The Necromancer's Smile Read online

  The Necromancer’s Smile

  Book One

  By Lisa Oliver

  The Necromancer’s Smile Book 1

  Copyright © Lisa Oliver, 2018

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Design by Lisa Oliver

  Cover model and Image by Paul Henry Serres Photographer, Montreal.

  (FD1_182)

  First Edition March 2018

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, Lisa Oliver. [email protected]

  No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Lisa Oliver. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.

  The Necromancer’s Smile is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To those of my readers who understand that sometimes my muse just takes me off to do wild things, like write stories that aren’t in a current series.

  To Pat and Amanda for brushing up my words.

  To Phil for telling me he loves this one – made my day.

  To Mary for showing me new things and keeping me on track.

  To everyone who has filled my last month with sexy pictures, cute animals, and most of all their loving support.

  Thank you.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Other Books By Lisa/Lee Oliver

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Head’s up, the Captain’s here,” Brad muttered as he put himself between Dakar and the oncoming posse. Dakar groaned as he quickly loosened the leather tie from around his wrist and caught his long hair in a messy but “would have to do” manbun. It was bad enough he’d been yanked away from the full-lipped blond who’d been giving him a bathroom blow job on his first night off in weeks to attend a crime scene but dealing with the Captain was last on his list of things to do.

  Taking one last look at the body to make sure he hadn’t missed anything obvious, Dakar straightened his legs, ignoring his boss until he felt the unmistakable presence at his back. There were times he would swear his Captain was a full demon but since paranormals were outed some fifty years before, it wasn’t considered polite to ask unless you planned on dating someone and wanted to ensure your genetics were compatible.

  Not that there was anything wrong with demons per se. Those that worked among humans were no different from any other paranormal in that they respected human/paranormal laws, and generally went about their business like anyone else. However, his Captain wasn’t the type to blend in and whatever blood was running through his veins, the man agitated his wolf and the man’s scent singed his nose in an unpleasant way.

  “This is the fifth body in as many weeks,” the Captain snapped as if Dakar wasn’t already consumed with the damn cases twenty-four seven. Dakar stayed silent, keeping his eyes on the poor wretch sprawled at his feet.

  The harsh lights set up hastily by the uniformed officers first on the scene did nothing to camouflage the horror of the situation. The young man’s nude body had been gruesomely staged. His curled hands failed to contain his entrails spilling from a wide gash across his abdomen; large v-shaped cuts bisected his pectorals and while his cleanly shaved groin area was untouched, his thigh and calf muscles had been slashed to ribbons. Two feet away, his head sat on the gravel, nothing but holes as eye sockets and his mouth propped open in a silent scream.

  Dakar knew without looking that the man’s heart would be missing, just as it was from the other victims. The scent of blood mixed unpleasantly with the stench of vomit left outside the crime scene area, thank goodness. Unfortunately, the rancid scents combined with the anxiety Dakar always felt in the presence of his boss and was threatening to leave him with a nasty headache.

  “Tell me you’ve found something tangible at least.” The Captain was studying the body and this time Dakar knew he was expected to reply.

  “The victim was discovered during a routine police sweep of the area at 2.45 am.” Dakar flashed a sympathetic glance at the rookie who’d left the remains of his dinner not twenty feet from the body. The young man’s face was still green. “Previous patrols hadn’t picked up anything unusual suggesting the incident occurred anything between ten pm and two am. This time frame has been tentatively verified by the M.E. who’ll confirm this once he’s processed the remains. The victim has no unusually identifying features and given the staging of the body, the M.E. asked we not take fingerprints until after he’s been moved to the morgue.”

  “In other words, you have nothing. Again.” Dakar would swear he could see steam coming from the Captain’s nostrils although given the temperature was dipping below 20 degrees, it could just be the cold. “Scents, gut feelings. Damn it man, you must have something. What did I hire you for if your enhanced senses are useless?”

  “Police regulations state it’s not prudent to shift in the vicinity of a crime scene due to the possibility of foreign hairs contaminating evidence,” Dakar said stiffly suddenly longing for a hot coffee doctored with a stiff whiskey. “Neither Brad nor I detected any unusual scents beyond the victim’s blood and this is a high traffic area during the day. All scents around the body are hours old and there are too many of them to determine anything specific to this case.” He understood his Captain’s frustration – he felt exactly the same way, but it’s not as though he’d been given leave to say so.

  “Five cases in five weeks. All the victims are young men aged between twenty and twenty-five, from what we can determine because so far, none of the bodies have been identified. For fuck’s sake, how is this possible?” The Captain’s eyes were glaring hard enough to burn.

  “Sir,” Brad said hesitantly, “our team has gone through all the missing person’s reports for every city in a two-hundred mile radius dating back over the past five years. We’ve run the fingerprints through every database possible both paranormal and human, and dental impressions have been sent to every dentist along the west coast.”

  The Ca
ptain harrumphed and turned to the M.E. who was hovering on the other side of the body. “Don’t move him,” he ordered.

  “Captain, it will be light in a few hours and this park is commonly frequented by the jogging fraternity. The young man deserves some dignity in death and the sooner you allow me to get him on my table, the sooner I can make my report.” The M.E.’s concern was accompanied by the shiver than ran through his thin frame. Six months from retirement, Dr. Barker’s sparse gray hair peeked from beneath a thick red woolen hat, matching the end of his nose. The poor man looked as wretched as Dakar felt and that was saying something.

  “I’ve got the local authorities breathing down my neck for closure in this case. The papers are going ballistic because of the lack of ID on any of these victims, claiming there’s some sort of cult at work and my best detectives,” the Captain’s glare raised the hairs on the back of Dakar’s neck, “can’t sniff out a single clue. The publicity on this is getting out of control.” He pointed to the two uniforms. “Call in extra troops, screen off this area and make sure no one comes within camera distance of the scene. You will all remain on guard until the consultant gets here. You two,” he turned back to Dakar and Brad, “will ensure our consultant is treated with the utmost respect or I’ll have your balls for breakfast.”

  “Fucking hell, I didn’t think he’d go that far,” Brad whispered as the Captain strode away, his aide Roger struggling to keep up with the taller man’s strides as he spoke urgently into his phone.

  “What do you mean? What freaking consultant?” Dakar had only been in Pedace three months having transferred from the East Coast looking for a quieter life. “I thought the Pedace force relied on shifter powers rather than magic users.” All law enforcement consultants were magic users – lower level witches and wizards who supplemented their consultant wages by running apothecaries that never failed to stink out an entire city block. Dakar hated magical consultants, seeing them as nothing more than a leech on society and a drain on police resources.

  Usually attractive, the magic users swanned around and spoke in riddles, never coming right out and saying they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. Dakar had made the mistake of scratching a carnal itch with the one attached to his last department. In typical wizard fashion, the young man seemed fine with the “no-strings sex rule” Dakar employed since puberty and willingly polished Dakar’s cock with his tongue. Unfortunately, as soon as the young man swallowed Dakar’s come, he started spouting off about stars alignment and being true mates. Dakar flashed his fangs to scare him off and was left with a nasty itching rash on his balls that took over a week to heal. One of his reasons for moving to Pedace was there was no local coven within a hundred miles of the place.

  “What does the Captain mean by consultant if there’re no magic users around?”

  “Oh, there’s no coven here,” Brad said with a grimace. “None of them would dare dip a toe past the county line unless they wanted it to go black and fall off.”

  “Then what? Do they come in from another county?” Dakar was edgy enough as it was and he wished Brad would just spit it out. He needed sleep, his balls still ached from the aborted blow job and his last cup of coffee left his system hours before. Being nice to anyone, even under orders, wasn’t on his agenda.

  “You didn’t know?” Brad wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “You’re in for a treat. The Pedace Police Department doesn’t have to call in an outside coven for their consulting services. The contract is already held by a Necromancer. The brass rarely calls him in because apparently his fees run to hundreds of dollars an hour, but clearly the Captain wants this case solved and fast and he expects this man to do it.”

  A Necromancer? Dakar had never met one but had heard enough about them to know he and Brad were going to be in for a rough night. The strongest of all magic users, Necromancers were known for their elitist attitudes, goth clothing and bad tempers. If the Pedace Necromancer took a dislike to him or Brad ball itch would be the least of his problems.

  /~/~/~/~/

  Sy surreptitiously glanced at his watch. It was almost four am. Thirty minutes more and he could say with all honesty he’d fulfilled his social requirement for the week. Staring out at the thinning crowd; most revelers were well past the point of drunk and heading for lunacy. He flickered his fingers and increased the strength of his wards as another muscle-bound alpha lurched in his direction with lust in his eyes. The man bounced off his wards, just as Sy intended, his eyes already scanning the crowds for his next fuck. Sy sighed, his skin itching for the solitude of his house.

  But he had to stay. Sy and Brock had an agreement. He would deign to visit a club, restaurant or other such sociable establishment for four hours a week. Brock believed at the time, that Sy would break those four hours into four separate events. Sy always felt as though he was breaking out in hives if he was in anyone’s company for longer than an hour, so the assumption was understandable. But Sy hadn’t spent more than fifty years studying contract law to be taken in so easily and his dalliance at this current club was meeting all the contract requirements. He was in a place where people gathered to meet others and he was now twenty-seven minutes away from completing this week’s tedious assignment. That would give him six gloriously peaceful days until Brock reminded him he had to do this all over again.

  He quirked an eyebrow as he saw the man in question effortlessly parting the crowds, coming towards him looking completely unruffled as he always did. Brock had worked for Sy’s father and his father before him, and it was as if nothing short of an erupting volcano would shift the broomstick out of his ass. He was tall even among paranormals and built like a linebacker. His clipped straight black hair was never out of place as though no single hair dared rebel against the others. Brock’s face had a classically handsome yet timeless quality that belied his advancing years. Sy lifted a hand to hide his grin. The way Brock wore his suit attracted a lot of attention, especially in a gay club. But Brock waived aside lewd suggestions and the occasional grope as though they were nothing more annoying than flies.

  Sy flicked another glance at his watch. “I still have twenty-five minutes to go,” he said as Brock looked in disapproval at the single glass sitting on the table. “I’ve spoken to three different people as per our contract and as you can see, there is nowhere more sociable than a place like this.” He waved his hand to indicate the dancers lurching around the floor. At this late hour, alcohol had robbed most patrons of their grace and those that weren’t already clinging to another body were ravaging the crowds with fevered gazes desperately looking for someone to end the night with. Thanks to his wards, most of the gazes swept right past Sy as though he wasn’t there, which was Sy’s intention.

  “Sir,” no matter how much Sy pleaded, Brock refused to call him by his preferred name. “You are well aware you are stretching the boundaries of our agreement in a most unsatisfactory manner. Ordering a drink from the barman does not constitute a conversation. However, I don’t have time to debate that with you now. You’ve been called in on a job.”

  “A job?” Sy rubbed away the furrow he felt between his eyes. “Who on earth would dare to call me in at this time of the night?” Twenty-three minutes and counting. “Tell whoever it is my office hours are between ten and twelve and they need to make an appointment.”

  “It’s the Pedace Police Department, sir,” Brock’s rigid military stance never wavered even when the persistent alpha Sy noticed earlier fell against his back and then lurched away as though burned. “You are requested at a murder scene.”

  Sy was even more confused. “I thought the force was full of predatory shifters – wolves, bears, and the like. What in blazes name do they expect me to tell them that they can’t tell for themselves with their uber noses and super sharp eyesight.”

  “None of them can speak to the dead, sir,” Brock replied as though the words were perfectly obvious. “From what I understand, the Captain is concerned they have a serial killer on their hands
who must be stopped at all costs.”

  “Who’s the victim?” Sy gathered his coat and gulped down the watery remains of his whiskey. In his experience he was only ever called when the victim of a crime was someone with money or power or both. Fortunately, those crimes were few and far between in Pedace.

  “They have no idea, sir. I imagine that’s one of the things they want you to find out. Shall we go?”

  “It’s not as though I have much of a choice,” Sy grumbled, his familiar annoyance with the contract his father signed for his services with the local law establishment flaring once more. To his knowledge, his family were the only magic users in the area for good reason; most covens refused to have anything to do with what they considered black magic users. Not that Sy used anything of the sort, but he’d given up trying to educate the magical community years before. It was easier to leave others to their erroneous assumptions. At least he wasn’t forced to attend magical ceremonies that included dancing around a pole sky-clad before collapsing in an orgiastic heap afterwards. Sy’s lip curled at the very idea. Being considered a powerful freak was preferable to having to mix with magic folk or anyone else for that matter, on a regular basis.

  Following Brock’s commanding presence through the crowds, his wards flowing with him, protecting him from unwanted attentions, Sy checked his watch one more time as they reached the front door. Eighteen minutes left. Damn it, he was so close. But then a random thought had Sy grinning as he stepped onto the pavement. “So, I imagine I can work off the rest of my social requirements for the week at the crime scene. After all, I will be meeting new individuals and its definitely somewhere people congregate.”

  Brock’s lips tightened as he opened the passenger door of the limo blatantly double parked out the front of the club. “We seriously need to renegotiate the agreement,” he said tersely as he closed the door after Sy was seated. Leaning back against the plush seats that still held that new leather smell, Sy’s smile grew as he recalled the exact wording of their contract: