his life easier.
No one wanted him, and certainly this personal assistant to a Dracula wouldn't. A vampire like this had more phone numbers than could fit in one little black book, surely.
"Nothing special," he finally said. "You said there were five murders?"
Confusion flickered briefly through Korbin's eyes, but then it settled into something Phoenix couldn't puzzle out. Then suddenly he was all business again, brisk and efficient. "Yes, the next one took place in the public gardens. Did you want to head that way, or was there more you needed to do here?"
"I'm done here," Phoenix said, and they all vanished.
He looked around their location. They were in what seemed to be rather a secluded portion of what Korbin had called the public gardens.
"They were funded by his lordship," Korbin said. "He takes great pride in his territory, and prefers to keep the normals within it as complacent as possible."
Phoenix nodded and cast his spells again, hoping they would conclude today's work before he had to feed again. As much magic as he would likely need to use, however… He shoved the unhappy thought away and focused.
Again he could find no useful traces, only confirmation that he was indeed dealing with a necromancer of respectable skill. He sighed, frustrated. "Have you any suspects in mind?" he asked. "I know it must be difficult, but you are certain no one among you is responsible?"
Korbin spread his hands. "It is, of course, a delicate matter to accuse one vampire of killing others. I half wish the dead individuals were human, as at least then the vampires would be less reticent to speak about it. If it is a tenant, then he has done a remarkable job of hiding his magical abilities – certainly yours blazed the moment you arrived. I've never seen anything like it."
"You can read my magic?" Phoenix asked, surprised.
"Not terribly well," Korbin replied, "but I can sense the difference between myself, Zach, and you. Much like feeling the difference between a candle and a hearth fire. You stand out." That look flashed in his eyes again, and Phoenix jerked his gaze away, refusing to get caught in a game that would only end in more pain.
He shrugged off the compliment and focused. "An unusual skill, that. Most of us must practice hard to be able to read magical ability half so easily. It sounds like you have the potential to be quite a necromancer yourself."
"Sensing ability and teleporting are about all I can manage," Korbin said with a grin that made him look almost boyish. "Trust me when I say we don't want me trying much else. I'm very observant and precise, which is why I make an excellent assistant, but no mage was I ever meant to be."
Phoenix frowned, because he very much begged to differ, but he wasn't going to force the issue. None of his business. This time tomorrow he would likely be buried in his work again.
"Any idea what he's up to?" Zach asked.
"How far apart are the murders?"
Korbin answered. "They've all been about a week apart, give or take a few hours. So far we have found no correlation between the victims, and with their blood drained we cannot even trace if they had meals in common."
Phoenix frowned in thought, running spells through his mind, shaking his head in frustration. "I wish I knew who the vampires had fed upon before they died. I would stake my own store of knowledge that they fed on abnormals, magic users all of them. Transmuted by the vampires upon feeding, it would make for potent blood indeed – potent enough that if the vampire drained his victims completely, the power would last him a week if he was careful with it. Sounds more and more to me like he's trying and failing to become a Nosferatu."
"Nosferatu? Zach explained that to me. You really think that's what he's about?"
"Yeah," Phoenix said. "The problem is that he's good, but not good enough. Passing from one grade to another requires the casting of 'upgrade' spells – like taking exams, or the way demons must go through a great deal of trouble to claim their consorts. You can't simply be a Revenant or Necromancer or Nosferatu. It's like a peasant suddenly deciding to be a tenant. Doesn't happen; he must go through the proper channels" Phoenix shrugged. "Short answer – it won't work. He'll keep failing, until he finally manages to kill himself – or we find him."
Korbin nodded. Zach grinned. "You're pretty good at this detective stuff."
Phoenix rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I'm only good for necromancy. Shall we try the next sight? Though I think we will gain nothing from them, this necromancer was good enough to wipe his personal mark."
"Let us return to the house, if you think this is not helping. Perhaps we can think of a different tactic," Korbin suggested.
Nodding, displeased he was failing to help, Phoenix returned with them to the house.
"If you will pardon me a bit," Zach said, "I am going to see how Doug fairs. We'll be back shortly, I have no doubt."
He vanished, and Phoenix wished he had somewhere else to be. He looked nervously out the window, noting absently how pretty the ocean looked. His sad little house looked out over a garden of weeds he could never muster the energy to take care of – not even magically.
"So, if I might ask, how did you become interested in necromancy?" Korbin asked. "I admit, I never cared much for magic one way or the other. Until this unhappy mystery, I knew very little about it."
Phoenix abandoned the window, unable to resist the chance to talk about his favorite subject – because unhappy as it made him at times, he loved it. Magic was everything. "I actually didn't know much about it either, except that I was rather good at it. An old friend of mine was the one obsessed, and I tagged along…" Because he'd been half in love with Boris all his life, it had seemed then. When they'd eventually gotten into sex, he'd thought the feelings mutual.
He'd learned the hard way that Boris cared about himself first and foremost, and magic as a distant second. When he'd wound up falling in love with magic, and better at it than Boris…
Sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep and the loneliness got to be too much…he wondered if that damned spell had gone awry accidentally or on purpose. It wasn't a thought he liked to dwell upon.
After that, magic had been his everything…until Edmund…which had lasted six months before reality finally forced itself upon him. Still he had hoped that Edmund would come to his senses or something.
But it wasn't Edmund he missed, just someone.
He shook his head. "I tagged along, and wound up loving it. We parted ways, eventually, and I kept with my magical studies."
"You are a necromancer of some skill? It certainly seems like it. Do you know any other necromancers?"
Phoenix shrugged and wondered when Korbin had moved closer. "We write letters to each other, occasionally speak through spells. So few of us work on preserving necromancy, it would be detrimental to our cause not to keep in touch. But actually met? No. I've never bothered." He preferred to keep his ugliness to himself as much as possible.
"Zach explained what he knew about Nosferatu to me, but I confess I'm still confused on several points. Why would anyone want to be a Nosferatu?"
"A good question," Phoenix said, laughing briefly. "Vampires once did not hide the way they do today. Abnormals in general did not hide from the normals as much as we do today. That only came after the witch burnings, when far more than witches were killed… Once, abnormals fought tenaciously for territory, power… Power was crucial, and magic was power. Once upon a time, all Dracula were Nosferatu. Many of the ruling families today are descended from some of the greatest Nosferatu to ever live. Destroyed, all of them, along with the greater portion of the vampire race…
"Back then, it was much easier to drink as much as they needed to sustain their power. Nor was it unheard of for vampires to feed upon their own kind for still greater power. These days, it would not be practical to cast the upgrade spells to become a Nosferatu. If this vampire wants to reach that level…I wonder what it is he wants to do…"
Korbin drummed his fingers on the windowsill, staring out to watch the ocean. "I cannot imagine. To my mind, it would only cause headaches. Could he be hoping to displace a Dracula?"
"Possibly, but I don't see why anyone would want to. Then again, I'm not a necromancer who would resort to feasting upon my brothers."
Abruptly Korbin turned, and there was no mistaking the meaning in his smile. "That would depend on the matter of feasting."
Phoenix frowned and moved away, fumbling for an excuse to leave – but Korbin's hand landed on his shoulder and forced him to halt. Slowly he turned back around.
"I apologize," Korbin said. "Perhaps I've been coming on too strong, or possibly you find my attraction offensive. I meant no harm."
"Attraction?" Phoenix asked. "I find it impossible, to be perfectly blunt. You hardly need my magic for anything, and I'm far from attractive."
Korbin frowned and abruptly dragged him close, reaching up to touch one of the scars on his face. Phoenix gasped at the contact, shocked beyond anything. "You are highly unconventional, I will give you that. The last person I saw like you was a werewolf with a temper problem." He grinned. "Though in my experience, all werewolves have temper problems. Was this the result of something necromantic?"
"Yes," Phoenix said, jerking away from his touch, not liking the way it tingled. "The friend who got me into necromancy…something went wrong with the spell, and I wound up taking the brunt of it."
"Not a very good friend," Korbin replied.
Phoenix shrugged. "It was a long time ago, and I should have known better. Boris never had the proper patience for the higher level spells."
Korbin laughed. "Hmm, I wonder if your Boris knows my Boris, for they both seem to lack patience."
"What?" Phoenix asked, even as Korbin stopped laughing. Vampires very rarely had names in common, as names could be a thing of serious power. "Who is your Boris?"
The levity in Korbins' face had vanished completely, replaced by suspicion and ire. "Surely not… he's just the groundskeeper. He's barely capable of teleporting."
"Summon him," Phoenix said tersely.
Nodding, Korbin stepped back and sketched a quick sigil that faded as quickly as it was drawn, barking out a word of command – and then a painfully familiar stood in front of them.
Phoenix started to speak, but even as he drew a breath to do so Boris was throwing a spell at him. He threw his arms wide, fingers moving faster than the eye could follow – and the spell Boris had cast passed through a wall of silvery mist to consume the drapes beyond.
The mist shimmered, then Phoenix reformed and threw his arm out, fingers snapping as he called the words to another spell.
Boris tried to counter, but was not fast enough. He collapsed beneath the weight of the binding spell, making choked, garbled noises as he tried and failed to speak. Phoenix crossed the space between them and his fingers again began to move, twitching and snapping in time with the words rolling off his tongue.
On the floor, Boris slumped over in sudden sleep, so still he could be dead.
"I guess he never gave up trying to be what he could not," Phoenix said, absently snapping his fingers behind his head to snuff the flames still devouring the drapes.
Boris was, of course, still beautiful. Pale blonde hair and fair skin, broad shoulders and well-toned muscles…but even unconscious his face was pinched with a meanness Phoenix had refused to see until too late.
"That was incredible," Korbin breathed, making Phoenix jump because he hadn't realized the man was so close. "You – you turned into mist. That's a myth.”
Phoenix flushed and stepped hastily away, nearly tripping on the rug, which only made his cheeks burn more. "It's not a myth," he managed. "Just a difficult spell."
Korbin's brows went up, and honestly the man shook look dumb or silly doing that, but somehow Korbin made the gesture look hot. He really wished he could believe this vampire was interested, but he liked to think after two tries he'd learned his lesson. "What else can you do?"
He shrugged, discomfited. A lot was the answer, because what else did he have to do but hone his skills?
"So what about the myth that vampires can turn into bats?" Korbin pressed.
Phoenix could feel his cheeks burning, because that was secretly one of his favorite spells but he'd rather die than tell anyone that.
But Korbin's sudden grin told him his secret wasn't much of one anymore, not entirely.
"I've never seen a vampire blush as much as you," Korbin said. "It's really cute. Are you sure I can't ask you out once we finish up this mess?"
"I—"
Before he could figure out what to say, Zach and Doug suddenly reappeared. They both looked at the unconscious vampire on the floor, then at Phoenix.
Sighing heavily, he explained all that they had missed.
When he'd finished, Doug stooped and lifted Boris as though he weighed nothing. "We'll take him to the proper authorities."
Phoenix nodded, jerking away from the sight of his old friend bound and held like a sack of garbage. He'd killed five vampires, and who knew how many humans, because that was entirely possible.
Still…
He turned and stalked from the room, realizing he probably shouldn't because it wasn't his house and he didn't have permission but damn it why did Boris have to be such a fucking moron?
A hand caught his wrist and dragged him to a stop, then suddenly he was bundled close to a broad chest, the smell of ocean and some sort of flower filling his nostrils and he realized belatedly he was being hugged. It was humiliating, he was more than three hundred years old, he didn't need to be hugged like some child—
But it felt nice all the same, and Phoenix stayed there until Korbin at last pulled away.
He was gently petted, caressed. "I'm sorry," Korbin said at last.
"It's his own damn fault," Phoenix said bitterly. "I tried and tried, and look what happened to me. He sowed his own demise, let him reap it."
"Still, his actions should not result in your pain. You loved him."
"Past tense," Korbin said wearily. "Always they wind up past tense with me."
Korbin hugged him again, and Phoenix wished he would stop because it felt far too nice to be held in such a way again…but he couldn't seem to manage to tell Korbin to stop.
It seemed he was never going to learn his lesson.
"You should stay here for a few days" Korbin said after the silence had stretched on for a bit.
Phoenix looked up, slowly pulling away.
"As a thank you, and apology," Korbin added hastily, realizing how he'd sounded. "I'm overzealous, not crass. I'll ask you to stay for entirely personal reasons another time." He gave Phoenix a smile that was cute for the hesitation in it, something he sensed Korbin rarely felt.
Despite himself, wondering how long this bout of stupidity would last, Phoenix smiled back. "It would be nice to see this place without having to hunt for—for a murderer. I've always lived inland."
Korbin took Phoenix's arm and settled it in the crook of his own, a gesture Phoenix wanted to sneer at except in this case he kind of liked it. "Then come, I will show you around properly." He winked. "Perhaps when I am finished, you will not want to leave."
Phoenix rolled his eyes, because that counted as pushing, but could not resist a faint smile all the same. Ignoring the unhappy thoughts about which he could do nothing, he allowed the handsome vampire to distract him.
Annother day totally wasted.
I'm going to go make a pot of coffee and then try to write something good. Or maybe I'll just fucking give up and go read, since it's hard for even me to fuck up reading.
For sheer fucking amusement, by all means read. but I'm warning you right now it's crap. I'm just tired of burying the poor corpses of these stories before they get to see the light of day =_=
So tired of sucking. I fuck up everything - work, friendships, and now my writing. Whee!
Excuse me while I go take my cranky, drama queen self elsewhere. Honestly, if the highway was closer I'd go make myself a statistic *rolls eyes and goes to make coffee*
The knock at the door jerked him out of sleep – and, unfortunately, back far enough that he unbalanced his rickety chair, tumbling him painfully to the floor.
Grunting, he picked himself up and glanced toward the clock.
Two in the morning.
So he'd fallen asleep working again. His body was tight and achy with a need for sustenance, but he stubbornly ignored it. He could go a day more, a day and a half if he pushed it, without eating. It wouldn't be pleasant, of course…but starving was better than the humiliation that came with obtaining his meals.
He shoved his hair out of his face, wondering when in the hell he'd lost the rubber band holding it back. He'd been asleep, how did it go missing?
Why was he awake?
Another knock at the door reminded him, and he heaved a long sigh, wondering what in the world anyone could possibly want at this hour.
He strode through his workroom to the hallway – then froze. "Just one minute!" he called out, then turned and strode instead to his bedroom. Stripping off his ratty old tank top, he pulled on a clean undershirt, then a faded blue t-shirt, trying hard not to think about the way a certain bastard ex had once said it complimented his eyes.
Oh. Maybe the knock at the door…"
Quickly he changed into a clean pair of jeans, then pulled on socks and raked his hand through his hair. He doubted there was anyone at the door he wanted to see, but oh what if…
Walking quickly back down the hall, he threw the locks and yanked the door open – and struggled to hide the disappointment that made his chest ache. Well, stupid him for thinking Edmond might have actually come to his sensed…
He focused instead on his curiosity and confusion. "Can I help you?" he asked, wondering what in the hell a noble and an imp were doing on his door. But the imp was mature, and clearly free of binding spells. Fascinating. Mismatched eyes, he bet that only added to the imp's power.
"Sorry to disturb you at this hour," the vampire said, tucking back a strand of his long, long black hair. "My name is Zach, this is Doug. We're with the White Detective Agency. Are you the Necromancer Phoenix Fairchild?"
Phoenix frowned. White Detective Agency. He'd heard of that. It was tied to the demon lord two territories over. They'd once solved a case for the DeLovely family…oh! "You're the Alucard Zachariah Delovely, aren't you? And yes, I'm Phoenix. What did you want?"
"That would be me," Zach said with a smile. "Though I am no longer an Alucard. I surrendered the title. We require your assistance with a case, if you would not mind offering it. You'll be generously compensated for your time, of course."
He could see the curiosity in their eyes – after all, there was no such thing as an ugly vampire, was there? At least they weren't gawking like most idiots did, or pretending not to see him, as vampires usually did. Then again, they apparently needed his help.
Stepping back, he beckoned them inside. "Why on earth do you need my help?" Closing and locking the door, he turned and led the way into his living room, snapping his fingers absently to turn on lights and light a fire.
Motioning them to the couch, he took one of the chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table. "I cannot see of what use I'd be to a noble and a mature imp.
Zach laughed. "I dabble in magic, like most vampires. Doug is powerful, certainly, but vampire magic is something else entirely. We were recently hired to investigate a series of vampire murders – tenants, in a territory along the west coast."
"The demon lord," Phoenix said, and they nodded in reply. "I still don’t see why you need me?"
"As I said, I know very little about vampire magic, despite my age. Disgraceful, I'm sure, but magic was never of great interest to me – and I sense even if I did know a great deal, this would be beyond me. Sable Brennus himself confessed little knowledge of the intricacies of vampire magic lore." He reached into the pocket of his black wool coat and extracted something – a piece of paper, Phoenix realized.
He took it when Zach held it out, and gasped as he finally got a good look at it.
"We found it at the sight of one of the murders," Zach said quietly. "We don't think it belonged to the victim, but are not certain. As I said, even Sable Brennus could not say much about it."
Phoenix snorted, speaking absently as he looked the little scrap of paper over. "Of course he wouldn't. Most vampires know nothing about their own magic. The majority of it was lost during the earliest witch hunts, when vampires were nearly wiped out. Those who survived opted to purposely forget the vast majority of the magic that they felt helped bring about the mass slaughter of our race. Of course a demon lord would know nothing about it, especially one who is only what, roughly five hundred years old?"
Soft laughter jerked him from his thoughts, and he flushed as he looked up. "I meant no disrespect."
"None was construed," Doug said, speaking for the first time. "Sable himself said that if we could not locate a necromancer who might assist us, then we should speak with those very demons you mentioned. This is easier – assuming you will help."
Phoenix shrugged. "Not sure what help I can offer. I recognize two of these symbols, and can make a very good guess at the third – but they're general starting sigils, used to begin each stage of a spell. What spell is impossible to say; there are hundreds of possibilities." He frowned at the paper – something obviously ripped from some sort of spell book, likely the personal journal of whoever had cast the spell. "What can you tell me about the murders?"
"They were drained of blood," Zach said flatly. "The oddest thing I've ever seen. Humans empty of blood – that's not quite as strange. But vampires?" He shook his head. "That's a new one on me."
A cold chill ran down Phoenix's spine. "Drained of blood?" he echoed, brow furrowing as he contemplated the sigils on the scrap of paper. He set it down and stood up, vanishing through the door behind the couch. "Wait here one moment."
He ran his fingers along the books in his study, murmuring soft words of release, finally pulling out one book. It had taken him three years to copy what remained of the original text, and the better part of a hundred years to fill in the missing pieces. Even now, he was never certain he had accurately filled in those gaps. Necromancy involved far too much guess work, but there was no help for it.
Opening the book, he swiftly turned pages until he landed upon the one he wanted. Absently reactivating the protective spells, he returned to the living room. Moving around the couch, he flipped the book and held it out. "Three lines match up with this scrap you've given me, which may or may not mean anything. Still, this spell requires the blood of vampires – but certain kinds of vampires, as you can see. But note this is one of the spells I had to recreate…it may or may not be accurate."
"Incredible," Doug breathed, his mismatched eyes glowing as he looked up at Phoenix. "I've never known anything about necromancy. Not in a million years would I have actually though to see a necromancer's spell book."
Phoenix shrugged. "Necromancy is of little interest to anyone but vampires, and even they do not really care."
"There are only fifty registered necromancers in the world," Zach said, not looking up from the book, his fingers touching the pages almost reverently. "Two live here in the United States. If you had refused us, we would have been forced to look abroad for a necromancer."
"Probably," Phoenix agreed. "I exchange letters with Ceadda fairly regularly, but I haven't seen him for at least fifty years. He's more reclusive than even necromancers tend to be." Mostly because, unlike Phoenix, he'd given up trying to be understood. Vampires respected the past, and clung tightly to their traditions – but they had long ago made the choice to give up the greater part of their magic for the sake of survival. So precious few tolerated vampires who thought it better that necromancy was not forgotten entirely.
Forgetting it was stupid, Phoenix firmly believed that. There were dangers, certainly, but those could be overcome. It wasn't the magic that had caused so much trouble – it was the poor way it had been regulated and controlled. If handled properly…
Unfortunately, the opinion of a meager fifty eccentric vampires didn't count for a single thing against their thousands of brethren.
Still, it looked like his eccentricity might be rather vital now, didn't it? He tried to quell the selfish part of him that was glad of a chance to prove the importance of understanding this long forgotten aspect of vampire lore, because the fact was that vampires were dead.
And quite possibly their deaths were leading to something terrible.
"So what is this?" Zach continued, tapping the pages Phoenix had indicated.
Phoenix sat back down in his chair, stifling a yawn. A brief glance at the mantle clock showed it was now three in the morning.
"Once upon a time, there were three grades of magic in vampirism," Phoenix said, warming to his subject despite himself. "Four, really, if you include apprentices, but traditionally one did not receive a title until he had passed the apprentice stage. The first grade is 'Revenant' and it might interest you to know that even the newest Revenant is significantly more magically capable than all existing vampires. By the old standards, you would barely be an apprentice."
Zach laughed. "I believe it."
Phoenix continued, "The second grade is Necromancer. Today, as you well know, it's simply the term used to describe those of us who study the lost lore of vampire magic." No point in admitting he was a necromancer by old world standards as well as new. "The third and final grade of magic is Nosferatu. Even back when magic was common, Nosferatu were rare. It's a dangerously high level of magical power. Nothing like a demon lord or kitsune, since vampires just don't need magic the same way those races do…but close enough not to be sneered at by those races. Higher in ability than a mature imp, though."
"So why can't you achieve Nosferatu?" Zach asked, curiosity filling his face.
"It's demanding," Phoenix said quietly. "The average vampire needs to feed only once every two to three days. Younger vampires need to feed once a day, older ones perhaps once a week. Magic users need to feed as often as a young vampire, and more often if they use a great deal of magic. A true necromancer might be required to feed twice a day, and as much as up to four times a day…"
Zach whistled. "I see. A Nosferatu?"
"Let's just say there were very good reasons vampires were hunted so voraciously during the witch hunts," Phoenix said. "Also good reason the survivors decided to abandon magic altogether. Forgetting it, however, is equally stupid – but I won't rant to you."
Doug nodded, obviously pondering all that Phoenix had said. "So what does this have to do with the dead vampires?"
Phoenix made a face. "The answer is fairly obvious, once you stop and think about it. The stronger the blood, the longer it lasts and the better the spells will be. The blood of an abnormal human is stronger than the blood of a normal. An abnormal human who can use magic…better blood still. Vampires need human blood to live…"
Zach hissed, eyes flashing with dismay. "So human blood processed by a vampire's body would be stronger still." His face twisted in disgust. "He's feeding on his brethren. That's vile."
"Exactly," Phoenix said quietly. "I could be mistaken, but right now it would seem a necromancer, registered or no, is trying to become a Nosferatu – or at least trying to cast an incredibly complicated spell. How many are dead?"
"Five so far," Zach said. "We were brought in after the fourth, but two days later a fifth turned up."
Phoenix nodded and voiced a question which had been nagging at him. "How do you know I'm not the culprit?"
Doug grinned. "Oh, we checked you out thoroughly. Anything is possible, but we all concluded that you were unlikely to be behind these murders."
"I'm perfectly content being a necromancer," Phoenix said. A lonely, ugly, eccentric necromancer.
Zach nodded. "Would you mind if we dragged you away from here for a time? Hopefully only a day or two – we really would like your help, and perhaps visiting the murder sights would reveal something to you that we missed?"
Phoenix hesitated. He lived as a peasant, in lands unclaimed by any abnormal. Amongst normals, because as obnoxious as humans could be they tended to be far kinder about his appearance than his fellow vampires.
It hurt sometimes (all the time) to catch glimpses of vampires, peasants happily traveling the world or tenants living in perfect contentment on the territory of a Dracula. Zach was the fist noble he'd seen in at least a hundred years, and he rather thought it was closer to a hundred fifty.
Only three hundred and fifty years old himself…rejected for his eccentricity for most of that…and his ugliness for nearly as long.
That the spell had gone awry was not his fault; he'd taken all his own precautions and told the bastard to be careful…yet here he was living with the consequences, and he had no idea where Boris was anymore.
"I'll come along," he finally said. "I don't know there's anything I can actually do, but I'm willing to try. At the very least, it will broaden my knowledge of necromancy."
Zach smiled. "Excellent. Then how about you simply join us tomorrow…later today? Here's the address, and a focus sigil so you can teleport there."
Phoenix didn't bother to tell him he didn't require the focus sigil, accepting the slip of paper with a brief smile and thanks. He showed them out a moment later, and his smile withered as he once more locked the door.
Damn it.
If he was going to help them, he would have to feed. Zach had probably noticed he was half-starved, but thankfully too polite to ask about.
Even after all this time, it never grew less humiliating.
He wanted to be like his brethren, beautifully devastating. Just once he wanted to see eyes filled with desire, not glazed by enchantment. If not for his necromancy, he'd have a hard time feeding peacefully.
Resigned, because no matter what he had to make a good impression – not only would he be working with a DeLovely, Zach and Doug had been hired by another noble. The good it would do, for a necromancer to make a favorable impression upon nobles…
Then again, he was likely going to reveal a highly unethical necromancer.
He pulled open the front closet and retrieved his denim jacket, then grabbed his keys from the hallway table. Locking the door behind him, he hit the streets and went to find a human to enchant and feed upon, shoving back the pain of knowing his face and smiles would always repel, and never attract.
*~*~*
"Phoenix!" Zach called out, striding down the drive to greet him, shaking his hands. "This way, I'm glad you made it. I thought I'd introduce you to the man who hired us, then we can go and examine where each murder took place."
Nodding, Phoenix followed tamely along, hoping he wasn't about to be jeered or laughed right back out of the house.
A fine house it was – magnificent. Something out a book, utterly fitting for the Dracula Derrick and his family.
Phoenix gulped as Zach dragged him inside, wishing he'd never answered the damn door and was still sitting safely at home, bent laboriously over scraps of old text, working diligently to recreate them to compare with the efforts of the only forty nine other people who understood his fascination.
At least he'd have something interesting to write about to the rest of them, when this was over. Hopefully there would still be forty nine to whom he could write. If one of his own was responsible for this…
"Zach, is this the necromancer you were mentioning?" A warm voice asked.
Something in Phoenix's chest tightened to hear it, though he couldn't say why. He slowly dragged his eyes away from the wall to look at the speaker.
As if he hadn't already felt miserably ugly and pathetic. This wasn't a noble, he didn't have the right vibe…but he no mere tenant. His magic was respectable, so far as ordinary vampires went.
Gods that didn't exist, the man was stunning. Honey blonde hair cut short, blue-green eyes that stood out so brilliantly against his fair skin. He was dressed in a dark suit, but the blazer was absent, leaving him in just a crisp white shirt and a dark green vest, both set off nicely against black slacks. The tie matched the vest, and a small gold tie pin gleamed in the light.
Phoenix barley resisted the urge to transform and flee. He was grateful no one had put up mirrors in the hall way, he might have started crying at that point.
Once his hair had been auburn. Now it was a mish mash of auburn, gray, white. It resembled a calico cat on a good day…and some horrid disease on most. Exploding glass had shredded his face, and the spell gone awry that exploded the glass had done something to prevent his healing properly. He tended to think it looked like the calico cat on his head had raked his face several times before settling down.
His body was just as stained and cut as the rest of him, all because that asshole Boris hadn't been paying proper attention…
A thousand spells later, Phoenix had given up trying to ever cure the ugliness inflicted by the magic he loved and the carelessness of a friend who'd handled the matter by running away.
He'd thought Edmond, who'd claimed not to care how he looked, would be different…
The handsome vampire held out a hand, and miserably Phoenix shook it, relaxing a little bit when the vampire met his gaze, smiled politely, and did not voice the curiosity that was in his eyes.
At least he hadn't recoiled. That was two vampires now that hadn't all but run screaming at the sight of him, or jeered at him. It was almost enough to start hoping, if not for the fact he wasn't stupid enough to hope for anything anymore.
"So you're a necromancer," the vampire said. "My name is Korbin, I'm personal assistant to Dracula Derrick. He has asked me to work with the two of you today."
Phoenix frowned, curious. "Where is Doug?" he asked.
Zach smiled. "He's speaking with some other vampires, on the chance we gather no clues here. That the necromancer is killing vampires here is no guarantee he lives here. Hopefully we will discover something by the end of the day, one way or the other."
"I hope so too," Phoenix said with a sigh. "So where do we start?"
"The first murder was actually alarmingly close to the house," Korbin replied. "Six blocks away, behind a café I frequent. If you will follow me?" He vanished, and Phoenix followed after him, led by the traces of his magic.
They reappeared in an alleyway that defined the words filthy and disgusting.
Phoenix wrinkled his nose. "Why would a vampire be caught here? Certainly one would not hunt here…" He frowned in thought and unthinkingly began to mutter, the rest of the world fading out as he put to use the skills he loved enough to make himself a reject amongst his own people.
Tracing the sigils in the air, muttering them beneath his breath, he looked for the telltale traces of necromancy. Magic of the living races left a warm residue. Vampires cast magic with energy stolen from others. Second hand, converted upon taking into what they needed to live – a cold residue.
That he was definitely spying, though only faintly, as though the necromancer had attempted to erase all signs of his presence. Certainly he'd erased enough of it; Phoenix could not get enough of it to capture a personal identification.
So this was a necromancer of not insignificant skill – but not of great skill either.
Twitching his fingers in an intricate pattern that would look like so much nonsense to spectators, he muttered the sigils that would erase any signs of his own magic. "Definitely a necromancer," he said, and finally looked toward the other two – starting to see they were staring at him. "What?" he asked, tensing.
"That was incredible," Korbin said, moving closer. "You use magic like an imp or a demon. Like you breathe it, rather than simply find it occasionally useful like the rest of us. I've heard about necromancers of course, but actually seeing one…"
Phoenix flushed, disconcerted by the utter lack of hostility or mockery, the way he sounded genuinely impressed. "They're basic spells," he said, then cleared his throat when his voice sounded a bit more strained than he liked. "A child could learn them, or anyone else who was inclined. First and second level spells are nothing."
"Still more than I could manage," Korbin said, smiling. "What else can you do, I wonder?"
The look in his eyes was one Phoenix didn't trust for a minute. Edmond had looked at him like that, or seemed to, before Phoenix had figured out he'd just been hoping an adept vampire could make his life easier.
No one wanted him, and certainly this personal assistant to a Dracula wouldn't. A vampire like this had more phone numbers than could fit in one little black book, surely.
"Nothing special," he finally said. "You said there were five murders?"
Confusion flickered briefly through Korbin's eyes, but then it settled into something Phoenix couldn't puzzle out. Then suddenly he was all business again, brisk and efficient. "Yes, the next one took place in the public gardens. Did you want to head that way, or was there more you needed to do here?"
"I'm done here," Phoenix said, and they all vanished.
He looked around their location. They were in what seemed to be rather a secluded portion of what Korbin had called the public gardens.
"They were funded by his lordship," Korbin said. "He takes great pride in his territory, and prefers to keep the normals within it as complacent as possible."
Phoenix nodded and cast his spells again, hoping they would conclude today's work before he had to feed again. As much magic as he would likely need to use, however… He shoved the unhappy thought away and focused.
Again he could find no useful traces, only confirmation that he was indeed dealing with a necromancer of respectable skill. He sighed, frustrated. "Have you any suspects in mind?" he asked. "I know it must be difficult, but you are certain no one among you is responsible?"
Korbin spread his hands. "It is, of course, a delicate matter to accuse one vampire of killing others. I half wish the dead individuals were human, as at least then the vampires would be less reticent to speak about it. If it is a tenant, then he has done a remarkable job of hiding his magical abilities – certainly yours blazed the moment you arrived. I've never seen anything like it."
"You can read my magic?" Phoenix asked, surprised.
"Not terribly well," Korbin replied, "but I can sense the difference between myself, Zach, and you. Much like feeling the difference between a candle and a hearth fire. You stand out." That look flashed in his eyes again, and Phoenix jerked his gaze away, refusing to get caught in a game that would only end in more pain.
He shrugged off the compliment and focused. "An unusual skill, that. Most of us must practice hard to be able to read magical ability half so easily. It sounds like you have the potential to be quite a necromancer yourself."
"Sensing ability and teleporting are about all I can manage," Korbin said with a grin that made him look almost boyish. "Trust me when I say we don't want me trying much else. I'm very observant and precise, which is why I make an excellent assistant, but no mage was I ever meant to be."
Phoenix frowned, because he very much begged to differ, but he wasn't going to force the issue. None of his business. This time tomorrow he would likely be buried in his work again.
"Any idea what he's up to?" Zach asked.
"How far apart are the murders?"
Korbin answered. "They've all been about a week apart, give or take a few hours. So far we have found no correlation between the victims, and with their blood drained we cannot even trace if they had meals in common."
Phoenix frowned in thought, running spells through his mind, shaking his head in frustration. "I wish I knew who the vampires had fed upon before they died. I would stake my own store of knowledge that they fed on abnormals, magic users all of them. Transmuted by the vampires upon feeding, it would make for potent blood indeed – potent enough that if the vampire drained his victims completely, the power would last him a week if he was careful with it. Sounds more and more to me like he's trying and failing to become a Nosferatu."
"Nosferatu? Zach explained that to me. You really think that's what he's about?"
"Yeah," Phoenix said. "The problem is that he's good, but not good enough. Passing from one grade to another requires the casting of 'upgrade' spells – like taking exams, or the way demons must go through a great deal of trouble to claim their consorts. You can't simply be a Revenant or Necromancer or Nosferatu. It's like a peasant suddenly deciding to be a tenant. Doesn't happen; he must go through the proper channels" Phoenix shrugged. "Short answer – it won't work. He'll keep failing, until he finally manages to kill himself – or we find him."
Korbin nodded. Zach grinned. "You're pretty good at this detective stuff."
Phoenix rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I'm only good for necromancy. Shall we try the next sight? Though I think we will gain nothing from them, this necromancer was good enough to wipe his personal mark."
"Let us return to the house, if you think this is not helping. Perhaps we can think of a different tactic," Korbin suggested.
Nodding, displeased he was failing to help, Phoenix returned with them to the house.
"If you will pardon me a bit," Zach said, "I am going to see how Doug fairs. We'll be back shortly, I have no doubt."
He vanished, and Phoenix wished he had somewhere else to be. He looked nervously out the window, noting absently how pretty the ocean looked. His sad little house looked out over a garden of weeds he could never muster the energy to take care of – not even magically.
"So, if I might ask, how did you become interested in necromancy?" Korbin asked. "I admit, I never cared much for magic one way or the other. Until this unhappy mystery, I knew very little about it."
Phoenix abandoned the window, unable to resist the chance to talk about his favorite subject – because unhappy as it made him at times, he loved it. Magic was everything. "I actually didn't know much about it either, except that I was rather good at it. An old friend of mine was the one obsessed, and I tagged along…" Because he'd been half in love with Boris all his life, it had seemed then. When they'd eventually gotten into sex, he'd thought the feelings mutual.
He'd learned the hard way that Boris cared about himself first and foremost, and magic as a distant second. When he'd wound up falling in love with magic, and better at it than Boris…
Sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep and the loneliness got to be too much…he wondered if that damned spell had gone awry accidentally or on purpose. It wasn't a thought he liked to dwell upon.
After that, magic had been his everything…until Edmund…which had lasted six months before reality finally forced itself upon him. Still he had hoped that Edmund would come to his senses or something.
But it wasn't Edmund he missed, just someone.
He shook his head. "I tagged along, and wound up loving it. We parted ways, eventually, and I kept with my magical studies."
"You are a necromancer of some skill? It certainly seems like it. Do you know any other necromancers?"
Phoenix shrugged and wondered when Korbin had moved closer. "We write letters to each other, occasionally speak through spells. So few of us work on preserving necromancy, it would be detrimental to our cause not to keep in touch. But actually met? No. I've never bothered." He preferred to keep his ugliness to himself as much as possible.
"Zach explained what he knew about Nosferatu to me, but I confess I'm still confused on several points. Why would anyone want to be a Nosferatu?"
"A good question," Phoenix said, laughing briefly. "Vampires once did not hide the way they do today. Abnormals in general did not hide from the normals as much as we do today. That only came after the witch burnings, when far more than witches were killed… Once, abnormals fought tenaciously for territory, power… Power was crucial, and magic was power. Once upon a time, all Dracula were Nosferatu. Many of the ruling families today are descended from some of the greatest Nosferatu to ever live. Destroyed, all of them, along with the greater portion of the vampire race…
"Back then, it was much easier to drink as much as they needed to sustain their power. Nor was it unheard of for vampires to feed upon their own kind for still greater power. These days, it would not be practical to cast the upgrade spells to become a Nosferatu. If this vampire wants to reach that level…I wonder what it is he wants to do…"
Korbin drummed his fingers on the windowsill, staring out to watch the ocean. "I cannot imagine. To my mind, it would only cause headaches. Could he be hoping to displace a Dracula?"
"Possibly, but I don't see why anyone would want to. Then again, I'm not a necromancer who would resort to feasting upon my brothers."
Abruptly Korbin turned, and there was no mistaking the meaning in his smile. "That would depend on the matter of feasting."
Phoenix frowned and moved away, fumbling for an excuse to leave – but Korbin's hand landed on his shoulder and forced him to halt. Slowly he turned back around.
"I apologize," Korbin said. "Perhaps I've been coming on too strong, or possibly you find my attraction offensive. I meant no harm."
"Attraction?" Phoenix asked. "I find it impossible, to be perfectly blunt. You hardly need my magic for anything, and I'm far from attractive."
Korbin frowned and abruptly dragged him close, reaching up to touch one of the scars on his face. Phoenix gasped at the contact, shocked beyond anything. "You are highly unconventional, I will give you that. The last person I saw like you was a werewolf with a temper problem." He grinned. "Though in my experience, all werewolves have temper problems. Was this the result of something necromantic?"
"Yes," Phoenix said, jerking away from his touch, not liking the way it tingled. "The friend who got me into necromancy…something went wrong with the spell, and I wound up taking the brunt of it."
"Not a very good friend," Korbin replied.
Phoenix shrugged. "It was a long time ago, and I should have known better. Boris never had the proper patience for the higher level spells."
Korbin laughed. "Hmm, I wonder if your Boris knows my Boris, for they both seem to lack patience."
"What?" Phoenix asked, even as Korbin stopped laughing. Vampires very rarely had names in common, as names could be a thing of serious power. "Who is your Boris?"
The levity in Korbins' face had vanished completely, replaced by suspicion and ire. "Surely not… he's just the groundskeeper. He's barely capable of teleporting."
"Summon him," Phoenix said tersely.
Nodding, Korbin stepped back and sketched a quick sigil that faded as quickly as it was drawn, barking out a word of command – and then a painfully familiar stood in front of them.
Phoenix started to speak, but even as he drew a breath to do so Boris was throwing a spell at him. He threw his arms wide, fingers moving faster than the eye could follow – and the spell Boris had cast passed through a wall of silvery mist to consume the drapes beyond.
The mist shimmered, then Phoenix reformed and threw his arm out, fingers snapping as he called the words to another spell.
Boris tried to counter, but was not fast enough. He collapsed beneath the weight of the binding spell, making choked, garbled noises as he tried and failed to speak. Phoenix crossed the space between them and his fingers again began to move, twitching and snapping in time with the words rolling off his tongue.
On the floor, Boris slumped over in sudden sleep, so still he could be dead.
"I guess he never gave up trying to be what he could not," Phoenix said, absently snapping his fingers behind his head to snuff the flames still devouring the drapes.
Boris was, of course, still beautiful. Pale blonde hair and fair skin, broad shoulders and well-toned muscles…but even unconscious his face was pinched with a meanness Phoenix had refused to see until too late.
"That was incredible," Korbin breathed, making Phoenix jump because he hadn't realized the man was so close. "You – you turned into mist. That's a myth.”
Phoenix flushed and stepped hastily away, nearly tripping on the rug, which only made his cheeks burn more. "It's not a myth," he managed. "Just a difficult spell."
Korbin's brows went up, and honestly the man shook look dumb or silly doing that, but somehow Korbin made the gesture look hot. He really wished he could believe this vampire was interested, but he liked to think after two tries he'd learned his lesson. "What else can you do?"
He shrugged, discomfited. A lot was the answer, because what else did he have to do but hone his skills?
"So what about the myth that vampires can turn into bats?" Korbin pressed.
Phoenix could feel his cheeks burning, because that was secretly one of his favorite spells but he'd rather die than tell anyone that.
But Korbin's sudden grin told him his secret wasn't much of one anymore, not entirely.
"I've never seen a vampire blush as much as you," Korbin said. "It's really cute. Are you sure I can't ask you out once we finish up this mess?"
"I—"
Before he could figure out what to say, Zach and Doug suddenly reappeared. They both looked at the unconscious vampire on the floor, then at Phoenix.
Sighing heavily, he explained all that they had missed.
When he'd finished, Doug stooped and lifted Boris as though he weighed nothing. "We'll take him to the proper authorities."
Phoenix nodded, jerking away from the sight of his old friend bound and held like a sack of garbage. He'd killed five vampires, and who knew how many humans, because that was entirely possible.
Still…
He turned and stalked from the room, realizing he probably shouldn't because it wasn't his house and he didn't have permission but damn it why did Boris have to be such a fucking moron?
A hand caught his wrist and dragged him to a stop, then suddenly he was bundled close to a broad chest, the smell of ocean and some sort of flower filling his nostrils and he realized belatedly he was being hugged. It was humiliating, he was more than three hundred years old, he didn't need to be hugged like some child—
But it felt nice all the same, and Phoenix stayed there until Korbin at last pulled away.
He was gently petted, caressed. "I'm sorry," Korbin said at last.
"It's his own damn fault," Phoenix said bitterly. "I tried and tried, and look what happened to me. He sowed his own demise, let him reap it."
"Still, his actions should not result in your pain. You loved him."
"Past tense," Korbin said wearily. "Always they wind up past tense with me."
Korbin hugged him again, and Phoenix wished he would stop because it felt far too nice to be held in such a way again…but he couldn't seem to manage to tell Korbin to stop.
It seemed he was never going to learn his lesson.
"You should stay here for a few days" Korbin said after the silence had stretched on for a bit.
Phoenix looked up, slowly pulling away.
"As a thank you, and apology," Korbin added hastily, realizing how he'd sounded. "I'm overzealous, not crass. I'll ask you to stay for entirely personal reasons another time." He gave Phoenix a smile that was cute for the hesitation in it, something he sensed Korbin rarely felt.
Despite himself, wondering how long this bout of stupidity would last, Phoenix smiled back. "It would be nice to see this place without having to hunt for—for a murderer. I've always lived inland."
Korbin took Phoenix's arm and settled it in the crook of his own, a gesture Phoenix wanted to sneer at except in this case he kind of liked it. "Then come, I will show you around properly." He winked. "Perhaps when I am finished, you will not want to leave."
Phoenix rolled his eyes, because that counted as pushing, but could not resist a faint smile all the same. Ignoring the unhappy thoughts about which he could do nothing, he allowed the handsome vampire to distract him.
