by Nazri Noor
“Hmm.” Sterling rubbed his chin with all the wisdom and flair of someone who had a beard. The resultant effect was a light scritching of his fingers over bare skin. “To be fair, he could have absolutely killed you at any point throughout that meeting.”
“Right. Exactly.”
“Strangulation by ivy. Torn to pieces by the bacchantes. Thyrsus through the throat.”
“R-right. Yeah.”
“Dustin,” Gil said, his voice thick with meaning. “You’ve communed with other entities before this. Correct?”
Arachne the spider-woman was my first communion, and then there was Hecate, the Greek goddess of magic. I nodded slowly.
“Right,” Gil said. “And how many of them have tried to kill you?”
I sipped my drink sullenly. “All of them.”
Gil nodded, then waved for our server, calling for our bill. “And Dionysus makes a third. Right. So assuming we can find a way out of this for you, consider this a lesson learned. Etiquette is one thing, but entities don’t think the way we do.”
I tried not to look so startled at that, and probably failed. He said “we” as if we belonged to the same species. I suppose we did, to a certain extent, but I figured it wasn’t polite to probe into the shared origins of humans, vampires, and lycanthropes just then.
“You know what I mean,” Gil said impatiently, plunking down a wad of bills. “They behave differently. Fickle, like. They don’t take mortality into consideration. It’s a game for them, and we’re just pawns.”
The maenad nodded enthusiastically as she gathered up our check. “Oh, totally. But the master’s different. Not quite so cruel, I’d say.”
I finished the rest of my drink, then set my glass noisily back on the table, hoping the ice was clinking in some suitably ominous way. “Easy for you to say,” I mumbled.
“Oh, relax,” she said. “He may have poisoned you, but Dionysus is merciful. He has a lead for you boys.” She gestured at a corner of the bar. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed him, the blond man in the gray suit, but that was when I realized how nondescript he was, as if he was attempting to fade into the background on purpose. He gave a small nod, and strode over.
“Arnaud,” he said, by way of introduction, his speech inflected with a faint French accent. He slipped a hand into his jacket and retrieved an ivory-colored business card, placing it into Gil’s hand. “My employer is in need of your services. We must speak, and soon.”
Gil looked up at this Arnaud as he left, his brows furrowed, then down at the card in his hand. I peered for a closer look. The card had a series of numbers embossed into it, with no ink or anything, so that you could read it by running your fingers across.
“Fancy stationery,” Sterling said.
Gil fingered the card. “Phone number. We’ll figure this out back at the hideout. No sense talking about it now. Clock’s ticking and all.” He nodded at me in what I knew was meant to be an encouraging way, but I still felt my heart sink. “Maybe Carver will know some way around this.”
“That,” I said, “or we’ll just have to work extra fast.” I scooped up my backpack. The worn hide was soft under my touch, almost comforting, and it was just another reminder of how vulnerable and naked I had felt back in Dionysus’s domicile.
We stepped out into the street, the warmth of the Amphora leaving us to the chill of Valero’s night air. My buzz wasn’t going anywhere fast. I was too full up on fear and alcohol, caught in that disgusting limbo between my blood running warm from all the drinks and my skin being coated in the damp, reptilian sheen of a classic cold sweat. It hadn’t sunk in yet, somehow. I was going to die.
Gil took the lead, but Sterling hung back, to my surprise, chucking me on the shoulder.
“Cheer up, man. We’ll figure something out.”
“Yeah,” I said, mildly suspicious of his friendliness.
“Worse comes to worst, I could always turn you.”
He grinned, his overlong canines giving me the heebie-jeebies as they always did. But maybe that genuinely was Sterling’s best effort at being a buddy. I sighed. “Thanks.”
We walked along in silence, and I assumed we were going to continue the rest of the way on foot. I’d run into trouble in this neighborhood before. Anyone who’s spent any time in Valero knows not to go walking around in the Meathook, especially not during the night, but that was how Vanitas and I first became friends. And seeing as how I had both a werewolf and a vampire for company, it felt like I didn’t have much reason to be concerned, Meathook or no.
But Gil stopped in his steps abruptly, his shoes scraping against the asphalt. Sterling stopped moving, too, as stiff and as quiet as a corpse. We weren’t even in the Meathook yet, but the sudden stillness of my two companions had me worried.
“Company,” Gil said.
Sterling sniffed at the air. “Trouble.”
Further down the street, just paces away from Gil, I spotted a familiar blue glow. Oh. Oh no. Prudence. Great. Just great. Sterling hissed.
I backed away, inspecting the choicest shadow I could leap into, then bumped into the second of the Lorica strike team that had been waiting to pounce on us. I didn’t even have to guess to know who it was, but I sighed and turned resignedly on my heel all the same.
Bathed in the harsh florescence of a street light, Sebastion Brandt’s teeth glowed whiter than white.
“Hiya, Dusty. Did you miss me?”
Chapter 7
Bastion’s smile was playful, and as infuriating as I remembered. He rolled his shoulders, his joints popping as he rocked his neck from side to side.
“Man, how long has it been since we’ve seen each other? A while, I bet.” He gestured at his chin, then pointed at mine. “Growing the stubble out? It’s a good look. Helps you fit in with your new, um, friends.” Sterling scoffed. From somewhere behind me, Gil growled.
“Must have been a couple of months now,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Yeah. Good to see you too. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I know, right?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Still pretty.”
“Still a douchebag,” I said. Bastion laughed, unfazed. He tugged on his fingerless gloves, cracking his knuckles. I swallowed as my hand reached for the flap of my knapsack.
Bastion and I had a complicated friendship, if you could even call it that. He was always cocky to the point of exasperation, and I never really did come to understand why we never got along back when I worked with him at the Lorica. I did, however, fully acknowledge that he was cocky for a reason.
From my limited time with the organization I learned pretty quickly that Bastion was among its most powerful Hands. He had a natural talent for manipulating matter, lifting things into the air and using them as weapons, like a kind of occult telekinesis. I’d seen him use a telephone pole like a baseball bat, throw a car through the air, and turn a handful of pebbles into machine gun fire. And that was when I was playing on his side.
It didn’t help that he was partnered with Prudence, who could crush things with her bare hands and feet when she imbued her strikes with her signature blue fire. So the Lorica had sent two of its very best after us, and on the same day that I’d hung out with two of their employees for brunch, too. Not gonna lie, I felt totally betrayed. Somebody squealed about the Chalice.
I adjusted my composure, one hand still resting lightly over the dented bronze clasp of my knapsack, then spun confidently on my heel, an eager grin plastered on my face.
“Prudence,” I called out. Gil looked over his shoulder, his face set, but his eyes questioning my tactics. I kept my focus on Prudence, who only nodded back firmly. “Nice night, isn’t it? My friends and I were just heading home.”
She shook her head, adjusting the wrists on her gloves, the blue flames licking at her fingers. I tried my hardest not to gulp. She was ready for a fight. Let’s be honest, I had good reason to be concerned. Prudence was a friend, sure, but she was also a seasoned professional: getting the job done always
came first.
“No can do, Dustin,” she said. “You know the rules. We can’t have civilians just lugging dangerous artifacts around in the streets.”
On reflex, my hand slid away from my backpack. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. And civilian? I’m a mage.”
Bastion snorted. “Barely.”
“You don’t work for the Lorica,” Prudence said. “That makes you one of a few things. A civilian, or a threat.” She cracked her knuckles. “Which will it be, Dustin?”
“Aww, come on, Prudence.” I spread my arms out, grinning, tightening my muscles so no one could tell I was shitting my pants. “We’re all friends here.”
Prudence held her hand out, her open palm pulsing with blue fire.
“Just give us the sword, Dustin.”
I’d been reaching for my bag again, but I froze. They weren’t supposed to know about Vanitas.
“What – what sword?”
Bastion scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, Graves. We know you have it.”
“Look at me.” I gestured at myself. “Where would I keep it? How could that be possible in any sense?”
Prudence clucked her tongue. “Don’t make us do something we’ll regret, Dustin. Just hand it over and we’re good.”
“I left it in my other pants.”
Prudence made to stride over, but Gil lifted one huge arm, blocking her path. Her gaze could have ripped the flesh from my bones, but Gil only stared her down harder.
This was going to get ugly, and fast. I weighed my options: fight, or flee. Rather, it would be a matter of Vanitas doing the fighting, because as much as I knew that opening the door to the Dark Room would ward Prudence and Bastion off, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t kill them, or the others, or myself. I didn’t exactly want anyone dead. So I peered at the closest shadow, and –
“Not so fast,” Bastion said. Too late I noticed that he had been muttering under his breath the entire time I was talking to Prudence. Nicely done, I thought. The two worked really well together, operating on an instinctive level, even. He snapped his fingers, and a flicker of white shot from his hand to the sky above us.
Sterling stepped back abruptly – I was there when a shaft of sunlight ripped out of the midnight sky and incinerated half his face, remind me to tell you about it some time – but the light dissipated. A strange sheen gleamed in the air around us, momentarily revealing the shape of a dome, as if the five of us were underneath a large bell jar.
Well, shit.
“Cute trick I picked up from one of the Scions,” Bastion said. I remembered, too. It was Odessa, who threw a massive force field over Valero’s Central Square to protect the city’s civilians. “Keeps us in, and keeps the normals out.”
On instinct, my eyes went to his shadow on the pavement. There was still a way out. But Bastion smiled.
“Sorry. You can’t make it out, either. No shadowstepping here, Dusty.”
Ah. Then I was well and truly fucked. Except –
“The Veil,” I stammered. “Anyone sees us fighting here and that’s it. The Lorica will have your hides for that. Won’t they?” Hey, it was worth a try.
Prudence chuckled. “Bastion’s gotten a little better at magic since you last saw him, Dust.”
“Aww, shucks. Thanks, Prue.” He pointed at the faint shimmer of the force bubble planted around us. “I made a little augmentation. I infused the field with a glamour. It’s a simple matter of bending the light, see. The normals can’t see us in here. It’s like a one-way mirror. Maybe they’ll bump into it – not that anyone’s even wandering around here – but we won’t be violating the Veil.”
“Wonderful,” Sterling said. “Then nobody has to watch when I tear your tongue out.”
Bastion blinked. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“You people talk too much.” Sterling puffed out a swirl of smoke and stubbed his cigarette out against the pavement. I didn’t even notice that he’d lit one up. How the hell was he staying so calm? I tried to communicate that very same notion with my face, but he just rolled his eyes, ever the bored, immortal man-child. “Let’s just get this over with. Gil, you take the lady. I’ll deal with the pretty boy.”
“Why, thank you,” Bastion said, smiling.
“Gonna rip his face off,” Sterling said. Bastion stopped smiling.
“Guys,” I said. “We can talk about this.“
The flash of azure light from Prudence’s hands told me we couldn’t. Gil dodged in time, twisting out of the trajectory of her punch, his reflexes alarming considering his height and weight. Prudence’s fist drove into the pavement in an explosion of cement and rubble.
Gil laughed. “Jesus, lady. Watch where you put that.”
“Prudence,” I called out, waving my arms. “Stop. This doesn’t have to get violent.”
“Business is business, Dust.”
“But we did brunch today!”
Prudence ignored me. She swiveled her body on one foot, bringing the other careening in a heavy roundhouse, blue fire tracing the arc of her kick. Gil wove again, barely dodging this time as her foot slammed into a newspaper stand. A sharp crack heralded the burst of splinters and ripped, smoldering pages that drifted into the air.
Gil chuckled. “Does the Lorica pay for collateral damage? You just cost someone their living, lady.”
Prudence charged again. “Stop calling me lady. And yes, I’m sorry, but Sully’s Snack Shack is going to be just fine.”
“Good to know.” Gil twisted as he dodged, then spread the fingers of both hands. He groaned as the ends of them burst into flecks of blood and flesh, as massive talons erupted from his fingers. “Hope you’ve got good insurance, too.”
He snarled, then struck. Blood trailed the arc of his first attack as he swiped his talons at Prudence, who danced out of his range unperturbed, unbothered by the grotesquerie and the violence. Was that how werewolves worked? And it wasn’t even a full moon yet.
“We can talk this out. Guys?” But if the rational half of this street fight was already slamming at each other with fists and talons, I didn’t know why I expected Sterling and Bastion to even give me a listen.
Bastion was already on the ground, his hands thrust up to project a shield. Sterling slashed and punched at him, every blow against Bastion’s invisible shield ringing like a flat, glass gong. Any more of that and I knew it was going to break, and like I said, I might have had my issues with Bastion, but I didn’t want him dead.
“Sterling, stop.”
The vampire whipped his head at me, hissing, teeth somehow longer and sharper than I remembered, eyes blazing red. But that was just the opening Bastion needed.
“Get the fuck off me,” he shouted. Radiance pulsed in a flash of light from his open palms and Sterling went flying across the sidewalk, slamming into a wall. He crashed against it like a rag doll, then crumpled to the ground, limbs arranged in ways that arms and legs weren’t supposed to bend.
“Holy shit,” I said. “Bastion, you killed him.”
Bastion dusted himself off and shrugged. “I mean, maybe? What are you doing hanging around with these types, anyway?”
“My new job,” I said, my eyes darting for a shadow that I could at least step to within the bubble. If I could just emerge behind Bastion, knock him out with a blow to the back of the head – but he’d seen me do that enough times to know it was coming. “They’re my coworkers.”
“Interesting company you’re keeping.” He kept walking towards me, head tilted, tugging on his gloves. “Must keep your work so interesting. We’ve been busy at the Lorica, see. Something about a missing Chalice. Heard anything about that, Dusty?”
Oh shit. They knew. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I stepped away, slipping my hand into my backpack, groping around in the pocket dimension. Cellphone, wallet, shit, where the hell was he?
“I see. So you don’t know anything about a Chalice that went missing at a massacre of thirteen – ”
“Twelve,�
�� Prudence interjected, landing a brutal elbow strike that left Gil winded.
“Right, twelve dead normals. Something about a Chalice that belongs to the god Dionysus? And I suppose it’s no coincidence that the three of you just came from his bar. Interesting.”
“That’s pretty interesting, all right.”
“Enough with the denial, Dusty. Give us what we’re here for. Where’s the Chalice?”
“Gone.” My fingers made contact with something cold and rough. Ah. Finally.
“Fuck’s sake, Dustin. At least give me the sword.”
I slid the backpack around to the front of my body and lifted the flap.
“Here you go.”
Vanitas flew screaming out of the bag, the shrill scrape of metal reverberating around the dome as he separated into blade and scabbard. Bastion’s eyes went wide with shock as his hands thrust up to his face to erect another shield. Just in time: sparks flew as blade and scabbard smashed into him head on. Bastion stumbled away, winded, then raised a hand again, muttering.
“Don’t kill him,” I thought.
“I’ll try not to,” Vanitas said back. “What’s even going on here?”
Of course. Vanitas was technically in another dimension when he was stuffed in the bag, and didn’t pick up on anything that was happening.
“Former coworkers from the Lorica,” I said.
“Lady Facepuncher and Lord Douchebag?”
“Right. And they want you back.”
“I mean, they can try.” Vanitas’s laughter sounded like it was bubbling from the depths of some ocean. “Hey, Dust, tell them they can pry me from your cold, dead hands.”
“I don’t like that idea at all.”
Vanitas bludgeoned Bastion once more, cornering him against the edge of the dome. “You’re no fun, honestly.”
“Prue,” Bastion shouted. “Little help here? Smash this thing to pieces, maybe?”
“We’re supposed to bring it back,” Prudence yelled. “That’s not the damn point, remember? Subdue it and we can get the – ”
