by Nazri Noor
“Get behind me,” I shouted. I couldn’t think of anything else. Sterling’s shoes scraped against the asphalt as he got into position, using me as a shield. The light didn’t hurt me as much as it did him. Stranger still was the complete and utter silence. All I could hear was distant traffic, the soft rustle of the trees lining the street.
And then I heard it. A single word.
“Filth.”
Whatever it was – whoever it was – the voice came from somewhere close to the source of the light.
“Dust,” Sterling muttered, his voice hoarse. “I can’t move. I can’t see. Am I dying? God but I think I’m dying.”
No choice left. I wasn’t about to give up on Sterling. I reached into the Dark Room, the first time I would ever summon its blades and its monstrosities without even knowing where to direct them. I needed at least one shadow to work, but the light was so strong that I couldn’t even open my eyes.
I had to pray that the Dark Room would find the nearest shadows to emerge from, and I had to hope that the blades I summoned would be long, and hooked, and sharp enough to kill, or at least stop whatever was casting the light.
Then something tugged on me from behind, breaking my concentration. I almost sniped at Sterling, but I realized that it wasn’t him. His hands were on my jacket, clinging for dear life.
The tugging came from my backpack.
In the stillness of the night I felt my hairs move as something shot out of the pocket dimension I carried on my back, whistling and singing as it rocketed towards the silver light. In my mind’s eye, despite my blindness, I could see a blur of green and gold, the flash of garnets come gloriously back to life.
“Vanitas,” I breathed. “Welcome back.”
His voice echoed in my mind, a warm, familiar sound. “Good to be back,” he said, the calm of his words such very strange contrast to the violence of his actions. I still couldn’t see for the life of me, but something ahead of us had definitely let out a scream of pain.
“Stop it,” I said. “Kill it if you can.”
“I can’t see it,” Vanitas said. “Too bright. I’m doing what I can to scare it off.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” Sterling said, his fingers hooked so tightly into my clothes that I thought he was about to rip them off. Vanitas sang through the air again, once, twice, and just as suddenly as it came, the silver light faded.
“Oh thank God,” Sterling muttered.
The world spun as I opened my eyes, but as things hovered back into focus, so did the two halves of Vanitas, sword and scabbard. How do you greet your sentient, animated sword bodyguard, companion, and friend after it comes back from death? Do you hug it? The hell if I know. But Vanitas’s state made it simple to make that decision. He had blood smeared on each of his parts, glistening as bright and red as his garnets.
“Well,” I said. “At least we know it’s gone.”
“For the moment,” Sterling said, opening and shutting his eyes rapidly as his vision returned. “Damn if that sword of yours isn’t a sight for sore eyes. It totally saved us.”
“You’re welcome,” Vanitas said in my head as he floated towards a patch of grass.
“No,” I said. “Don’t wipe yourself off. We should collect a sample. Might be that Carver can help us figure out who or what attacked us.”
“Hi,” Sterling said. “My name is chopped liver. I can help too. Geez.”
“Ugh,” Vanitas said. “Make it fast.”
I knew by this point that Sterling went around with a small collection of phials and syringes on his person, in case he needed to keep someone’s blood for – well, for whatever horrible reason. It was like watching a forensics expert, one who squeaked as he worked. More curious, however, was the fact that no one had been attracted to the source of the glaring light, or to the brief scuffle involving Vanitas and our unseen attacker.
“What happened here?” a new voice said.
Oh. There it was. Someone had heard after all. Sterling looked up from his samples, a slight frown on his face. I followed his gaze to find, of all people, Sam, from the library, standing a scant few feet away from us. Hard to forget the guy considering the very distinctive set of tattoos he had across his body.
“Sam?”
“Dustin,” he said, nodding. “There was a commotion.”
“Yeah,” Sterling said, eyes narrowed as he looked between us. “Understatement. You guys know each other?”
“We’ve met,” I said. “Sam, what do you know about this? Are you a mage?” Silly question, because I had a different one lingering in the back of my head. But it seemed so much dumber to ask it. Are you, perhaps, a book in human form? I bit my tongue.
“I sensed something,” Sam said, not so casually ignoring my question. He stepped over to where Vanitas had assaulted our attacker, examining the small pool and accompanying spatters of blood left on the ground.
He knelt on the asphalt, dabbing his fingers at the blood, examining its consistency, sniffing. Who the hell was this guy?
“This is bad,” he muttered, though I could tell he was talking to himself. “Really bad.” He bent even closer, and his eyes widened. Then he stood bolt upright, wiping the blood off on the seat of his jeans. He scowled at the ground, then at me. “We’ll see each other again, Dustin Graves.”
I blinked at him. “I never told you my last name.” And right there, without even moving a muscle, Sam vanished again. No puff of smoke, no beam of light. Just – gone.
“Who the hell was that guy?” Sterling said, walking closer, then bending over to examine whatever it was that Sam was looking at.
“Some dude,” I said, too confused to even attempt an explanation.
I came closer, trying to see what it was that Sam had spotted, whatever it was that had scared him off. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it at first, but Sterling reached out his hand and held something up. It materialized, pinched between his fingers, a familiar shape.
It was a single feather.
Chapter 9
I set Vanitas down on the stone shelf in my bedroom that I’d specifically cleared out for him to live on. I mean – well, you know what I mean. I liked to think of it as his bed. Vanitas, being Vanitas, called it his place of honor.
“So that’s how it was?” I asked. “You’ve been dreaming this whole time?”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Vanitas’s garnets shimmered in time with his words. “I knew I was gone, and I knew it wasn’t real, what I was experiencing. But I knew that it had happened before.”
I sat back down on the edge of my bed. “So you’re saying that you caught glimpses of your past?”
“Exactly.” He paused, for the briefest moment. “I was a warrior. A mercenary, and I sold my sword to the highest bidder. He was a great lord. Maybe. I can’t remember.”
That checked out. Long ago, when I’d first handed Vanitas over to the Lorica’s Gallery for safekeeping, Herald had given me a brief rundown of the sword’s known history. It had belonged to various European noblemen, but its latest records showed that it was owned by a mercenary – a freelancer.
“I was good at fighting. I suppose that makes sense.” He paused again, and when he spoke, Vanitas sounded almost wistful. “I may have had a wife. I can’t remember.”
I bit my lip, dying to ask him. It was a terrible question, but I wanted to know.
“Do you remember how you died?”
“The first time? Barely. But I vaguely recall something piercing my heart.”
I sat still. That was macabre, and frankly too similar to what had happened to rouse my latent magical abilities. I wondered if he had also been a victim of ritual sacrifice. It definitely fit in with what we knew of the star-metal weapons that carried the taint of the Eldest. Part of me regretted asking. The other part burned with incandescent curiosity.
“That’s all I remember of my first death. When I truly stopped being human. But if you’re talking about when Thea killed me?”
&n
bsp; I sat stock-still, waiting for Vanitas to continue.
“My soul has been in this sword for centuries, but I still remember what it means to be human. How it felt. When she broke me – it felt like someone was crushing every single bone in my body. All at once.” The garnets in his hilt dimmed, then pulsed again. “I remember the pain.”
It hurt to open my mouth. My lips had gone dry. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
Vanitas’s scabbard scraped across the stone shelf. I realized that he was shrugging.
“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure to take me along for everything you eat and drink for the next, oh, rest of your life.”
I laughed. Part of his enchantment meant that he could detect and empathize with my own experiences, and that included savoring food and drink.
“Promise,” I said. “And hey, it’s especially okay for you to indulge now that you’ve lost all that weight.”
“I feel fantastic,” Vanitas muttered. It was part of Mammon’s reforging ritual. Resurrecting Vanitas had made him stronger, better in every way, creating a blade that was even more effective in battle, despite weighing so very little. Hell, even I could wield him in a fight.
“But Dust? No more sword fights with me, unless you give me two weeks’ notice and written permission. You’re filthy. You get me all grubby when you touch me.”
I laughed again. “Fine. I promise not to touch, unless absolutely necessary. Speaking of which, can I, like, do something for you? Clean you up, give you some polish?”
“No need. I’m like a self-cleaning oven.”
Plus on some level, I figured using any kind of polish would damage his unique coat of verdigris. But would that even matter considering his enchanted nature? Eh. I guess I would never know.
“You know, for someone who was alive centuries ago, you’re really weirdly in touch with technology.”
“What can I say? I keep up with the times. Now stop being so nice. You’re bothering me.”
I grinned and patted the stone shelf. “It’s good to have you back, buddy.”
Vanitas didn’t say anything, and I had no way of telling, but I knew he was smiling.
I headed out of my bedroom, curious about any developments in identifying the nature of our attacker from earlier in the evening. I’d left Sterling to bring the goods straight to Carver, which was why I knew to head in the direction of Carver’s office. But I wasn’t expecting to bump into him right in the hallway.
“Dustin,” he said, eyes hard, beckoning with a finger. “Sterling and I have been studying the materials you brought back. Follow me.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t think that they’d get an answer so fast. Plus, Carver seemed on edge. Maybe even a little miffed. I tried not to gulp. It’s not lost on me at all that I’d grown to dread his odd brand of paternal wrath, more than I ever feared that of my own, actual father.
“Color me surprised,” I said, in all sincerity. “Don’t these things usually take a little more time? I mean, not that I’m suggesting it ever takes you long to – ”
“This was a special case,” Carver said, his words coming as fast as the rhythm of his steps. “Process of elimination and all that. We managed to strike out several eventualities and – well, just come and see.”
We found Sterling sitting cross-legged at one of the wooden chairs opposite Carver’s desk. His foot dangled and shook with some impatience, his face lacking the laid-back blend of boredom and arrogance I’d come to expect from him. This was rare. Sterling was nervous, and damn it but he was making me nervous, too.
Carver’s stone desk, normally empty apart from the large amber gems set into its side – and maybe one or two sheaves of parchment, and a book – had been transformed into something from out of an alchemist’s dream. Or maybe a scientist’s lab.
It was a mix of both traditional alchemical equipment and modern lab apparatus, but somehow he managed to make it all work, with his alembic, crucible, and burners all in order, things that I only knew the names of because Herald was my friend. Among the equipment I recognized the phials and slides of blood that Sterling had collected, and a couple of feathers. I didn’t know that he’d found more than one.
Something wasn’t right, though. Sterling’s anxiety and Carver’s hurriedness were unsettling enough, but seeing all his alchemical gear spread out like this was especially unusual. Carver tended to prefer conducting his experiments behind closed doors.
“So,” I said, maybe in some vain attempt to defuse the tension. “You guys discover anything yet?”
“That’s an understatement,” Sterling croaked.
“This isn’t good, Dustin,” Carver said, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt. “Not good at all.” He always looked so comfortable in a suit and tie – what he seemed to wear twenty-four hours in a day – and I’d never seen him so much as sweat.
“I came to my own conclusions with the blood,” Carver continued. “But Sterling experimented the best way he knows how: by tasting it.”
I shrugged. I didn’t see what was so unusual about that. “And what did you find?”
Sterling pressed his lips together, like he didn’t think I was going to like the answer. “It hurt. I’m okay now, but the blood hurt going down. Burned my tongue and my throat. And the pain was familiar. Really familiar. You know how you can tell the difference between toothache pain and stomach pain? One’s dull, the other’s sharp? I remembered the pain.” Sterling rubbed the underside of his chin, his mouth twisting with distaste. “It was a lot like how it felt when the silver light attacked us, and when it wiped out the warehouse.”
I frowned. “So you’re saying that this creature’s blood has similar properties to the magic it was using? I don’t get it. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Think of it as an allergy,” Carver said, his voice unusually measured. “If you’re allergic to peanuts, the source is immaterial. Doesn’t matter if it’s in a cake or a cracker. Your body will react accordingly. All this to say that the light and the blood triggered a reaction in Sterling because of his own particular vulnerabilities as a member of the undead.”
I frowned even harder. What the hell were they driving at?
Sterling crossed his arms, gripping at his elbows as he stared at a spot on the floor. “It wasn’t like sunlight, either. That burns. This was deliberate, and slow.” He looked up at me, his eyes serious, and hard. “If that silver light had gone on for much longer it would have destroyed me. Not burned me, not incinerated my body. It would have completely obliterated me.”
Carver walked over to his desk. “And I’m supposing that as a lich, I’ll be exposed to the same weaknesses. This is an enemy that we can’t fight.”
“I’m technically human,” I said. “And so is Asher. Whatever it is, we’ve got the skills and the resources to deal with it.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Carver regarded me grimly, then lifted one of the feathers, twirling it between his fingers. “This feather is translucent, which accounts for why you had difficulties spotting it on the ground. But that aside, the being it belongs to also has certain, shall we say, unearthly qualities. Would you care to guess what kind of creature it is?”
I shook my head. “No idea. Um. A griffin? A harpy?”
“Guess again.” Carver gritted his teeth, holding the feather in my face like a totem. “What has two wings, celestial blood, and a fervent distaste for the undead?”
It all clicked. Fuck, no. It wasn’t possible. I looked at my hands, then back up into Carver’s deathly still face.
“Are you saying it’s an angel?”
Chapter 10
“An angel? Are you kidding me?”
My dad’s eyebrows knitted together, his face screwing up, his eyes bright with concern and, well, indignation. We sat a table apart in the kitchen of his new little home, but I could feel the worry radiating off him in waves.
“That’s what they said, dad. And honestly, Carver’s never been wrong before.”
And
Carver had most definitely put two and two together. He already knew about Mammon, and combined with the fact that an angel was hunting me down – well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Sooner or later, he was going to find out about the Tome, too. I tried not to sigh.
In the back of my mind I couldn’t help wondering why all these otherworldly classes of entities, the ones that were clearly not of this earth, were suddenly crawling out of the woodwork. Gods and mythical creatures I could deal with, but demon princes, and angels? Could they feel the rumbling of the cosmos, too? Did they know that the Eldest were coming? I shuddered to think.
Norman Graves looked at me, squinted at the lip of his beer bottle, then back at me again, like he was trying to find some answer.
“And why would an angel be after you? What could an angel possibly want with you, of all people?”
“Haha. No idea.”
I took a long, substantial pull of my beer, hearing the bubbles and the furious pounding of my heart in my ears. Oh it was pretty clear, all right. I was in bed with a demon, and now the heavenly host was after my ass. Who the hell knew they even existed? But if demons walked the earth, then I guess it only made sense. Cosmic balance, I suppose, the universe righting itself, or something like it.
“Look,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Your mom and I never raised you to be religious, but they’re supposed to be the good guys, aren’t they? As long as your conscience is clean, you’re going to be fine.”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping the smile glued firmly to my face. “Totally.”
He clucked his tongue. “Vampires, necromancers, and now angels? What next?” He shook his head. “At least the werewolf knows how to grill a good steak.”
“Sure. But he eats them raw, too.”
Dad chuckled and shook his head again. He had moved back to Valero, which was a damn sight better than the shack in the boondocks he had settled for some months ago when we’d tracked him down. He’d gotten his drinking under control, which was great news, and he had work again, which was even better. It did mean another channel, however tiny and unlikely, for potentially, hypothetically discovering the location of the Tome of Annihilation.
