by Nazri Noor
He picked up in two rings. “Dust!” he said, his voice uncharacteristically enthusiastic, so much that I could hear the exclamation point. “Buddy. Old pal.”
“Herald? About tonight.”
“Okay, okay.” His tone dropped immediately. “I can explain.”
“I’m listening.”
“One of my supervisors went looking for the sword, and since it was registered under me they knew that something was fishy. They didn’t care about the backpack, but Vanitas? They were pissed. The Gallery was going to fire me, all right? Or worse. The last time anyone smuggled something out of the archives the Scions threw him into an alternate dimension.” I could hear him tutting on the other end of the line. “Poor Jeremy.”
“Okay, great, but the press release here is that you totally betrayed me. Not cool, dude.”
“Dust, come on, I’m sorry, okay? How the hell are we gonna have beach brunch together in shitty hundred-degree weather if I’m stuck in some nether dimension?”
“So funny.”
“Listen. I knew that they wouldn’t be able to get at you, okay? Between your shadowstepping thing and the sword, what chance did they really have? They’re not going to do anything to risk damaging Vanitas. And they sure as hell aren’t going to hurt you. I mean, did they even lay a finger on you?”
I paused. He was right. “No, they didn’t. But – ”
“You see my point? It’s going to be okay, Dust. I get to keep my job, and you get to be a wanted fugitive. Everybody wins.”
“Igarashi, I swear I’m going to wring your neck.”
“Sure, sure, anything you want. Brunch is my treat next time. But maybe we just won’t bring Prudence along, eh? Right? Right. Okay. Gotta run.”
“Herald, wait – ”
Click. The line was dead.
That asshole. He was totally right, though, no arguing his point. Vanitas’s attunement meant he wasn’t coded to kill anyone I really cared about, and the sword was too valuable to the Lorica for them to risk destroying. I liked to think I mattered a little to Prudence, maybe even Bastion, too.
But what if the Lorica sent even bigger guns next time?
Something cold brushed my arm. I yelped and leapt back.
“Chill,” Sterling said. “Just me.”
“Don’t scare me like that.”
“Kind of hard not to. You’re so jumpy. You still worried about that whole poison thing?”
“Damn it, Sterling, I’m not letting you turn me.”
He chuckled and shrugged. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Listen. I called the number. Go put on a jacket or something, we’re meeting the contact.”
“What, now?”
“Yes. Now. I’ll meet you out here in ten. I’m gonna go in and tell Gil, make him wash the gunk out of his beard. Guy eats like a dog.”
“It’s way past midnight, and it’s been such a long day. I’m exhausted.” Too whiny? Perhaps. But I was totally destroyed.
“This is as much about the contact as it is about your death sentence. You can sleep when you’re dead.”
The breath caught in my throat. I gawped, sobered by the reminder. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. But did you have to schedule something so late?”
Sterling cocked his head. “News flash, Dust. It’s universally safer for the three of us to work under cover of night. It’s what we have in common.” He grinned, his fangs wet, gleaming in the moonlight. “Embrace the darkness. Carpe noctem, motherfucker.”
Chapter 9
The Nicola Arboretum was unreasonably chilly at three in the morning, especially by Valero standards. And damp, too, every leaf and blade of grass studded with dew, with moisture that clung to the bones like ice. But I couldn’t say that it wasn’t worth coming to see it.
I’d been once, a long time ago, back when my mom was still alive. Even then it was impressive, just this lush expanse of green, dotted here and there with the colors of so many flowers in bloom. By the light of the moon, everything was so much darker, but the gleam of nature was so much more pronounced that way. The arboretum was one huge, glinting sculpture, hewn out of the darkest emerald, twinkling in moonbeams and starlight.
“This is insane,” Gil breathed, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
I nodded. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”
Sterling shrugged. “I mean, it’s okay.” Trust him to be the downer.
We looked around, ever watchful, though what we were looking for exactly was anyone’s guess. The man that Sterling had spoken to on the phone had told us to meet by the statue in the center of the park. It was a nine-foot sculpture of Nicola Boules, the man responsible for establishing the arboretum, providing the people of Valero an inexpensive weekend destination where they could both indulge in nature and be educated, and providing the teenagers of Valero plenty of huge, dark bushes in which to awkwardly experiment.
“Any minute now,” Sterling said, glancing at his watch. It was silver, like basically every piece of jewelry he wore, from the multiple earrings working their way from his lobes to his cartilage, to the occasional rings he wore on slender fingers. I’d learned in my time with the boys that vampires weren’t actually sensitive to silver. Neither were werewolves. But a lot of other things from myth and urban legend were definitely true. The heightened senses, for example, which I realized Gil was employing when he lifted his head and sniffed.
“They’re here.”
They? Well. This was going to be interesting. I wore my backpack over just one shoulder this time, to make it easier to lift the flap, just in case I needed to release the hounds again. Vanitas, it seemed, had no complaints, and frankly I would have been okay with hefting him around – I needed the exercise, let’s be real – but one does not walk around Valero with a broadsword without attracting some suspicion, or one or two very distraught police officers.
I saw the man first, tall, blond. It was Arnaud, our contact from the Amphora. He was pushing what I initially thought was a trolley, until I spotted his cargo. It was a woman in a wheelchair, wizened and small, at first glance, but as the two approached, I saw how straight she sat, how her hair was masterfully pinned into a perfect, white bun. I recognized her immediately.
Enrietta Boules was a minor celebrity in Valero, mainly for her family’s business, which was rooted deeply in farming and agriculture. The family had diversified over the years, and Enrietta specialized in essential oils, supplying them to various industries around the world, but also creating her own aromatherapy and home decoration line.
It was a magazine at Mama Rosa’s, okay? She had a bunch of old ones sitting in a corner, and that’s where I read about Enrietta, and the Boules, and the fact that the statue we were standing right under was her ancestor.
I heard more sniffing. This time it was Sterling, his head tilting as he watched the pair approach.
“She’s magical,” he said. “He isn’t.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how that worked, or whether this ability to sniff out magical blood was universal to all vampires, but I had to hand it to Sterling, it was a pretty nifty trick.
Arnaud nodded at us wordlessly. The wheelchair, soundless throughout their entire journey, squeaked to a stop as the pair joined us under Nicola’s statue. Enrietta, looking austere in a tight gray smock, nodded at us primly.
“Gentlemen,” she said.
“Mrs. Boules,” I replied, giving a shallow bow. I kept my smile to myself when I noticed the others casting me surprised looks.
Enrietta cracked a smile. Ah. We had an opening, then. If she liked me, then half the work was done.
“How charming,” she said. “You must be a fan of our products, then.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “I used to like the patchouli incense sticks a lot, but now I think I’m more of a eucalyptus candle kind of guy.”
Out of the corner of my eye I watched as Sterling’s eyebrow climbed so far up his forehead it could have flown right off. Enrietta chuckled, the sound of
it like scraping wood. A lot about her felt wooden, in fact, the hard lines of her jaw, the deep, rugged complexion of her skin, like a woman carved out of bark. Weathered, but enduring, stalwart.
“We discontinued eucalyptus candles two years ago, young man, but I appreciate the effort you’ve made to flatter me.”
I lifted my head proudly. Somewhere off to my side, Sterling snorted. I guess it was up to me to take the lead.
“Mrs. Boules, I’m Dustin Graves, at your service. And these are my colleagues, Sterling and Gil.”
The two grunted in greeting. Enrietta nodded.
“Enrietta Boules, as you already know, granddaughter of the big, honking statue you see before you.” She waved a hand at the man behind her. “And this is Arnaud, my assistant. I believe you’ve already met.”
Arnaud placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head politely. “Greetings,” he said, the word curled with the hint of an accent.
“I will cut to the chase. I’ve been connected to you by an agent wanting only to be known as Dion.”
I nodded, staring at her intently, trying not to roll my eyes. Really, Dionysus? So lame.
“I was informed that you people are the best at what you do – acquisition of magical artifacts, is that correct? The best, that is, apart from those turd-sniffers they hire at the Lorica. Now what were they called again?”
“Hounds, madam,” Arnaud provided helpfully.
I eyed him carefully, but he only smiled. Mama Rosa aside, I’d never really encountered a normal who was privy to the workings of the arcane underground, all the stuff that lay behind the Veil, but I was sure that either of the boys would have said something if they were alerted to anything suspicious about him by now.
“Yes. Hounds. I don’t want the Lorica getting involved in this. We all know they would keep the artifact I desire to themselves, anyway, whisk it off to their precious Gallery.”
Sterling elbowed me gently, speaking loud enough for Enrietta to hear. “I like her a lot,” he muttered. Enrietta smiled.
“You hold no love for the Lorica either. Then it appears my contact was prudent in connecting us.” She pushed at the armrests of her wheelchair, face contorting with effort as she struggled to stand.
“Madam, please,” Arnaud said, his voice whisper-soft.
She raised a hand stiffly. “Let me do this. Give me this one thing.” Jerkily, Enrietta got to her feet, which I only then noticed were bare. She stepped onto the grass, then sighed, closing her eyes, lifting her head. Arnaud rushed forward, placing a wooden cane in her hand. Enrietta nodded her thanks, then planted the tip of the cane in the grass.
“I’m too weak these days to find much time to come to the arboretum, but this was always the true nexus of our family’s power. Dryads, all of us, from an old line. We kept the blood pure, so we could trade in natural magic, and nature’s own magic was our trade. Fruit, vegetables, flowers, and all their wonderful by-products. Perfect, you see, for this sudden boom in wellness, this concern for healthcare. Yet for all of our specialization, for how we monetized our magic, even the finest apothecaries in the Boules line couldn’t find a cure for cancer.”
She stepped forward, leaning her weight onto her cane. She sighed with each step, apparently adoring the sensation of wet grass against the soles of her feet.
“I am dying, gentlemen, from a hereditary illness. I am running out of time, and there are none left to continue the Boules line. I will be damned before I leave my legacy to a boardroom of simpering old men. I need you to secure an artifact for me. An artifact which, incidentally, is being held by a group known as the Viridian Dawn.”
Arnaud listened in silence, his eyes watching Enrietta for any signs of her faltering. Gil, I could tell, was taking notes in his mind, committing every detail to memory.
“Now normally, I might have misgivings about stealing. I’m a businesswoman, after all, not a thief.”
I cleared my throat very quietly.
“But I have learned that this Viridian Dawn is responsible for the deaths of many, and it is my opinion that these filthy cultists will stop at nothing to continue their culling and killing. Why, I’ve heard that they corrupted an entity’s artifact, warping it so that it would force those within its vicinity to tear each other limb from limb, like animals.” She nodded sagely. “Dion told me so.”
Bless her heart, I thought, for failing to connect the lines. It was best that she didn’t know.
“We’ll be more than happy to help, Mrs. Boules,” I said. “We just need information on the artifact’s whereabouts.”
“Ah. Yes. Arnaud will give you the dossier. As for now, the pertinent details. I require something called the Genesis Codex. It is a font of pure vitality, a source of immense life energy that may be the key to ridding my body of this accursed disease. The only problem is that no one knows what this Genesis Codex looks like. It remains up to you to locate the Viridian Dawn’s hideout, find the item within, then extract it. What happens to the cultists, I care not.”
Gil cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Wonderful. You may discuss the subject of payment with Arnaud. I trust you will find our terms very agreeable indeed.” She raised her head up to the statue, regarding it wistfully. “The same disease took him, you know, all those decades back. It took my husband, too, made it so we could not bear any children.” She sighed. “I might not have the womb enough to offer an heir for our lineage, but at least I will have time to find someone suitable. Yes. Time is what I need.”
She crept back to her wheelchair, turning about as she positioned her frail bottom. Arnaud held her by the forearms, supporting her tenderly as she lowered herself back in her seat. Enrietta sighed.
“And time is what I shall have. Find me the Codex, gentlemen. The sooner, the better. If you find opposition – kill them if you must. If you end the Viridian Dawn, there may well be a bonus.” She raised a hand, and without further words or prompting, Arnaud approached, placing a manila envelope in Gil’s hands.
“What we know of the organization,” Arnaud said. “Including their whereabouts. They are dangerous, but not clever.”
“I trust that you will put this to your advantage. Gentlemen. I bid you good evening.” She nodded at us, then at Arnaud. “Home. I’m very tired. There’s a good lad.”
He smiled tightly at her, then at us, and then the two were off, the gray woman in her silver chair, her assistant in his equally ashen clothing disappearing into the emerald darkness of the arboretum.
The poor woman. I felt better knowing we would solve everything in one blow if we found the Codex: the Viridian Dawn would be stopped, and Enrietta and I both got to live. Win, win, triple win.
None of us spoke for a good few moments. Something about Mrs. Boules seemed so ancient, and so infused with melancholy that it stayed behind like a miasma, cloying and thick. But what really stayed behind was what she had left in her wake. Where her bare feet had touched the ground was the same wet grass as before, only there were now sprays of flowers among them, small and pale, like stars.
Sterling bent down, sniffing at them, then picking one up. It looked so delicate in his fingers, tiny and frail, like Enrietta Boules herself.
“It looks like we’ll need a little help,” Gil said, flipping through the files in Arnaud’s dossier. “An entity, maybe. Dust. You up for it?”
I thought of Dionysus and his poisoned cup, of Arachne and her venomous brood, of Hecate and how all three of her apparitions tried to murder me. But it was all part of the job, I knew, and communing was one of those things I could do well. Do it for Mrs. Boules, I told myself.
“Talk to another entity? Yeah. Sure.” I pushed my hair back, blinking away all thoughts of dying horribly, and mustered my brightest grin. “Who did you have in mind?”
Chapter 10
Gil thumbed through the Viridian dossier as we made our way back to the hideout, reading by the light of electric lamps. He seemed to be doing pretty well considerin
g the dark and how fast we were walking, but I chalked it up to his werewolf senses.
“So?” Sterling asked. “Where do we hit? Who do we kill?”
“Shush,” I said, the air streaming out of me in a cloud of mist. “I know this is the Meathook but geez. Someone could hear.”
“Shut up,” Gil said, running his finger across the pages. “Right. Says here that the cult is hiding out in a residence, somewhere near the Gridiron.”
So a house close to the industrial district. It made sense. Lots of activity and plenty of movement in and out, so much that no one would question shipments and deliveries. The fact that normals had no way of detecting or even knowing that arcane curiosities existed was, of course, a bonus. They were hiding in plain sight.
“So we torch the place,” Sterling said, lighting yet another cigarette. “Easy peasy. Everything burns down, then we sift through the ashes and pick out what’s left.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, because that wouldn’t alert the normals. You know how police and firefighters work, right? They’ll pick the place clean. And what’s the chance that the Codex will survive the fire? We don’t even know what it is. Could be a grimoire.”
Sterling blinked and stared at me blankly for a moment, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “It was a stupid joke, and you had to make a whole thing out of it. What we need to do is infiltrate.” He nodded at the sheaves of documents in Gil’s hands. “What’s a good time?”
“The day, it looks like. Apparently the vast majority of the Viridian Dawn’s members still carry on with their regular lives. It’s not a cult in that sense, per se. Which means that with the cultists living their day-to-day lives and working their jobs – ”
“The house is more likely to be empty by day,” I said. “Or at least more lightly guarded.”
“Correct. But we’re probably going to need all hands on deck for this one. Floor plan is showing multiple levels, it’s a pretty big building. Carver might have to come with.”