Concealed in Sage: Nightbreak, #2

Chapter One

Sitting alone in the dark should have been Parker Hanlon’s first sign that he’d reached the end of his rope. As he lifted a hand and summoned fire in his palm, the evidence of what he was about to do made that argument even stronger. The flame grew from the sheer force of his will, illuminating the attic while Parker stared down at the casting circle he’d drawn before shutting off the artificial lights.

If the Grand Mage knew he was doing this, he’d have Parker disciplined.

Not that he isn’t already doing that, Parker thought. While shifting his focus from the circle to the arrangement of candles along each point of the pentacle, the faint recognition that it had been weeks - no, months - since he’d last cast a spell also reminded him of the reasons why. The wicks of each candle caught fire, and after lighting the incense placed in the center, Parker extinguished the flame in his hand and took a deep breath. Whichever stage of grief this was, Parker had launched his whole self into it, body, mind, and soul.

Not that they ever happened in order. Despair had been the first emotion to shatter through the layers of shock but reappeared again even after a brief flirtation with acceptance. Bargaining showed up as a chaser, and after a week of ennui, Parker had woken up that day experiencing the worst bout of depression since somebody had broken the news to him. Of all days, it had to happen on Samhain.

Which was, naturally, what led him to a casting circle in the attic.

Reaching beside where he knelt, Parker felt for the book he’d brought upstairs and leafed through it to the spell he’d found earlier. While scanning the pages, he relived the day in his mind, seeing his twin sister, Fiona, politely tidying the piles of clothing and evidence of Parker’s self-medicating. The Grand Mage is concerned about you, she’d said while dumping out an ashtray containing cigarette butts and the remnant of a few joints.

What has him concerned? Parker had asked.

He wanted to add that the Grand Mage shouldn’t be so worried. Robert Holliday would probably - maybe - eventually get back his replacement-in-training. As Parker glanced at his altar, though, he saw the layer of dust which had settled over everything and marveled how the mighty had fallen. Oliver had once said, When you’re the Grand Mage, I’ll remind everyone whose bed you sleep in.

You won’t have to, Parker had replied to his husband. Because I’ll be the one telling them.

Tears threatened to well in his eyes, both while sitting in the attic and earlier, as his sister’s movement brought his attention back to her. He’d deigned to sit up in bed for his red-haired twin, marveling - not for the first time - over the word fraternal. His messy, brown locks didn’t have a hint of auburn in them and where he’d turned out much broader in the chest, she was lithe and slim, making their identical height seem so much taller on her. Part of that could have been the moment. Right then and there, she’d proven she was the older, more responsible twin.

Fiona gave him a look that suggested he knew damn well what had the Grand Mage concerned. While he sighed, she continued straightening up the mess in his room, and an uncertain quiet fell between them. I just can’t do it right now, he finally said, when the silence became too tense to continue. I’m working up to it, but every time I open a spellbook, I think about–

I know. Fiona turned to face him. In her eyes, Parker saw understanding and wished the years of curling up together for comfort hadn’t passed them by. Consider coming to circle for Samhain, though? Fiona had asked. Please? It might do you some good to get out of this room.

I’ll think about it, he had said, but thinking about it only brought him around to his eventual decision.

Exhaling a deep breath, Parker finished searching through the Book of Shadows and smiled when he reached the spell again titled Communion with the Deceased. Oliver had loved to title his spells and while Parker had given his husband shit about it, he found himself grateful that Oliver never listened. If I’m going to skip circle, it should be for a good reason, right? he asked.

The lack of any response became a painful reminder that his life had been nothing but empty since the accident. And without Oliver, it never would be the same.

Not that loss hadn’t been an old friend of his.

For thirty-two years, Parker and Fiona Hanlon had been members of the Delaware Valley coven, from the time of their birth until the day that Parker locked himself in the attic to perform some questionably gray magic. Many stories circulated about the parents they’d lost, but whatever the truth, they had been left to be cared for by Philadelphia coven, where they lingered even after they came of age. Not knowing any different, Parker had never stopped to wonder if his heart longed for something.

All he knew was magic had filled some profound void within him.

Kneeling in the attic, Parker shook his hand and wiggled his fingers, as if a few months of laziness had made them atrophy. Each member of the coven had developed a specialty and if Parker had to pick his favorite, divination would have been highest on the list. You had tried to warn Oliver right before the accident, a distant part of his mind chimed, for the five millionth time since June. Oliver had been an eternal optimist, though.

He had also been a much better medium than Parker.

Which is one reason Parker clutched Oliver’s Book of Shadows, taking it with him instead of bringing his own. Years of study filled the pages, and even though Parker only had a day to read through it, he found what he’d been looking for somewhere between three and four PM.

Of course, he had also been high at the time, and skipping Samhain circle ensured Fiona would be worried enough to come find him the next day. Even the Grand Mage would finally summon him and confront his wallowing, but for now, it was only Parker and the spell. The attic had long been a place where junior mages and horny teenagers scurried off to practice, and, as Parker had suspected, tonight it was empty.

It had also been where he and Oliver shared their first kiss.

Come on and concentrate, Parker said, allowing the air to flow into his lungs, taking in the scent of lavender, cinnamon, and wormwood filling the air. His eyes fixed on the picture of his dark-haired, olive-skinned lost lover and as seeing him shot daggers through his heart, it also served to be as much of a focus as he’d be allowed. Limited access to spell component sucks, sweetheart, he thought, his mind filling with a hundred little thoughts, trying to concentrate on Oliver without forming cracks in his disposition.

He thought about when they first met, flashing back five years to Oliver’s arrival at the coven. Show him the ropes, the Grand Mage had said, damning them both with one command. Parker thought about their instant attraction, culminating in the kiss Oliver had stolen when Parker was too shy to ask for it himself. He remembered lying in bed with him that night, realizing that love-at-first-sight might be real and counting himself lucky for being one of the fortunate fools to experience it.

Parker relived their handfasting ceremony. Calling Oliver his husband. Making plans for traveling once Parker had finished his studies with Master Holliday. The tears which had been threatening to spill over finally traced his cheeks, but he didn’t bother to wipe away the moisture. Parker laid the book down and placed his hands on the pages, both to keep the book open and remain connected to it. He scanned the words again before he shut his eyes.

Audite me, Parker began. He paused, reflecting on the quiet, plaintive tone in his voice, considering whether the spirit world listened more to authority or earnestness. When he resumed speaking, he adopted a mixture of the two. Certainty kept his voice from wavering, but his emotions settled on his sleeve, mingling with his broken heart. After his first recitation, the second came out smoother and the third flowed without hesitation.

Listen to me. Hear me through the veil of death. Grant me with your presence and speak to me.

A pulse of energy rushed through him. While Parker knew better than to assume his petition had been heard, the tell-tale sign that his life force had joined the spell bolstered him. More imagery crossed his thoughts. The morning that Oliver had left the coven house. Their last kiss before he walked away. Parker experienced that feeling of dread again; the one that had been bubbling in his throat since that morning. Be careful, he had said to Oliver, causing him to turn and grin at Parker.

I’m just going to the store, sweetie, Oliver had said. I’ll return so fast, you’ll barely know I was gone.

The way Parker’s gut twisted had more to blame than grief. He heaved, eyes shooting open and settling on the cold hearth on the other side of the room. Flames roared to life within the firebox. An urn on the mantle shook before hitting the floor and a strangled yell rushed past Parker’s lips, sounding choked. When an inexplicable gust of air kicked up the debris and tossed it into the circle, Parker felt his heart race in a panicked fervor, but it happened too fast for him to react.

Particles settled near the candles, some of them catching to burn. Parker flew backward, away from the point of impact, and landed on his back on the far end of the circle.

Before he could do anything further, he felt the heat of another candle flickering at his shoulder and sprang to his feet. While beating out the tiny swath of shirt that had charred, he muttered under his breath, though the next alarming thing came when his arm brushed across his face. Ow! he said on reflex, realizing belatedly the pain had come from his nose and that, when he reached to touch it, he felt blood trickling from his nostrils.

Should have had a focus. You wouldn’t have had to bleed for it, then.

Parker jumped and spun around. The owner of the unfamiliar voice stood in the middle of the circle, and as Parker studied him, he realized he’d both failed and succeeded at the same time. Who the hell… he began, then lowered his hand, suddenly self-conscious. Swiftly, he wiped his fingers on his jeans. Who are you?

The man smirked in response. Whatever answer he seemed apt to hold to his chest, he used the pause to admire Parker while Parker did the same. He looked in his twenties. No younger than twenty-three and no older than twenty-eight with black hair and his skin a medium brown color. He wore a suit, which made Parker wonder who the hell would appear in a summoning circle looking dressed for his own funeral.

Oh shit. For his own…

Probably not who you were expecting, he said before Parker could give voice to his epiphany. Glancing over his shoulder, toward the fallen urn, he then looked back at Parker and sighed. My name is Xavier Langston.

And that, he added, cocking a thumb back toward the floor. Was what’s left of my body.

Chapter Two

Poor fella, Xavier thought. Whoever he was ringing up, the operator connected him to the wrong guy.

He fought the urge to frown because showing any emotion right now would make the deluge begin and Xavier wasn’t ready to start that river flowing. Discerning what had happened took one a hot minute, though that led to fifty related ideas. Most of which sailed over an existential cliff.

Gonna have to dive after those at some point.

Before he could ponder them any further, the guy stepped out of the circle and clambered for the fallen urn. Stuck somewhere between morbid fascination and revulsion, Xavier drifted closer to the lit candles, crouching to study them better. He knew what a summoning circle looked like well enough, and though the world lacked any scent, the smoke rising around them bore evidence to the presence of incense. Really should have used a focus, Xavier thought. Extending a hand, he frowned