Free The Necromancer by Michael Scott Page B

summoned before our masters and our immortality will be removed. We will die. Quickly, if we are lucky, but our masters are often cruel.…”
    Billy shuddered. “Not sure I like the thought of that. I’ve sort of grown used to being immortal.” Then he shook his head quickly. “My master is …” He paused, trying to find the proper word. “He’s different from some of these other Elders. I can explain all this to him.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the prison buildings behind him. “We’ll be fine.”
    “Please stop saying that.”
    A bright red speedboat pulled up to the dock and a tall, striking-looking Native American with copper skin and hatchet-sharp features grinned up at Billy the Kid. “Our master wants to see you—you too,” he said, looking at Machiavelli. “You are both in so much trouble.”

Secrets of the Immortal 4 - The Necromancer

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    T
    
    
he cucubuths closed in on Dee.
    Dozens had crowded into Covent Garden; scores more lined the roofs of the surrounding buildings, and their bestial howls still echoed across the city. The shaven-headed leader spread his arms wide, exposing the black tattoos that snaked along the underside of his arms. “What are you going to do now, Doctor?”
    Dee reached under his coat and touched the hilt of the stone blade that hung beneath his arm. He had fashioned a sheath for it out of two leather belts. He had no idea what would happen if he actually used the sword. He had carried Excalibur for centuries and still had only the vaguest understanding of its powers. His limited experience with Clarent suggested that it was even more powerful than its twin blade. Though now that they had fused, they had to be even more powerful … or did the two cancel each other out?
    The Magician quickly considered his options. If he did wield the sword, he was sure it would light up the London skies for miles around, and probably blaze into the nearby Shadowrealms. But if he didn’t use the sword or his powers, then the cucubuths would capture him and bring him before his Dark Elder masters. And he most certainly did not want to do that: he hadn’t reached his five hundredth birthday yet. He was far too young to die.
    “Come quietly, Doctor,” the cucubuth said in the ancient Wendish language of east Europe.
    Dee’s hand tightened on the hilt of the sword. He felt its chill numb his fingers, and instantly, strange and bizarre thoughts flickered at the very edges of his consciousness.
    Cucubuths in leather and hide armor … vampires wearing chain mail and metal … wading ashore from narrow metal boats, fighting on a beach, battling hairy, primitive one-eyed beasts …
    The sound that sliced through the night was so high-pitched it was almost beyond the range of human hearing: a single drawn-out wavering note.
    The cucubuths fell as if they had been struck. Those closest to Dee dropped first, and then in a long rippling wave the creatures toppled to the ground, hands pressed to their ears, writhing in agony.
    Virginia Dare stepped out of the shadows, her flute pressed to her lips, and smiled at Dee.
    “I am indebted to you.” The doctor bowed deeply, an old-fashioned gesture last used in the court of the first Queen Elizabeth.
    Virginia drew in a breath. “Consider this repayment for the time you saved my life in Boston.”
    One of the cucubuths reached for Dee’s ankle and he kicked the hand aside. “We should go,” he said. A few of the creatures were already staggering to their feet, but another series of piercing notes from Dare’s flute dropped them to the ground again.
    Stepping lightly over the mass of squirming bodies, Dare and Dee made their way out of Covent Garden. Dee paused at the King Street entrance and turned to look back. The cobbled square was a mass of twisting, shifting bodies. Some of the creatures were already beginning to lose their human appearance as their hands and faces reverted back to their beast forms.