by Nazri Noor
I squeezed back, feeling smaller, letting myself be enveloped in the warmth of the only parent I had left. God but I didn’t know how much I’d missed being around him. I choked out a little laugh, fighting to stifle the sob in my throat.
“Love you too, dad.”
He stepped back, clapping me by the shoulders, then fixed me with the same blue eyes that I saw every time I looked in the mirror. “I don’t know what you are, exactly, but I’m proud of you.”
I ran a finger under my eye, sniffled, then chuckled. “I’m not sure what I am, either, but I think it has something to do with this thing that mom left behind.”
I pulled the amulet out of my pocket, lifting it up to our faces. The pendant spun on its axis, the garnet glinting like a red eye. Across the room, Herald folded his arms, watching the amulet intensely.
Dad made a face, his lips pursing, as if he’d just tasted something awful. “She was attached to that thing, but it always creeped me the hell out. Didn’t know why she kept it around. It has no value, as far as we’ve checked. It’s just as cheap and worthless as the others.”
The stifling silence from Herald’s end of the room made me look. His eyes were burning into me with grim understanding. I watched dad warily.
“The – the others, you say?”
“I only held onto them as keepsakes, but I have them tucked under the bed. Never look at them, you know? Like I said. It all freaks me out. Something about the way they’re designed. All those curls, they look like tentacles. Like squid or something.”
Like shrikes, like the children of the Eldest. I avoided Herald’s gaze, but I could basically hear his thoughts.
“Where are the rest of these objects, Mr. Graves?” Herald said, his voice level and artificially professional.
Dad looked between us, his face a mix of confusion and suspicion. “I’ll just go and grab them,” he said, heading to his bedroom.
I rushed to Herald’s side as dad sauntered off. Herald tugged on my wrist just as soon as we were in whispering range, his face conspiratorially close to mine.
“These artifacts belong to the Eldest and their servants. Where the hell would your mother get them?”
“How the fuck would I know?” I growled. “This is the first we’re both hearing of this.”
“This is bad,” Herald said, glowering. “First order of business is for us to remove them from the premises. I sense no enchantment on the amulet, but I can’t say the same for the others.”
“But the homunculus came specifically for the amulet. So it isn’t enchanted. Fine. It still gave off a signature strong enough to attract the creature.”
“Even more reason for us to remove the entire lot,” Herald said. “It sounds like Norman wouldn’t mind very much. He doesn’t seem attached to them. They’ll be safe back with the Lorica.”
My eyes narrowed. “Or,” I said, very evenly, “or at the Boneyard.”
Herald cocked an eyebrow. “The what now?”
“Shush. We’ll talk about this later. Here he comes.”
Dad was balancing a box in his arms. Not just a box, actually, but a proper wooden chest, about the size of a shoebox. It looked a little weathered, and unremarkable apart from the meaningless, generic designs carved into its lid and its sides.
Yet even without any real training for sensing the presence of magical objects, I could detect something sinister about the chest. It was that unsettling, uncomfortable feeling you get when something’s off, even if you don’t know what that something might specifically be.
I watched in trepidation as dad set the chest down on the kitchen table. Herald leaned closer, arms folded, like he was dying to know himself. Dad lifted the lid, and I held my breath.
It was a whole lot of nothing. Just junk: dented pieces of metal, broken jewelry, the pommel of a dagger with its whole blade missing, and something that looked like a metal chopstick. What did bind the objects together, though, was that all of them were made of tarnished bronze, in that same, strange verdigris color as the sacrificial daggers, as Vanitas. Here and there, I caught the dull, lifeless glimmer of dusty, long-hidden garnets.
“These things are functionally worthless,” Herald said, casting a professional eye over the contents of the box. One hand nudged at his spectacles, as if to afford him a better look. “They might have been enchanted once, but right now? Nothing. Still, even as junk, they give off enough of an energy signature, which explains why the homunculus came here.”
Dad sighed and clapped one hand on Herald’s shoulder. Herald looked abashed by the gesture, or perhaps by the sudden contact.
“Listen,” dad said. “You seem like a nice kid, but for all I know you may as well be speaking French.”
“I’m. I’m Japanese,” Herald stammered.
“Not the point, Herald. Dad? The thing that attacked you, it’s called a homunculus, and there’s a lot of them wandering out in the city right now. We’re trying to figure out why, but all we know is that they’re attracted to magical items.”
Dad raised an eyebrow, then picked up one of the verdigris objects. “This garbage is magical? It was just old junk your mom kept around.”
“Yes, well, about that,” Herald said, having collected himself. “We’ll need to remove these from your home to protect you. More homunculi might come for them if we don’t.” Herald nodded at me. “For that matter, we might have to set other protections in place.”
He was going to ward dad’s house? Oh, man. Herald deserved three steak dinners. I smiled at him, hoping it was enough to convey my thanks.
“But I hope you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Graves. Where did your wife acquire these? They’re quite rare, and frankly speaking, quite dangerous.”
“My wife had a thing for strange knick-knacks, see. She never really put much stock in them, but she liked to tinker, keep them around. I never thought much of it. I mean, how could a crystal really hurt you? But this box?” He tapped the side of the chest. “It was a long time ago. Someone sold it to her for basically nothing, this lady she met on one of those occult message boards. Blond woman, had kind of an odd name. Thay – something. Theya?”
My fist shook, and my nails dug into the palm of my hand. Herald looked at me, then back at my dad.
“Mr. Graves. Was it someone named Thea Morgana?”
Dad put down the pommel, then blinked.
“How could you possibly know?”
Chapter 18
Herald circled the house a third time, drawing a line on the ground with pinches of something from a little jar. It turned out to be a barbecue rub that dad had lying around. Herald muttered as he went, sprinkling the earth with something that would have gone nicely on a slab of ribs.
Dad looked on in suspicion. “Seems like a waste.”
“Shush,” I said. “And when were you going to barbecue around here, anyway? This place looks dead. I don’t think you even have any neighbors.”
“Oh, they’re around,” he said, looking at the other houses. “They just keep to themselves is all.”
Night had fallen, and it was a little strange how so few of the surrounding houses had any lights on at all. I guess I could begin to understand why dad liked it. It was a place for him to hide, to be away from everyone and everything, but especially his thoughts and his past. But it was time to change that.
“This is a temporary measure, you realize?” I said, gesturing at Herald. “He’s casting wards, but you’re going to have to move back to the city soon.”
The corner of dad’s mouth lifted, the bristly mustache he’d grown over the months lifting with it. “You miss me that much?”
I chucked him on the shoulder. “Stop being so sappy. But yes. Besides, I’d feel safer with you nearby. You don’t know how dangerous shit gets for me sometimes, and I’d be happier knowing we won’t have to drive out to bumfuck nowhere just to check on you.”
“I’ll be fine until then,” he said reassuringly. Then he jabbed his thumb at Herald again. “Though
I don’t know if all this is necessary. Especially that. Now that seems like a waste.”
Herald was emptying an entire bottle of beer over the patch of dirt right across the front door. I had no idea what the hell he was doing, but I trusted him implicitly. I’d always known he was a proficient sorcerer, and knowing that Carver held him in high regard deepened that trust even more. Plus who was I to argue with an alchemist? If he thought that barbecue rub was the best thing for drawing a magical perimeter, then who was I to say otherwise?
Herald dropped the bottle. It fell to the earth with a soft thud. He stopped incanting, then snapped his fingers. Dad gasped, stepped away from the house, and grabbed at my arm.
“Holy shit,” he said, the brilliant purple of so many flames reflected in his eyes.
“I know,” I said, turning my attention to the ring of violet fire that had sprung up around his house. “I know.”
The fires subsided in a matter of seconds, vanishing into the ground, as if called back by the earth. Herald dusted off his hands, a gesture to symbolize that the ritual had ended – or maybe just a way to get rid of the extra rub clinging to his fingers. He thrust the jar into my dad’s hands. I could tell he was trying not to smirk at the sight of my dad’s face.
“There wasn’t any sage in the house,” Herald said. “I had to make do. The beer cements the connection to the earth. Wheat and spring water, and all that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, really?”
Herald shrugged. “I dunno. Sure, why not. Listen, the point is, this will offer some preliminary protection, and a kind of early detection system. You’ll find out if something’s wrong with Norman here.”
Dad frowned. “Hey now. I can take care of myself.”
I cleared my throat. “Just like you took care of yourself when the homunculus clocked you in the back of the head? No way. We’re not taking any risks.”
Dad grumbled.
“But Herald, you were saying. An alarm? I mean, how would I even know?”
The circle of protection he’d drawn around the house flared purple once again, the briefest flash of light, and a siren began screaming in my head. I groaned and clutched at my temples.
“Kind of like that,” Herald said, frowning. He put his hand across dad’s chest, already incanting. In his other hand, razor-sharp fragments of ice were starting to form, growing in size by the second.
I straightened myself up, willing the noise away. I guess I’d get used to it, but I’d have to ask Herald if there was some way of adjusting the hellish volume on that thing. But before that, we needed to deal with whatever threat was setting off the occult security system in the first place. I readied myself, surveying the darkness beyond the house, wondering whether I’d need to resort to flame or shadow.
But it wasn’t another homunculus. The shape that appeared from out of the shadows was familiar, except she wasn’t. I knew her face, or perhaps I didn’t, because her features kept shifting. Yet even as her form wavered, I knew that I recognized something about the woman, about her cloak of shadows, her head of raven-black hair that seemed to melt into the night.
Hecate.
“Holy shit,” Herald murmured. “Holy shit, it’s really her.” He dropped his hand, the icicles evaporating into thin air, and he lowered his head, as if in reverence.
Dad nudged me with his elbow. “Is – is that a vampire?”
“Not quite,” I said. “Possibly worse. I think it’s best if you go into the house and wait there.”
He frowned. “Okay, Dust, I appreciate what you and your buddy here have done to help me, but I swear I can take care of myself. Your father isn’t as defenseless as you think he is and – ”
“Dad. Please.” I leaned in, my eyes watching as Hecate slowly approached. “It’s a goddess. And it’s not one of the nicer ones.”
His eyes widened. “Did you say – that’s a goddess? They exist?”
I pressed my lips into a tight line. “There’s a hell of a lot we need to catch up on. But for now, please get into the house.”
“Take care of yourself,” he sputtered, shortly before bolting through the front door. I’d never seen him move so fast.
“Goodness gracious,” Hecate said, holding a hand to her chest, as if in mock offense. “We did not come to harm your parent, fleshling. There was no need to dismiss him so. We have come with other interests in mind.”
“Well and good, Hecate,” I said. “But he’s only just learning about the arcane and the entities. I think he’s seen quite enough for one night.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “How sweet of you to be so concerned for your father’s sanity. The human mind truly is such a fragile thing.” She turned her head slowly. “But we see that another fleshling is content to remain within our presence.”
“Herald Igarashi,” Herald said, bowing his head again. I’d never seen him like this, cowed, perhaps, and so restrained, because I could tell he was getting a little excited. “I’m a huge fan of your work,” he added.
Hecate laughed. “We certainly do our best. But first, there is much to discuss.” Hecate craned her neck towards dad’s house. “We smell the taint of the Old Ones in this home. It was the stockpile of their implements that drew us here. Are we correct in assuming that there is a chest full of enchanted star-metal somewhere in this delicate and extremely flammable shelter?”
“Did you mean the verdigris? Star-metal? Is that what it’s called?”
I took her silence to mean “Yes.”
“Then okay, you’re correct,” I said. “And I really wish that you didn’t dwell so much on how flammable the place is. I’m already worried enough as it is.”
Hecate waved her hand and laughed. “Surely the darkling mage is not so afraid for his father’s life that a mere joke is enough to unsettle him? Surely one who has defeated something as powerful and maniacal as the white witch possesses more spine and grit than that.”
The white witch. She was talking about Thea. I said nothing, and just as well, because when Hecate spoke again, it was as if she had read my mind. She had a weird habit of doing that.
“And if our memory serves, this same white witch destroyed a possession of yours. Not a possession, truly, but an ally. A friend.” She placed her hand on my cheek, her skin smooth and warm against the chill of the night. “Such a pity to have lost a friend. But we have come to tell you that there is hope. The box of broken treasures your mother left behind may yet be your salvation, fleshling.”
Herald’s eyes lit up. “It’s salvage, isn’t it? All that verdigris, that broken bronze, it can be used to help reforge Vanitas.”
And that’s when my eyes lit up. “Is that true?”
Hecate nodded and withdrew her hand. She moved back, then reappeared several paces away, shadowstepping the way she did when we first met. It always felt as if she’d done so to display some sense of kinship with me and my talent, and now she had come with a way to bring Vanitas back. If Hecate was planning to exact some kind of price, I was afraid to find out what it was, how expensive and debilitating.
She turned her hands up, and out of the darkness glimmered a strange assortment of shapes, like the disparate, unraveled pieces of some grand pattern. “The sword’s destruction has diminished its enchantment, and much of its magic was consumed when it was shattered. But now that you’ve found additional material, there are new possibilities.”
She gestured with her hands, and the pale green pinpricks of light rearranged themselves into the outline of a sword. It hovered in the air before me, in very much the same size and shape as Vanitas. An awed sort of sound came from the house. I looked and found my dad standing just behind the front door, peeking through a crack. Hah. Typical. But at least I knew he was safe.
“The only question is, who can we approach to help?” Herald rubbed his chin. “We’d be hard-pressed to find an enchanter talented enough to stitch the sword’s magic back together.”
“And nor would we ask you to find a morta
l to do it,” Hecate said. “The qualities of the star-metal that the Old Ones favor for their instruments are detrimental to you fleshlings.” She pointed at me. “This one is only unharmed because of the corruption the white witch buried in his heart.”
“Wait. Detrimental? Are you saying that just having the verdigris around can be harmful to humans? Like radiation?”
Hecate only looked at me and said nothing. She turned her head towards Herald again before she spoke. “We believe you may need to find an entity powerful enough to undertake this task.”
“A god of blacksmiths, perhaps. Hephaestus, maybe?” Herald folded his arms. “Or Kagutsuchi, the Japanese god of fire and forge.”
“Clever suggestions,” Hecate said, “but we believe that the forge-gods would sooner smite you than entertain the thought of working with the star-metal that carries the taint of the Old Ones. No. This work requires a different sort of entity.” She folded her hands together, then lowered her head as she studied Herald with a burning intensity. “Tell us, fleshling. How many of the world’s grimoires have you read?”
“As many as I’ve been able to put my hands on.” Herald’s face practically glowed with excitement. “Any of the books that have passed through the Lorica. I’ve seen De Vermis Mysteriis, the Lesser Key of Solomon.” He sighed. “One day I’m hoping to get my hands on a copy of the Enchiridion.”
“And perhaps, fleshling, one day, a goddess will favor you enough to show you its pages.”
Herald’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Truly? You’ve read it?”
Hecate ran one hand through her hair, then flipped it nonchalantly over her shoulder. “We wrote it.”
I restrained a chuckle. Herald was completely fan-boying over the goddess of magic. The look on his face was so precious that I wish I’d taken a picture.
“What of the Dictionnaire Infernal?” Hecate asked, suddenly serious again. “Have you read it?”