Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage Book 4)

by Nazri Noor

  “Look,” I said. “I needed Vanitas back, and – ”

  “And you decided to contract demon nobility to fulfill your purpose. You could have gone to any other lesser demon, but no, you needed a prince of hell to do your dirty work.”

  “The Fortune 500 of infernals,” Sterling drawled.

  I whipped about. Sterling stood at the entrance to Carver’s office, leaning against the wall, the look on his face best described as smarmy. Also infuriating. Also: extremely punchable.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” I said. I thrust my finger at him, then looked at Carver beseechingly. “He’s not supposed to be here.”

  “The point,” Carver said, his voice very much approaching a bellow, “is that you’ve made another of your lovely little impulse decisions, Dustin. If I could burn that trait right out of your skull we’d all be the better for it.”

  “I told you about this before, and you weren’t that pissed off.”

  “Surely, in light of this new information, I’m permitted to change my mind,” Carver said icily. “The way that you so frequently and so impulsively change yours.”

  I stared at the ground, chewing on my lip. Sterling snorted.

  “And besides, I’ve called Sterling here for a reason.” I caught the gleam and clink of metal as Carver sent something flying over my head. Sterling caught it in both hands, and it tinkled again. It was a length of fine chain, each of its links shimmering with arcane energy. “If Gilberto returns to the Boneyard, restrain him.”

  Sterling shrugged and slipped the chains into one of the pockets in his leather jacket. “I assume there’s a reason we’re clapping our friends in irons today. Kinky.”

  “We’ve learned of some intelligence that will necessitate keeping Gil out of commission. I am concerned that his current relationship with Ms. Leung will cause him to act in the Lorica’s favor by attempting to hinder Dustin tonight. There’s a good chance he’s on his way here now. Knowing how he thinks, he’ll believe that Dustin ran straight to me to ask me for advice, or assistance.” Carver grunted. “And Gil wasn’t wrong.”

  I groaned. “Have I said that I’m sorry yet? Sorry, dad.”

  “Shut up, Graves. We will do what we can to facilitate your success in this matter. Keep Gil out of the way, for instance.” Carver folded his hands together, his eyes smoldering with dark glee. “You will break into the Prism yourself.”

  “I – what? Are you kidding?” I looked at Carver, then Sterling, then back again. “Oh God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  The chains in Sterling’s pocket jangled merrily as he walked, his boots clacking tauntingly over the stone floor. He whistled, then tutted. I clenched my fist. Some people just tease you or gloat outright, but with Sterling it was always such a fucking production.

  “The Prism, eh?” Sterling whistled. “Damn. No wonder Carver’s sending you in alone. I’m no good there.”

  My mouth hung open, and I looked at Carver again. “Alone? Are you serious?” I turned on the tear ducts a little, made the best damn puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. It only made Carver grimace.

  “Stop that,” he grumbled. “You no doubt understand that the Lorica’s high security Prism is meant specifically for arcane unsavories. That doesn’t mean that they’re all human. Certain protections are put in place to constantly suppress its occupants, and keep them weak.”

  “No windows means no moonlight, so werewolves can’t recharge their batteries,” Sterling said. “They’ve got wards in place to keep the wrong kind of supernatural out, or to keep it locked right in. And it’s in the name: the Prism has ambient sunlight streamed into every room. Keeps us vamps weak, and it really, really stings.” Sterling clapped me on the back. “But you? You’ll be fine. Just shadowstep out of danger, am I right?”

  I stared at my hands. This was a suicide mission. “What about Asher? He could come with me. He’s human, and – ”

  “And,” Carver said, placing clanging emphasis on the word, “he’s a necromancer. One of the rarest classes of mages in existence, and you’re suggesting we just trot him into the Lorica?” He scoffed. “Asher Mayhew is one of the brightest jewels in the Boneyard’s crown. You know that the Lorica has shown interest in him. I have no intention of affording them the opportunity to abduct him.”

  “Okay, fine, good point. You could have said that in half the words you used.” I narrowed my eyes. “Wait, did you say one of the brightest jewels?”

  Carver tilted his head and smiled warmly. “Come now, Dustin. Surely you aren’t jealous? It’s nothing at all to worry about. You’re easily my fourth favorite.”

  I looked down at my hands, counting off on my fingers. “But that makes me – ”

  “And back to what we were discussing,” Carver said, smoothly steamrolling me. “Sterling will stay here and safeguard Gil in case he makes any further attempt to assist the Lorica. I like the boy, but his relationship means that he may well be emotionally compromised.”

  “I like Prudence too,” Sterling said, “but I agree.”

  “Asher will remain in the Boneyard where he is safe.” Carver waved his hand, and a column of fire appeared behind him. I shielded my eyes, and when the fire receded, it left a bookcase in its place. He rose and selected one, already thumbing through its pages. “And I,” he said somewhat distractedly, “will research more about the Tome of Annihilation. Perhaps we’ll even find it hiding in my collection.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, forcing a measure of cheer into my voice. “I mean if that’s all you have to scour through, then – ”

  Carver waved his hand again and the entirety of the stone platform erupted in a raging inferno of pale fire. I yelped, spilling right out of my chair. Sterling looked down at me, hands stuck in his pockets, one eyebrow raised. How the hell was he being so relaxed?

  I got to my feet, dusting off my clothes, just in time to catch the fires subsiding. When I looked up again, my jaw dropped clean to the floor. Carver smiled at me.

  “You were saying?”

  He swept his hand across the dozens upon dozens of bookcases that had magically revealed themselves on the platform.

  “Hmm,” Carver said, returning his book to its shelf, then pulling down another. “Perhaps I will need Asher’s help after all.” He frowned at me. “With any luck we’ll have gone through my entire collection in, oh, say a month.”

  I stared at the immense library, mouth still agog, then back at him. “Are you serious? A month?”

  Carver snorted. “You’d better get ready for your infiltration, Mr. Graves. Come back in thirty minutes. I’ll have some arcane equipment prepared for you then.”

  I walked out in silence, Sterling on my heels, when I heard Carver mutter to himself again.

  “I said no apocalypses, didn’t I? This boy will be the death of me.”

  Chapter 13

  I stood at the side of Herald’s bed, watching him sleep. He was a snorer, but a gentle kind of snorer, you know? As if he couldn’t help being proper and put-together even in sleep.

  Sure, I know what you’re thinking. You’re such a creeper, Dust. Why are you standing in the darkness of Herald’s one-bedroom apartment, watching him sleep with his stupid mouth half-open? Why do you have your enchanted pocket dimension knapsack strapped to your shoulders, with your even more enchanted sword buddy inside of it?

  Here’s why. I knew the Prism existed, but hell if I knew where it was, exactly. Simple as that. I couldn’t very well go back to Prudence and find out, and Bastion would be more likely to rat me out than help me.

  So Herald it was, sleeping perfectly still on his back, the white noise of a babbling river playing from the speaker of the little home assistant on his bedside table, his apartment immaculate and almost pathologically organized, a fact that was evident even in the darkness.

  I didn’t have to look to confirm that his books were arranged alphabetically. The room smelled like citrus. He had a tiny little cabinet just for his shoes, right next to
the set of weights he very likely lifted three times a week in a routine that lasted exactly forty-five minutes. It felt less like the apartment of a twenty-something bachelor, and much more like the apartment of a twenty-something serial killer.

  Kind of appropriate, actually. You’ll see.

  I’d been standing there for close to five minutes, wondering about the best course of action. Nudge him, shove him awake? He looked so peaceful, too. I almost felt bad for the guy, but – Prism. And Mona. We needed answers, clues to lead us to the Tome, and fast.

  “Herald,” I hissed. “Herald. Friggin’ wake up, man.”

  Nothing. He moaned softly, his snoring pausing for a second, the covers pulled exactly halfway up his chest remaining in the same precise, uncreased position.

  I put my hand on his shoulder, pushing gently, muttering his name over and over. My dad used to do that to get me up for school, and it annoyed me so much that I typically woke up grumbling and moody.

  But I was never quite grumpy enough to shoot holes right through my dad’s body.

  If I hadn’t made that last minute twist of my body, if I hadn’t danced out of the trajectory of the six knife-sharp icicles that ejected like missiles from the palm of Herald’s hand, I’d be dead. Super dead. We’re talking bleeding out of six frosty holes in my chest dead. The air whizzed as they sailed past my fragile, fleshy body, slamming into the wall behind my head.

  “Jesus Christ,” I yelped.

  Then I ducked as a sword conjured out of perfect, clear ice sang straight for my head, razor-thin and sharp enough to slice right through my neck.

  “Herald,” I yelled. “It’s me, it’s Dustin, stop, please, I don’t wanna die and – ”

  “Dust?” he spat.

  The sound of ice cracking broke the silence, shards of frost tinkling to the ground as Herald clenched his fist and disengaged his blade. “What the hell are you doing here?” He spun in place, groping for the bedside table, fumbling to shove his glasses on his face. A powerful sorcerer, yes, but still hamstrung by the ravages of less-than-perfect eyesight.

  He clicked on his lamp, which didn’t really improve my vision considering my connection to the Dark Room made it so that I could see better in gloom. It did, however, show me how blisteringly red in the face he was.

  “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Herald yelled, looking disproportionately angry for someone dressed in really comfy-looking linen pajamas and a loose tank top. “How the hell did you get in?”

  “I’m here for a sleepover,” I grumbled. “How the hell do you think I got in? I shadowstepped.”

  There was a tap from the wall across the room, and the muffled sound of a presumably very nice young woman very loudly saying “It’s like one in the morning, y’all need to shut the fuck up.”

  As if I could forget. Herald lived in an apartment building that housed a metric ton of mages who all worked for the Lorica. It was convenient for everyone involved because it was so close to Lorica HQ itself, and because the residential units each came with their own protective wards. Part of the association dues.

  There were no thefts – ever – at Parkway Heights, only sightings of piles of ash that the building’s cleaners wordlessly swept away. Long story short, anyone who ever had ambitions of stealing from the building’s residents frequently received two things: a fireball to the face triggered by an apartment’s warded traps, and, consequently, a free cremation.

  But shadowstepping got me past all that. I could moan all I wanted about how creepy and cold it was to move through the Dark Room, but being able to access the dimension obviously had its perks.

  Herald pressed his lips together, still fuming, then dragged me by the collar, moving our faces closer. “Speak,” he snarled, in a low, threatening voice. “Explain.”

  Few things, I realized that night, were truly more frightening than a sleep-deprived Herald Igarashi. I always knew that he dabbled in demonology, but sometimes I wondered if there wasn’t an actual drop of demon blood in him. Or one or two gallons.

  “I’m sorry for breaking in,” I gasped, wriggling out of Herald’s clutches and slowly, firmly pushing his shockingly strong hands away from my general face and neck area. “But I need help. I found out that they’re keeping the Mona girl in the Prism and – ”

  Herald’s eyes darkened, and I swear to you the room went freezing cold. “Who told you about the Prism?”

  “Dude, I’m so sorry I woke you up.” I mean I was genuinely sorry, I was pretty sure he was seconds away from killing me.

  Herald grabbed my shirt again, his eyes and his voice somehow even frostier when he spoke. “Who. Told. You.”

  “Prudence,” I blurted out. “Actually, Gil brought it up, and Prue tried to cover it up by deflecting but by then it was too late. Mona’s a siren. Something controlled her that night at the warehouse. She’s the best lead we’ve got on tracking down the Tome.”

  Herald’s eyes narrowed.

  “You know I’m right,” I said quietly, in what I hoped was an appeasing manner. “This is in both the Lorica and the Boneyard’s best interest, Herald. I’m not asking you to come with me. I just need to know where it is. I’ll do the rest.”

  He released me, and I heaved in relief. Herald folded his arms across his chest, but at least the creases in his face that suggested he wanted me six feet under were gone.

  “So you’ve at least given things that much thought.” He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his forehead still wrinkled. “And no one saw you come into my apartment?”

  I held up my hand. “I swear. I knew which unit you were in from the last few times we hung out here.” That was one of the ties that bonded us – video games. I wanted to get into tabletop gaming, too, and Herald was into that, but that’s a topic for another time. I puffed my chest out. “I remembered where you were, and I shadowstepped here all the way from some bushes in the compound.”

  He snorted. “If that’s supposed to impress me – well, fine. I’m glad you didn’t shunt yourself into a brick wall.”

  Hell, I was glad, too. I used to be absolutely terrified of trying to shadowstep to a destination that wasn’t in my line of sight. This meant that I was growing more confident in my powers, and getting stronger. Which was just as well, since I wasn’t done stepping for the night. Wherever the Prism was, I was obviously going to have to shadowstep all the way into Lorica headquarters to find it.

  “I need your help, Herald. I know this is asking a lot, but that’s all I need. A location.”

  Herald sighed, then sat on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped together, his head hung low. “This can get me in a lot of trouble, Dust. I know you took precautions not to be seen, but – fuck. Okay. You’re right. This affects us all.” He turned his eyes up at me, and they seemed to glimmer with something like annoyance, or disappointment. The second hurt more. “Whatever happened to Carver’s instructions? No apocalypses, remember?”

  I cleared my throat. “There won’t be one. I swear. I’ll do this myself. Quick in and out job.”

  Herald leaned back on his bed, planting his hands into the mattress, sighing, ruffling his hair in mild frustration. “The Gallery. Head into the center.”

  The Gallery? Who the hell would have known? That was the name the Lorica gave to the section of their offices where artifacts were stored and sorted, where Herald worked as an archivist. I never would have guessed that the doorway to the Prism would be hidden among the hundreds of relics and enchanted items stowed away there.

  “The center,” I repeated.

  “It’s the heart of the hub. You know how all the shelves are arranged, like roads leading out of a plaza? Just head to the middle. You’ll find a seven-sided crystal. Each side corresponds to a different security level within the Prism.”

  “What the hell,” I muttered. “I didn’t know this ran that deep.”

  Herald shrugged. “There’s a lot about the Lorica that remains classified. Sure, us grunts in the archives don
’t deal with criminals, but we’re there to see them being transferred anyway.”

  “So you saw them bring Mona in?”

  He shook his head. “Pretty sure you said the warehouse massacre happened at night. I work hard, but I don’t stay quite that late. You’ll probably find her in the red sector. Highest security clearance there is.”

  I chewed my lip. Fuck. The Lorica wasn’t messing around. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for filling me in.” I tugged on my backpack, securing it, and therefore, Vanitas, to my body. “Here I go.”

  “Dust. Wait.” Herald rose from the bed, planted both his hands on my shoulders, then fixed me with a long, serious stare. “Come back alive. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. Despite my nerves, I made myself give him at least half a grin. I didn’t have to force myself very hard. It was nice to know that Herald cared.

  “Don’t die,” he said, his thumbs digging into my collarbone, his eyes twinkling with menace. “Because you owe me big time for this. And you can bet that I’m going to collect.”

  See? Told you. Demon blood.

  Chapter 14

  It was like a homecoming, stepping into the halls of the Lorica. I’d only spent so many months there working as a Hound – an infiltrator – but it felt more momentous than that, because the organization wasn’t just another workplace to me. It was where I got my start in the arcane underground, after all, where I built the first few bits of my network, and met the people I now call friends.

  Creeping stealthily through its corridors made me feel all sorts of funny. Naughty, like a bit of a traitor. Once upon a time I stole artifacts for the Lorica, broke into houses to retrieve dangerous relics to keep the normals safe. This time I was breaking into HQ like a criminal. But like a really handsome criminal, you know? Like, so handsome, you guys. Someone who could seduce his way out of trouble.

  Hah. As if. But that was always how the Lorica made me feel. Classy, stylish, way more than I ever was in real life. Could you blame me? Shiny wood-paneled everything, little magical fires that burned without smell or smoke ensconced within candelabras and chandeliers, and huge reams of paper that flew through the air from one department to another, because email was a thing, sure, but this was all about style.