by Nazri Noor
“Who the hell are you?” I growled. I could feel several pairs of eyes turning to stare at the sound of my voice. “What do you want?”
The smooth, unblemished surface that served as the man’s face rippled and crinkled as it attempted to grow human features. I recognized the sneer before the rest of the face even assembled itself.
“Dustin Graves,” said Donovan Slint. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Chapter 28
“I killed you,” I growled. “But I can kill you again.”
Not this shit again, and no way was I letting him escape this time. What little I’d learned about swords must have worked its way into my mind and my muscles. Donovan hardly had time to dodge as I rushed him, then thrust Nightmare clear through his belly.
I heard gasps, then the sound of Donovan choking. The room had fallen silent, except for Donovan’s gurgling breaths as he slumped across my body. I felt no remorse when I twisted the blade, nor when he sobbed in pain. I couldn’t tell if the blossom of triumph in my chest came more from my heart, or from the Dark Room’s influence.
But the gurgles turned into snorts, then peals of laughter. Voices called my name from around the room, shouting warnings, but Donovan had grabbed my wrist with one hand. He planted the other in my chest, shoving me away and pulling Nightmare out of his stomach with a horrible, unearthly strength. I watched as Nightmare left his body, the black of its blade streaked with fresh blood. I glanced up into Donovan’s face, the thump in my chest a panicked tattoo of confusion and horror.
“What are you?”
“The better question, Mr. Graves, is: who am I?”
Donovan’s face and voice had changed. His features were gone, replaced with those of a far too familiar entity.
I gasped. “Loki?”
The trickster god smiled sweetly at me as his hand closed around the length of Nightmare’s blade. He clenched, and the sword shattered into pieces.
I screamed. It was as if he had snapped one of my bones, the pain shooting all the way down my arm, and somehow, deep into my soul. Motes and streamers of ragged shadow flew from my wound, from the stump where Nightmare once sprouted, rising in a horrible whirlwind around me.
No, I screamed at the Dark Room. Don’t come here. My friends, don’t hurt them.
But the quality of this darkness was different, and the look in Loki’s face told me that this was deliberate, something he didn’t consider a danger to himself. The shadows rose around us, consuming everything outside, all the light, life, and sound in the world beyond the little space that Loki and I occupied. The last thing I heard was Herald calling my name.
I grabbed my wrist, staring hard to look for traces of Nightmare, but the shadows had receded into my body, leaving just a bloody slit in my hand. Gritting my teeth I staggered to my feet, looking around me, eyes wide as I took in the featureless darkness.
“Where are we? This isn’t the Dark Room. Where did you take us?”
“Elsewhere,” Loki said. “Someplace else. Or perhaps we are still in your master’s beloved Boneyard, and our disappearance itself is a deception. To your friends and master, we have vanished. But for all intents and purposes, we haven’t gone anywhere. We are invisible.”
I wrested my hand out of his grasp. “For fuck’s sake. You’re worse than Hecate with all your damn riddles and lies.”
Loki parted his hands, smiling serenely. “That is my role, is it not? My place in the world. I am a trickster god, Mr. Graves. And as I told you not too long ago, some things change, but some stay the same. I enjoy trickery, changing my shape, illusions. The books themselves say so.” He gestured around himself. “This place, too, is an illusion.”
“I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but – ”
He raised a finger to my lips, and I flinched away. Loki chuckled. “I only brought you here to talk. To explain myself, as it were.”
“There’s nothing to explain. It was you who stabbed me in the chest, brought back the curse of the Dark Room. Everything would have been fine if you’d just left me well enough alone.”
Loki cocked an amused eyebrow. “Oh, would it? And besides, you burned a hole in my chest and stabbed me in the stomach. Well, you did those things to Donovan Slint, I mean. One of my favorite identities to date, the ambitious young upstart who only wanted to excel and rise in his status as a Hound at the Lorica. I must say, Mr. Graves, you did serve as quite an inspiration for the character.”
I tightened my hands in anger, then I hissed at the pain, my wound still fresh. I backed away from him cautiously. “Then Donovan never existed. You made him up, made up an entire identity for – for what? To bring back the Dark Room? What about the Scion? Jonah?”
Loki’s eyes flicked upward and he rubbed his chin, as if trying to remember. “Oh, yes. Jonah, my superior. He was very real. Quite the pompous fellow. He was very convinced of his own brilliance, never giving Donovan – I mean me, of course – any of the credit for our fine work as a Hound. Yes. I killed him. Mages are only human, after all.”
“You what?” I threw my arms out, incredulous. “What the hell was the point of all of this? What’s with all the manipulation, all this lies? I’m not just some plaything for you entities, for the Eldest.”
My breath caught in my throat as I finished my sentence. That was exactly what I was. A plaything. Loki’s smile crept to his face so, so slowly, a taunting, calculated curve.
“The point, Mr. Graves? Who can say? Do you remember your battle with the Midnight Convocation, with the children of Izanami? Do you remember seeing two ravens when you fought Amaterasu, and Susanoo, and Tsukuyomi? Huginn and Muninn, Odin’s pets, his eyes and ears. Who can say why I disguised myself as a pair of birds to watch your fight?”
My spine stiffened, and my blood ran cold. “No,” I said. “Odin, he was busy at the Twilight Tavern, so he sent his ravens to – no.”
Both rows of Loki’s perfect teeth gleamed as he openly sneered at me. “Who can say why I tracked down the last homunculus that Thea Morgana created, the most perfect one of them all, and told it to beat you to the ritual of the Crown of Stars? Who can say?”
“You,” I said, my voice trembling. “It was all you. Metzli died that night. Artemis was exiled from the Convocation. Chernobog tried to murder me. And the Eldest killed dozens of humans outside Valero, and maimed dozens more mages. This was all because of you.”
Loki shrugged and gave me a coy grin. “Guilty as charged.”
“If I had worn the Crown of Stars, none of this would have happened. If you hadn’t stabbed me in the heart, Agatha Black wouldn’t have awakened.”
He batted his lashes with mock innocence. “But then you would have lost your soul, Mr. Graves, and your precious bond to your beloved Dark Room. Oh, don’t give me that look. Everyone knows you’re addicted to the darkness. Everyone knows you relish the power and evil that dwells within your heart.”
“That isn’t true,” I snarled, already feeling the shadows pulsing in my veins as my blood frothed with anger. “That isn’t true and you know it. Why did you do all this? Why me?”
“I already told you, Mr. Graves. I am who I am: a trickster god. What is existence without the element of chaos? How much sweeter is relief when you’ve been through so much suffering? Yes. That is why. I revel in Odin’s jealousy and misery. It gives me power, as does your confusion now, your suffering.”
“Then you’re in league with the Eldest. You’re one of their pawns. You must know that.”
“No. I look out for no one’s interests but my own. This has been for my amusement, and gods, how entertaining this has all been. The intrigue, the drama, and all the rushing rivers of blood, so many of them caused by you. It certainly beats watching television. You already knew the answers all along. Why did I start my company? Why does the All-Father insist on his? Because immortality is so droll. So boring.”
Loki’s footfalls echoed around the darkness of his illusory dimension as he approached me. I tried to
stagger away, but when he planted his hands on my shoulders, I found myself paralyzed, transfixed. “Thank you for the gift of entertainment. You have broken the monotony of my existence. The world may well be different. It worships new gods. But Loki will always be Loki, as you will always be what you are. Some things change, Mr. Graves.” Loki grinned. “And some stay the same.”
The darkness fell from around us like a heavy black shroud, even the dull firelight of the Boneyard piercing and painful to my eyes. I still couldn’t move, but I could breathe, and hear, and see. And what I saw were the poised hands of my friends and allies bathed in magic, fingers, claws, and weapons poised to strike at the god of deception.
Loki bent in, close enough to whisper.
“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Herald shouted.
Loki threw him a haughty smile, then scoffed. Then he looked into my eyes. “I do apologize about your sword, the one you crafted out of shadow. Nightmare, was it? It may reform in time.” He took a sharp intake of breath. “But I should tell you. As simple a construct as it was, Nightmare was still an artifact, one made out of your very soul, your essence – because you gave it meaning, and a name. And snapping it, well, it sent out a signal, one that can be clearly seen and heard by those drawn to the emanations of the Dark Room, and therefore, the Eldest. You know what that means, Mr. Graves. Farewell. May you enjoy what’s left of your short existence.”
I blinked, and Loki was gone. Shouts erupted around the break room, but Herald was the first to sprint up to me, examining me for injuries, reaching for my bloodied hand.
“Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head. “You should have fired at him while you had the chance,” I said dully.
Carver scoffed. “And risk killing you? Don’t be foolish.”
“I could’ve shielded him,” Bastion said. “I could’ve shielded him, and we could have all fired. Boom. No more Donovan.”
“It wasn’t Donovan. You saw.” I looked down at my hands. “And I think I’m as good as dead anyway. Did you hear what Loki said, about Nightmare snapping?”
Mason cracked his knuckles. “Then we batten down the hatches, get ready for what’s coming. This isn’t over.”
The wound on my hand glared at me, a slitted, angry red eye. “I shouldn’t have named it. I’m so stupid. I didn’t know.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Herald muttered, grabbing for the back of my neck. “Hey. Look at me. We’ll find a way. We always do. You and me, right? Save the world. Kill the bad guy.”
And that little speech would have been rousing if Asher didn’t falter, then groan as he collapsed to his knees. Mason and Sterling rushed to his side, even as Asher clutched at his eyes, issuing a terrible, agonized scream. Carver strode to him, grabbing Asher by the shoulders.
“Asher. What is it? What’s wrong?”
“The dead,” Asher sobbed. “They found her. They came to tell me. They saw her.” My heart lurched as I watched the tears dripping between his fingers, wet and bright red. “They saw her, then she saw me.” Asher pulled his hands away, his eyes weeping trails of fresh blood. “She saw me. And she’s coming.”
Chapter 29
We were doomed no matter what, then. Loki snapping Nightmare in half had only been his guarantee for drawing Agatha Black’s attention. She would have found us either way. And despite all appearances, I believed him. Loki didn’t do this to be vengeful, or to help the Eldest. Like Odin, like all the other entities, he was bored. That was all. Just bored.
My heart stuttered as Asher wept and thrashed on the ground, but Sterling picked him up and whisked him away, carrying him like a bundle of sticks in his arms. I’d never seen Sterling so worried, or so frightened. He sped down the hall towards Carver’s offices.
“Give him your blood if you must,” Carver shouted. “I will be there to attend to him soon.” He turned to the rest of us. “We need to reinforce the barrier. There’s no telling when she – ”
The Boneyard’s firelights flickered, guttering in a sudden shear of chilling wind.
Carver looked around and hissed. “Impossible.”
She was already there. The barrier between the Boneyard and the rest of reality hadn’t mattered at all. Agatha Black was standing at the rim of the platform that held our living area, peering over the edge and into the abyss.
“Curious,” she said slowly, with the deliberate care of someone who hadn’t spoken in decades. “How you managed to sculpt this home for yourself. A man who is neither god nor demon, not an entity at all.” Her great mane of silver hair was like a helm, or a crown, the same color as the cruel eyes she cast across our faces. “You wear your lichdom well, sorcerer.”
Carver showed her his teeth. “Leave us be, witch. This is not your place. You were not invited here.”
Agatha scoffed, the sound of laughter cut at the first note. “The lioness goes where she pleases. You should consider yourself fortunate that only one of me has deigned to visit your interdimensional hovel. My sisters are quite busy with their work. Quite busy indeed.”
“And what is the nature of this work?” Carver said, his hands loose at his sides, fingers splayed. I noted that Agatha had adopted the same stance, as if readying her hands in a neutral position, prepared to gesture and conjure a spell in a heartbeat. “What does your coven have planned?”
Agatha’s mouth broke into a smile. She wagged her finger at Carver, tilting her head as she grinned.
“The lioness does not explain herself to the sheep.”
“Grandmother. Please.”
Bastion pushed out from our press, placing himself bodily between Agatha and the rest of the Boneyard. The idiot. I tried to rush after him, but Royce grabbed me by the arm, shaking his head at me in silent warning.
Agatha’s smile dropped from her face, and she clasped her hands as she regarded Bastion. “Why, is this the boy that my harlot daughter squirted out? I told her to marry better. The Brandts were never the right pedigree. Never good enough, I said. Come here so I can look at you.”
When Bastion hesitated, Agatha beckoned with one finger. He reappeared steps away from her, teleported instantly by her summons.
“Bastion,” Prudence cried out. My feet shuffled against the ground as I tried and failed to chase after him once more. This time Gil restrained me – well, both me and Prudence.
“Better than I expected,” Agatha said, running fingers tipped with long, cruel nails across Bastion’s shoulders, along his brow. “At least the Brandt men have good stock.” She patted him on the cheek, smiling. “You are less disappointing than I expected.”
Bastion croaked as he tried to speak, then cleared his throat when he found the courage. “We’ve met before, Grandmother,” he said quietly. “We spent a lot of time together, when I was a child.”
Why was he talking to her like she was still human? Bastion wasn’t going to get through to some hidden fragment of her personality that still understood compassion and mercy. As if to prove the very point, Agatha stepped past him, approaching the rest of us and showing him her back. She knew on some level that Bastion still clung to his childhood memories, that he wouldn’t attack when she was so vulnerable. That, or the lioness really did believe in her own invincibility.
“One of you carries the sweet smell of the Old Ones. One of you – yes, this one – has been blessed by the Eldest.” She pointed at me, and my heart seized as I was yanked straight up into the air. Voices shouted from beneath me, Herald’s and Bastion’s loudest of all. I looked down, horrified to find that everyone was as small as ants. I didn’t even know that the Boneyard’s walls stretched this high. I looked up, and regretted it.
I wasn’t alone.
Agatha had teleported herself precisely to my level, holding me at arm’s length with the telekinetic force of her power. She watched me curiously, a finger on her chin. I couldn’t tell if she was studying me or waiting for me to say something first. I held perfectly still. We were dozens of feet in the air. No. Hundreds.
“Ah. It is you, then. Most beloved of the Eldest, the boy who slew the White Mother, then the Overthroat. How cruel were their deaths, little one, crueler still that they perished at the hands of someone they so truly loved.”
I struggled to keep myself composed. She could pop me like a grape with a single gesture, or drop me on the stone below. I didn’t like either one of those outcomes.
“I don’t understand,” I started carefully, “how you can begin to describe what the Eldest do as love. I did what I did to protect my world – the human world.”
Agatha shook her head slowly, her eyes kind, swelling and wet with understanding. “But dearest boy, that is the same thing that the Old Ones desire. They’ve returned to bring their mercy and justice back to the realm of humanity. This is best. This is good. You should not have fought against the Eldest, against your elders.”
Cold sweat crept down my nape. “You say that like I belong to them, like I’m actually one of their own. Part of their offspring.”
She smiled. “But are you not? Thea Morgana placed you on that altar and planted the seed of the Old Ones within your heart, giving your their blessing.”
Their curse, I thought. Their corruption.
“You were reborn that day, sweet one, little one. To be a servant of the Eldest themselves, to be one of their most beloved children. To be their avatar, and harbinger, and heir.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t ask for any of that. I didn’t want it then, I don’t want it now.”
There it was. I knew it would happen. Agatha’s sunny, matronly face dropped, her forehead wrinkling, features forming into a mask of disapproval, displeasure.
“How ungrateful you are, even as the Old Ones gift you with their blessings. How ungrateful is the heir to the Dark Room. Have you not enjoyed your power, little one? Your freedom?”