by Nazri Noor
I narrowed my eyes at him, then at Gil. “I’m a little offended that you two have developed your own secret language without me. Also, a slip of the tongue still doesn’t explain why you call it hamburger mode.”
Gil chuckled, clicking the key button from a distance, the car doors unlocking with a gentle beep. “Is everyone starting to look like a cartoon hamburger to you? Like a walking chicken drumstick?”
I clenched my teeth in frustration. My friends knew me too well. “Fuck you guys. Bunch of jerks.”
An apple flew out of my crate, levitating right before my very eyes. I almost dropped the whole thing when my reflexes caused me to lunge for it, but it bobbed just out of reach, floating towards the hood of the car.
There, waiting, was the biggest actual jerk of them all. He fixed me with sharp eyes as he bit into the apple with perfect teeth. He licked juice from his lips, winked, then favored me with a smile that could rival my own.
“Been a long time, gentlemen,” said the telekinetic asshole sitting on the hood of my car.
My lips drew back, murderous old instincts simmering in my blood. “Sebastion Brandt. How lovely to see you again.”
17
It wasn’t, in fact, lovely to see Sebastion. Not very lovely at all. His presence in Silveropolis meant a few very important things. First, it meant that the Lorica was getting involved. Second, it meant that dark magic was afoot.
Sebastion took a second bite of the apple. He chuckled into his mouthful, relishing both its sweetness and my irritation. My keen eyesight could spot the juice dribbling down the vein of his wrist. I licked my lips. I loved Gil and Asher from the very hollows of my bones, but fuck them both for knowing me as well as they did. I really was in hamburger mode.
“What do you want, Bastion?” I said, sighing wearily as I loaded my crate into the trunk.
“Very sweet of you to call me by my nickname,” Bastion said. “We’re all friends here, after all. Hey, Gil. Asher.”
Gil nodded at him with a grunt, as friendly as he’d ever be. He and Bastion got along decently enough. Gil’s girlfriend used to be Bastion’s partner on the job, after all. And Asher smiled and waved, because Asher saw the best in everybody, even in a pompous telekinetic sorcerer who was an heir to a massive fortune.
I sneered at the thought. I didn’t like the idea of just inheriting large sums of money. I had more respect for people who made it themselves, then earned scads of interest compounded over long periods of time.
What’s that? It’s not fair because I live forever? Here’s my hot financial tip. Shut up.
Bastion tossed his half-eaten apple somewhere into the grass, then hopped off the hood. I grimaced. I knew the brand of jeans he was wearing. Expensive, and they had these sharp rivets on the seat. He could afford to have my hood fixed up, but that wasn’t the point.
“If that paint job is scuffed,” I said, “you’re paying for it. And you still haven’t explained why you’re here.”
He shrugged, sticking his hands into his pockets for warmth. Bastion was dressed mostly in white, very douche-y, by my standards, but very much the favored color of the Lorica’s high mages. It was subtle, to the untrained eye, but his ivory jacket, white jeans, and spotless sneakers were ridiculously expensive, the sort of streetwear that carried a price tag which simply made zero sense. It worked on him, though. Bastion was a good-looking man, and he knew it, too. It just made him even more insufferable.
“I should think that it’s obvious why I’m here. The Lorica monitors magical activity throughout America. We are in America, albeit a tiny part of it. There is magic here. And that’s why I’ve come to grace you with my presence.”
Those were the facts. The Lorica was an organization that governed magic in North America, mainly interested in policing artifacts, individuals, and activities that would risk exposing the arcane community to humans, what we called the normals. Bastion worked high up in the hierarchy as one of its Scions, the Lorica’s most powerful mages.
Now, supernatural creatures like vampires and werewolves weren’t magical people per se, but we all benefited from the same anonymity. It was nice to have moved past bygone days of torches and pitchforks and being buried alive. Nothing ruins your day more than a mob of peasants storming your castle, or so I’m told by my elders. It was why we were in Silveropolis at all: not just for the protection of the normals, but to keep the supernatural community anonymous and safe. Just freaks looking out for our fellow freaks.
“That’s cryptic and irritating, Brandt,” I said. “Tell us why you’re really here.”
Bastion tossed back a stray lock of his hair, his expression going serious. “Fine. We’ve received reports of the killings happening in Silveropolis, and we have reason to believe that nefarious magic is involved. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Asher cleared his throat. “I mean, we mostly already knew that, though we’re still trying to track down the nature of the killer, specifically.”
“I won’t lie,” Bastion said. “That part has got us stumped. Normally you’d think it was a shapeshifter of some kind – no offense, Gil – but we’ve ruled that out. That’s not how the Blood of Garm rolls.”
Gil gave me a meaningful glare. I returned it with a shrug and an apologetic smile.
Asher snapped his fingers, like he’d happened upon an idea. “Entirely possible that it’s someone who can control animals. Maybe they’re manipulating wolves or something similar, sending them into the woods to attack people.”
Bastion nodded, tapping his temple. “That’s good thinking, actually. Maybe there’s a druid in these parts that we don’t know about.”
“But what’s in it for the Lorica?” I said. “I know that you people like to pretend that this is all about justice and protecting the arcane underground, but it’s always more than that. There’s always a catch, especially if they’re sending in a Scion.”
Bastion’s eyes twinkled, the corner of his mouth hitching into a smile. “You always were very clever, Sterling. I don’t care what anybody else says about you. I always thought you were smart.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Somebody restrain me before I rip him open and suck him out like a grapefruit.” I wasn’t really joking, either. Magical blood, no matter if it was a telekinetic, a necromancer, or a druid, was always uniquely delicious.
Bastion rolled his eyes. “Please. You could try. Don’t forget all the times we’ve butted heads, you and I.”
I grimaced, the remembrance of the pain making me hesitate. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Bastion Brandt was one of the most powerful mages of his generation. He came from a long line of talented telekinetics who could move matter with the simplicity and effortlessness of thought. But the Brandts weren’t slouches in the magic department, either, never relying only on their unique talents.
While Bastion specialized in using basically anything within reach as a projectile weapon and raising invisible shields, his arsenal included destructive spells, too. All that aside, his favorite trick was still crushing people, whether with his abilities directly, or the application of some other tremendous force. He once dropped an entire car on me. True story. Not fun.
“But fine,” Bastion said, because he simply couldn’t pass up an opportunity to brag. “If you must know, we’ve heard mention of a powerful artifact. Very interesting thing, coming from such a nondescript town. That’s why I’m here. Bam. Two birds with one stone, because why not? We solve the case and stop the killings, and I go home to the Lorica victorious, with a fresh addition for the Gallery.”
Of course. The Gallery. It was the Lorica’s extensive museum cum library that housed all of its precious artifacts. I exchanged looks with the others, already suspicious of this thing Bastion had mentioned. “What magical item is this, exactly? You know, in case we come across it. We can pawn it off for a pretty penny.”
He scoffed. That was the way with guys like Bastion. You had to get under his skin, bring out his competitive nature. �
��You would never find the Filigreed Masque before me. That’s just ridiculous. The thing won’t elude us for long. The Lorica has its best Eyes on the case.”
Bastion was full of big talk and bluster, but this was serious business. He was classified as a Scion, but other mages in the organization had their own ranks and roles, too. The seers and scryers who used magic to gather intelligence were known as the Eyes. It was all surveillance work for them, watching the world, or at least America, with sight beyond sight. I frowned up at the sky, lifting my middle finger at the air in general. Bastion burst out laughing.
Asher sighed, grabbing my wrist and lowering my hand. “Fine. Bastion, the truth is, we’ve heard of the Filigreed Masque, too. But there are so many different stories about the thing, all these rumors that talk about what sorts of powers it might have.”
“Curious, isn’t it? I’ve heard everything from shapeshifting to protection enchantments. Damn thing could be dangerous, for all I know. Maybe it rips your face off if you try to wear it. All the more reason for me to take possession of it in the Lorica’s name.”
My fingers curled into fists. Anything that went into the Lorica’s beloved Gallery never came back out. Enchanted items and relics entered the department for filing, depending on how dangerous they were, or how useful they could prove to the organization. But for most of them, they remained in the Gallery forever, part of a growing collection of the Lorica’s seized and confiscated artifacts. It was a museum, but with the most exclusive admission in the world.
I would never have access, for one thing. Letting Bastion find the Filigreed Masque first meant that I’d never be able to turn it over to Vilmas. And that was a problem for me. I didn’t want the vampire court exhaling its blood-scented breath down my neck all the damn time. Vilmas was bad enough. That visit wasn’t going to be his last. What if someone else from the Scepter’s court showed up? What if the Scepter herself decided to make an appearance?
“We’ll be sure to let you know the moment we hear anything about the Masque,” I said, somehow keeping a perfectly straight face.
Bastion cocked an eyebrow at me, clearly knowing well enough not to trust my word, but smiling nonetheless. “I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you, then. So very kind of you, Sterling.”
I reached for the passenger door, wanting more than anything to get out of there, away from Bastion. We needed to regroup and strategize about our movements in Silveropolis, and fast.
“Now, if that’s all, we’ll just be heading back home,” I said. Gil and Asher took my cue, opening their doors as well.
“Just one more thing,” Bastion said. “All those dead bodies. Did you boys hear about the bundles of twigs nearby?”
I looked at the others. “We saw one, close to where the last body was discovered. Come to think of it, no one else has brought them up.” Not even Damien of the Blood of Garm, I realized.
Bastion tapped the side of his nose. “I don’t believe it’s common knowledge. They don’t really want that to go public. It’s a superstitious town, and with the blood moon coming up, hearing about the twigs might just amplify local fear.”
“How do you know about all this?”
He tilted his head, smiling. “We’ve got Eyes, Sterling, but we’ve got Mouths, too.”
I nearly shuddered. Mouths gave me the creeps. If the Eyes saw things, the Mouths said them, convincingly enough to change minds, erase memories, or to make others do their bidding. It didn’t matter how confidential something was. If a Mouth made physical contact with you, touched your skin, or whispered in your ear, it was over.
Asher lingered at the door, leaning against the car. “So these bundles. What did you learn about them?”
“Well, initially, we assumed that they were part of whatever had killed the murder victims, you know? Maybe some kind of hex to hypnotize them, keep them in place. But our people have been offering an alternative theory. What if separate parties were responsible? Someone is killing these people, yes. But someone else put up these bundles.”
I didn’t breathe a word. Bastion didn’t need to hear about how Asher had reanimated the last victim, how he’d screamed in terror at the sight of the twigs. Asher thought the same, keeping his expression perfectly neutral.
“But then what are the twigs for?” Asher said, his forehead creased with curiosity. “And who put them there in the first place?”
“Now that? That is the mystery.”
Bastion circled around the car, waiting for me to get in the passenger’s seat before gently closing the door on me. He grinned, and I glowered. I rolled the window down.
“What?” I grumbled.
“You boys be sure to keep me posted, mkay? The moment you hear anything juicy, you give me a call.”
“I don’t have your number.”
A slender piece of card levitated out of his jacket’s pocket, did a pirouette in the air, then slipped gently into mine. It was a neat trick, but I still felt violated.
“Give me a call,” he repeated.
“Right,” I said.
Here I was, collecting all the phone numbers in the world, and yet still striking out at the task of finding myself a willing thrall. I studied Bastion for a moment, considering, then deciding he was too much of an ass to bother with. His blood probably tasted sweet, like something made out of moscato grapes, rich with the flavor of, well, being rich. But was it really worth dealing with his smugness?
The engine rumbled to life. Gil nodded through the window. “We’ll see you around, Bastion.”
“Maybe I’ll come visit,” he said. “The Everett House, right? We’ll have a sleepover.”
“Please,” I said, groaning. “Don’t.”
Bastion grinned, handsome and infuriating, then snapped his fingers, just the once. A burst of white flashed fleetingly, like the gleam of a headlight passing over a pane of glass, and he was gone.
Great. The jerk knew how to teleport now, too.
18
The road down to the Silveropolis graveyard was as treelined and nondescript as every other. I wish I could say that there was something foreboding about entering its limits, about passing the wrought iron gates, but I’m a vampire. Graveyards were places of comfort to us. Some of us slept in them. Some of us used them for cute selfies. Don’t judge.
“I don’t like this,” I said. “If the Lorica’s in on this too, then it must be something big. Something’s brewing in Silveropolis.”
“Agreed,” Asher said. “And how did Bastion know about the blood moon already?”
Gil grunted. “Say what you will about Sebastion, but he’s not the type to blend in with the locals. One of the Lorica’s Mouths probably briefed him about it.”
“So there’s Lorica mages embedded in town, too?” I sighed, resting my hand in my chin as I stared out the window. “This just went from bad to worse. I really need that stupid Masque.”
The car rolled to a stop, then went still as Gil shut off the engine. “Then we’d better get moving. I don’t know why everyone needs this stupid Masque, but if it makes you happy, Asher and I will help you find the damn thing.”
I got out first, waiting for the boys to get out on the driver’s side, then slinging my arms across their shoulders.
“You guys are my best friends. You know that, right?”
Gil snorted. “I know that you’ll pitch a fit if we don’t help out, that’s for sure.”
Asher shrugged. “I’m curious about the Filigreed Masque, too. It’s not my problem if the vampire courts swoop down on you for failing to find it, but I guess it’s nice to feel like I’m helping. It’s like charity.”
They both grunted when I squeezed them tighter, a hearty hug, but also a gentle reminder that I could splinter their bones into tiny pieces. “My bestest friends. Bosom buddies. Let’s get going.”
There was no gate to jump, no real barrier to entry. The only cemetery in Silveropolis probably didn’t have a grave-robbing problem, and so was freely left open to the visitin
g public. It was a small town. Everyone knew each other. Nobody’s going in to deface your grandma’s headstone because they probably grew up a couple of houses away themselves.
It was quiet, in short, chilly, and perfectly still, apart from the wavering of untended blades of grass in the wind, the streaming of silver clouds across a bright moon. There was something so serene and sacred about cemeteries. Beautiful, even. Picturesque.
I pulled out my phone, turning on the camera. Gil swatted at my hand.
“This is no time to be taking selfies, Sterling. Have some respect for the dead.”
“Hey. I respect them a lot, okay? I like commemorating my visits. Doesn’t mean I don’t think that life is precious. Pssh.”
I took a couple of quick snaps – weathered stone slabs, the gleam of moonlight on a tree’s leaves – then stuffed my phone back in my pocket. I kicked at a pebble on the ground, lingering, letting Asher and Gil walk ahead of me. There weren’t any lies in any of what I’d said. Gil didn’t need to know. Nobody needed to know. I did this for me, to remember. When you’re a thing that lives forever, a parasite that feeds on blood and stolen secrets, you have to remember that everyone around you eventually dies.
My family, they were buried somewhere in a place not unlike the Silveropolis graveyard. A small town, overgrown weeds, forgotten headstones, abandoned memories. Some day, Gil and Asher would be buried somewhere, too. I hated to think of it. I fucking hated it. I bit down hard on the back of my tongue, the taste of my own blood flooding out the sadness, the pain of my own fangs deadening the hurt of imagined loss.
I pulled out my phone, snapping another picture, this time of Asher and Gil walking side by side. Just their backs, just two men walking away from me, preserved in pixels. I could do nothing to stop it. I would always be frozen in time, all while everyone I loved took another step away from me, another step closer to the grave.
