by Nazri Noor
And that’s where we found Carver, back at home base. The shield that he’d cast over us at Comstock was the one thing that saved him and Sterling from Adriel’s smiting, ensuring that they wouldn’t be destroyed by the angel’s light. It had bought Carver enough time to teleport them back to the Boneyard, to escape total annihilation.
Carver and Asher had hurried to help the moment I appeared, tending to Bastion’s injuries, but no one rushed to him faster than Prudence. She stayed by his side, stroking his hair and his forehead as the others applied their healing magic.
I’d left the Boneyard to broker the Tome’s exchange. Mammon had conveniently deigned to meet on the corner outside Mama Rosa’s restaurant, so that was where Bastion came to see me.
I clenched my fists and dug my heels into the asphalt, careful not to show Bastion that my body was still reeling from the trauma of what he’d done to it. I had to keep telling myself that it wasn’t his fault.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I started to say as he approached, just as soon as I caught his lips pressing together, his eyes drifting to the ground.
“I know,” he said, mostly to my shoes. “But that doesn’t make things better, does it? I could have killed you, Dust. I almost did.”
“But you didn’t.” I scratched at my arm uncertainly. “That has to count for something.”
This was awkward, to say the least. My relationship with Bastion had always been complex. I’d found him annoying, hated him, and experienced every degree of dislike in between – but I’d never been afraid.
“I don’t know what I could ever say or do to make this better, Dust. I wish I could promise that this would never happen again.”
I sighed. “Yeah. There has to be some way to stop that from happening to you. To all of us.” I kicked at the ground. “Who ever thought that we’d have to worry about someone using your mind like that? Thea tried it with me, but even she could only do so much. What if someone takes over Carver? Imagine what they could do.”
Bastion scoffed. “And here I used to think the Mouths were justified for what they did, poking around in someone’s brain, making them confess, fishing out their secrets.” He shuddered. “I feel dirty. Like someone pissed inside my skull.”
I grimaced. “Charming.”
“You know what I mean. I’ll put in a good word for you with the Lorica, have them call off the dogs. Royce is probably shitting bricks right now thinking that you kidnapped me or something.”
“Then text him, asshole. Dude. Come on. I don’t want Wings and Hands breathing down my neck everywhere I go.”
“Fine.” Bastion rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I owe you anything.” He grinned. “Joking. Geez, I’m kidding, stop looking at me like that. You saved me, Dust.” He chucked me on the shoulder. “Thank you for that.”
“Sure,” I said. “Just – just promise that you’ll try your best not to crush me to pieces ever again.”
“Yeah, about that – I’m sorry about your friend. The angel.”
I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Can’t be helped. I didn’t even get to thank him. Good guy. Didn’t know him long, but as far as fallen angels go, he seemed real decent.”
“Not a lot of people would die for you.” Bastion held his gaze a little too long, then looked away.
“Not a lot.” I bit my lip. “Maybe his essence is still out there, you know? Waiting to reform. Maybe he’ll be fine. I want to believe that he’ll be fine.”
Bastion shook his head. “I want to believe that, too.”
We stood in silence for some time, the dark of night breaking with the twittering of birds. Dawn, already?
“Sun’s up,” Bastion said quietly.
I looked at the horizon, watching the black of the evening part for the reds and purples and oranges of a new day as the sun rose into view. The morning star. Yes, I know, that’s supposed to be a name for rising planets, but still. Hah. Morningstar. Wasn’t that what they called Lucifer? The most fallen angel of all. I wondered if Samyaza knew him.
“My ride’s here,” Bastion said. “Thanks for not bringing her into the fight, by the way. If I’d done something to my mom when that angel had its hold on my brain, I don’t even know how I would begin to forgive myself.”
I hadn’t noticed the hum and low rumble of the car that had pulled up to us, the same black sedan we’d seen outside the Comstock Building. It had just stopped at the sidewalk when Luella Brandt threw the door open and launched herself into her son’s arms.
“Sebastion,” she breathed. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.”
“Mother,” he said, flustered. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
He grunted, then chuckled when she squeezed him harder. She released him after a few precious seconds, turned to me, then flung herself around my neck. I blushed instantly. Luella Brandt smelled like a bar, but an expensive one, one that was spritzed with a little designer perfume and was somehow slathered in lots and lots of good moisturizer.
“And you,” she said. “You saved my baby.”
“Mother, please.”
Luella pulled herself away, then planted her hands on my shoulders, gripping me and staring hard up into my face. “You must send me your financials. Let me give you a reward. I’ll make a deposit.”
“That’s – that’s really not necessary at all,” I stammered.
“I understand,” she said. “You’d rather keep your details private. A cash reward, then. I’ll call my people this very morning and have them make a withdrawal of – ”
“Mother, please,” Bastion said. “Dust said so. That’s quite unnecessary.”
“It really is,” I said, some part of me secretly hoping she’d finished her sentence. Just how much money was saving Bastion’s bacon worth? Guess I’ll never know.
He clapped me on the shoulder, squeezing tight, staring me in the eye. “Dude. Thanks again. Seriously. For everything.”
I smiled, not at all unhappy that Bastion was being nice to me for once. I handed him the Null Dagger, carefully rewrapped in its shroud of cloth.
“This is yours.”
“Thank you again, Dustin,” Luella said as Bastion dragged her by the arm back to their sedan, Remington patiently holding the door open. “Do you need a new computer? A new phone? Let me buy you a car. No, two cars.”
“Mother, please.” Bastion grunted as he stuffed Luella into the back of their car. “We’ll buy him a sensible thank you gift the way sensible people do.” He turned to me, smiling, then gave me a little wave. “See you, Dust.”
I waved back. “Not too soon, Bastion. Not too soon.”
I watched as the Brandts’ sedan drove off, disappearing into the distance. Then I jumped when something tugged on my arm.
“Prudence?”
She threw her arms around my neck as well. Lots of hugs this morning, I thought. I could get used to this. I smiled and hugged her back.
“Thank you for saving him,” Prudence said, her voice faint, strained. “Whatever it was you did, thank you. He’s a stupid idiot, but I love him like a brother. I really do.”
I patted her on the back, smiling at Gil as he stepped out of the restaurant behind her.
“Walking her home,” he said, eagerly taking Prudence’s hand when she reached for his.
“You kids be good,” I said. “And stay safe.”
Prudence winked. “You know we won’t.”
“Gross,” I said. “I walked right into that one.”
They sauntered off, hand in hand. Surreal, really, thinking back to the day I died, and seeing how the threads of friendship and family had bonded me to this strange assortment of people, human or otherwise. My ties here were stronger than those I’d ever forged with anyone in my entire life, save my own family.
I knew what Bastion meant to say when he looked me in the eye, when we’d talked about Sam dying for me. Bastion would never admit it, but he would have done the same. And in some bizarre, irrational way, I knew I would do that for him too, and gladl
y. As much as we butted heads, as much hell as Bastion gave me in my entire time working for the Lorica, I’d take a bullet for him. I’d take a bullet for any of these people.
I meant to keep watching the sun rise, to take in the neighborhood as the bodegas lifted their shutters, as people made their way to work, as gluttons for punishment and potential victims of early morning muggings went out on their jogs. But the door to Mama Rosa’s Fine Filipino Food swung open yet again. I looked over my shoulder to find Carver watching me expectantly, one eyebrow raised.
“Well? Come in out of the cold. We still need to examine you, make sure you’re in acceptable condition.”
I smiled. “I’ll be right in, Carver.”
He shook his head. “Now, Dustin. Asher wants to hear everything that happened, and Sterling is worried sick.”
Something scuffled from out of the kitchen, the diffused orange light telling me that the portal into the Boneyard was still active. Sterling popped his head around the corner.
“I wasn’t worried,” he spat at Carver, scowling. “Why did you tell him I was worried? I wasn’t worried.”
“Sure you weren’t,” I said. My smile grew even wider. “Fine. I’m coming.”
Carver held the door open for me, and I hummed gratefully for the warmer air inside the restaurant. He patted me on the arm, as close to affectionate as he’d ever be.
“I’m glad you’re safe, Dustin. I’m glad you’re alive. Welcome home.”
Home. The sweetest word. Carver waved his fingers, and the chains and padlocks protecting the restaurant snaked into life, securing the door. The shutter came down on its own.
“Into the Boneyard, then,” he said. “Time to tell us your story.”
Another day, another story. And thanks to a fallen friend, I had more time. More days to spend, and more tales to tell.
My name is Dustin Graves. And my story isn’t over.
END
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About the Author
Hi, I’m Nazri, a Filipino-Malaysian author based in California. I’m trilingual, but I really only write in English. I can also speak just enough Sindarin and Valyrian to impress absolutely no one. My urban fantasy novels focus on heroes who use wits, style, and their wildly unpredictable magic to save the day. Think sass and class, while kicking ass.
My influences come from horror and fantasy: HP Lovecraft, Anne Rice, George R.R. Martin, Chuck Palahniuk, Terry Pratchett, and Neil Gaiman. Growing up I was shaped by the Blood Sword, Fighting Fantasy, Lone Wolf, and Grey Star game book universes. I’m also inspired by video games, specifically the Castlevania, Final Fantasy, and Persona series.
Long story short, I’m a huge nerd, and the thrill of imagining wizards and monsters and worlds into existence is what makes me feel most alive. Writing, to me, is magic. If you enjoyed my work, please do consider leaving a review on Amazon. Reviews help readers like you decide whether they’d like my books, and they help indie authors like me with better visibility and credibility.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for supporting independent authors everywhere.
