Blood Pact

by Nazri Noor

  “But they’re both home at the Boneyard now,” Sterling said, “so it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “If you say so,” I said, watching him warily, but nothing in his expression told me I had cause for concern. Whatever, Banjo was going to be fine. He liked everyone at the Boneyard, and I had to believe that he wasn’t about to bork Gil, or Asher, or even Carver into bloody little giblets any time soon.

  “Trouble at home?” Bastion said, guiding us through yet another excessively large and sparsely furnished room. It kind of felt like he was walking us through a succession of ballrooms.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Sterling said. “We got a puppy for the Boneyard, like a mascot. Name’s Banjo. Little corgi. He’s with Gil at the moment.”

  “How sweet,” Bastion said, the light edge in his voice telling me that something cutting was coming. “Is that meant to be practice for when he and Prudence start raising their own litter?”

  Sterling said nothing, only staring hard at the back of Bastion’s head. In confusion, I did the same. Surely lycanthrope infants didn’t come out in their animal forms. Did they?

  “Very presumptuous of you to assume that about their relationship,” Sterling said.

  “Oh please,” Bastion said. “Prudence and I talk, you know. She says that Gil is even more excited about their future together than she is. There’s been talk of babies.” I could hear the wince in Bastion’s voice. “Possibly marriage.”

  Sterling rolled his eyes at me, then leaned in to whisper. “Probably true. Gil’s a hopeless romantic.”

  I grinned. How sweet.

  “If they ever get married, I’m sure Mother won’t mind if we host the reception here,” Bastion said. “Hell, we’ve got the space for it, anyway.”

  And Bastion wasn’t even bragging that time. I swear, if he’d just left us there and disappeared, it’d probably take me and Sterling hours to find our way back to the entrance.

  “Here we are,” Bastion said, pushing on one final set of doors, these only truly different from the six or so others we’d already entered because they were made of glass. As warm as the mansion was, this room managed to be even warmer – not stifling, though, just nice and toasty.

  Because everybody knows that an indoor pool is better when it’s kept nice and warm.

  Chapter 13

  Of course the Brandts had their own indoor pool. I didn’t care to restrain my open awe as lights from the bottom of the pool broke and refracted across the ripples on the surface, causing shapes to snake and swim across the walls and ceiling in a mesmerizing, undulating pattern.

  “Ooh,” Sterling cooed, his boots clacking as he padded over to the pool. “Is it heated?”

  Bastion frowned. “Of course it’s heated, we’re not animals. This is where I do my morning laps. Well, nightly too, depending on my schedule.”

  I folded my arms, still wondering why we were there. “So. You owe us an explanation. Is there some reason you kidnapped us all the way to your ancestral home, then walked us thirty miles into it? For what, privacy?”

  “You could say that. Eyes and ears everywhere, you know that.” Bastion flicked a switch, which lit up the far wall to reveal the poolside bar, because of course there was a poolside bar. “Drink?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “Well, maybe a beer, if you have one.”

  “Me too,” Sterling said. He’d already taken off his boots and rolled up his jeans, sitting on the edge of the pool and splashing his feet in the water. I frowned at him, not out of annoyance, but quiet jealousy. I wish I’d thought of that.

  “How’s the water?”

  “Wet and warm. Like blood.”

  I wrinkled my nose.

  Bastion handed us our drinks, setting down his own second glass of whiskey on one of the poolside tables, gesturing for me to sit on the woven furniture. I obliged, the chill of the beer stabbing at my skin. It was like being at a resort, except not at all. They even had some indoor plants with massive leaves, just to complete the California effect.

  “Oh my God, Dust, the water is so nice,” Sterling said. “Brandt. Hey Brandt. Can we go swimming here? You owe me. Remember that time you flattened me with an entire car?”

  Bastion smiled at him and shrugged. “Fine. I don’t see why not.”

  “Pool party at Brandt Manor. You’re all right, Bastion.”

  Sterling raised his beer and gave a little salute. Bastion took a careful sip of his whiskey, his glass tinkling as he set it down again.

  “So,” he said. “We know about the dog.”

  From the poolside, I heard Sterling gasp and sputter on a mouthful of beer.

  He laughed nervously. “Of course you do,” Sterling said. “I just told you everything about Banjo. He’s the new Boneyard mascot.”

  Bastion leaned back in his chair, way too comfortable and way too smug about all this. “You left out the part about finding this so-called Banjo in the aftermath of the Ramsey House massacre.”

  Sterling’s tittering went up an octave, basically into hysterics. “What are you even talking about? I’ve never heard of a – did you say Ram-say House? Now don’t be silly, what would we be doing in Gordon Ramsay’s – ”

  “Sterling,” I droned. “Just stop already. He knows. They know.”

  “Shut up,” Sterling hissed. “You shut up with your stupid mouth and – ”

  Bastion raised his hand, and somehow that was enough to quell Sterling’s sputtering. I got the impression that he was out of things to say, anyway.

  “No need to fight, you two. It’s a very select few in the Lorica who know about this. You’re in no immediate danger. As far as everyone knows, whatever killed Marybeth Ramsey and her guests is still at large.”

  I studied him carefully. “Because it’s too ridiculous to sell a story about a little corgi killing all those people, even to the arcane underground.”

  Bastion tapped the side of his nose. “Even Royce would have a hard time spinning that, and this time it’s not even for the normals. Imagine being unable to convince your own colleagues.”

  Actually, I didn’t have to imagine very hard. Royce had been pretty vocal with me when it came to grievances with his coworkers. Part of it was my fault, sure, but let’s not get into that.

  “So you’re saying that Banjo was planted?” Sterling said. “Someone made him the way he is, then let the Ramseys have him? Like a ticking bomb.”

  Bastion tipped his glass at Sterling. “That’s one possibility. The problem is, we have no idea about the dog’s origins. All we can do in the meantime is stop it from killing more people.”

  I didn’t mean to look – I swear – but the muscles in my neck moved of their own accord, and I exchanged glances with Sterling.

  Bastion groaned. “So Banjo actually has killed more people.”

  “Well, it was actually demons,” I said. “Seems to happen whenever the dog gets aggravated, and I imagine potentially being used as a sacrifice was aggravating enough. Banjo’s survival instincts kicked in and caused all those people to – well, to experience catastrophic existence failure.”

  Sterling wrinkled his nose. “In the grossest ways possible. Too much, frankly, even for me.”

  “Wait,” Bastion said. “Demons, you say? Any specific class of infernals? Imps, incubi? Or do you have any clues about their affiliation?”

  I winked one eye, staring into my beer bottle, casually avoiding Bastion’s gaze even as it burned into me. I sighed.

  “We have reason to believe that it was a bunch of demons who work for – for Mammon.”

  Bastion slapped his forehead. “Great. So not only is the dog wanted in the magical community, it’s wanted by an actual demon prince.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Didn’t you say that only a select few in the Lorica know about Banjo?”

  “News travels fast,” Bastion sighed. “The Hound, for example? Donovan Slint? He must have been tipped off by one of the Scions – because yes, even within the Heart, you’ve got your o
wn cliques and factions. Everyone thinks they know best. I imagine that acquiring the dog was just one of Donovan’s missions.”

  I stared into my beer again, pretending to be fascinated by the bubbles.

  “Dust,” Bastion muttered. “You heard what I said.”

  I sighed, taking another sip of my beer. It tasted a lot more bitter this time. “Fine. I’ll bite. What was his other mission?”

  Bastion set down his whiskey, then folded his hands, just like Carver would. His face went stony.

  “There are doubts, even within the Heart – no, especially within the Heart – that the Dark Room has been truly sealed away forever.”

  The intermittent splashing from Sterling’s end of the water went silent, and I heard glass clink again as he set his beer down on the pebbled poolside surface.

  Sterling’s voice seemed smaller when he spoke. “Is that true, Dust?”

  “Of course it isn’t,” I lied through my teeth. “I don’t know. How would I know? I wear the amulet I enchanted all the time. Surely that’s like keeping a chain on the door.”

  Bastion’s face hardly changed. He didn’t look angry, just watching me with a neutral gaze, gray eyes piercing me like metal. I fought not to squirm under his stare. I wasn’t sure if it was the knowledge that he was a Scion that did it, but part of me felt that I would have truthfully answered anything Bastion would have asked me in that moment. What the hell? Was that how he became a Scion? Was he part Mouth all along, and I just never knew?

  As he looked at me – as I locked every muscle in my body to stop myself from shifting – I remembered the painting of his family over the fireplace in the mansion’s grand entrance. I remembered the hard, penetrating eyes of his father. Bastion seemed to be growing older, sterner, more authoritative before my very eyes.

  And, I had to confess, despite every protestation in my body – handsomer.

  “Bastion,” I said quietly. “How did you become a Scion?”

  He held my gaze for several more uncomfortable seconds before answering. “Through pure skill. Talent. Power.”

  “I guessed as much,” I said. “But the others, they’re combinations, two Lorica classes rolled into one body. Royce is a Wing and a Mouth. What are you?”

  The gleaming white of Bastion’s teeth slowly showed as the corner of his mouth parted in a brilliant smile. “I’m just the equivalent of two very strong Hands.” He leaned in closer, his eyes no longer hard, but hazy, like clouds before a storm, like tight coils of new smoke. My left leg quivered, and my heart did the smallest somersault. Christ, had he always been this handsome? “You know that, Dusty. More than anyone.”

  “More than your mother? Surely not.”

  Luella Brandt’s voice cut through the stillness and silence, like the sharpest, coldest knife.

  Chapter 14

  Bastion’s lashes fluttered, his eyes hardening again as he searched the room for his mother. I gasped, finally able to breathe again, and turned to Sterling, who was staring at me with a similarly confused look on his face.

  He mouthed words at me. “What the fuck was that?”

  I shook my head and shrugged, mouthing my reply. “I don’t fucking know, dude.”

  “Mother,” Bastion said.

  “Sebastion,” Luella said. “And your little friends.”

  I turned towards the pool area’s glass doors, and there she was: Luella Brandt.

  “Mother,” Bastion said again, his tone chilly. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

  “What, and miss out on all this enjoyable conversation?”

  She batted her lashes innocently as she removed her dressing robe. It was too late to look away, but considering what I’d seen her wear the first time we met, I wasn’t surprised to learn that Luella Brandt could rock a bikini if she wanted. She looked fantastic wearing a black one-piece with beige stripes. It went remarkably well with the unusual swimming cap she had on her head, which had a huge beige flower appliqué.

  Luella dipped her toes in the water, her expression hardly changing as she stepped into the pool, eyes piercing Bastion like a pair of steel daggers. Sterling and I may as well have been invisible.

  “Did you bring your friends here to celebrate? Did I interrupt you bragging over your accomplishment of throwing your life away for a faceless organization? I do apologize.”

  “Mother.” Bastion’s voice rang with warning. “Don’t start.”

  The water sloshed as Luella swam her way to the center of the pool. She nodded at me and Sterling in turn.

  “Gentlemen, I do hope you’ll forgive me,” she said. “And I am so very thankful for the time that you so valiantly rescued my son from the clutches of an insane angel by stabbing him deeply in the back with our family heirloom.” The water splashed again as she brought her hand to her lips, gasping audibly. “Goodness, listen to me. I must sound crazy. Except for the fact that this all actually happened. What a life we lead in the arcane underground, eh? Behind the Veil.”

  Sterling grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of beer. “And that was before your son became a Scion, too.”

  Bastion hissed. “Sterling.”

  “Just saying,” Sterling said, shrugging.

  “I really cannot overstate my gratitude, though,” Luella said. “Especially to you, Dustin. How difficult it must have been to plunge a blade into the fruit of my loins, one of your dearest friends.”

  Bastion growled.

  “It was nothing.” I somehow managed to keep a straight face as I answered. “Bastion would have done the same for me.”

  “Indeed, he would have,” she said. “Sebastion really does have the sharp sense of justice his father possessed. It’s the same thing that has taken the two of them down this same accursed path.”

  Her voice was so cold that the temperature must have dropped a couple of degrees. We were all silent after that, the only sounds the clinking of ice in Bastion’s drink and the splashing of pool water as Luella did her laps.

  That’s probably a generous description, considering she wasn’t actually swimming. Luella lay on her side, the way you might in bed or on a rug on the floor as you read something, as if resting on an invisible platform. The force of her magic propelled her lazily across the surface of the water, a human rowboat.

  “Mother,” Bastion said. “I hardly see the point of swimming if you aren’t going to engage your limbs to do any of the work. Why bother?”

  “I like the warmth of it,” she said, stretching across her back this time, her body perfectly still as it made a slow, deliberate circle in the center of the pool. She stretched her arms over her head and threw a glance at Sterling. “I like to be wet.”

  Sterling choked on his beer.

  “Come on,” Bastion muttered, nodding at me. “We can take this somewhere else. I don’t want to talk with her sniffing around.”

  “How rude,” Luella said. “I can hear everything you say, my sweet son.”

  “That’s the point,” Bastion said.

  Luella sighed, finally splaying her arms to her side, running her fingers and hands through the water. “Fix me a drink before you go, Sebastion, won’t you? Surely you don’t hate your dear mother so much that you would find that too much of a burden.”

  Bastion thrust his face into one hand, massaging his temples with his fingers. “I don’t hate you, Mother.”

  He lifted his other hand, gesturing to the sound of clinking glass. I looked over my shoulder, and I’d seen Bastion use his specific brand of magic enough times to be unimpressed, but I couldn’t help but watch with my lips parted as a whiskey glass, a ball of ice, and the bottle itself began to dance in their own lazy, drifting orbit. Bastion poured Luella a glass, then gestured again, sending it floating off into the swimming pool.

  Luella chuckled as she lifted her hand, accepting the glass with delicately manicured fingers. “It’s quite something for you to criticize your dearest mother about using her powers in the pool when you’re using those same abilities to
send her deeper into an alcoholic downward spiral.”

  Bastion pressed his fingers harder into his temples, now seeming more sad than angry. “Mother. Please. And tell me you aren’t on those pills anymore.”

  “Fine.” Luella pushed herself up into a seated position, her legs stretched out, one hand running elegant fingers through the water. “I’m not on those pills anymore.”

  I took another awkward pull of my beer to help fill the painful silence, if only for myself. Sterling and I had witnessed one of these arguments in the past, and like before I was sure that this boiled down to the same thing: Bastion and the Lorica.

  Luella’s glass tinkled as she swallowed noisily, and she threw her head back, watching the moon through the skylight. “You’re doing this to me, Sebastion. You’re killing me.”

  “I want to help people, Mother.”

  “Then help me,” Luella said. “Help me, Sebastion. Doesn’t family come first? What have your father and I been teaching you from the very beginning? What is the family motto?”

  Because yes, the Brandts were exactly the kind of people who had their very own slogan. It was printed under the lion’s head family crest. Bastion’s knuckles were white around his own glass, but he answered.

  “We are nothing without our pride.”

  “Yes,” Luella hissed. “Nothing without the loyalty that we hold for each other, the joy and status that we derive from our sheer power. But we are also nothing without each other.” She stayed silent for a moment, but her voice shook when she spoke again. “Sebastion. Please. Your father – ”

  “We’ve been through this enough times, Mother.”

  “The Lorica killed him,” Luella said, her voice cracking. “And what of your grandmother? The glorious Lorica, the very paragon of magical justice and wisdom, did they do anything to help her?”

  Bastion breathed deeply, calming himself. “What Grandmother did, she did to herself.”

  This time, not the tinkling of glass, but the breaking of it. Luella’s hand bloomed red with her blood. It couldn’t have been from physical strength alone, because as her whiskey glass cracked and shattered in her hand, so did the perfect sphere of ice in its center.