Damien returned to his seat, sitting down very slowly, taking the time to brush his dark, stylish clothes into place so he could think on Gideon’s information. He always listened very carefully to the way others spoke, to the way they worded phrases. Gideon had confessed already that he was intentionally withholding information, but the Vampire Prince sensed other depths to the story that promised to be fascinating and dangerous.
“I trust that you are guiding these…hybrids? I do not relish the idea of unregulated beings of power in our world. The misguidance of necromancers is sinister enough, not to mention the less seemly Nightwalkers amongst us already.”
“I find it odd that you would voice such an unnecessary question,” Gideon remarked serenely, sipping his beverage and rolling the bouquet of it over his tongue for a moment.
“At times I find comfort in voicing a concern just to hear the verbal assurance. I know you will do what you can and must do. More so, I suspect, considering the history you share with the Druids.” Damien lifted his own glass, inspecting the ruby liquid within for a thoughtful moment. “I had always thought the eradication of the Druids was an ill-decided action, Gideon. But that was a time, as I recall, when we Vampires were avaricious enough to enjoy the idea of Demons and Druids eliminating one another, leaving us to become more powerful. Even though I was young then, I do remember that the popular way of thinking at the time was that it was no more our place to interfere in the actions of your race than it was yours to interfere in the actions of ours.”
“Perhaps if there had been such an intervention in this instance, we might have saved a great many beings a tremendous amount of grief,” Gideon speculated.
The Ancient Demon spoke matter-of-factly, but Damien was too old and too wise not to know the weight those words carried on the Ancient’s soul.
“War rests heavy on everyone’s memory, Gideon,” the Vampire said quietly. “I myself, in my youthful boredom and impulsiveness, warred my people against yours those four centuries ago.”
“I appreciate your attempts at my absolution, Damien; however, your energy is best spent in other ways.” The Demon placed his glass on the table at his elbow, the sound of the crystal contacting the ornate glass a resonating warning that Gideon was not feeling so detached and level as he projected to others around him. “I am highly aware of my part in the atrocities of our war with the Druids, and cognizant of the price Demons have paid for it. It may be that a small part of my absolution rests in the hands of the others who will come in the footsteps of the two female Druids, but my sins are far too great to be so easily forgiven.”
“No sin that weighs on a soul for a thousand years is too great for forgiveness, Gideon.” His indigo eyes darkened a fraction more. “At least, that is my own personal hope.”
Gideon did not rebuke the Vampire again. They both held a fair share of sin on their shoulders, and neither could bring himself to dash even the slightest part of the other’s hope. Strange, that after so long, they held any hope at all. Gideon had always suspected, though, that it was some sort of defense mechanism, this thing called hope. He was a cynical creature, from tip to toe, and no one who knew him in any degree would argue that, but they would perhaps be a little shocked to know that there might be a part of the Demon that still held out for a glimmer of absolution. Gideon was not a man used to giving explanation or apologies for his actions. He was the oldest and most powerful of his kind, and with that distinction came the privilege of doing pretty much whatever suited him. In order to reach such an advanced age, he was considered to have learned enough to know best.
A prime example would be his presence in the lair of the Vampire Prince who was seated across from him. Within his own race, Damien was the mirror of Gideon’s position and power. Though the Vampires and the Demons were not enemies, they were not great friends either. There were those on both sides of their races who held little tolerance for the other, and others still who actively sought to antagonize one another. But this had been true between differing societies since time was time. There was no such thing as a perfect peace so long as there was free will and obstinate ignorance in the world, even in races so long lived, so powerful, and so renowned for great intelligence and sophisticated reasoning.
They were failings that the two of them had dryly referred to as their more “human” aspects.
“And as to your earlier question, Damien, it is unknown exactly how many necromancers we are contending with this time. However, recent experiences and interrogations with them indicate to me that their ranks have been growing quietly for some time now. It is their recent activities that have only just made them visible to us.”
“Have there been Summonings?” Damien asked edgily. The act of Summoning, when a necromancer stole a Demon and held it captive, was the most horrible fate known to Demonkind. Once captured in such a way, a Demon, no matter how intelligent, how refined, powerful, and controlled, would, after being bombarded by the vile, blackest arts that had captured him, transform into a hideous, practically mindless monster—into the very image of a Demon that was more widely accepted by the human race. No doubt it was this effect witnessed by necromancers over the centuries that had imprinted the image in human legend in the first place. In all myth, there was sometimes more than a grain of fact.
The Nightwalker races were living proof of that.
“Several,” Gideon continued grimly. “I cannot even begin to explain the ramifications this has caused within my race.”
“You do not need to explain. Necromancers rarely stick to the Demon race, as you know. No doubt we will begin finding the ashes of my kind staked out in the sun soon enough, not to mention the gory remains of Lycanthropes and the other Nightwalkers.”
“The only consolation I can give you at the moment is that since the kidnapping and retrieval of our King’s sister, there have been no other instances of Summoning,” Gideon said. “The necromancers have been silent.”
“Silence can be as threatening as action,” Damien mused, his ringed hand sounding the rim of the crystal glass he held like a high-pitched instrument.
“I agree. They are an arrogant species, these human, dark-magic users. They do not remain quiet for long. Only long enough to regroup. That is why I am here giving you fair warning, Damien. I know they will be returning, and we must all be prepared.”
“It is appreciated. I will be certain to alert my people.”
Chapter 1
“Siddah! Siddah Legna!”
Magdelegna turned when the high-pitched voice called to her, barely able to glance over her shoulder in time to see a young body hurtling into her legs from behind, nearly knocking her to her knees. She laughed as she twisted around to see the little creature clinging for his life to her gossamer skirts.
“Daniel! You are pulling your aunt’s hair,” she scolded him, gently extricating the softly curled tresses out from under his grasp on her knees. She gathered the coffee-colored mass in her hands and then pulled it over her shoulder to further protect it from her nephew’s enthusiastic greeting.
“Mummy is awful mad at me. Please don’t let her spank me!”
Legna sighed with her exasperation, prying her nephew off her legs so she could lower her impressive height down to his significantly smaller perspective.
“Your mum is my sister, dearest heart, but that does not give me the right to gainsay her punishment of you when you have been naughty. In truth, when
