by Nazri Noor
But how was I going to broach the subject?
“Hey dad,” I said, happy to shift the discussion away from angels and demons. “Anything odd going on at your school lately? You know. People dying, janitors eating kids, places where it only rains upwards?” Nailed it.
I didn’t think it was possible but Norman Graves’s face screwed up even tighter. He looked more confused, and almost angry.
“What the hell are you even asking me, Dust?”
“Just saying. If there’s anything weird going on, you’ll let me know, right? Also. Is there any chance you could get me access to your library?”
Dad set his beer down on the table, printing another wet circle on the wood, and shook his head.
“Why would you want to go there? The city library’s way better.”
I thought it best not to give him any reason to panic, so I tried to sugarcoat it. Well, a little. “Oh. There’s this book, see, and it has a mind of its own. After it’s read, it likes to travel someplace else.”
Dad ran his hands through his hair. In my very professional opinion as a full-time son and former teenager, I assessed that he was about to hit his breaking point very soon. But hey, I needed the guy to be receptive about what I did for a living. He had to learn about these things sooner or later.
“This is nuts. Just nuts. You know how I’m going to deal? I’m gonna write a novel. Shop it around, or hell, I’ll self-publish it if that doesn’t work out.”
I took another sip of my beer, chuckling to myself. It was great to see dad develop new interests. This was a far cry from when he was in the dumps emotionally over losing me and mom, so this was just awesome.
“Oh yeah? And what would this future bestseller be about?”
“Picture it. It’s paranormal fantasy, you see, and it’s set in modern day California. It’s about this guy who learns how to use magic. Like, he can walk through shadows and stuff. Really freaky shit. It’ll sell like hotcakes.”
I shook my head, groaning. “You’re seriously going to write about my life and pass it off as fiction?”
“It’s brilliant,” dad said, beaming. See, all those parts and pieces of my personality that made me a little bit of a rogue – all the petty theft, the cons, the charm, and the false bravado? I finally figured out where I got it all from. “It’ll make a killing. They’ll want to do a TV series, or a movie.”
I rolled my eyes and tipped my beer back. “No one will want to read that shit, dad. It’s depressing. And boring.”
He breathed in deeply, his chest puffing up as he wound up. “It’s not boring,” he said, impetuous. “Life is only as boring as you make it. Remember that, kid. Besides, I can always embellish.” He buffed his nails on his shirt, preening. “Maybe in my version of the story you can fly. Shoot lasers from your eyes.”
I put my empty beer down and laughed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“We’ll be rich, Dust,” he said, gesticulating and narrowly knocking over his own beer. “I’ve even got a name for the main character.”
“Please. Just stop.” But I was curious. I didn’t mean that. “Okay, fine. What’s his name?”
Dad spread his fingers out, making an entirely overenthusiastic display of jazz hands. “Justin Braves.”
I massaged my temples, half-laughing, half-groaning. “You’re the worst.”
A knock came at the door, and I guess I was relieved that we could at least end that ridiculous bit of the conversation. I shook my head, glad that he was finding something to keep busy with, but still perplexed.
Sure, I guess my life had its interesting moments, but a whole book? Huh. I grinned at my dad, watching fondly as he opened the door. The big goof. It was good to have him back.
Chapter 11
“Dust,” Gil called out. “You already here?” He lifted a six-pack of bottles, a craft beer that he knew dad liked. He also had a cooler in his other hand.
“What is this? Are you guys hanging out behind my back now?” I looked at my father, feeling utterly betrayed. “Have I been replaced?”
Dad chuckled. “Calm down, Dust. I happened to mention to Gil here that you were coming over to visit, so I told him to join us. Might as well get some steaks going.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You just watch that blood pressure of yours, old man.” Then I turned to Gil and gave him the smallest wink. I liked the idea that my dad was making friends, and it made me even gladder knowing that he was choosing to hang out with possibly the nicest guy out of the entire Boneyard.
I wasn’t going to deny that there were benefits to my dad being close friends with a werewolf. That gave me one less thing to worry about, just in case my enemies decided to try and hit me where it hurt. I’d argue that there’s no better security system than a slightly intoxicated, spring-loaded werewolf.
And speaking of security systems, Herald had come over once my dad moved in to establish another series of wards. They were tied to me, in the sense that I would hear an alarm in my head if dad was ever in any kind of supernatural danger. Happily I could report that things had been silent and peaceful for a long time.
I owed Herald a lot. Truthfully, I owed the Lorica a lot, too. It was the hub that introduced me to the first few friends I needed to survive in the arcane underground. And when the front door opened again, it was just another reminder that dying in the way I did and discovering my magical talents wasn’t really the worst thing to ever happen to me.
“Sorry,” Prudence said, smiling sheepishly, giving a small wave. “Was parking the car.”
Prudence Leung was a Hand at the Lorica, a traditionally trained and highly skilled martial artist who could imbue her strikes with bursts of mystical energy. What it meant, in practical terms, was that she could make things explode with judicious application of her fists and her feet. I’d seen her pop monsters into bloody giblets with just a single blow. Crazy stuff, and crazy awesome.
It was weird, I suppose, how it all turned out, but pretty fortuitous in the end. Prudence and Gil were both good people, and their friendship with my dad really only meant that I could occasionally count on having both a musclebound lycanthrope and a spiritually charged martial artist to defend him in times of extreme need.
“The gang’s all here,” I said, pulling her in for a hug. She was dressed in a very comfortable-looking tracksuit, quite a change from the sleek leather I was so used to seeing her wear. Prudence hugged back, the little locks of dyed blue hair at her neck revealing themselves as she squeezed me in greeting.
“Your dad wanted us over for steaks, and we couldn’t say no,” Prudence said. “And you know how Gil feels about a good slab of meat.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I said. “I’m just happy to see he’s making friends at school, you know?”
Dad shook his fist at me. “Shut your smart mouth, Dustin.”
Prudence laughed softly. “Yeah. I think it’s especially important for us to have each other’s backs.” She lowered her head slightly. “I mean it’s nice that everyone in our little circle seems to be getting along, but doesn’t it feel like things are getting more dangerous in Valero by the day?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. “I know what you mean. The whole thing with Mona’s concert? Geez.”
“Over at the Gridiron?” Dad stepped over, his arms folded. “Yeah, I read about that. Terrible fire.” He rapped his knuckles by the newspaper at the edge of the table, the Comstock Times, with its weirdly eerie logo of a single open eye, as if to say they were always watching.
Gil, Prudence, and I exchanged cautious glances. This was dad, though. It’s not like I was going to hide things from him, of all people.
“Yeah. Dad, it wasn’t a fire.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Then what was it?”
“No one’s sure just yet, Norman, but we’re trying to get to the bottom of it.” Prudence gestured at me. “Dust was there the night it happened. Weren’t you, Dust?”
I nodded. “Totally
weird. Mona sang a song and everyone just started bleeding out of their eyes and their ears. They all died. It was insane.”
Dad stared at me, mouth aghast, his beer forgotten in his hand.
Prudence tutted. “I heard you met Royce. The Scion? Total hard-ass. He means well, mostly, but you gotta understand, this is a PR nightmare for him.”
I scoffed. “Those were his exact words. I’m not looking forward to running into him again. He took Mona with him, or at least he asked the Wings to whisk her away. I hope she’s somewhere safe.”
Gil chuckled in a way that I could only describe as bitter. I didn’t miss the razor-sharp glare that Prudence threw in his direction, and I didn’t miss the way Gil cowed a little under her gaze, either.
“Um. What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Prudence snapped, maybe a little hurriedly.
“Prue,” Gil said. “Babe. It’s Dust, and Norm. It’s okay. We can trust them.”
Dad blinked, licking his lips, like his body was hoping for more beer, but he was too busy and enraptured to feed it. “Trust us with what, exactly?”
Prudence shook her head, scowling. “Gilberto Ramirez, I swear.”
“I’m sorry,” Gil said, shrugging, scratching the back of his neck.
Prudence sighed, turning to face me head-on. “Mona isn’t exactly somewhere you’d call safe. She’s being held at the Lorica for questioning. Been there since the night of the incident.”
I frowned. “The girl had no idea what was going on. There’s no need to get the normals involved in this. Why didn’t a Mouth just wipe her memory then turn her loose? Put her in some kind of magical witness protection program.”
Prudence bit her lip, her eyes focused on the ground. “You know that’s not how it works at the Lorica, Dust. Besides, there’s a small complication. Mona was a siren. Undocumented. Can you believe? Pretty brazen of her to hide in plain sight, what with her high profile. But that means that there’s plenty more questions we need to ask her.” She cleared her throat. “More things that Royce wants to learn.”
I threw my hands up. “So what, the guy’s like your grand inquisitor, too?”
“I – I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
Dad looked between us, flabbergasted. “She’s a what, now? An actual siren? A hot, singing chick who makes sailors crash ships into rocks?”
“Basically, yes, except that they don’t exactly hang out on remote islands anymore.” Gil walked over, balancing a raw steak on a plate in one hand and a container of coarse salt in the other. “It explains why she was so popular. Can’t deny that she was talented, and her songs were really catchy, but it was her siren call that gave her career the extra nudge it needed.”
Dad was stroking the stubble that made up his sort-of beard. “So what, they’re holding this Mona girl in some kind of high security prison?”
“Prism, actually,” Prudence said.
I blinked. “Come again?”
“High security Prism. It’s what the Lorica calls its holding area and detention center.”
I cocked my head, furrowing my eyebrows. “So it’s like wizard jail?”
Prudence stiffened. “Again. It’s a holding area and detention center, and it’s located in a different dimension that’s attached to HQ itself.”
“How come I never knew about it?”
“Well.” She blinked, considering it for a moment. “You were a Hound, which meant that you were concerned with espionage and artifact retrieval. You were never actually involved in working with targets that needed suppression or detention.”
“In other words, it was above my pay grade.”
Prudence smiled, but not unkindly. “Come on, Dust. I said what I said. It’s not like you had to actually deal with criminals, so the Prism is where we take our prisoners.”
“Aha! So it is a jail. And Mona is rotting in it.”
Gil held up his hands. “Whoa. Come on Dust, they’re just questioning her. They haven’t ruled out mind control. She was probably influenced into doing – well, whatever it was she did. I’m sure nothing bad will happen to her specifically.”
Fat chance. As if reciting a spell from the Tome of Annihilation and killing over a hundred normals wasn’t an awful crime to begin with. I knew how the Lorica worked. Mona – if that even was her real name – would never see the light of day again.
And speaking of light – I needed to find out what she knew about that silver brilliance that killed all those people, and that attacked me and Sterling that one night. It couldn’t have been her fault. Stupid as it sounded, I knew that I needed to help. I wasn’t just going to question Mona. I was going to get her the hell out of there.
Gil’s stare pierced me, as if he could tell that gears were turning in my head. I didn’t know how much he knew about the angel evidence from the others, or whether Sterling had casually mentioned the Tome to him, but Gil and I had lived together for some time now. He knew me well enough.
“Dust,” he muttered. “Whatever it is you’re planning – don’t.”
“I – what? I don’t even. Come on, you guys.” I hadn’t realized that my hands had moved without me having to tell them. They were taking my jacket down from dad’s coat rack, and pulling its sleeves over my arms.
“Dustin, don’t you dare,” Prudence said. “I don’t know why you’re so invested in this, but you can just stop. Royce is one person, but he’s a Scion. He’s more than enough to flay you alive. The Prism is heavily guarded at all hours. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Dad’s eyes flitted between us all, and his brow knitted when he put the pieces together. “Dustin, don’t you do anything stupid now, you hear me? I know you think you’re some kind of action star, but – ”
“What? I would never. You guys are being ridiculous. I’m just – stepping out for a, um – ”
I shadowstepped, melting into the shadow of the coat rack, faster than any of them could grab me. But as quick as I vanished, I still caught the last thing that my father yelled.
“Dustin Nathaniel Graves, you come back here this instant.”
Uh-oh. He used my full name. He was definitely mad. I promised to make it up to him. I dashed through the Dark Room, setting my exit point somewhere the next block over, far enough away that they couldn’t chase me. As I ran through the ethers, I pulled my phone out, ready to dial Herald’s number as soon as I reentered our reality.
A high security Prism, huh?
Chapter 12
“I don’t see why you’re in such a bloody hurry to find this Mona woman, Dustin.” Carver’s eyes were dark, his voice almost on the edge of a growl. “Indulge me. Why is it so imperative that you find her now?”
I threw my hands up. “Because she might have a clue about what’s going on. Her mind was clearly not in its right place. Isn’t that what we figured? She was being controlled. Possessed. So she might have something to tell us before whoever’s pulling these attacks off strikes again.”
Carver steepled his fingers, then bent deep over his stone desk. The enormity of his office, located on that strange, stone platform in the Boneyard that seemed suspended in space, already made me feel small.
But the way Carver looked at me like he thought I was hiding something? The way invisible hooks started digging in my skin, his cat’s eyes penetrating me like they were flaying my very soul to shreds? That was when the world truly shrunk into nothing. It was like a silent interrogation. But who else was I going to turn to for help?
“Why don’t you tell me what this is really about, Dustin? Why are you so worried?” When Carver spoke again, his voice was silken, so soft and open that my instinct was to immediately stiffen and clam up.
I swallowed thickly. The hell else was I supposed to tell him? No point hiding the truth from Carver, of all people. I don’t know if it should have upset me to realize, but it felt, the longer I lived at the Boneyard, that I was growing to fear him more than I ever feared my father. Norman Graves would tell me he was di
sappointed, but Carver? Carver would tell me that, and also that I was stupid, and that what I really deserved was to be strung up by the short and curlies while being pelted with fireballs.
Or maybe that was all in my imagination. So I took the risk.
“I have reason to believe,” I started slowly, “that the massacre at the Gridiron warehouse had something to do with a grimoire.”
Carver’s eyebrow raised into a deadly curve, like the blade of a wicked knife. “Oh?” he said smoothly. “And which grimoire might that be?”
I took a deep breath. “The Tome of Annihilation. The one that vanishes after you use it.”
“I’m well aware of the book’s nature.”
I hated when Carver did this, when he would speak with only his lips, the rest of his face remaining stony, not a single wrinkle in the corner of his eye. It felt like the calm before the storm.
“And well, the night of the massacre, the demon that I contracted to reforge Vanitas appeared to me, asking for its end of the bargain.”
Carver squeezed the bridge of his nose. In a dark corner of my mind, a miniature version of me hid, and whimpered.
“So, going by logic,” Carver said through clenched teeth, “one might conclude that this demon read from the Tome of Annihilation. And now that the grimoire has vanished, it needs your help locating it again.”
“That’s right.” I stared at my thumbs, tangling my fingers together, my eyes determined to look anywhere but into Carver’s deeply disappointed face. The air was still. Somehow, his office felt colder, too.
“Now. I believe you’ve already told me once before, but do humor me, Dustin. Refresh my memory. What was the demon’s name?”
My eyes swiveled slowly upward, only just daring to look Carver in the eye for the glimmer of a second.
“Mammon.”
“Gods above, Dustin.”
