by Nazri Noor
Slender coils of solid night burst from the shadows, whipping and slashing at Bastion’s body, their ends tipped in barbs and hooks meant to snag, break, and bleed. Yet not a single spike hit home. Bastion had encased his entire being in a single, supremely powerful shield. He tutted, shaking his head.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he said. “Your meddling ends here. You will pursue us no longer.”
“Us,” I said. “Who is ‘us,’ Bastion?”
“No more interruptions,” he continued. “The culling will continue in earnest.” He reached out with his hands, then closed his fists. The flatscreen flickering with static and the phones clutched in the dead students’ hands all splintered and burst into useless fragments. “The first song was an experiment. That magic was weak. We have something better prepared. A greater symphony of destruction.”
What could possibly be worse than the massacre at the warehouse? But I could worry about that later: something was changing in Bastion’s aura. Prudence was the first to sense what was coming. She dealt one last, desperate blow, crying out in frustration when it did nothing to faze Bastion, then turning tail, running for Gil, and for cover.
The light spilling from Bastion’s eyes and mouth was shining stronger, brighter, and along with the sudden brilliance came the sound of something keening, like a kettle that was ready to pour – or a boiler about to blow.
In my mind I shouted for Vanitas to return to me, and so he did, slipping easily into his sheath, then stopping his flight to hover at my side. “Stay close,” I thought, beckoning him towards me as I prepared to sink into the shadows and vanish into the safety of the Dark Room. But too late.
Bastion threw his head back and screamed. A piercing white light shot out of his body in a radiant pulse, a nova of arcane energy blazing with power. Every window in the house shattered on impact, the sound of breaking glass trumped only by the sound of Bastion’s agonized screaming. Then the pulse slammed into us.
Vanitas swerved and took a glancing blow, smashing into a cabinet, but he was an enchanted sword – no big deal. I wasn’t as lucky. Bastion’s attack threw me off my feet, slamming me back so hard that I swore I felt something snap. The room turned white as the back of my skull made impact, as my bones crashed against the wall. I twitched and groaned, my body aching all over, but my injuries were nothing compared to Prudence and Gil’s.
She was huddled in a motionless heap on the floor, her body thrown over Gil’s. The back of her jacket had been shorn clean off by the force of the pulse, Bastion’s telekinetic assault so brutal that it had raked huge, red gashes into her back. Prudence had only taken so much damage because she’d used her body to shield Gil. She could have taken cover, but she chose him instead.
“Prue?” Gil said, shifting underneath her. The pulse had still hit him, as I could see from the blood dripping down his temple. “Prue? Please, oh God. Please be okay.”
I rushed to them – crawled as quickly as I could. Maybe if I got them in my clutches I could drag them both into the Dark Room with me, whisk them away from Bastion’s madness. It had been hammered enough times into my head – both by Bastion himself and the entirety of the Lorica – that Sebastion Brandt was one of the most powerful Hands in existence.
This was proof enough, and the worst part was knowing that he must have held back. He only wanted to immobilize us, discourage us from following him. If he wanted us dead, we’d have been reduced to piles of pulped organic matter already.
Whatever was in control of Bastion was replenishing his energies, offering an endless well of power. Even if I had the strength left to erode his defenses – death by a thousand cuts – it would only take a snap of his fingers to break every bone in my body. We were fucked.
I panted as I reached Gil’s side, as I mumbled reassurances about Prudence’s safety, not that I even knew enough of her condition to tell. We needed to get her healed magically, and fast. I laid my hands on both of them, gripping firmly.
“Gonna get you out of here,” I said, my voice trembling. “Through the Dark Room. I’ll get you out of here.”
“You might kill us,” Gil said, his words shaking as he spoke.
“Worth a try,” Prudence whispered.
“Prue,” Gil croaked. “You’re okay. Oh, thank fuck you’re okay.”
“Isn’t over,” Prudence muttered. “Not over. Bastion.” Her voice trailed off, and she slumped against Gil’s body again, unconscious.
“Such dramatics.”
My blood went cold. I hadn’t noticed Bastion walking up to us. His eyes were still flaring, brighter than before, the corners of them streaked with what looked like blood. The thing controlling him was burning out his body.
“You have to stop,” I said. “Please, Bastion. I’m begging you. Fight this.”
“There’s nothing to fight,” Bastion said, his voice neutral, flat. He raised his hand, palm outward, pointing it at me. “I’m fine, Dusty. Everything’s fine. You’ll see.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the tips of my fingers digging like claws into Gil and Prudence’s skin. Home, I begged of the Dark. Let us in. Let us through. We need to go home.
The Dark Room didn’t answer.
More light broke the darkness of the house, so bright that I could sense it even with my eyes closed. It was blue, this time. A familiar, electric blue. Bastion snarled in anger. My eyes flew open.
Kneeling before us was the man who called himself Sam, the tattoos etched into his skin limned in blue ink that burned brightly in the dark.
“This isn’t over,” Sam said.
His hand flew for mine, and he threw his arm over Prudence and Gil. He squeezed my hand tight, his touch warm, but his fingers almost crushing my bones. I gasped as my body disassembled, disintegrating into parts, then pieces, then molecules.
Chapter 23
In a flutter of air, a gust of wind, we were suddenly home, or somewhere close to it: the entrance to Mama Rosa’s Fine Filipino Food, the front to the interdimensional space we called the Boneyard. But it was shuttered and locked up for the evening, a process that Carver could make redundant with a rapid series of unlocking spells, and that I could bypass by shadowstepping.
That is, if I was anywhere close to full strength. I nudged the door to the Dark Room, rapping on it, telling its dwellers that I was coming in with a friend again. But it wouldn’t budge. The fight with Bastion had taken too much out of me. Besides, I doubted that Prudence would have the strength to outrun the Dark’s mists, the way Mona and I had done so when we shadowstepped together.
“Stay here,” I told Prudence, leaning her against the front door. “I’ll shadowstep inside and open up for us.”
“Not enough time,” Sam said, waving his hand. The shutter lifted by itself, the triple locks clicking as they came unfastened, the way I’d seen only Carver himself do.
“Okay, wow,” I muttered, collecting Prudence again. She winced, grunted, then followed, leaning against me for support.
Sam shrugged, then led Gil gingerly through the doorway. Prudence hobbled as I brought her straight to the darkened restaurant’s kitchen, to the grubby patch of exposed brick right by Mama Rosa’s industrial refrigerator.
I didn’t have to cut myself to activate the Boneyard’s portal this time. Cringing, I scooped up a dab of blood from the corner of my mouth, then smeared my finger onto the wall. The bricks slid apart, like a puzzle done in reverse, revealing a shimmering orange portal. Prudence and I stepped through, with Sam and Gil following close behind.
Inside the Boneyard’s gloom, just off the entrance hall, I spotted Asher ambling towards us, headphones clamped over his ears, his gaze distant, like he was deep in thought. It took a lot of waving on my part, and some shouting, but his eyes went wide as soon as he spotted us. He ran straight for me, ripping his headphones off.
“Dust,” he breathed. “Is Gil okay? And Prudence?”
“Also, there’s me,” Sam said. “Hi.”
“Um, hello,” Asher said. “Bu
t they look terrible. Come on. We can set them down in the living area, lots of couches there.”
The five of us did our solid best to navigate the halls, heading to the vast space that had been designated our living room, the part of the Boneyard that was most generously furnished. Well, apart from our bedrooms.
Gil walked abreast of me, or at least tried to. He leaned the bulk of his weight into Sam, who was looking around with a half-open mouth, his wonder-filled eyes reflecting the magical flames of our home.
“Listen,” I said. “How did you know to bring us all here? I didn’t even tell you where we needed to go.”
“Instinct, I guess.” Sam shrugged, still taking in the stone corridors, the multitude of odd statues set into the alcoves. “My people are attuned to the concept of sanctuary, after all. Your mind told me that this was the safest place for all of us, and so we came here.”
Safe was right. The Lorica couldn’t track us down in the Boneyard. Carver had made sure of that. The dimension was warded against both mundane and magical detection, though there were odd exceptions. Arachne’s secret-spiders, for example. Her gem-studded offspring could always find their way to me, and Mammon itself had pulled me directly out of the Boneyard for an audience in its palace.
Dang. Entities really were dangerous. I filed that factoid away in a corner of my mind. As many entities as I’d already pissed off in my short time with the arcane underground, I had to make sure not to get one of the vengeful ones truly riled up. Imagine being killed in your sleep. I guess I wouldn’t mind much, seeing as I wouldn’t be awake when it happened, but never mind. I digress.
We settled Prudence and Gil into individual couches, and Asher immediately set to work assessing their injuries. Restorative magic was part of his portfolio – necromancy wasn’t just the art of manipulating death, after all, but life as well. Sam hung around, nodding approvingly as Asher went about his work, and I did the only thing that amounted to contributing to the situation.
I ran to the pantry to fetch everyone some glasses of water, and a couple of basins and wash towels. Sterling almost knocked me over when he burst out of one of the corridors, his eyebrows knitted, his lips drawn back.
“I heard shouting,” he hissed. “I heard you shouting, specifically. What the hell is going on?” His eyes flitted to my arms. “What are you doing with those?”
“It’s Gil,” I said. “He’s hurt. Come on.”
I forgot to mention our two guests, of course, which was why Sterling reacted so aggressively when we rejoined the others.
“She’s not supposed to be here,” Sterling hissed.
“She’s hurt,” Asher said, his lips twisted disapprovingly. “I’m not going to kick someone out for being injured. Doesn’t matter who she works with.”
“Whatever, Florence Nightingale.” Sterling shoved me in the chest. “Did you at least throw a bag over her head when you brought her here?”
“Sterling,” Gil growled in warning. “She’s with me.”
“Doesn’t justify anything,” Sterling snarled. “She’s with the Lorica, and all it’s going to take is – ”
“She’s a friend,” I said, shoving Sterling back. “Just as close as family. Okay? So back the fuck off, Sterling.”
He did, to my surprise. I didn’t doubt that it was because I’d used that specific word that always seemed to stir such a peculiar emotional response within his cold, dead heart: family. Sterling knew what it meant to lose everyone you love, which was why he was so fiercely overprotective of everyone within the Boneyard, and even the Boneyard itself.
I caught Prudence forcing herself to give me a small smile through the pain. I smiled back.
Sterling rubbed limply at his arm, lips still upturned. “Fine,” he muttered. But the anger was still there, only redirected. He thrust his hand out, his finger cutting a direct line towards Sam. “Then who is that?”
Sam puffed his chest up, his chin jutting out, but he said nothing.
“Sterling. Surely you can afford our guests a little more courtesy.” Carver’s voice streamed calmly over us all, taking the wind out of Sterling’s sails. His boots clicked over the stone floor as he approached, arms folded, one hand cupping his chin. “Such a commotion over something so trivial. Prudence Leung is always welcome in the Boneyard.” He stared down the bridge of his nose, his gaze even. “That is, for as long as she promises never to reveal its location.”
She raised three fingers, coughing weakly. “Scout’s honor. Work is work, but you guys are okay.”
“Very good. And I suppose we can expect the same assurances from our new friend here.” Carver stroked his beard in measured silence, as if pausing for emphasis. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“It’s Sam,” Sam said. His spine was still set defiantly, but he was shifting around, as if uncomfortable under Carver’s gaze.
“Oh,” Carver said. “Is it, now?”
I narrowed my eyes, watching the two of them carefully, and realizing that the rest of the room was quietly observing as well. Asher’s hand pulsed with green light as he held it over Gil’s hand, mending his torn fingers and nails, but even he was waiting for the pin to drop.
Carver cleared his throat. “Sam it is, then. My name is Carver. You are, of course, welcome in our home, for as long as you swear not to threaten the lives of my charges.”
Sam frowned. “I would do no such thing. I brought them here safely, to heal, to regroup. If I’d wanted to hurt your subordinates I would have killed them instead of taking them to their haven.”
“Or,” Carver said. “You intentionally garnered Dustin’s trust in order to find our home. To strike at our heart.”
“Say the word and I’ll kill him,” Sterling growled.
“What the hell is going on here?” I said, my head spinning. “Carver. He saved us. Sam is okay. He’s not going to hurt us.”
“Oh, I would hope so,” Carver said. “For your friend here could wipe us out with a snap of his fingers if he wished it.”
“I said I didn’t mean you harm,” Sam said, his fists balled. “And I meant it. That’s not why I’m here.”
Prudence gripped the armrests of her chair tight, her fingers digging into the upholstery. I rubbed at my temples, taking slow, measured breaths, the air so thick with tension.
“Would someone,” I said, “please explain what’s going on?”
“Gladly,” Carver said. He turned to me, the cat-like ocher of his eyes somehow burning cold. “You’ve brought a grenade into our midst, Mr. Graves. You’ve brought home an angel.”
Chapter 24
Asher was dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open. The undirected healing energy coursing from his fingers started to spill onto the floor. Prudence watched in silence, eyes wide, as Gil remained stoic and stone-faced.
Sterling had somehow found his way behind one of the larger sofas, crouching behind it for cover.
“Are you crazy?” he hissed, his eyes piercing my skin. “What the hell were you – Dustin I swear, if he kills me, I’m going to kill you.”
Reasonable, and logical. “I had no idea,” I said.
But didn’t I? There were some hints, sure. Sam’s enigmatic nature, for one, and the fact that he was so, well, flighty. Literally. But nothing else about him came off as particularly angelic. Then again, what did I know about angels, anyway? I was distracted, too, unable to let go of the lingering possibility that he was the Tome all along. But the more likely reason: the clues didn’t fit.
“He’s not the one who’s been controlling people,” I said, trying to shove the pieces of the puzzle together. “It’s impossible. He’s been helping.”
“He was there the night we were attacked,” Sterling said. “Outside the Black Market. Remember?”
Prudence shifted in her seat. “And he was at the scene of tonight’s massacre, too. With Bastion.”
“That doesn’t explain anything,” I said.
“Doesn’t it?” Sterling dared to peek his he
ad over the edge of the couch. “He’s gotten inside your head. He’s only making it look like he’s innocent, but he’s been at the scene basically every time. How fucking convenient.”
“Why the hell would I show up just after someone gets attacked or killed?” Sam threw his hands up. “That’s just stupid.” He jabbed a finger in Sterling’s direction. “You’re stupid.”
Sterling’s knees buckled, and he collapsed behind the couch again, huddling. “You see? You all saw that. He’s gonna try something. Cast his angel juju on me. Carver, kill him.”
Carver chuckled. “Your audacity is amusing, Sterling. Though I might consider your suggestion if I don’t receive a reasonable explanation very, very soon.”
“Whoa.” Sam held his hands up. “Whoa. If everyone could just relax. Let’s not make this a thing. I was there tonight – and that other night in the shopping district – because I’ve been tracking one of my brothers.”
“So.” Carver raised an eyebrow, his body remaining perfectly still. “There are two angels in Valero, then.”
Sterling gasped, or maybe he choked.
“I didn’t even think you guys existed,” Asher said, his face still aglow with open awe. Then he frowned. “How does that even work?”
Sam shrugged. “I just am. We just are. You have to believe me, I’m not the one taking over people’s minds.” He nodded at me. “Especially that friend of yours we just met? Extremely dangerous. I don’t have any doubt that my brother is exerting his influence over other humans in this city. And you’ve seen for yourselves. He can control supernaturals, too. Imagine the possibilities. The destruction.”
So that’s what was happening. “You mean the Tome of Annihilation? This brother angel of yours has it?”
Sam nodded. Carver’s fingers were still wreathed in pale flame, but he lowered his hand a few inches.
“Which of the celestials are you pursuing?” Carver said. “Which of your brothers?”
“Adriel,” Sam said. “An angel of death.”
“Oh,” Sterling called out from somewhere behind the sofa. “That’s great. Super reassuring.”
