CHAPTER TWO #2
He looked around the dining hall and heard a comment regarding a specialist that was called in to deal with the blight of shadows.
He had better be powerful because, from Wyatt's understanding, a blight of shadows was something that, once it took root, did not leave until the food source ran out.
Mt. Pleasant was in the grips of a desperation not seen in a very long time.
He drank his coffee and silently took stock of the situation.
He'd encountered a blight in his previous Coven; the humans in the neighboring town suffered greatly before the thing left.
It was not destroyed or defeated it had been too strong for the limited forces of the Coven and the local pack.
No one knew of a specialist; perhaps it was because the town was small, and the blight had eaten its fill and had disappeared before the full understanding of what it was had become apparent.
Thoughts of his old Coven brought with it the familiar sadness and regrets and the feeling of bone-deep failure. He'd been a commander trusted by his men and his leaders, and in the end, he was the only one of his men to have survived the attack.
The Coven to the north decided they wanted more land and more supplies; they didn't care about the people, and that showed in their rampant destruction and slaughter.
He was left for dead, but he had survived and believed it to be the greatest insult of his life.
His Coven was wiped out one hundred and eighty-seven years ago, but the constant pain in his heart made it feel like yesterday.
He stared out the window and finished his coffee.
He was a palace guard, and he served Master Louis DuCane, and he would report for patrol in thirty minutes.
He'd been at Coven DuCane for one hundred eighty-seven years, and he gave them every inch of his loyalty and commitment.
Wyatt had never made friends; he had acquaintances and people who trusted him and people he trusted, but he refused to get too close to anyone.
He didn't deserve friends; he'd had friends, and they were dead now.
***
Atticus arrived just before eleven, riding the light of the Necromancer to his destination. DuCane and his second in command were both from the ancient world, like Atticus. Louis DuCane was descended from nobility, as was Ismael Patronne; they understood ritual, customs, and formalities.
They would understand him, whereas the new world vampires did not hold the old values.
The new world had forgotten the ancients and put their trust in current philosophies.
The old ways were dying out, as were the ancients like himself and his brothers.
Two thousand years of the order of Cultus Mortis, and he was the last; what would be left were the dead talkers, the lesser orders that would rise in status but not in skill, but that was the way of the world.
Atticus appeared in the office of Master Louis DuCane within the Coven Palace. Atticus wore his burgundy suit and robe with the gold adornments earned over a century of service and amulets braiding the edges, a protection and a boundary.
Necromancers were vulnerable and needed to maintain a separation between themselves and the world of the dead. He was tall and dark like most nightshade practitioners, and although over a thousand years old, he looked you no more than thirty or thirty-five.
Some of those in the room stepped back, either out of caution or deference; he wasn't sure. Necromancers had a reputation and not all of it good. The Cultus Mortis were honorable and held to a strict code, but not all orders were the same. Some were darker than the evil they fought.
Master DuCane and his Second did not step back; they remained where they were.
These men were not surprised or taken aback by a Necromancer in their space.
Atticus left his hood on shielding his face from them he wasn't ready to bare all for these people just yet.
His eyes, a brilliant sparkling green, watched them closely.
Atticus had learned early on that his presence could be taken as a threat in some instances and was always alert to shifts in the air.
A mood could change in and instant and with it all sense of safety.
"Thank you for coming, Lord Nasir." Master DuCane spoke first and used his formal title.
"What do you need from us?" The Master was respectful and to the point, which Atticus appreciated.
He was aware that Jean Jacque had explained the situation to him, so he did not waste time repeating the information.
"A map of the areas affected and the growth pattern of the blight." His voice was deep, cavernously deep, and tinged with finality. The map and diagram of growth were produced almost immediately in a hard copy. Atticus dealt in the tangible, not the digital.
"A quiet place. I need a quiet place." He looked at Louis and held his gaze.
The Master's strength and courage were filling the room, but with it came a light shadow of vulnerability.
He worried for his people, be they vampire, shifter, or human.
He was a good man, hard, exacting, and as dark as was necessary, but he took care of his people; he valued everyone.
"It will take approximately two days to complete the extermination.
I will walk the affected area this evening, and I'll make and place the preparations.
Tomorrow I will finish depending upon the entrenchment and power of the blight.
I will know more once I walk the city and I taste the intensity of their evil. "
"I'll have you escorted to the watchtower.
It's quiet and set apart from the main workings of the Palace, and you will be given a guard.
Anything you need, he will provide. Thank you for coming, Atticus.
I understand the toll that such a cleansing will take on you.
" Louis stated and paused, holding Atticus' sharp green eyes with his own black stare.
"Coven DuCane will be in your debt." Atticus did not comment; his expression said it all.
A debt such as this was like gold bars; it was priceless and was rarely, if ever, extended since Coven DuCane took care of themselves. Atticus was shocked by his statement, and although he would probably never call it in, it was comforting to possess.
"Continue with the protections that you have put in place.
" With that, Atticus turned and left the room with two of Louis' soldiers flanking him on both sides.
Atticus moved through the Palace to a secluded section on the southeast corner facing the massive hedge maze covering several acres.
It was a beautiful and intricate design and Atticus found it a soothing sight.
The watchtower room was quiet, peaceful, and perfect for his needs.
He’d noticed several stares and disparaging glances as he made his way through the Palace with the soldiers at his sides.
Not everyone at Coven DuCane was pleased to see him.
He would have to be careful and aware of his surroundings.
He wasn’t afraid for himself, but an errant attack on him could hurt others.
The Coven was polite and civilized, so he was hoping that they would limit their dislike to comments and glances.
The soldiers left and shortly after their departure came a knock at his door. "Come in," Atticus stated curtly and did not turn to regard who entered until he heard the door close with a click and footsteps move to the left of the door, and then nothing.
He was a guard; he was there for protection and service.
He was not there to socialize. The air around him was stiff like a soldier, but there was something else.
There was a warmth in his heart; it was far away, but it was there, buried very deep, and Atticus could feel it.
He presented as most of Master DuCane's guards and soldiers presented; they were highly trained professionals but possessed a decency that kept them grounded.
He thought back to the two men he noticed look at him like the enemy.
They were not part of the DuCane forces; they were service providers, judging from their clothing.
One wore a canvas uniform, and the other wore a half apron.
Their intent was unkind, but they probably lacked the power and influence to do anything about their feelings.
It was unusual for the warmth in the depths of this man to reach Atticus. He was cold, distant, and isolated, and warmth, no matter how intense, rarely touched him. He was feeling a connection to the stranger standing behind him.