by Nazri Noor
Carver looked on, amused, his fingers curling at his beard. Sterling was latched onto the Chalice like a lamprey, lips suckling hungrily at its rim, working like a lover. I’m sure I didn’t imagine that his jaw was almost unhinging, to allow more of the Chalice’s bloody gift to tip down his throat.
I wrinkled my nose at the acrid smell of metal, and really, at just the sight of the vampire going about his grisly business. Kind of cruel, I guess, being so disdainful of the undead equivalent of a dude just chugging a breakfast smoothie, but human blood? Honestly more than a little gross.
“This is so, so very inappropriate,” Gil said.
He must have consumed a gallon by then, but Sterling finally turned the goblet upright, slammed it back onto the center of the table, and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, smearing blood across the corner of his mouth. He was flushed, like the blood from the Chalice had already worked its way into his system and given him a kind of feed-driven afterglow.
“Did you have your fill?” Carver asked.
Sterling smiled, then nodded groggily, as if he had been drugged, eyes glazed in a kind of dopey euphoria. Was that how vampires behaved after they fed? I watched him closely for signs of violence, but if the Chalice was supposed to drive him into a frenzy, either it didn’t work on the undead, or it took longer to take effect.
“Curious,” Carver said. “You look properly fed. I didn’t realize the Chalice could produce blood.”
A dazed smile split Sterling’s lips. “Human blood, too.”
Carver frowned. “Which makes this relic more dangerous than I initially thought.” He held his hand out – the one bound in a leather glove – and before Sterling could protest, curled his fingers into a fist.
The Chalice shattered into pieces, crushed and splintered under the weight of Carver’s power. A brief sputter of light issued from its golden fragments, followed by a thin wisp of something effervescent, the last of the artifact’s magic returning to the ethers. Sterling stared at the debris dumbstruck, a tiny whimper emanating from his slack jaw.
“You do understand, don’t you, Sterling?” Carver’s voice was soft and even, his expression neutral. “This is how the Chalice hooks you in. It encourages a dependency on its power, and once you’re in too deep, that’s when the frenzy takes over. It fosters obsession. Quite fitting for the artifact’s patron.”
Gil nodded sagely. “Plus, whether or not the hideout is warded, the Lorica can’t come sniffing around, not when there’s nothing left to sniff after.”
Carver curled his fingers and the remnants of the Chalice cracked and splintered even more, until they were reduced to specks of dust. He gritted his teeth as he worked, apparently satisfied.
I cleared my throat. “A patron, you say? Like an entity?”
Carver nodded. “The wine, the vines, the frenzy? All signs point to Dionysus, also known as Bacchus, the Greco-Roman god of indulgence.” He dusted his fingers off, an unnecessary gesture considering he didn’t even touch the Chalice. “I’ll need the three of you to investigate.”
Gil nodded. Sterling folded his arms and sulked.
“Can it wait until tomorrow night?” I said. “Just that I have plans during the day.”
“Of course,” Carver said. “It’s too late to visit the god tonight, and his realm is only accessible after the sun goes down, anyway.”
“Oh, you have something planned?” Gil asked.
“Yep.” I beamed, my back straightening. “I’m going to see some friends tomorrow.”
Sterling smirked. “Huh. I didn’t realize you had any friends.”
“Die in a fire,” I said, through my most winning smile.
“Can’t,” Sterling said. “Already dead.”
Chapter 3
I sank my teeth into my second lobster roll. Ever had one? Those things are amazing. Sweet, fresh meat, crisp bun, and a rich meld of mayo and butter. Total indulgence. I mean, Carver always made doubly sure to keep the hideout’s pantry well-stocked – or at least, Mama Rosa did – but there’s nothing quite like tucking into some hearty seafood to lift the old spirits. Or, depending on where you’re visiting in Valero, give you a case of explosive diarrhea.
Lucero Beach was gorgeous. The day was warm, sure – okay, bordering on hellishly sunny, but not a lot can beat the marvel of seeing beautiful blue water against an equally blue sky, and a beach with sand so smooth that it looked like powder. A welcome salt breeze blew across the waterfront, though not strongly enough, and Herald wasn’t at all shy about reminding us of that fact.
It was tank top weather, to be sure. Must have been ninety out, and Herald was in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, like I was, but his griping wouldn’t end.
“It’s hot, isn’t it?” he said, tugging on his shirt. “I’m hot. Are you hot? God, it’s hot.”
It certainly felt hotter the more Herald kept talking about it. I could feel the sweat beaded on my forehead trickle down my temple. I pushed the hair out of my face. Maybe it was time for a haircut.
Prudence rolled her eyes and swallowed a swig of her beer. “It’s honestly not that bad. Stop being so whiny.”
She was in a tank herself, revealing a tattoo of a blue dragon that I never knew was on her left shoulder. Hell, I realized I’d never seen either of them outside of work clothes at the Lorica, Prudence in her standard body-fitting ass-kicking clothing, or Herald dressed as what I can best describe as a stylish librarian.
I hadn’t seen either of them in a while, and brunch seemed a good idea for a catchup. Prudence Leung was one of the first friends I made at the Lorica. She was a Hand, likely one of its most powerful ones, capable of imbuing her fists with arcane energy, enough to punch someone’s head off. I watched as she shook her hair away from her nape, revealing the small panel of locks she kept dyed blue, brushing off the last of it with delicate fingers that stealthily disguised her talent for breaking and smashing things with terrifying precision.
Herald Igarashi worked there, too, as one of the Lorica’s archivists. His job involved cataloguing and researching the organization’s vast collection of artifacts. He was the reason I even had possession of Vanitas, who he’d smuggled to me through a magical backpack. Long story, but one that could get him into serious trouble, which was probably why both of us carefully avoided bringing it up in front of Prudence. Herald was an accomplished alchemist, and a talented spellcaster to boot, though what all he kept up his sleeve, I was never truly sure.
“I’m not whiny,” Herald said, whining. “Just hot.” His glasses slid down his nose from the sweat, and he pushed them back up with an expression of wrinkled annoyance. “I don’t know how you guys can handle this. Whose idea was it to come out here on this blistering bloody morning, anyway?”
Prudence snorted. “Ask Dustin. Not that I’m complaining. I’m perfectly happy.” She signaled for another beer, her fourth, last I counted. I was only on my second mimosa and I was already feeling it. Where was she putting it all away?
But yeah, brunch was totally my idea. I always loved the smell of the ocean, the sound of surf. They reminded me of family, and home, which was why I asked Prudence and Herald to come hang out at the beach. I’d promised to keep in touch with the two individually, but the forecast said it’d be nice out, and two birds with one stone, hey? Plus some part of me ached for a little bit of human companionship. Sure, Gil was nice enough, and Sterling was never nearly as much of a bastard as Bastion was, but I wanted to hang out with people who didn’t transform into flesh-ripping monsters every full moon, and who didn’t make creepy jokes about wanting to chew on my neck and suck out my blood.
“I just need a change, okay?” I scratched the back of my neck. “I’m stuck indoors all day, or skulking around at night. Hardly see the sun. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Prudence said, leaning in. “How is your fancy new job, anyway?”
I shrugged, considering which parts of my new post-Lorica career I was technically allowed to share. “Office
is nice, but a little dimly lit. Colleagues are pretty decent, and the pay is good.”
It was the best I could manage at being honest, but still being vague about the nature of my job. I couldn’t exactly tell them I was still stealing for a living. That worked nicely when I was running infiltration and subterfuge for the Lorica as a Hound. But now I was on the other side of the equation, see, which technically made me a criminal. I kept my mouth shut about that part.
“Happy to hear it,” Herald said, with just enough enthusiasm, except that I could hear the sliver of sarcasm in his voice. “Is your workplace at least air-conditioned?”
I laughed. Prudence made a face, then shook her head. “And your boss?”
“He seems to like me well enough.”
“Not like the last one, I hope,” Herald said, before he realized what had come out of his mouth. He cringed, and Prudence tapped her foot hard enough that it made an uncomfortable drum beat against the jetty.
My last boss, Thea, turned out to be the same person who had murdered me, thereby awakening my powers. She kept that from me, spending her time teaching me about the arcane world hidden behind Valero, waiting until I had refined some of my shadow magic before once again using me as a blood sacrifice. I didn’t like thinking about it. None of us much liked talking about that whole incident where she summoned a whole army of tentacle monsters in an attempt to destroy the city.
Herald grunted, the result, I realized, of Prudence elbowing him in the ribs. I cleared my throat and kept going, pretending like I hadn’t heard anything Herald had said.
“Yeah, as I was saying. Nice boss. Appreciates my work.” I brightened up, lifting my glass to my lips and grinning. “He even said he would help track down my father.”
My father, who thought I was dead, and who had then disappeared on me some months back. We’d tried calling the school where he worked, checking the post office, but there was no sign of where he’d gone.
“That’s really cool of him,” Prudence said.
“Actually, I was wondering. Do you guys think it would be possible at all to ask an Eye – say, Romira, even – to help find my dad?”
“Sorry, Dust. No outside favors.” Prudence’s reply was stern, but I could read the sympathy in her eyes. “We’re all friends, sure, but it’s not like you can just ask a Lorica Eye to do that for you. And we wouldn’t know where to start. Romira found you because your body registered a massive magical signature, the night you died. It isn’t at all the same with your father, since he’s a normal. It’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
I sighed. She had a point. But the absence of a magical signature might have been a good sign. That meant that dad wasn’t being threatened or hounded by anything magic-adjacent.
“But you won’t believe what the Eyes did find,” Herald said, bending in conspiratorially. I focused on sipping my drink. I had an idea what was coming next.
Prudence paused as our waitress delivered her beer, then looked between us warily. “I really shouldn’t say, but Herald’s right. Twelve dead bodies, all in one go.”
I choked on my mimosa.
“Twelve, Dust,” Herald said, awestruck. “Can you imagine? Claw marks, like they’d attacked each other.”
“Wow,” I said, my eyes enlarging maybe a little too much, my voice perhaps a little too loud.
“It was like the Pruitts,” Prudence said. “Remember them, Dust? Only so much worse.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, nodding. Oh, I remembered. The Pruitts were a couple, and the first dead bodies I’d ever seen. But even with the holes blown straight through their corpses – and knowing that Thea had murdered them herself – there was something so much worse about the idea of twelve human beings scratching at each other, tearing each other to pieces. Thirteen, if you counted the man who attacked me.
“There was one man alive,” Prudence said, as if reading my mind. “Number thirteen. We ended up having to take him into custody and feign his disappearance, just so the normals wouldn’t ask too many questions. I know, it’s like taking his life away from him, but it was more merciful in the end than leaving him to the authorities.” She shook her head, frowning. “I don’t think even the clerics and the Mouths can help, though. His mind has been fractured. Won’t stop babbling about a cup.”
This time I controlled myself, tipping the remains of my glass directly down my throat, focusing on not drowning myself in mimosa. Sensing the comforting pounding of feet on the wooden planks of the waterfront, I flagged our waitress down for a sangria. God, I needed a drink, and I’d already just finished one.
I let the lapping of the waves fill the silence for a moment. A gull screamed, like it was prompting me to ask what I was dreading. “Is that why the Lorica popped in? To retrieve the – did you say it was a cup?”
“That’s right,” Herald said. “We had some Eyes scanning for the artifact for a while. The Chalice of Plenty.” He nudged his glasses up again, his cheeks a little reddish now from the heat and his drink. “They were supposed to send in a Hound or two, but something happened that night. All we know is that the relic triggered some sort of reaction, and that caused those people to – well, you know.”
I held my breath. The Chalice’s horrible enchantment must have created a signature large enough to mask my own, or maybe the Eyes were too busy tracking it down to notice my presence. Hell if I knew how it worked, but as long as the Lorica didn’t know I had absconded with the artifact –
“Here’s your sangria,” our waitress said, grinning. I took it in both hands gratefully, tossing back half in the first gulp.
“Going to be a real problem with the Veil,” Herald said, referring to the masquerade that the Lorica meant to preserve, the covenant of hiding magic from the human world. “I wonder if the normals will even buy a story like that.”
“It happens,” Prudence said. “Bath salts. A whole lot of alcohol. Someone snapping mentally. Or all of the above.”
It sounded callous, but Prudence was right. Sometimes there were casualties as a result of the arcane world’s impact on regular people, and sometimes the collateral damage was worth keeping humanity ignorant of what mages did, and do. But twelve dead, and a thirteenth who may as well have been? I chugged more of my drink.
Prudence did the same, downing the rest of her beer, and Herald tucked into what was either a frozen margarita or a daiquiri. He took a long pull, then wiped at the spot of shaved ice stuck to his nose.
“Still hot,” he said. “Cripes. I’m sorry, I have to do this.” He reached across the table to grab a paper napkin, but knocked over the salt shaker in the process. “Damn,” he muttered, and he kept muttering, dragging his finger across the tablecloth.
To an onlooker, it might have seemed as if Herald was just clearing away the salt, but Prudence and I knew better. Spilling the salt was just an excuse. We watched as each motion of his fingers left a faint, violet trail, subtle enough to be missed by someone walking by, say, our waitress, or the dozen or so other tables of day drinkers who were far too busy eating to pay attention to the Japanese guy in the stripey tank top who was casting an actual magical spell.
Herald closed his fist, and the pale light dissipated. Cool air blew out of nowhere, gentle enough that it hardly lifted Prudence’s hair, but with just the right amount of strength to counter the sapping heat of the day. Who knew where Herald pulled this very specific cantrip out of, but considering he spent a huge percentage of his day perusing and cataloguing spell books, I couldn’t really be all that surprised.
“Way to uphold the Veil, Herald,” Prudence said, but her sigh of contentment was proof that she was just as grateful for the coolness as we were.
“I wish I could do that.” I couldn’t keep the sulk and small resentment out of my voice. “Hell, I wish I could cast something. Anything.”
Herald puffed his chest out, smiling smugly.
Prudence tilted her head. “Why would you need to learn how to cast anything
? I get that you want to diversify, but shadowstepping’s pretty cool on its own. And useful.”
“I know that. But I mean, how can I call myself a mage if I can’t cast a proper spell? And that thing I did at Central Square – I don’t know if I can do that again.”
Or if I should. The ordeal had taken so much out of me. I’d learned that I could open the door to the Dark Room that night, not just to step into it, but to let things out. It was terrifying, the slaughter that transpired, the black shapes and shadows that spilled out into our reality, slashing, tearing at everything. That and how the scar above my heart reopened and bled freely. Yeah. Long story short, I needed a slightly more subtle way to defend myself. Plus come on, how completely badass would I look throwing fireballs? Imagine it. Take a second. Imagine. Ah. How handsome of me.
“It takes a long time, Dust,” Herald said, the smugness melting from his face. “Lots of study, and practice. There’s no rush. You can duck into shadows. That counts for a lot. You’re a mage, like it or not.”
“Yeah, but you can cool the air, bind misbehaving artifacts, probably make knives out of thin air and shit. I wanna do that.” I cupped my hand the way Carver taught me, then I watched my palm expectantly for the puff of flame that never, ever manifested, no matter how hard I squinted.
“You’re being silly.” Herald nudged my drink closer. “Here. Finish it off. Then one more and we’ll call it a day.”
“Really shouldn’t,” I said, stifling a burp. “I’m basically drinking all day. Heading to a bar tonight.”
Prudence raised an eyebrow. “You, a bar? Who are you? What happened to the old Dustin?”
Herald reached for his own drink and smirked. “He’s exactly the same, just with a more pickled liver. You meeting some other friends of yours?”
“You could say that.”
Herald narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion. “You don’t have other friends.”
I frowned and picked up my glass. “Cheers, you smug bastard.”
Eight hours away until we had to find Dionysus and my bloodstream was already half alcohol. I downed the sangria, maybe in some hopes of drowning out the image of twelve dead bodies slumped in a puddle of blood and wine.