Serge entered Ben’s office. An immediate wash of agony chilled over his flesh. He felt as if worms were crawling across his skin. He’d felt this way once before. The man who had given him the feeling was now in jail, serving life for murder.

“Serge.”

He craned his neck left and right to snap away the awful sensation, but it would not leave. Ben sat on the leather chair behind the desk, feet propped up and fingers crossed before his narrow dark eyes.

“You summoned me?”

“Yes, but not for the usual business.”

He’d been called in at nine in the morning for this? “I am not indebted to you beyond summoning for your business, Mr. Ravenscroft.”

“Yes, yes. Come closer. I simply want to chat with you, my protégé. See how the world is treating you. It’s been, what? More than a year since you’ve come to America. You like the apartment?”

“We had this conversation.”

Gritting his teeth against the foul aura spilling off the man, Serge cautioned himself against looking about the room. Always he wanted to remain calm and centered when in Benjamin Ravenscroft’s presence.

“True. But we didn’t finish it. How is your family getting along?”

The word familystabbed Serge in the heart. It was harder to hide that hit. And Benjamin wielded it as expertly as a prizefighter’s fist.

“I spoke to my father two weeks ago. He is healthy, as are the rest of my family members. My father sends his thanks to my patron.”

“Ah. Well, then, do return my best wishes to them next time you speak. I’m all for keeping the family ties strong. A man isn’t whole without family, yes?”

Serge nodded. Since leaving his family he had indeed felt broken. Not whole. But he was making a life of his own. Slowly. Tediously. His father was proud of him. Living in the big city, working for a prestigious client. Serge sent money every other week. It put food on his family’s table and clothes on their backs, and allowed his father a little extra to save for the new tractor required to till the land.

He would never allow his family to know the sacrilege he made against the ancient craft he’d been born into. Necromancy was an esteemed art, innate in the practitioner. Once his mother decided Serge’s tendency to talk to “the others” was a manifestation of that art, she had him tutored alongside the best necromancer in Odessa.

“And you?” Serge blurted. “How is your family?”

Ben’s eyelid twitched. Serge knew family was the man’s Achilles’ heel. So they shared the same weakness. He needed to show he could deliver the blow as well as Ben. This match would not be won with a knockout, but rather with finesse.

“My family isn’t your concern, Serge.”

“Just trying to be polite, Mr. Ravenscroft. You don’t require my services today, then? Just a friendly chat?”

“Let’s shove the bull out the window, shall we?”

Ravenscroft stood. His dark shirt was unbuttoned at the wrists and the cuffs were rolled back. He flipped his medium-length hair from one eye and pressed forward onto his fingers over the desk. “I have become aware of what you want, Serge. And I believe you know what I want, too.”

A loaded statement. Serge would be foolish to convince himself Ben was unaware he’d been tracking the skull. Hell, he’d accosted his man last evening. The news probably made it to Ravenscroft before Harris returned to the nest.

He’d been less than careful. Frustrated.

The cards had been laid out. There was still a risk in revealing himself, but he didn’t have the skull in hand, and was losing options quickly.

“Why did you arrange to have it brought here?” Serge asked his most desperate questions. “How did you learn of it?”

“That’s better. Finally, we’re talking.”

Ben strolled around and perched on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He lifted the end of a letter opener on the desk, twirled it back and forth, then set it down carefully. “I met the man who owns the artifact a few weeks ago. He showed it to me and explained its legend. Fascinating.”

“And you believed in the legend?” Serge asked.

“How could I not? I believe in a man who can commune with the dead, bring great riches to my accounts and annihilate my competition with a mere suggestion. A magical skull? An easy leap. What I want to know is how youknew I was having it brought here?”

That he kept tabs on Ben through the spirits was not information he wished to divulge.

Ben nodded. “I suspect you have your ways, yes? It’s not prudent to wield control over the man who puts coin in your pocket, Serge. In essence, you’ve been spying on me.”

“Not spying. I am simply…alert to entities that accompany my profession.”

“Entities. That’s an interesting way of putting it. Spirits spying for you? Have they been following me about? Don’t answer. I don’t even want to know. It’s weird enough when you conjure in the next room. I feel so unclean after you leave.”

“Really? More so than now? The skull can mean little to you,” Serge offered, containing his tight desperation. “It is not a tool to be used by inexperienced hands. It can bring great calamity as opposed to the goodness it promises. What does it mean to you?”

“Do you know what power that thing possesses, Serge?”

“I do.”

Ben leaned forward, giving Serge a look he wagered the man volleyed across the boardroom at his competition. “Then you tell me what you think it can do for me. Let’s see if we’re on the same page.”

No, he wasn’t going to give up the goods so easily.

“I’d prefer hearing your rendition of its legendary powers,” Serge said carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

Ben smirked. Leaning backward over the desk, he pulled out the top drawer. Sliding aside the contents, which Serge was unable to see, he then pulled out a single photograph. He waved it before him. “Nice-looking family, Serge.”

That damned picture. Taken on the eve Serge had said goodbye to his mother, father and two sisters. Written on the back were their address, the location of his sisters’ schools and the hours his father worked. No doubt, Ben kept copies on encrypted computer files, as well.

That night, in a limo, he’d left with Ben Ravenscroft’s valet, who had escorted him to the airport and paid for his flight to the States. To begin a new life. To start a journey that would see him financially sound, and able to support his parents and siblings.

He had been naive and open to Ben’s wide-eyed visions for Serge’s future. New York was a city that welcomed one and all. Serge would love it. He would have his own apartment, a car, fine things, whatever he desired. Ben would make it happen.

And in return, Serge would pledge his summoning skills completely to Ben. He would help Ben do good things, finance charities, build his business and create jobs for many.

Or so he had been promised.

The smell of wrongful death gushing from Ben’s body renewed Serge’s determination. He would have that skull, and his liberty from this bastard. His family must be free from Ravenscroft’s vicious threats once and for all.

There was a taunting flick of the photo with a finger. “Serge?”

“It is said to be the giver of all good things,” he said.

Ben replaced the photo in the desk drawer and closed it with a twist of his wrist.

“ Allgood things,” Ben recited. “That covers quite a lot, wouldn’t you say? A man could do remarkable things with such an object.”

“Aren’t your charitable contributions satisfying enough?”

Ben stabbed him with a look. “You are in no position to question my motives. Remember your place, boy. I made you. I can break you.”

And he could, thanks to the team of watchers Ben had placed close to his family’s home. He’d taken an afternoon not long after his arrival in the States to show Serge the satellite photos, some positioned but half a mile from his family’s home, others posted in town where his mother shopped and his sisters went to school.