by Nazri Noor
Herald’s mouth went tight, a look of distaste passing across his face. “The Infernal Dictionary. I have, yes.”
“And are you familiar with the sorts of entities detailed in that tome? Those might be the ones who would be willing to help you.”
I threw up my hands. “I have absolutely no idea what either one of you is talking about.”
“Those are the names of grimoires, Dust. And the Infernal Dictionary is a compendium of beings from the netherworld. It lists the hierarchy of demons.” Herald turned to me with a grave expression. “Hecate wants us to talk to a demon.”
Chapter 19
“Make it quick,” Herald said, tugging on the handbrake. “I’ll wait here. I don’t want to risk your roomies spotting me.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, shrugging on my jacket. “I think you’re going to be okay.”
I’d asked him to park far enough away from Mama Rosa’s Finest Filipino Restaurant, which at least ensured that no one from the Lorica would know where we were based. I also hoped that it stood as a small sign of my fealty to the Boneyard. I mean I trust Herald with my life, but it was the principle of the thing.
“I won’t be long,” I said.
My heart was pumping. I still wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea of taking long shadowsteps, but this was a matter of timing. I needed to get into the Boneyard, somehow avoid running into the other guys, pick up Vanitas’s remains, then pop back out and join Herald in the car.
I know what you’re thinking. What’s the damn rush? On a pragmatic level, the question of so many homunculi appearing in such a short period of time meant that a tidal wave was coming. We were due for a breaking point, and we’d need as many allies as we could muster. Vanitas was as powerful an ally as they came.
But on a more honest note – color me sappy, but I missed the guy. I know this is hard to process, but I think you’d relate if you’ve ever lost a friend, whether to time, distance, or death. I wanted Vanitas back.
“Here I go,” I said, psyching myself up yet again.
“Just fucking go already,” Herald snarled, his knuckles white over the steering wheel.
I melded into the darkness inside of the car – which, yes, finding out I could do that was as much a surprise to me as it is to you – and entered the Dark Room. I gauged that the location of the restaurant was at least two blocks away in, um, that direction.
I dashed through the shadows, the vague, blackish tendrils of night sweeping at my cheeks with fond, familiar fingers. When I glimpsed the light at the end of the corridor, I held my breath, shut my eyes tight, and prayed that I wouldn’t end up shunted into a brick wall. I took the final step.
The vapors of the Dark Room receded from around me with an audible sigh. I could hear a familiar humming from nearby. I patted at my face, my torso, and my junk, just to make sure that everything was still in place, then finally allowed myself to open my eyes.
The industrial refrigerator in Mama Rosa’s kitchen greeted me with its dead, stainless steel face. I’d made it, and with way more accuracy than I’d hoped. I stifled the whoop of delight building in my throat and sidestepped to the left, putting myself in front of the brick wall that concealed Carver’s portal.
Damn. I forgot to pack a sharp object on me. I briefly considered picking up a knife from the kitchen to expedite the process, but let’s be real, that’s totally unhygienic. Mama Rosa’s restaurant was a front, sure, but it was still a legitimate business, with regular customers and all. As much as Mama Rosa’s dinuguan – a dish made from pig’s blood – was a hit, I was pretty sure none of her clients, nor the health inspector, for that matter, would be too pleased to find my blood in the mix.
I placed the fine web of skin between my thumb and forefinger right underneath my canines and bit as hard as I could. I teared a little at the momentary pain, tasting blood, then retrieved just a spot of it to daub over the brick.
I sucked at my skin, feeling the pain fade in intensity, once again faintly jealous of how Herald and Bastion could so conveniently conjure knives from the ethers. I suppose I could have called for a blade from the Dark, but that would have been total overkill.
The Boneyard’s portal buzzed into life, a swirling oval of humming amber energy. I stepped in, then ran as quickly and as silently as I could through the flickering flame-lit corridors of the stone temple. I had to pass Gil and Sterling’s doors to get to my own room, but both were mercifully shut. Gil was probably out with Prudence, and Sterling was probably hunting for a meal.
I dashed into my bedroom, grabbing the enchanted knapsack Herald had gifted me from the Gallery, the one that could hold more than it looked because its inside was an entire pocket dimension. I swept the busted bronze and shattered garnets of Vanitas’s body into the bag, hefted it over my shoulder, and started to run out of my bedroom. A body blocked the exit, and I bit my tongue to hold back a yelp of surprise.
It was Asher, barefoot and dressed in a tank top and striped pajamas, his hair a tousled mess. He rubbed blearily at one eye and stared curiously at me out of the other.
“I heard noises,” he mumbled.
“Just me,” I said. “Go on back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”
He scratched his belly. “Sterling says we’re gonna go meet a bunch of vampires soon.”
That’s right. The meeting with Diaz and his cohorts. See, that was an even more compelling reason to get the business of reforging Vanitas over and done with. A sword, at the end of the day, is just a really sharp and pointy stake. And the only thing better than a stake is a rocket-powered homing stake that can stab and destroy things on its own.
“We’ll meet them soon. Real soon.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Go back to bed. And Asher? You didn’t see me.”
He gave me a limp smile and two thumbs up, waddled into his bedroom, then shut the door, which was when I realized something. He said “we” when he mentioned the meeting with Diaz, didn’t he? So Asher was coming along? Surely Carver knew.
I raced out of my own bedroom. There was no sign of Carver just yet, which was only making me increasingly antsy. I pulled tighter on my knapsack’s straps and made a beeline for the portal.
Where Carver was waiting.
“Dustin,” he said, his voice calm, cool, and suspiciously neutral.
“Hi. Hey. Sup.” I smoothed a hand through my hair, meaning to play things casual. Nothing to see here, just another totally normal night of me running through the halls with a magical backpack strapped to my shoulders.
“I am not entirely sure what you’re up to, but I trust that you’ve got your head on right.”
“I, um, sure.” Don’t look to the left, I told myself. Or – or was it the right? I’d read somewhere that it was how human lie detectors could tell that you were fibbing. I stared straight into Carver’s eyes, in total denial of the fact that he didn’t need to learn how to read body language and facial tics to figure that out. He was a walking radar and surveillance array. I don’t think I’ve ever successfully snuck anything past him in the months we’d known each other. At least not for long.
He rubbed his chin, shook his head, and sighed. “Whatever it is you have planned – please don’t let it end in disaster. But you’re a grown man, and I cannot say that I’m disappointed in your magical progress, between your new taste for fire, and your finer control over your shadow blades.”
I wasn’t expecting compliments. I never expected compliments from Carver. I kept my voice steady. “Right,” I said.
“Just come home in one piece. And about reforging the sword. We may have to look beyond gods for now. I’ll inform you if I find a suitable candidate.”
“Actually,” I said, my mouth oddly dry. “I might just go in the other direction for help. Hecate told me to consider speaking to a – um, a demon.”
Carver studied me for a strained, quiet moment. He took so long to speak that I had to wonder if he thought it was a terrible idea. I considered sprinting for the portal bef
ore he tried restraining me, but he angled his head to the side, then spoke.
“I cannot believe I am saying this but – that might just work. I confess, it’s an angle that I hadn’t considered. Though I trust you’ll be mindful to take extreme care with the negotiations.” His eyes narrowed as he walked past me, back into the hallway leading to his office. “Gods may be fickle and obtuse, but demons are far, far worse. Try not to agree to terms that will destroy the world as we know it. There is still so much I want to do.”
“Right,” I said to his back. “Check. No apocalypses.”
Carver stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn. “Oh, and Dustin? Send your father my regards.”
I froze. Ah. I knew that he’d sniffed something out. Still, I couldn’t help but smile. “I will, Carver. And thanks.”
I ran back through the portal, then leapt into the shadow of the refrigerator in the kitchen, even more amped up about the communion Herald and I were about to perform. This was a different kind of Carver. I didn’t know if he was treating me differently because he’d shown me so much more of himself, if this was a gesture of trust on his part.
My chest might have puffed up a little as I hurried through the Dark Room. For once, Carver felt comfortable enough to let me wear the big boy pants. The best I could hope for was to not royally fuck this all up.
Lowering my head, I ran straight for the heart of the light at the end of the Dark Room’s tunnel, bolting like a bullet through the darkness. The plan was to exit right where I’d first entered.
And bam. The ethers parted, and I landed butt-first in the passenger seat, next to a slightly upset and mildly pallid Herald.
“Jesus H. Christ, Dustin! What the hell, man. Don’t do that.”
I folded my hands behind my head and grinned. “Do what?”
“You’re a little shithead,” he grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tight. “Did you get the goods?”
“Right here.”
I patted at my backpack, comforted by the worn but somehow buttery-soft leather of it. I missed having this thing on my back, because wearing it generally meant that I was carrying Vanitas around inside. After tonight, if all went well, things might go back to the way they were. It almost didn’t bother me knowing that we still had to suck up to a full-blown, actual demon.
“So,” I said. “Off to the tether.”
“I’m on it.” Herald adjusted the map on his phone. “It’s near a bank in a slightly jankier part of the business district. So not all that far from the Lorica.”
“You navigate,” I said, “and I’ll get our shit ready.”
I reached into the backseat, gingerly lifting up the wooden chest filled with mismatched pieces of verdigris. I settled the chest into the bag’s pocket dimension. The back of my hand brushing against the cold, jagged edge of a broken garnet.
Soon, V, I thought, patting the jewels and twisted bronze the way I’d pat an old friend on the back. Very soon.
Chapter 20
The tether was a busted ATM stuck in the back of an old building, what a quick search on the internet told us used to be a bank. I watched the eerie blue glow of the machine’s grimy, disused screen, peering back at me like a sad, old face.
This was far too fishy, even for all the supernatural weirdness I’d already experienced in the arcane underground. The back alley that we were in was creepy enough without the added oddity of the near-total darkness shrouding the building.
Something about the quality of the shadows told me they were artificial, as if left there for the benefit of some entity that loved to hide in the darkest corners of the earth. And yes, you’re right, being surrounded by so much darkness should have been comforting to me, but it wasn’t. That wasn’t the right kind of dark. It wasn’t the kind of gloom that dwelled in the Dark Room, that lived in the world behind my scar.
“Remind me again why we can’t hit up one of the gods for this,” I muttered.
“Because they won’t work with the star-metal. You know that. Kagutsuchi of the Japanese pantheon, or Hadúr of the Hungarian gods, neither will be very pleased if you came to them with that request. Remember when you walked into Amaterasu’s realm with Vanitas in your backpack? She didn’t seem to like you much then, either. Imagine going up to someone like Hephaestus.”
“He singlehandedly forged the weapons of the entire Greek pantheon,” I said. “Dude knows his swords.”
“And he takes pride in the purity of his work. The very presence of star-metal in his domicile would be a grave offense. He’d smash your head open the moment you walked in.”
I glared at the ATM screen, which glared defiantly back, like a single, hazy blue eye. “Isn’t there like a fire spirit out there that might want to help?”
“Again. I can’t think of any non-god entities that are strong enough to do the job. And again: you’ve developed kind of a reputation for yourself, and not a great one. Probably best not to piss off more gods for a while. Lay low. They hate you.”
“Gee,” I said, ruffling my hair in frustration. “Thanks.”
Herald gave me a tight smile, then clapped me on the shoulder. “You keep me around because I’m brutally honest, little buddy.”
“I’m taller than you.”
“And in all honesty? This is probably going to be super dangerous. Come on.”
Herald walked up to the ATM, and the sense of foreboding building in my stomach surged even harder than before. He pressed his finger to the screen, which wavered before displaying a series of words.
“Please provide your PIN number,” I read out loud.
Herald pushed the number six on the keypad three times. Typical. The screen wavered again, flashing red for the briefest moment, before turning back to blue. New words.
“Please make your deposit.”
“The offering,” Herald said. “Gimme your wallet.”
“Wait, what?”
I cursed as he casually slipped his hand into my back pocket, retrieving my wallet with an enviable measure of grace and finesse. The fucker could probably make as good a thief as me. He was probably even a little faster. And surprisingly strong, I noted, as I tried to wrestle my wallet back.
“Relax,” he said, holding it out of reach. He retrieved the bills, then tossed the wallet back to me. “The machine doesn’t want the whole thing. Just your cash.”
I fumbled with my wallet, running my fingers mournfully over its worn, weathered creases as I stretched it to peek at its insides. “Really, dude? That’s all the cash I have. That’s like a good hundred. Come on.”
“That’s the least of your worries,” Herald said, holding the wad of bills up to the screen. They burst into flames. “The demon will probably want more. Much more.”
That could have bought me, like, so many cheeseburgers. “You mean the demon wants more money?”
Herald chuckled. “Real cute.”
He grabbed my wrist, then pressed my hand up against the screen. I yelped when something sharp shot out of the glass and slashed my finger. I glared at Herald, pulling my hand away. Ouch. I chewed my lip, correctly rethinking the very gross business of sucking at my bloodied finger after it had been in contact with an incredibly grody ATM screen.
“Step back,” he said.
I was almost a second too late. The machine writhed and screeched into life. It grew as it warped and folded in upon itself. The seam where it should have spit out cash parted to reveal massive fangs of serrated steel, each bigger and crueler than a kitchen knife.
“Well shit,” I muttered, surprised I could hear myself over the agonizing shriek and scrape of rusted metal. The machine had transformed into the gaping maw of some giant beast. I stared warily into the darkness of its throat, and my heart leapt out of my ass when I spotted the first glimmer of fire.
“Oh. Cool. So it’s a dragon. No big deal.”
Herald wrapped his coat tighter around himself, securing it against the howling wind that blasted from the dragon’s throat. “It’s a majo
r demon of greed, which means it can afford fancy security systems.” The dragon shrieked even louder. “Real fancy ones.”
“Oh. Awesome. I thought it was the demon lord of making me shit my fucking pants.”
“There’s one of those, too, but for now, this is the right address. Come on.”
I licked my lips as I watched the flames twirl and dance among the gateway’s serrated fangs. “After you,” I said.
Herald shrugged, pushed up his glasses, and walked straight into the fire without looking back.
“Thinks he’s an action star,” I mumbled. I clenched my teeth, and for some inane reason, took a deep breath, filling my lungs with as much air as they could hold. Then I walked into the flames, too.
They were freezing cold, and somehow almost solid as they lapped against my ankles, their chilling touch licking at my shoes. It was like walking into the meat section of a supermarket. Not the frozen goods aisle, exactly, but the bit behind the thick plastic curtains, where they keep all the carcasses.
I’d worked in one of those places once, and as I walked, the smell of charnel and gore returned to me. I steeled myself, expecting the demon’s domicile to be exactly as the Abrahamic religions described them: furious, merciless, and filled with the flayed, ruined bodies of sinners.
But as I kept walking, the blaze faded. The gouts of fire disappeared into the ground, which was no longer the same rusted metal of the gateway, but a gleaming marble. The smell of dead animals and spilled blood disappeared, giving way to a distant scent of woodsmoke, citrus, and spice.
In some far, unseen room, a piano played something familiar, or perhaps something forgotten. And instead of the butcher’s barrier, in place of the plastic sheets was a grand, gleaming curtain of crimson velvet. Herald was nowhere in sight. I could only assume that he had stepped through, so I ran my hands across the soft, suede-like touch of the curtains, then parted them.
Palatial. That was the only way I could describe the demon’s domicile. Sparkling candelabras burned with brilliant fires from their brassy tips, with no candles to be found. Marble so pure and luxurious filled the colossal hallway and its high ceilings with a rich, yet lifeless white. And everywhere, from picture frames and fixtures and chandeliers and statuettes, shone the perpetual radiance of precious gold, a permanent, absolute aura of wealth and excess.