Darkling Mage BoxSet

by Nazri Noor

  Carver stared at me momentarily, but he lowered his hand and nodded. Mama Rosa didn’t move, but she held the bug spray close to her chest, wielding it like a sacred weapon. Asher shoved another spoonful of rice in his mouth, then slurped more of his soup.

  The spider completed its web and settled into the center. Light radiated from its back, spreading across the web until it created the same flickering screen Arachne had once used to communicate with me in my bedroom.

  “How is this happening?” Carver asked, more out of interest than indignation. It was a fair question. The Boneyard was supposed to be magically warded, after all. It was the main reason we’d never been found or raided by the Lorica.

  The silhouette of Arachne’s face blurred, then finally came into focus on the web-screen. “One wonders indeed. But Arachne has her ways, and my offspring have theirs. No place or person in this known world can hide its secrets from us.”

  “But of course,” Carver said, his voice more amiable. “Welcome to our home, Arachne.”

  “And I thank you for your welcome, sorcerer.” She angled her head, peering out of her screen, then grinned. “Ah, so many more sweetlings here today. It is good to see you again, Dustin Graves. And Asher Mayhew, too.”

  Asher paused from decimating his food long enough to lift a hand. “Sup.”

  “I won’t tarry,” Arachne said. “I bring word of what I’ve learned of the meat sacks that have dared to assume my precious sweetling’s form. It appears that they are attracted to magical items, no matter how small or insignificant. Like magpies, they are, looking for treasures, for anything pretty and shiny.”

  “Yeah,” Gil said. “We kind of figured that out.”

  “Ah, excellent. But have you discovered that they all come from the same source?”

  “I think that should be obvious,” Sterling said, in a snooty enough tone that I thought I had reason to worry about Arachne’s reaction. But she only tilted her head and grinned. “The same pattern of attack, the same creature, clearly they all come from the same place.”

  “That much is transparent, blood-cursed. But that is not what I meant. What I wonder is whether you’ve realized that these creatures are created from the same stock.”

  I blinked. Somewhere along my spine, something cold and uncomfortable began to build. “Created? Sorry. I would have thought that this was a race of shapeshifters, or copycats wearing some really good glamours. Something like that.”

  “Yes,” Carver said, rubbing his chin. “The phial of blood Sterling returned to me corroborates what Arachne is suggesting. These creatures are not from a different species. Their source is human in nature.” He glanced at me, studying my face, but said nothing more.

  Sterling’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he twisted in his seat, uncharacteristically excited. “Wait a minute. Come to think of it, that thing’s blood tasted kind of – familiar. Almost – wait.” The chill building down my back crept further up my spine as Sterling’s eyes swiveled very, very slowly in my direction.

  Everyone turned to stare at me. The room went still, and dead silent, disturbed only by the flicker and sizzle of Arachne’s magical screen.

  “What? Why’s everybody looking at – oh. Oh no.”

  “My sweetling,” Arachne said. “These corrupted abominations are grown from the seed of your very blood.”

  I started to chuckle. “Haha. Real funny. Ha. Right? Guys?” No one was joining in. “Uh, guys?”

  “What Arachne says points to a very real possibility,” Carver said slowly. “This isn’t the first I’ve heard of this. But to produce so many at such a rapid pace?”

  Sterling clucked his tongue. Gil helpfully avoided my gaze. Mama Rosa made the sign of the cross, muttering something I couldn’t understand. And Asher kept slurping.

  “I leave you to discuss this among yourselves. It is a busy time for Arachne. So many places to be, people to eat.”

  “I, uh. Thank you, Arachne,” I said.

  “Think nothing of it, sweetling. At least until the next time we meet. Remember. From this point forth, Dustin Graves will always pay the fullest price.”

  She giggled to herself, vanishing from the screen as if she had stepped away from an arcane webcam. Then the web disintegrated, collapsing into a tangle of dust and loose silk. The secret-spider glimmered again as it climbed into a corner cabinet, then disappeared.

  “Wow,” Gil said. “Handy trick she’s got there.”

  Carver nodded. “Arachne is a powerful ally. How she’s able to penetrate our domicile is anyone’s guess, but Dustin should be thankful for her aid.”

  Mama Rosa swatted at me with a rolled-up newspaper.

  “Ow, geez, hey.” Where did she even get that?

  “No pets. Was that your pet? No pets, especially insects.”

  “Well technically that was an arachnid, and – hey, ouch, quit it.”

  “Don’t care. I don’t like pets. Mr. Carver doesn’t like pets. Please.”

  “Technically that is correct. But there’s no need to be upset, Mama Rosa. Dustin speaks the truth. That was simply an entity delivering a message.”

  “It’s homunculi, isn’t it?” Sterling cut in, with what I thought was an unnecessary amount of enthusiasm. “Everything she said totally points to homunculi.”

  “I’m afraid you’re correct,” Carver said. “It appears that the doppelgangers were taken from the same source. These are not creatures that have existed for ages. It is not a race of changelings or a huddle of mages with access to glamours. What we have here is an infestation of homunculi.”

  I cleared my throat. “You guys keep throwing that word around like it’s common knowledge. What is a homunculi?”

  Carver folded his hands together, setting them down in front of him on the kitchen table. I was in for a lengthy lecture. “Homunculi is the pluralized version of the term. The word you are looking for is homunculus. It’s the name given to a creation made from a union of sorcerous and alchemical talent, one that results in a servant that, while capable of independent thought, is totally loyal to its master.”

  “And the main ingredient,” Sterling said, “is usually blood.”

  Carver nodded. “That is correct. Though it isn’t unusual to hear of alchemical recipes where the base is generated from human feces, or even semen. Normally homunculi are very small, the way you might see imps or other minor demons, but whoever is generating these clones of yours has found some method of making them human in size.”

  “Small?” Mama Rosa glowered, then crossed herself again. “Dios mio. I have heard of these things. We have them in the Philippines. They belong to people with bad magic. We call them tiyanak.”

  Asher blinked, then set his down spoon for the first time. “Hey, I’ve actually heard of those. Mom used to scare me with those stories when I was a kid. You mean to say she was right?”

  “Of course,” Rosa bellowed. “Mothers are always right. It is terrible how they make them. You take an aborted fetus, then you put it in a jar. And you give it a drop of blood every night. And when a whole month has passed – ”

  Mama Rosa shuddered. It was a strange sight, because I’d never thought her capable of being frightened of anything. And that, naturally, gave me more cause for concern.

  “Indeed,” Carver said. “After a month, the being comes to life to do your bidding. It is very similar to another version of these strange creatures, called the toyol, from your neighboring Malaysia. Interesting, isn’t it, how stories and myths can cross oceans and continents? But as I said, there are many ways to generate homunculi, and whoever has created your copies, Dustin, has found an exemplary manner of doing so.”

  Then all of those doppelgangers, all my clones had come from the same source. That shouldn’t have been at all surprising. They had the same objective, after all, of stealing magical items. The Heartstopper, Madam Chien’s jade peach, the Null Dagger – it didn’t matter what they went for, did it?

  “I think it’s saf
e to say that Thea is behind this,” I said. “But why is she sending all of these creatures out to steal artifacts? And how did she get my blood?”

  Carver stroked his chin. “It’s possible that she kept a sample when she first sacrificed you. But the more likely possibility is that she collected one during your last encounter. When you fought Thea, did she cut you at all? Think.”

  I stared off into empty space as my mind ticked through our last battle. “She did. She slashed me with her talons. You don’t mean to say that she managed to keep enough of my blood just from one cut?”

  “The woman is a powerful sorceress and an accomplished enchantress. To say that she also has a firm grasp on alchemy wouldn’t be a stretch. She didn’t need much of your blood to work with. Whatever she harvested from you that one night was more than enough. As for why she’s stealing artifacts – that remains a mystery. Sterling?”

  Sterling grunted.

  “Perhaps you could speak with Diaz.”

  “Are we talking about the blood witch?” I said. “The one who sent two vampires to corner me in a dark alley?” I frowned a little, remembering that I still hadn’t managed to make time for a burger.

  “I would be quite upset if someone stole my enchantments as well,” Carver said, “but I confess that Diaz’s actions were somewhat rash. I am unable to locate Thea because of her cloaking mechanisms, but perhaps Diaz has his own way of tracing the homunculi back to their point of origin.”

  “Or,” Sterling said, grinning, “or, we could start from the source.” He winked at me. “I might be able to track them down. But I’d need another taste to be sure.”

  “Sterling,” I groaned. “No. Stop.”

  “You’re right,” Sterling said, rising from the table, stretching his limbs and yawning, like a cat. “We may as well go with someone who knows his stuff. Let me take a nap, then I’ll contact Diaz for a meeting.”

  “Dustin should come,” Carver added.

  “Oh. I should? Yay.”

  Sterling chuckled. “It’ll be fun. Diaz is okay. The twelve vampires he lives with, though? Not so much.”

  My eyes went straight for the pantry, where we kept all the garlic. If only they were afraid of the stuff.

  I pulled out my phone, wondering where in Valero I could go to buy myself a stake. Just – just in case.

  Chapter 15

  “So you cleared this with Carver, right?”

  I sipped on my latte, eyeing Herald with a little more guilt than I’d intended to show.

  “Um, yeah. Sure. Sure I did.”

  Herald nudged his glasses up his nose, fixing me with a quick scowl before turning his attention back to the road. “You’re a terrible liar, Graves.”

  “Actually I’m usually really good at it. You just happen to be really good at sniffing me out.”

  “What a pair we make,” Herald muttered. I could hear his eyes rolling. “But seriously. This sounds like the exact kind of thing Carver would have your head for.”

  This was true. Sterling said he needed a nap, and besides, he hadn’t clarified whether we were going to see Diaz that very same day, so I made plans. It had taken some hemming and hawing on my part, but after hours of pacing back and forth in my bedroom I finally gathered up the balls to pick up the phone and call Herald. And even then we had to swing by for coffees to help settle my jitters. I realize that sounds totally counterintuitive, but just go with it.

  I told him I would pay him back for the car rental. I guess I could have gone on my own, but I didn’t know how to drive. Okay, fine, I do, but I was too anxious to do it. Plus the destination was on the edge of town, and unfamiliar to me. I didn’t want to go it on my own.

  I hear you, okay? Yes, I could have taken a rideshare. Enough already. Maybe I was nervous. I hadn’t seen my dad in ages, and I needed the moral support.

  A stupid idea, you say? Totally. Sure. For the record, you and Herald are on the same page. But I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Arachne had given me his address. I’d been through more life-threatening scrapes in the past few months than I have in my entire existence. And I knew that the danger was only going to amp up.

  Some sinister shit was going on behind this whole homunculus business, and someone was going to get hurt real bad. I wanted to see my dad just in case. It’d be the first time in a long while. If things went truly horribly for me somehow, between the meeting with Diaz’s vampires and the unknowable threat of the doppelgangers, it might even be the last.

  “Carver doesn’t have to find out, okay? And he won’t. Not unless you rat me out to him.”

  “I won’t,” Herald harrumphed. “It’s not like we’re hanging in some secret group chat together. What, I’ll be like, ‘Hey Carver, your boy Dustin is out here making awesome life choices again.’”

  “Don’t be a dick, Herald, this is hard enough as it is.”

  He scoffed. “Speaking as a member of the Lorica, I want you to know that this is highly irresponsible, and a direct violation of the Veil.” Then Herald sighed. “But speaking as your friend? I understand why you want to do this. And I support you.”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem,” Herald said, brushing his hair out of his eyes, giving me a rare smile in return. He drove on, and I waited for the followup. “It’ll only cost you a steak dinner.”

  Ah. There it was. “Whatever you want, buddy. Anything you like.” And I suppose I was thankful for the shift in scenery, because it meant a change in subject as well. “I think we’re almost here.”

  The vegetation was thinning. We’d passed a whole lot of nothing in the course of finding my father’s new home. I wouldn’t exactly say we were out in the boonies, but saying it was the edge of town might have undersold the distance. We definitely weren’t in Valero anymore. Things were getting pretty rural, and the shift from a bunch of trees to actual buildings was a welcome sight.

  “We’re almost here,” Herald said, tapping his phone. “We just have to make a right turn, and – ”

  “Yikes.”

  “Oh,” Herald said. “Oh wow.”

  I didn’t know whether Herald was seeing the same thing I was, but it wouldn’t have mattered. All the houses looked about the same, each in a more or less similar state of disrepair. What was once white was weathered, lawns untended, and shingles? What shingles? I had to admit, I was surprised that any of these houses were even on a GPS map.

  My heart did a little tumble. Dad lived in one of these things. I should have guessed that his mental health would have taken even more of a nosedive all this time after my death. I should have come to see him sooner.

  But it was going to be okay. We were going to get together again, on better terms, this time, and I was going to do what I could to move him back into the city, get him back on his feet. Maybe he could even reapply for his old job. We could be a family again.

  “Color me crazy,” Herald said, “but it kind of looks like nobody lives around here.”

  “I believe you. Half these places look almost abandoned. Which one is he in again?”

  “Number forty-two. That one, on the left.”

  It looked like every other house, except that it seemed slightly more maintained. The porch was still as busted as any other, floored over with uneven wood, the beams scarred with chipping paint, the railings grown over with weeds. The setting sun only made it look all the more forlorn. I had to get him out of there, and soon.

  “This is it,” I said.

  The engine sputtered to a halt. Herald tapped the steering wheel twice, as if with some finality. “Yeah. This is it. Get out there and make me proud.”

  “Wait, you’re not coming with me?”

  “What are you, Dustin? Twelve years old?”

  I batted my eyelashes. I don’t know, don’t judge me. Like I said, the whole point of taking Herald with me was for moral support.

  “Fine,” Herald growled. “Fucking fine. You’re such a baby.”

  “Thanks, man.”
I scrambled out of the car. “You’re the best.”

  Herald did what I thought was his best not to slam the car door too hard. “Huge, fucking baby.”

  My feet carried me to the porch, and I had to admonish them mentally. Not too fast. We’d waited months already, I thought. Another minute more wouldn’t make much difference. I stood at the threshold, breathing slowly, checking in with myself. This was it. I looked over my shoulder. Herald stood there expectantly, arms crossed, lip turned up, as supportive as he’d ever be.

  “Go on,” he said, but not unkindly. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, more jittery than I’d hoped. I turned to the door, lifting my hand for the knob –

  Which was when I noticed that the door was ajar.

  “Huh,” I said. “Funny. It’s already open.”

  Herald peered over my shoulder. “Maybe he left it open. Maybe he was carrying stuff from the car and forgot.”

  I craned my neck over to the side of the house, where my dad’s beat-up old sedan was parked. Both the doors and the trunk were shut.

  “Something like that, probably,” I told Herald. But something unsettling stirred in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t like dad to leave the front door open.

  I cracked it further open, just to test. Everything seemed mostly normal. The lights in the living room were on. There were boxes on the floor, still unpacked, gone dusty from being untouched. A brown plant sat in the corner, untended and unwatered.

  Beyond the plant, on the kitchen tile, lay the body of Norman Graves.

  Chapter 16

  “Dad. Dad?”

  I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my entire life. I bolted to his side, the tile cold against my knees even through the denim. What the hell was I supposed to do? I cradled his head, without even knowing if that was okay. I swept the hair away from his brow, because it was all I could do.

  “Am I allowed to do this? Herald, am I supposed to do this?” I wasn’t sure when my voice started cracking. It became a little harder to see Herald, which was when I realized that the tears were starting to flow.