Page 92 of Deadly Lineage
My brain fog had trouble with that line of dialogue. “But you’re a necromancer. You have to be.”
McCallister wobbled his hand back and forth. “I’m a little bit of everything at the moment. You see, interesting things happen when history forgets, when lineages are lost, and when the stars align just right. Everyone, including my father, thought he was an ordinary human. That not-so-human human met a witch and they procreated. Amazing what the mixing of their genes did.”
My lip trembled. Witches and warlocks used to mate. Their falling-out over djinn stopped the practice. Had a witch and necromancer ever produced a child together? I didn’t know. Not that I’d heard of. But if my struggling brain was following correctly, the witch who’d procreated with McCallister’s father hadn’t known there were warlock genes lurking below. Well, necromancer genes, but the relation was clear and evidently genetically compatible enough to produce a child.
Having no idea what to say, I sat there mutely, taking in and absorbing the information. When I remained quiet, McCallister said, “I know, it’s a lot. It took me a while to figure it out, to trace back my lineage. I always knew I was a littledifferent, I just wasn’t sure how. Turns out, I got a bit of both witch and necromancer, but horribly diluted.” McCallister frowned and his eyes sparked with annoyance. “I was physically deficient. Small, weak, poor eyesight, acne—I was a mess. But up here”—McCallister tapped his temple—“was a different matter. My bodywas not a reflection of my genius. I made a vow to change that, and I have.” With a sweeping hand, McCallister motioned around the room.
I could barely move my head, could hardly make out the scrawled markings on the floor. Even if I’d gotten a better look, I wouldn’t be able to interpret them. I wasn’t a witch or warlock. I didn’t manipulate magic that way. I’d seen similar patterns when I’d spent time with Pops, but I only had a cursory understanding of what they meant.
My head pounded in rhythm with my racing heart. “Whatever you’ve gained, it was stolen. It’s not yours.”
“Oh, it’s mine now,” McCallister answered with a sneer. “And with each one, I become a little more powerful. I’m becoming something no one has ever seen.”
McCallister had more than a few screws loose, but knowing that wouldn’t save me or help anyone else. He’d killed a witch, a warlock, and a panther shifter—and those were just the ones I knew of. McCallister indicated there were others, prior failures. He’d also admitted to killing Bart Livingston, a human. I couldn’t see how that figured into his plans and asked, “Why Bart?”
McCallister grunted. “Because he was dead set on destroying you. Bart followed you everywhere. With him on your tail, I’d never be able to get you alone.”
My inhale was choked. “You killed him because he was trying to kill me?” My body froze and a horrid shiver sliced through me. “You’re going to strip my powers?”
McCallister actually appeared horrified. “Good God, no. Why on earth would I want your abilities?” Then he laughed. “My necromancer abilities are paltry at best. They’re enough to take what I want, and believe me, that’s plenty for me. Bringing the dead back…” McCallister shivered. “That’s a nightmare.”
Those who lived in glass houses really shouldn’t throw stones. “Then what the hell am I doing here?” If anything, McCallister shouldwantme dead. He should have allowed Bart Livingston to off me and his problems would be solved. I was a necromancer thorn in his side. So what was his game?
McCallister reached into his pocket and pulled out my communication charm. I’d seen several versions of a smile cross his face. None of them chilled me to the bone like this one. “It’s not you I want, Erasmus. It’s your father.”
My heart thudded before it sank into the dark pit of my belly. “P-Pops? Why? You’ve already taken from a warlock. You—”
“A young, barely capable warlock,” McCallister answered on a huff. “Nothing like Nikodemus Holland.” Leaning over the back of his chair, McCallister’s eyes bored into mine. “I could never hope to get close enough to capture a seasoned, powerful warlock like your father. But everyone has a weakness, and it turns out, you’re his.” Swinging my charm, McCallister said, “This proves it. He’s got the matching twin. I used your finger, your DNA, to activate it while you were sleeping. I imagine he’ll be along shortly. If you’re good, I’ll kill you before you watch me strip your father of his abilities. But only if you’re good. If you cause me trouble, I’ll make sure you hear every scream and watch the light fade from his eyes as his heart finally succumbs to the pain.”
The scratch of McCallister’s chair sounded against the cold brick floor as he stood and left the room, a heavy wooden door closing with finality. I sat there, frozen with terror and numb with grief. Gaia knew how to humble her servants. It wasn’t about me. It had never been about me. I was nothing but bait, and now my stubborn pride would lead to something unspeakable. Unthinkable.
Panic filled me, and yet it did little to galvanize my fading body. I was worn too thin. I’d been an idiot and overdone everything. I’d pushed too hard and now…
“Erasmus.”
My head jerked to the side, lips slipping open to stare open mouthed. “A-Aurelia?” Gaia, she looked like an avenging angel as she slipped from a darkened corner. “H-How long have you—”
“Long enough,” she answered. Her head tilted, cracking her neck. Aurelia’s Caribbean-blue eyes shimmered bright enough to light the room. “That man is difficult to decipher,” Aurelia said while crouching beside me. “I am uncertain what he is, but there is enough of your imprint that I believed caution would be wise.”
I nodded with understanding. “He’s a necromancer. Sort of. I’m not sure if he could hurt you or not.” Even if he couldn’t pull Aurelia’s soul out of her object of attachment and stuff it back into her body, it was possible he could do worse. What if he could trap Aurelia like the others? What if he could strip her abilities? Gaia help us if that were the case.
A tattoo on Aurelia’s left shoulder flared to life as she said, “I cannot transport you out of here. It is one of my restrictions.” She sounded frustrated. “I do not believe you can make it out of here on your own if I free you.” This time, she frowned. “Your captor is heavily warded. I could kill him, eventually, but it will take time that I do not believe you currently have.”
I shook my head while pushing down my disappointment. “It’s okay. I’m not worried about me.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was just that I was much more worried about Pops. “Pops. You heard what he said, what he plans to do. You have to warn him. You have to tell Pops to stay away.”
Aurelia’s head cocked to the side, expression curiously blank. “You are his offspring. Your father will come for you regardless.”
Frustration filled me. “You have to tell him not to. You have to—”
“I have to do nothing,” Aurelia spat. “You are not my master.”
I swallowed down my anger. She was right and I’d just crossed a line I wasn’t sure I could come back from. “I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like a wished order, I just… I’m scared, Aurelia. I don’t want Pops to get hurt, especially because of me. Can you understand that?”
She stood, backing away. “On an intellectual level only,” she answered finally. “I will inform your father of what I heard. That is all. Perhaps your mate will try harder.” Aurelia disappeared, leaving me alone and with a fresh new worry. Franklin. The charm had also alerted him. Was he with Pops? Would he come charging through the door only to end up like Bart Livingston?
Gaia, I felt sick. How had my life gotten so fucked up in such a short amount of time?
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