Last Rites (Darkling Mage Book 6)

by Nazri Noor

  Herald folded his arms, Mister Grumbles getting unceremoniously squished in the process. “What’s going on here, exactly?”

  “What’s going on here is one dude giving another dude a stuffed tiger.” I twiddled my thumbs. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

  Herald clucked his tongue and shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “You’re insufferable, Graves.”

  “You’re forgetting handsome.” I folded my hands behind my head, smirking. “Devastatingly handsome.”

  “Hah. Cute. You’re a seven, at best.”

  I flinched. I admit, that hurt a little. “Well, now you’re just being mean.”

  He adjusted his glasses, grinning. “It’s my default setting.”

  “But I got you to say I was a seven,” I said.

  He sat perfectly still, his expression unchanged.

  “So you think I’m cute,” I added.

  Herald frowned. “I said nothing of the sort.”

  “But that’s what you basically said.”

  “Listen, Dustin,” Herald hissed. “I know you’re trying to be cute, but we aren’t kids. If there’s something you’re trying to tell me, I’d appreciate if you – ”

  “Oh,” a voice said from the door.

  We both started at the noise. Herald’s hands flew to his lap. Mine flew for the covers, which I pulled up to my chest. I don’t know, I guess being so exposed made me feel more vulnerable.

  “Sorry,” Asher said. “I didn’t think I’d catch you two in the middle of something.”

  “Not at all,” Herald said cheerfully, drawing on his deep, dormant reserves of charisma. “Something?” He turned to me pointedly. “More like nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

  Ouch. That hurt more than it should have. I just stared back at him, my mouth open, like I wanted to say something. But I couldn’t find the words.

  “I was just checking on Dust,” Asher said. “I was going to offer him some healing if he was still in pain, but I can always come back later to – ”

  “It’s cool,” Herald said. “I think we’re done here.”

  And there came the second stab of pain. Double ouch.

  He rose from his chair, then clapped Asher on the shoulder as he left the room, not once looking behind him.

  Asher checked that the corridor was clear, then threw his hands up. “What the hell happened here? What was that about?”

  I sat up, wincing at the lingering pain in my chest, right in my heart. That was from what Carver did. Must have been.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure.”

  Asher shook his head as he stalked to the foot of my bed. He planted his hands on his hips, like an angry mother. “You were a dumbass is what happened.”

  I raked a hand through my hair, looking at Mister Grumbles still on the chair, a gift forgotten. Herald hadn’t even taken him.

  “Yeah,” I said, staring into the empty doorway. “I was a dumbass.”

  Chapter 21

  “You’re only going to make him madder,” Asher said, glaring at my reflection. “Surely you know that.”

  I pouted back at his reflection. “You know that’s not true. I’m very cute, and very charming. I can fix this.”

  Looking back into the mirror, I adjusted my collar, smoothing back this stubborn little cowlick on the crown of my head that, considering the length I liked to keep my hair, shouldn’t have even existed.

  “I’m just saying,” Asher said. “If I were you, I’d give it some time. Let Herald cool off for a bit. He’s annoyed, and you’re confused. Hell, what are you even going to say?”

  I ran the pads of my fingers over my eyebrows, smoothing the hairs down, like that was going to change anything. Okay, you got me. Everything I was doing in the mirror, all that preening was just me trying to delay the horrible inevitability of what I was about to do. I guess I was waiting for Asher to give me a good enough argument to get me to back down. Herald had just left in a huff, after all.

  But something in the pit of my stomach was convinced I could get Herald to stop hating me so much, and it thought that directly attacking him where he lived was the best course of action. Quite literally, too.

  “Right,” I said, tucking Mister Grumbles under one arm. “If anyone looks for me – ”

  “They probably won’t,” Asher grumbled.

  “Rude. If anyone looks for me, tell them I’m making amends with my – ”

  My words trailed off. What was Herald to me, exactly? It didn’t take a genius to know that it was a huge part of why he was so miffed. It was the fact that he didn’t know where he stood in my life. But how could I tell him what he wanted to hear when I couldn’t even answer that question for myself?

  “Making amends with your?” Asher said, spinning his hand in a circle, urging me on. “Your what, exactly?”

  “Good talk,” I stammered, shortly before leaping into the closest shadow. As the Dark Room swallowed me up I was pretty sure I heard Asher hurling a string of expletives at my back.

  Hey, this wasn’t his business, am I right? It didn’t exactly matter that I had no script going in with this Herald conundrum. Only a few things really mattered to me in that moment.

  First, Herald was mad at me. I didn’t like it when people were mad at me, especially not Herald. And two, him being mad at me meant that there was a good chance of him staying mad, and not liking me anymore. And that was important, because I liked Herald a lot. And I mean, a lot.

  Don’t look at me like that, you’re worse than Asher.

  Cool night air rushed over my skin as I emerged from the Dark Room. The heat of my body from the exertion of running activated the fresh layer of body spray I’d spritzed all over myself. It filled my nostrils with a sharp and, I hoped, sexy scent. I’d appeared just where I wanted: at the foot of the Parkway Heights apartment building, among the greenery, where I knew that they grew a few varieties of flowers.

  This was a cinch, clearing distances and picking where I wanted to go. Enough practice with traversing the Dark Room had made it much simpler for me to head between two destinations, especially if I had visited them before. I was pretty sure Parkway Heights had no vending machines for me to get stuck in, for example. Knowing the lay of the land – or the apartment building, as it were – meant that I had a better chance of not materializing inside a brick wall and subsequently dying there. See, a lot of it had to do with confidence.

  I gulped as I sifted through the flowers, gathering a bunch of them into a little bouquet. Yeah, this Herald situation clearly had a lot to do with confidence as well. I figured I’d be lucky enough to avoid death by icicles if I just showed at Herald’s up unannounced, but that was exactly where I was headed, and nothing was going to change my course.

  Especially now that I was sufficiently armed. With a bunch of flowers in one hand and Mister Grumbles in the other, I sank into the shadows again, this time directing my mind and the compass of the Dark Room towards Herald’s apartment.

  It was toasty when I entered, the temperature set to a nice, balmy warmth, and I sighed softly as I shadowstepped into his living area. The air there was always fresh, tinged with a hint of citrus. I didn’t know what kind of sorcery Herald used to keep everything so tidy, but his apartment really did reflect who he was: neat, clean, and organized, with an almost sociopathic kind of precision.

  The shower was on, so I flopped onto the couch, figuring it was best to let Herald wash away his anger before he saw me. I guess it was those same qualities that drew me to him. We were opposites in lots of ways. Fire and ice. I was sloppy, a bit of a mess, my life chaotic, my schedule hardly deserving to be called a schedule. But he was put-together, forever in control of himself and his surroundings. His life was planned out so fastidiously, so beautifully, and all he had to do was trace the steps he’d already mapped out for himself.

  I admired him for it, in spite of the many, quietly terrifying ways his sense of order manifested itself. His shelves of books were probably arranged alpha
betically, and then by color. I couldn’t see his collection of video games, but knew that they were kept in a drawer beneath the flatscreen, where they, too, were kept immaculately sorted.

  And while I’d never taken a peek inside Herald’s wardrobe, I kind of figured that it would look exactly like a retail display, with everything arranged in the sequence of a rainbow, with the neutrals to one side, and with socks and undies properly tucked away in their respective drawers, like a filing cabinet. Hell, filing artifacts was what Herald did for a living at the Gallery, after all. It wasn’t a stretch to assume he was just as meticulous with his briefs. Boxers? What did he wear?

  Gotta admit, I was tempted to take a look.

  But I didn’t get the chance, and maybe that was for the best. The air in front of me whistled as six razor-sharp icicles shot for my chest. I gasped, and in that same inhalation, instinct told my body to sink into the Dark Room, if only for a fraction of a second.

  My physical form wavered in and out of reality, and I repositioned myself, which is to say that I fell flat on my face, sprawled across the carpet. My hair whizzed, disturbed by the passing of six icicles that thudded into the sofa, no doubt piercing the cushions all the way through to the walls.

  Okay. So Herald was still pissed.

  Chapter 22

  “Herald,” I yelled. “Jesus, it’s just me. Mercy. Please. I didn’t know you’d be so mad.”

  “Dust?”

  A pair of feet appeared next to my head, and I followed them up to the bare and delectably wet everything else that made up Herald’s freshly showered body. Okay, so he had a towel on, but something about the way it just clung to his waist only seemed to heighten his nakedness. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: half-naked Herald is far from the worst thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Hey there,” I said, the bundle of flowers in total disarray in my fist. The makeshift bouquet looked more pitiful than romantic, and probably more moronic than apologetic.

  Herald finally pushed his glasses onto his face, which only made him look angrier, more severe. “What the hell are you doing here? I could have killed you.”

  “Yeah, about that,” I said, peeling myself off his rug, rubbing the side of my head. “Buddy. You gotta be a little less bloodthirsty when it comes to house guests.”

  “News flash,” he said. “The operative word there is ‘guest.’ Guests are invited. You weren’t.”

  “Ouch,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “No, seriously, that stings on, like, a deep level for me.”

  “People don’t just show up unannounced, Dust. I work for the Lorica. I see a blurry shape on the couch, of course I’m going to attack it. These are dangerous times, or maybe you haven’t noticed.”

  I brought myself to his height, so that our eyes were level. I was only slightly taller than Herald, but something inside me was egging me on, making me unfurl myself to my full height. I came to apologize, I thought. But the defiance kept banging on the back of my skull.

  “Maybe if you put on some glasses before resorting to violence, you wouldn’t end up almost maiming your friends.”

  Herald scoffed at the word. “Friends.” He folded his arms across his chest, in a way that most definitely demonstrated that he had been lifting his fair share of weights. I swallowed and tried not to stare. “So. Why are you even here to begin with?”

  I scratched the back of my neck, my gaze stuck to the floor. “I didn’t like how we left things back at the Boneyard. It didn’t feel right.”

  Herald frowned harder, his body going tauter, his arms flexing even more. I wished he would have toweled himself off, because the sight of him a little damp like that was making this reconciliation business a lot harder than it should have been.

  “So you came here with – what is that? A bunch of flowers that you stole from the lobby?”

  I held up the flowers. “I thought you might like them. I thought they were pretty.” They fell limply over my knuckles, and I silently cursed them for crapping out on me in my time of need.

  Herald chuckled, then shook his head. Okay. That was probably a good sign. Chuckling meant he was over the part about genuinely wanting to kill me.

  “I don’t know what it is with you, Dust. You clearly haven’t figured yourself out, and I’m trying – trust me, I’m trying to be understanding here. But sometimes you say and you do things that send mixed signals. Scratch that. You do it all the time, and it’s frustrating. I don’t know where I stand, you know? And I always pride myself on being the smart one – ”

  “Hey,” I grumbled.

  “You know it’s true – I pride myself on being the smart one, and on my ability to be objective about this shit. But with you, it’s difficult. I can’t tell if you’re just joking sometimes, and it annoys the living shit out of me.”

  He had a point. He had several good points, truthfully. I held out Mister Grumbles. “Well, this wasn’t a joke. And I know it’s stupid and juvenile, but it’d mean a lot to me if you would keep him.”

  Herald’s eyes narrowed. “Again with the damn tiger.”

  “His name,” I said evenly, “is Mister Grumbles.”

  “Right,” Herald said, cradling Mister Grumbles at his hip, like it was an actual cat. “I accept your offering. But it’s been a long day, Graves. I want to get to bed, and you need to get out of here.”

  “Okay,” I said, not quite realizing until that moment that we were stood a little too close to each other – so close that I could smell his shampoo, the soap on his skin.

  I could feel the warmth radiating from his torso, too, but couldn’t tell if it was the leftover heat of the shower, or if Herald really did burn that hot. It always kind of weirded me out whenever Sterling would say that a good circulation system could be a wildly sexy quality in a person. I finally believed him.

  My mouth dry, I forced myself to speak, injecting every last drop of bravado left in my body into one last push. “Hey, you know, I’ve been curious.”

  Herald tilted his head. I watched as a bead of water dripped from a stray lock of hair down to his clavicle. “What’s that?” His voice was soft. Too soft.

  I grinned out of the corner of my mouth. “What’s it like under the towel?”

  Herald’s eyes darkened, but his smile remained – only it seemed crueler.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he growled. With a snap of his fingers, the door to his apartment unbolted itself and flew open. “Another stupid joke. I’m done.” Herald gestured again. I stumbled and spilled out into the hallway, as if shoved by an invisible hand.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I whined, clutching at the dull pain in my chest. “I was just kidding. I panicked.”

  “Call me when you’ve figured your shit out. Good night, Dustin.” Herald snapped again, and the door slammed shut with a loud, heinous bang.

  I massaged the back of my head for some moments, trying to process how I’d been trying to mess with him, but ended up being played myself. I had a feeling that parts of Herald were still mad at me, but other parts of him were softening as well. And that was a good thing.

  Though perhaps softening wasn’t the right word. I grinned to myself, enjoying my stupid, private little joke, then turned to leave, only then noticing that the corridor was filled with heads poked out of doorways, drawn to the commotion.

  “Oh,” I said. “He. Um. He’s had a bad day.”

  Judgmental, knowing eyes squinted at me, but the doors closed as I passed. I hadn’t realize Herald’s neighbors – almost all of them Lorica employees – were so nosy. And it was the truth, really. He did sort of have a bad day, and I guess I was instrumental to causing it, at least in some small way.

  I grinned again. At least this time he kept the tiger.

  Chapter 23

  For the fifteenth time in as many minutes I pulled out my phone again, unlocking it, checking on my messages, but nothing. Herald hadn’t texted me back.

  “I’m sorry,” was all I could r
eally think to send him. Stupid, I know, teasing him like that, but we’d always been up for a little friendly ribbing. I mean, I was new to all this, okay? I talk a big game about how handsome and ripped I am – both true, indisputable facts, mind you – but when it actually came down to brass tacks? Shit like that happened. And it hurt a little extra, too, because he was my best buddy.

  But was that all I wanted?

  “Dust,” Asher hissed. “Come on, man. You gotta focus.”

  “Right,” I said, putting my cell away, cowing once more to the phone police. Then again, Asher was well within rights to snap me back to reality. It was time to start enchanting my mother’s amulet, and that was no small feat.

  Carver had trusted me to do this on my own. Well, with Asher’s supervision, of course. He said that the best place to initiate the crafting of an artifact was one of personal importance, somewhere infused with emotional significance.

  “The art of enchanting is, after all, closely tied to the ability and spirit of the one who enchants the object,” he’d said. “Infusing something with your arcane essence is a deeply personal and intimate act.”

  And so there we were at Dad’s house. My house too, I guess. Not the one I grew up in, but because of all the framed photos of me, and Mom, and Norman Graves himself, natch, it was still steeped in memory, in sentiment. Perfect for the ritual.

  That in itself wasn’t as complicated as I’d assumed. Dad had cleared out an area for us in the center of the living room, which basically involved pushing the furniture away so that we could sit on the rug. A circular one, too, which meant minimal work had to be done to consecrate the space.

  We set the reagents out onto the rug. The lock of Nyx’s hair shimmered on a small square of silk. Asher produced the globular phial of anguish from out of nowhere, a glowing green orb of distilled pain.

  “What’s that?” Dad asked, still so new to the arcane underground.

  I coughed. “That’s not important,” I lied. “Frog juice.” He didn’t need to know what happened.