by Nazri Noor
I eyed Bastion incredulously. “This is like the snazziest rideshare I’ve ever been in. Does the Lorica pay for this?”
Bastion chuckled. “Please. I don’t need the Lorica paying for my shit.”
Realization dawned. I should have figured it out sooner. This was a chauffeured car. My very first impression of Bastion being a brat raised in a mansion by nannies was on the nose after all. His family was super rich. Which meant –
“We’re heading to Brandt Manor, aren’t we?” I felt silly just saying that out loud.
Bastion nodded. Sterling snorted. “Seriously? Brandt Manor? That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”
“If you say so,” Bastion said, sinking back into the seats, sifting through the bar. “Cocktail, anyone?’ He gave Sterling a passably sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, we don’t have plasma, though. Can I offer you a Bloody Mary?”
“Bite me,” Sterling grumbled.
“So Brandt Manor is totally real, right?” It sounded so farfetched. What kind of family had a named estate? Rich people, that’s who. Crazy, rich people.
“Absolutely. It’s where I’ve lived all my life.” He transferred some ice into a glass, then tipped in a can of diet soda. “You’ll have to forgive the mess though. Mother’s having some work done on the helipad.”
Chapter 10
“How do I not know this about you?” I waved around myself, my sneakers looking so utterly pedestrian against the polished cobbles of Brandt Manor’s driveway. “How come none of us have ever heard of your family? Jesus, is that a tennis court?”
Bastion followed my finger, then shook his head. “Badminton, actually. We don’t talk about it much, that’s why.”
I blinked. “You’re the most self-absorbed, conceited human being I’ve ever met. That doesn’t make sense.”
He shrugged. “We keep to ourselves. We don’t display our wealth.” He cleared his throat, perhaps aware of how insincere he sounded with his family’s hedge maze standing just a few dozen feet away. “People have heard of the Brandts, but it’s not because of the money. Besides, sometimes you have to look beyond yourself, Graves. Sometimes, it’s about protecting family.”
He turned away, beckoning us to the mansion that must have had at least twelve bedrooms – and that was just in the front. “Family.” He’d said the word with a curious mix of gravity, and awe, and spite.
It made me want to rear up and poke him in the chest. Who the hell was he to say that I didn’t know anything about family? But I just grumbled to myself, following as he took the first of several steps leading up to the front door.
We’d hardly reached the top landing when one of the double doors creaked open, which was kind of a shame. I was very curious about the brass knockers set into each door, the ones shaped like the heads of lions. Maybe it’s childish to admit that I kind of wanted to use the knockers myself, but really, when else was I going to get a chance?
“Master Brandt,” the man said, his head bowing slightly. A butler? Had to be. His eyes swept over Sterling, then me, and he smiled in that polite kind of way that said you were welcome, but only if you didn’t put your feet up on the ottomans.
Bastion nodded. “Silas.”
We followed closely as Silas ushered us through the front door. I only just caught a glimpse of how he was also wearing white gloves before he slunk off and disappeared into a side entrance. I couldn’t tell you which of the doors he vanished into, if I’m honest, because there were a lot of them. Far too many.
I’ve infiltrated mansions before. You know that. We’ve been through those places together, the ones owned by wealthy reality TV stars who’d just come into money, or by manic California party people who snorted their inheritance and burned their wealth on huge Roman orgies. None of those compared to the heart-wrenching opulence of Brandt Manor.
I gaped openly at its marble floors, its rich wood-paneled walls, at ceilings that were far too high to dust yet still looked spotless, at the chandeliers dripping with crystal. I followed the curve of the grand, sweeping staircase that connected the already massive first floor to a second level that, beyond my comprehension, looked even more lavishly decorated.
Brandt Manor was a castle, and I was a nose-picking peasant who’d happened to wander in by accident. Even through the soles of my sneakers I could sense the chill emanating from the marble, the cool, refined temperature of old money.
On top of everything bizarre I’d already encountered in the arcane underground, it had to be something so mundane that put the cherry on top. But that’s inaccurate. I don’t know that you could look at Brandt Manor, at the family sigil of a lion that welcomed us at the front gate that was now prominently displayed on a frigging heraldic shield over the fireplace, at anything in this picture of ridiculous grandeur and think that it was anything approaching normal.
But a woman appeared at the top of the staircase, and as she descended, the word “mundane” and all of its sibling synonyms vanished. She didn’t descend, actually. Float might have been more correct. And not in a metaphoric sense, either, because this woman, clad in a flimsy dressing robe thrown over a silk shift, was literally floating down the stairs, her body suspended a few inches in the air.
If you had told me that slow, seductive jazz played in the background as I gawked at her, I would have believed you. She was a deeply attractive older woman, the kind of lady who might accurately be described as a mother I’d like to – um, follow on social media.
In one hand she held a glass of something clear and brown. She watched me as she sipped, as if sizing me up, her eyes maintaining their searing contact over the rim of her glass. They reminded me of Bastion’s, flecked with the same brutal, unshakeable confidence. Her hair was the same blond. As Sterling and I were to find out, that wasn’t where their similarities ended.
“Mother,” Bastion said, his tone flat, but soft enough to be respectful, though not enough to be affectionate. It’s strange how much you can glean from a single word, if you pay attention.
“Sebastion,” the woman said. There was fondness there, to be sure, but it was hidden behind a thin sheet of ice. “You’ve brought guests.”
Mrs. Brandt said the word in a way that suggested we were welcome, as long as we didn’t leave with our pockets jangling with their expensive silverware.
“You didn’t have to make such a grand entrance,” Bastion said.
Mrs. Brandt held her hand to her chest, feigning surprise. “Oh, was it grand?” She turned to me, then Sterling, the same mocking lilt in her voice. “Was I being grand, gentlemen?”
I shook my head, meaning to be polite. Sterling grinned, and drawled. “Oh, yeah. Grand’s one way of putting it.”
The corner of Mrs. Brandt’s lips lifted in a grin. That was a wink she gave Sterling. It must have been. I fought hard not to look Bastion right in the face to see how he was reacting, but out of the corner of my eye I could tell that his skin was going red.
The foyer was silent again. The single, perfect sphere of ice in Mrs. Brandt’s drink clinked as she took another sip. She held the glass at waist level as she floated lower, her feet finally touching the ground. The ice clinked again.
“You haven’t introduced me to your friends, Bastion.”
He scoffed. “I’d hardly call them friends. But whatever. This is my mother, Luella Brandt.” He nodded at Sterling. “This one’s Sterling. That’s all you need to know about him.”
Sterling grinned again, making no effort to hide his fangs. Luella bowed her head and returned a smile of her own.
“And this one’s Dustin. We used to work together at the Lorica.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brandt.”
“Please, call me Luella.” Her eyes widened. “And ‘used to,’ is that what I heard?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was a Hound back when I was still working for them. I have, um, a different employer now.”
Luella threw her head back and guffawed. “You see, Sebastion? There’s life after
the Lorica after all.” She gripped her glass in both hands as she sashayed towards me, leaning in conspiratorially. “I tell him that he wastes his potential there, but he never listens,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone in the foyer to hear. Her breath smelled like expensive whiskey, and a hint of cinnamon.
“Mother, please don’t start.”
“Start what?” Luella held her hand against her chest again. The splay of her delicate fingers against the curve of her breastbone made her almost birdlike, and the sentiment of her words innocent. But I could see the hawkish intent in her eyes. “Start another perfectly reasonable discussion about why you’re wasting your life for the Lorica’s sake? That last incident with that Morgana woman was unacceptable, Sebastion, and if you think for one minute – ”
Luella stopped mid-breath, the talon of her finger pointed directly at Bastion’s chest, and she said nothing more. A lot had been at risk in our most recent brush with the mad sorceress named Thea Morgana, once my mentor, once my murderer. My life was in danger, as was Bastion’s, though none of us came closer to mortal peril than Asher. Luella’s lashes fluttered, and she seemed to remember herself. Sterling stood perfectly still. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Not in front of guests, mother,” Bastion said. His voice came out softly, his shoulders hunched. I’d never seen him sad before. I wrenched my gaze away.
“I – apologize, gentlemen. I can get quite carried away when the subject of Sebastion’s father comes up.”
I bit my tongue as hard as I could to avoid stating the obvious. No one had brought him up. But Luella answered anyway.
“He was killed in action working as a Hand for the Lorica. We lost him years ago, but every day I remember him still.”
I didn’t know that about Bastion. I realized there was a lot I didn’t know about him, least of all that we’d both lost a parent.
Luella turned her head, her eyes lingering on the portrait over the mantle. Painted there was a younger version of herself, holding the hand of a preteen Bastion. Behind them, standing proud, was a man I imagined Bastion would look like in thirty years. He was striking, imperious, his hair flecked with gray. Power radiated from his eyes. How a painting can do that, I couldn’t tell you, but I caught Sterling staring as well.
“He was a great man,” Luella murmured. “Strong. Handsome.” She curled her hand into a fist, the ball of ice in her glass clinking as she gritted her teeth. “Vital, and powerful. One of the strongest the Lorica has ever known. He could have been a Scion.”
Scions were the highest ranking of mages in the Lorica, at least that I knew of. I’d only ever met one, Odessa, a Scion who specialized in creating mystical shields. Looking back, Thea might have qualified as a Scion as well. I never bothered to ask what her rank was. It was unimportant then, back when I believed she was a friend and mentor to me.
Bastion’s lips were still pressed together, his eyes cautiously avoiding mine and Sterling’s, his gaze glued to the floor, his ears burning crimson. Luella reached out and made a motion with her hand that looked as if she was stroking the air. She stood several feet away, but Bastion’s hair lifted up and out of his face, as if swept by an invisible hand. Ah. Maybe magical talent was genetic after all.
“I only want what’s best for you, Sebastion. And in my opinion, that does not involve a life led with the Lorica. You have no use for employment, nor for money. All your needs are paid for. Why do you put yourself in so much danger for the same faceless organization that killed your father?”
Bastion bit his lip, his hand in a loose fist. “Because they still do good, mother. They can help, even in things like this break-in.” His eyes flashed to me, then to a far corner of the mansion’s atrium.
It was a familiar sight. Moonlight streamed in through what was once a beautiful bay window. It was broken now, shards of glass strewn across the marble floor, over the plush seat in the window’s sill, scattered across the books set in the same alcove. The wind blew gently outside, but even with the window broken, the fine, gauzy drapes stayed perfectly still.
“We cast a barrier as a precaution,” Luella said, as if in answer to my unspoken question. She lifted her glass to her lips, about to take a sip, when she seemed to remember something else. “And before you ask why we don’t sustain a magical wall at all times, you try maintaining a household staff of twenty and having to lower the damn field every time a chauffeur drives in or the gardener pops out.”
Did she say twenty?
“So you’ve had a break-in as well,” Sterling said, sweeping off to inspect the broken window. He made no effort to hide that he was sniffing at the air. He was looking for the same traces of blood. I caught him patting at his jacket, as if to check that the phial of corruption he drew from Other-Dustin’s corpse was still there. “What were they after?”
Luella huffed. “Pick something. I wouldn’t have minded if they made off with something less valuable, but the thing was headed directly for the family repository downstairs, like it knew exactly where to go.” She raised her glass at me and winked. “It had your face, you know.”
A chill trickled down my spine. “Then how did you know it wasn’t me?”
“Because I took one of its hands.” She drained the last of her whiskey, then dismissed it with a wave. The glass hovered away and clinked as it settled onto the mantlepiece. “You may have seen how my son operates. Our talents are similar.” She clasped her hands together, skin flushed with alcohol, and beamed. “But he’s far more gifted. My precious baby.”
Bastion scratched the back of his head, his neck flushing. “Mother. Please.”
“So powerful. So handsome.” All hints of pride vanished from Luella’s face, and her cheeks became etched with vitriol. “And yet he squanders all his time and energy with the Lorica.”
“The hand,” Sterling piped up. I liked to think that he did it specifically to save Bastion from another tongue-lashing. I had no way to prove that, of course. Maybe he just wanted to get on with it. “Where did it go?”
“Oh,” Luella said. “That’s the best part. I caught the thing as it was escaping. Its hand fell into the bushes outside the window. Wouldn’t you know, it dissolved into the ground. Just a pile of sludge, and then nothing. The gardener says it might have salted the earth.”
Sterling and I exchanged glances. As if we didn’t already know that Other-Dustin and the thing that came to Brandt Manor were related.
“That’s why I needed to apologize,” Bastion mumbled in my general direction. “I blamed you for something you didn’t do.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you were a jerk to me,” I said. Luella made something halfway between a chuckle and a snort. “But okay. Let’s just figure out what we can do about this.”
“Agreed,” Luella said. “Bastion wasn’t home when the burglar came. I intercepted him – it – as the thing was leaving the family vault. It might have broken into the manor, but breaking into our repository takes much more effort, that’s for certain. I chased it out through the same window it used to enter, and that’s when I severed its hand.”
Sterling craned his head, surveying the atrium slowly, his gaze finally resting on a bookcase. “There. Is that where it entered?”
“Why, yes.” Luella gave him another of her sticky grins. Bastion said nothing, but I felt the room warm just the slightest. “If you gentlemen will follow.”
I tried to hide my surprise when Luella headed directly for the bookcase in question, then kept walking, disappearing as her body moved among the books. It was a glamour. Sterling shrugged, then followed. I leaned in, curious about stepping through the illusory wall myself, when Bastion’s hand landed on my shoulder.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, his eyes still on the ground. “We’re all good, right, you and me?”
I rubbed my jaw where, not hours before, his knuckles had connected with my face. Lest we’ve forgotten: my precious, beautiful face. “You
totally sucker-punched me, though.”
He frowned. “You don’t seriously expect me to let you hit me back, right?”
I gave him a slow, deliberate wink, and said nothing. I stepped through the bookcase, melting into the glamour. In my pocket, my hand clenched into a fist. I absolutely wanted to get him back for that – I just wasn’t going to say how, or when. Bastion shuffled after me uncertainly, making small, confused noises.
This was going to be fun.
Chapter 11
Imagine a wine cellar, except that there are no casks in it, no bottles lining endless shelves. Imagine a basement, with walls carved out of smooth stone, like a tunnel in a pyramid, or the storm drain leading out of some abandoned research facility. Imagine a crypt.
It was cold in the repository, and dark, so much that even I had difficulty seeing clearly. The time I’d spent in the Dark Room had honed my senses just enough to let me see better in gloom, but the chamber that the Brandts kept under their sumptuous mansion was like the pit itself. Soundless, except for our footsteps, except for our breath. And cold. Exceedingly cold.
Luella muttered a string of words I couldn’t make out, the rush of them tumbling from her lips with the low whisper and rattling crackle of twigs catching on fire. A globe of flame appeared about a foot away from her head, suspended there like lamplight.
I blinked to adjust, and when Sterling flinched away, I planted my hands on his back in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. He looked at me over his shoulders, his eyes all jittery, but he kept walking when I nudged him. I couldn’t blame the guy.
Sterling and fire had a bit of bad history, between him being incinerated by a beam of sunlight, and being nearly obliterated when a miniature sun appeared just feet above him. Also there was that one time when a cigarette exploded in his face.
I hate to admit that I was involved in at least two – okay, all of those situations, but that was part of what made Sterling and I closer, morbid as it sounds. He drank a bit of my blood, so I set him on fire a little. You don’t know that you’re really friends until you’ve fought a little, am I right? Eye for an eye and all that.
