by Nazri Noor
“Looks like you’re sorted then,” Herald said. He waited for me to walk up to the door, then stuck a hand out.
“Aww, come on, a handshake?” I tugged on his hand, pulling him in for a hug, squeezing until I got a chortle out of him. “I’ll see you around, buddy.”
Herald smoothed down the creases I made in his waistcoat, then, walking backwards, smiled tightly and gave me a half-hearted salute as he headed back to the Gallery.
I plodded out into the main corridor, sneakers looking pedestrian as always against the lush carpet. I took in the paneled walls that gleamed so much I could almost make out my reflection in them. I watched as sheaves of paper flew like birds across the halls in the galleries below, because sure, email existed, and so did network servers, but this? This was all about style. I found myself sighing. I was going to miss this place.
Someone to my left cleared his throat in a, well, I could only describe it as a douchey way. This, I wasn’t sure I was going to miss. Without turning, I greeted my intruder.
“Hey, Bastion,” I said, with little enthusiasm in my voice.
“So,” he said. “I hear you’re leaving.”
I hiked my backpack higher up on my shoulder and jerked my head at it. “What tipped you off?”
He was in his usual leather jacket, a pair of aviator sunglasses pushed into hair that had been deliberately mussed, to look effortless, or something. Still, my reflexive irritation didn’t begin bubbling up instantly at the sight of him. Something seemed different. His posture didn’t seem so rigid, not quite bent on picking a fight.
He gave me a wry smile. “You gonna miss us, aren’t you?”
I scoffed. “Not you. Don’t flatter yourself.” I grasped the straps of my backpack, then looked over the bannister at the endless swarms of paper, at the gleaming brass fixtures, the globes of enchanted firelight, the small army of workers going about their day as if their front door hadn’t recently been assaulted by a swarm of tentacled demons from beyond the stars. “This, though? Maybe. A little.”
Bastion chuckled. “Yeah. It’s a good place to be. Feels like you’re doing something right for the world, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said wistfully. Like being a hero, in some small way.
“You did good that night,” Bastion said. He made a cough. “And fine, you weren’t making shit up about your precious sword. Anyway. Whatever it was you did out there, it was – it was kind of awesome.”
I put on my smarmiest grin, then shrugged. “Hey. You just have to trust in Dustin.”
Bastion grimaced. “That was awful the first time you tried it, Graves. It’s terrible. You’re terrible.”
“It’s not, and I’m not. And awesome’s nice, but you saw what happened when I used the shadows. Damn well ripped my chest open. I don’t know if I should ever try that again.”
“You’ll learn,” he said, chucking me on the shoulder. What the hell was going on? Bastion being nice to me, just when I was leaving? Man. I wondered if we could have been friends. Maybe we were all along and I just didn’t want to admit it. “Well. Whatever it is you’re up to next.” He held out a hand. “Good luck.”
I smiled and reached for his hand. In one quick motion he withdrew it, then smoothed his hair back against his scalp.
“Psych,” he muttered, strutting away.
That’s more like it, I thought. Good old bad Bastion.
I said my goodbyes to anyone else I came across, most memorably Romira at reception, who either made a great show of being sorry to see me go, or genuinely had some sort of tiny crush on me.
“I’ll miss you lots, Dust,” she cooed, playing with her hair.
I grinned, then coughed nervously, hoping that was enough to convey that I’d miss her too, playful teasing and all. She waved one hand lazily in the direction of the front door, little wisps of fire trailing after every motion of her lacquered nails as she deactivated the traps. I smiled, tipped an invisible hat at her, and left.
It was a beautiful day out in Valero. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been stuck in my room at the Lorica just recovering, and the contrast of being locked in for so long was so much more glaring now that I was outdoors. The sun was out, as was a light breeze, making everything balmy, lazy. The streets weren’t packed, but the din of city life was oddly comforting, the voices of people talking to each other or into their cellphones, hip-hop and reggaeton spilling out of windows as cars drove by.
It was so good to be out, in fact, that I almost missed Prudence standing at the foot of HQ’s stairs, a funny sort of smile on her face. The wind shifted her hair, revealing that little secret patch of blue at her nape.
“You’re actually doing it,” she said. “You’re actually leaving.”
I put on a sterner face than usual, maybe to disguise how this was making me sadder than I’d expected. “Come on, now. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Her smile went a little brighter. “Then I won’t. But I’d be lying if I said we wouldn’t miss you, Dust.”
I might have blushed a little. I scratched the back of my neck. “I mean, it’s not like I’m moving away or anything.” How did I know that? I had no way of saying just yet. “We can meet up for coffee some time. Do lunch.”
“I’d like that. I’ll cut you a deal. You buy lunch, and I don’t bring Bastion.”
I laughed. “That honestly sounds like a bargain.”
“So. I hate to phrase it like this because it’s just so – ugh – corporate, but where are you going now?” She tilted her head, studying me. “What’s next for you?”
I tilted my head too, mirroring her, suddenly struck by exactly where I meant to go. I grinned.
“I have a few ideas.”
Chapter 22
But first, unfinished business. Backpack strapped to my shoulders, a plastic bag in my hand, I stared at my father’s front door. It had been months since I’d stood there in broad daylight. I bit my lip. Part of me considered running away.
No, I told myself. This was what needed to be done. No more running. I had to tell him everything, from what happened the night I disappeared, all the way to the night I may or may not have helped save the world, or at least, the city. At the very least I wanted him to know that I kept a stable job for longer than a month. But again, yes, the saving the world bit.
Beads of water dripped from the plastic bag onto the cracked cement of the house’s front porch. I’d picked up a few beers along the way – not to encourage my dad’s habit, no, but because it was part of our ritual, part of how we bonded.
I lifted my hand, knuckles poised to rap on the door, when I stopped. Was this actually the right thing to do? Would he even acknowledge me? How would he react knowing that I was supposed to be dead?
“Go to him,” Sterling had said. He was right. It didn’t matter for as long as I could tell dad everything that happened. He’d believe me, and he’d understand. I sucked in a lungful of air, my chest puffing out. He’d be proud of what I’d done. Finally, he’d be proud.
Kind of weird taking advice from a vampire, I know, and weirder still acknowledging that vampires were now a part of my existence, but Sterling had the right idea. I wrinkled my forehead, straightened my back, and knocked loudly, three times.
Couldn’t help it. I grinned widely, something loosening inside of me, my chest expanding at the very thought that I was going to see my dad again, that there was a chance we could rebuild our relationship and carry on like the good old times.
I glanced over my shoulder, at the lawn where I used to play as a kid that had now gone brown and bone-dry. I could help him with that. We could sort that all out in time, nurture the grass as we nurture our relationship. We could go to the sea like we used to, do one of those picnics in the sand and talk about mom. I missed the ocean. I missed her.
But a minute had passed, and nothing. Maybe – maybe he was asleep, I considered. I knocked again, five times, louder this time. He couldn’t be at work. It was a Saturday. Stu
pid me, though. What if he was out doing groceries, or seeing some friends? Yeah, that was it.
I walked around to the side of the house, in full view, this time, of the large window where I used to peek in to watch him by night. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find. Bottles strewn across the kitchen table, maybe, boxes of day-old pizza or Chinese food that he’d taken to leaving out since I’d left. But the kitchen was clean. Not just clean, though. Everything was gone.
My heart pounded as I pressed up against the glass. The refrigerator, the kitchen table, even that dried-up plant by the doorway to the living room, all gone. I gritted my teeth. Where was he?
My gaze focused on my own shadow, cast across the floor from the sunlight streaming in through the window. In half a second I had shadowstepped into the house. It smelled musty, like it hadn’t been aired out in weeks, maybe months. Motes of dust hung in the air, floating peacefully like little creatures, like the only things left living in this place.
I rushed to the living room. The couch, the television, the coffee table, all of them, gone. Pictures of my dad, of my mom, of me, none of them were there. All gone.
Something like loss twisted in my chest. Sterling had been right all along. I choked. I wanted to tell myself it was the dust, but I knew that it wasn’t.
“Dad?”
I let my feet carry me up the stairs to the bedrooms, where I knew I would find nothing. The bed frames lingered, the mattresses either moved or sold off. I bit my lip.
Glass tinkled. I wasn’t sure when the plastic bag had slipped from my fingers, but amber liquid crept slowly across the floor, pooling around my feet. I clenched my fists.
“Dad?” I said again, hoping that someone would answer.
No one did.
Chapter 23
“This is great.”
I shoveled another helping of chicken straight into my mouth, chasing it with a heap of white rice. The meat was cooked in a dark sauce, tangy, sour, rich. Couldn’t get enough of it.
Gil nodded in silent approval. Sterling looked on with a tired, glazed expression, and Carver hid his smile behind steepled fingers, watching me over the gleaming perfection of his buffed nails.
I kept going for more, attacking my plate like I hadn’t eaten in days. “What did you say this was again?” I said, through a mouthful of rice.
Sterling raised an eyebrow. “Chicken adobo. It’s Filipino food. You know, like the sign outside says.”
“No need to get snippy,” I said, maybe a little too sulkily. “It was just a question.” And I had many, many more.
It wasn’t hard to find these guys. Rather, it wasn’t hard for them to find me. All I had to do was sit alone out in the open where I was vulnerable and exposed to danger. Naturally, I picked Heinsite Park, the very place where I was abducted shortly before being sacrificed, and, incidentally, the same park where Sterling and Gil had chased me. I kept glancing at my watch to see how long it would take for one of them to show up. Ten minutes, almost on the dot, and Sterling had slunk up next to me on the park bench, a cigarette dangling from his thin, bloodless lips.
“I’m ready to talk,” I told him. And he took me to this Filipino place, a little restaurant just on the edge of the Meathook. Calling it a restaurant was generous, really, considering it only had four tables, plastic chairs to sit at, and kind of grimy linoleum flooring. The fluorescent lighting really emphasized just how pale I’d always thought Sterling was, except it turned out that he was even more pallid than that. Gil looked like just another guy off the street, albeit a really tall, muscular, and somewhat hairy one.
And Carver? As out of place as he was in a grubby restaurant wearing his finely tailored suit, he looked like a million bucks, with the manicured beard, the gems gleaming from every finger, his eyebrows angled in a way that expressed both curiosity and cockiness. Like Sterling, he’d healed all his injuries perfectly, despite claiming not to be a vampire. Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.
There was Mama Rosa too, who I assumed was the owner of the place. Kind of a no-brainer, I guess, considering it was called Mama Rosa’s Fine Filipino Food. She was a hulking woman, with fists like hams, a face like a bulldog, and a ferocity to match. I hadn’t heard her speak a single word the entire time she served us, but she stood behind the counter with a grim expression, a cigarette tucked behind one ear, clearly listening to everything we said. I put on a smile to try and disarm her – not for any friendliness, but because we all know I have a pathological need to feel liked – but her stony veneer barely cracked.
I polished off the adobo, then stared longingly at my empty plate, strongly considering asking for seconds. Even knowing that Carver and the others seemed to be on friendly terms with Mama Rosa, I had a hunch that they wouldn’t try to poison me. Every last one of those four people in that restaurant, even Rosa – especially Rosa – could have easily killed me. I didn’t stand a chance, and they knew it, and they wouldn’t have had to resort to poison to do that.
“Mr. Graves is right, Sterling,” Carver said in a voice like spiced honey. “It was only a question, after all.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “And I’m certain he has many, many more.”
He could read my mind, I was almost sure of it. But whatever. Even if he could, that’d only make it easier to sort everything out.
“So,” I started. “You said that you knew what I was.”
Carver shrugged. “Not everything has to have a name.”
“But you’re a werewolf,” I said, nodding at Gil. He nodded back. “And you’re a vampire.” Sterling shrugged. “And you?”
Carver smiled, and spread both his hands. “The same as you. Or different, perhaps. Unique.” His chair scraped against the linoleum as he stood. The other two followed suit. “Come. You should see your new home.”
“Home?” I quirked an eyebrow, standing myself as I picked up my backpack.
“I give my associates living quarters. It’s safer for – for people like us.”
Reflexively, I reached for my wallet, nodding at Mama Rosa. Her expression remained unchanged.
“There’s really no need,” Carver said. “It’s on the house. Mama Rosa’s happy enough that you liked her cooking.”
I cast her another glance. She didn’t look happy at all. Matter of fact, she kind of looked like she wanted to rip my head off with her bare hands. Maybe that was just part of her charm. I followed as Carver, Sterling, and Gil headed to the kitchen.
“Uh, exit’s that way,” I said.
They ignored me. I shrugged. We walked a short way into the kitchen, Mama Rosa still stood up front, arms folded like a bouncer. We stopped by an industrial refrigerator.
I chuckled and rapped my knuckles against the patch of exposed brick wall right by it. “What is this, like, a secret door?”
Carver said nothing. Sterling frowned at me, his lip curled in an irritated sneer. “Dude. Just. Shut up, okay? Just watch.”
And so I did, keeping my teeth clenched the whole while. Carver drew a circle in midair, and I held my breath as his fingers left a trail of amber fire. He slid one finger across one of his many rings, which had a protuberant, tiny blade that I hadn’t noticed. A bead of blood formed at the tip of his finger. Sterling, I noticed, licked his lips.
The ring of fire settled into the brick wall, scorching a circle there. Carver pressed his bloodied finger against the brick. The crimson of his blood disappeared into the wall, and all at once the bricks slid apart, vanishing into nothingness, replaced by a shimmering, amber portal, orange like Carver’s eyes.
Sterling stepped through nonchalantly. Without giving me a second glance, Carver stepped into the portal as well, his body disappearing into the orange glow. I looked over my shoulder in confusion. Mama Rosa was at the till, counting out the day’s earnings. A hand pressed against my back.
“Get in,” Gil said gruffly.
Too late to run, I thought, but again, if these people wanted me dead, they could have done that earlier, and in very many, ve
ry creative ways. Fine. I pulled on my straps, walked through –
And found myself in a great hall made of the palest, smoothest stone. Thick, featureless pillars ran the length of it, hewn out of the same rock as the perfect floor. Golden-amber light spilled from fires I couldn’t see, hidden cleverly in alcoves between the columns. There was no ceiling, or if it was there, it was so high up since all I could spot was inky blackness.
Gil nudged me forward again, gently, but firmly. I walked along, too stunned to protest. What the hell was this? Carver kept his hideout in the back of some Filipino restaurant out by the Meathook?
Several feet along we met up with Carver and Sterling, who had stopped just in front of a stone formation. No, it was a statue, I could tell, but all I could see of it was its knees, as huge as it was, stretching up into the darkness. Gil fell into step with the rest of us, looking as unperturbed as Sterling by the sight of what looked to me to be the inside of some massive, ancient temple.
“You cast a circle to get us in here,” I said.
“Correct,” Carver said patiently.
“I thought only gods could do that.” I made no effort to hide my shock. “Keep realms and domiciles, I mean.”
“Maybe I am a god.”
My mouth fell open. That would explain so much. “Are you?”
Carver shrugged. “Who can say?” I looked to Sterling and Gil, who said nothing.
“Rooms to your left,” Sterling said wearily. “Yours is the last in the hall. Go get settled.” He turned to Carver. “If you don’t need me for the rest of the night, I’m gonna go look for food.”
Yikes. Food? Carver nodded wordlessly.
“I’ll come with,” Gil said. “Nice night out.”
I wondered if that meant that he was going to hunt, too. What did werewolves eat, anyway? I shuddered to think. The two of them headed back down the hall and out of the shimmering amber portal we had entered through, which I now saw was suspended precisely between the outstretched arms of two disturbingly lifelike statues of human skeletons.