Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage Book 4)

by Nazri Noor

  “Trust me,” I said, loosing my hold around her, allowing us both to melt into the gloom of the Dark Room. I raised my head, praying for us to fall into the darkness faster as the net dropped ever closer. As we entered the Dark, the enraged shouts of the Hands faded first, followed by the light of Lorica headquarters. And last of all was the warmth.

  We’d made it. We were in the Dark Room.

  I tucked Vanitas into my backpack, gently letting go of Mona’s shoulders, raising my hand. “I’m sorry about that.”

  She shook her head. “I knew you weren’t going to hurt me,” she said, her voice coming out dull, hanging like lead in the thin, unfamiliar air of the Dark Room. Her eyes searched the gloom with uncertainty. “But now I’m not so sure.”

  “This was how I got into the Lorica in the first place,” I said. “It’s how I get around. I go through this chamber. I call it the Dark Room for – well, for pretty obvious reasons.”

  Mona gulped, the fear slowly leaving her eyes, but her fingers clenched tighter around the sleeve of my jacket. “Is this the same place where those swords came from? The black knives you summoned against that Royce guy. Is that how you do it?”

  I nodded, and the hesitation began to build in her eyes again, her brows screwing up. But her mouth tightened, and she nodded back, determined.

  “Then we should find a way out of here,” she said.

  “Agreed.”

  The question was, which way to go? Actually, the better question: how the hell had I pulled this off? The Dark Room wasn’t famous for being gentle, at least not the Dark Room I knew. It was built for flaying, and killing, and even as the one person to have spent more time in it than anyone else in the universe, I still treated it with a distant, cautious reverence. It was like a wild animal – naturally feral and vicious, at times oddly tame and obedient.

  Until it wasn’t.

  The mists around our feet began to stir, swirling in clouds around my ankles, around Mona’s, shifting the thin cloth of her smock. The Dark was curious, reaching tendrils up against her fingers, curling against her skin. She flinched at their touch.

  “This way,” I muttered urgently. “Hurry.”

  And I don’t know, exactly, how I knew to head down that direction, only that something in my heart told me it was the right way to go. My scar, the same one from when Thea had plunged her sacrificial blade into my chest, had been an indicator of many peculiar things before.

  It hurt when I used my dark magic, or when the agents of the Eldest were near, and in a subtle, quiet way, it now felt as if it was tugging, like a lodestone, showing me the path back to our world. It pulled, as if a piece of star-metal, of the verdigris dagger had been left lodged in my heart. I stumbled along, Mona’s wrist in my grasp. It pulled, and I followed.

  The mists staggered. The loops and tendrils of dark smoke sharpened into knives, into blades, like the fangs on a guard dog protecting its master. But I was the Dark Room’s master. It should have listened.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I shouted, the void dampening the volume of my voice. “She’s a friend.” She’s with me, I thought. I had to protect her.

  Mona kept pace as I ran, her breath coming in stuttering gasps, the air so insubstantial in the chamber. I was winded too – it was the first time I’d ever brought anyone into the Dark Room with me, the first time I had to share its supply of not-air with anyone else. Frankly I was far more surprised by the fact that she’d survived shadowstepping with me. I wasn’t going to wait to see how long.

  “Run for it,” I shouted, guiding Mona towards the mote of light before us, watching as it grew into a pinprick, a hole, a doorway. The mists washed over me harmlessly, but I could taste the frustration in their gleaming, velvet waves, their hunger for blood. Mona disappeared into the brightness, and so did my body.

  I grunted and fell to the ground, wincing as I skinned my palm on a stone floor. I watched as the stone grew dark when a drop of my sweat dripped onto it. Beside me Mona panted, her body burning hot from the exertion.

  I looked around. More shadows around us, but this darkness was different, pierced here and there by the warm glow of magical firelight. We were in the Boneyard, in one of its corridors. We’d made it. I fell onto my back, sprawling against the floor, relishing the cold of the stone against my sweat-slick skin.

  “Where are we?” Mona muttered, looking around her, clutching at the hem of her smock.

  “Home,” I said, my eyes shut tight and stinging from sweat. Footsteps clapped across the floor, just down the corridor, and I opened my eyes towards the source of the commotion.

  “I heard noises,” Sterling called down the hallway. “And voices. If you’re an intruder I hope you’re ready for me to collect your teeth. And your heart. And – ”

  He skidded to a halt when he caught sight of me, his words stuck in his throat, his mouth half-open.

  “Did you,” Sterling started. “Did you just shadowstep all the way in here?”

  I ran my hand across my forehead, blotting the sweat. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”

  “Oh my God,” Sterling sputtered, finally recognizing our guest. “Oh my God.”

  “Hi,” Mona said.

  “I know this is a bad time,” Sterling said, getting to his knees, offering Mona his hand, which she gingerly took. “But I have to ask. Can I get your autograph?”

  “Do you have a pen?” I heard her say.

  I spread my limbs across the floor, content to fall asleep there, resisting even when Sterling nudged me in the ribs.

  “Get up,” he said.

  I laughed, hardly believing that we’d made it in one piece, that I’d succeeded at shadowstepping miles – no, that I’d crossed the very dimensional barriers of the Boneyard itself in a single bound. And I’d done it without killing Mona. She covered her mouth and chuckled, the relieved, delighted titter of someone who was happy to be alive.

  “What’s so funny?” Sterling barked, looking between us, a bemused expression on his face.

  I laughed even harder.

  Chapter 18

  I flattened my hair for maybe the fourth time since I’d sat down at my desk. I’d look way too suspicious if I pulled my hoodie over my head, and I already stuck out like a sore thumb in, of all places, the library of the high school where my dad worked.

  Unable to resist I flattened my hair a fifth time, all while forgetting that I was wearing a different face anyway. It was thanks to the ring Carver had lent me – from his personal store, he made sure to let me know.

  It pulsed warmly on the ring finger of my right hand, a warding stone that served two purposes. First, it ensured that my energy signature was cloaked, meaning that the Lorica’s Eyes couldn’t find me – and let’s be real, after the incident in the Prism and the Gallery, there was a pretty good chance I was public enemy numbers one through seven.

  Second, the gem held a weak glamour, one that allowed me to change part of my appearance at will – a different face, a different head of hair. I was just another high school kid, to the eyes of anyone around me. Mousy blond hair, brown eyes, a snub nose, as nondescript as could be.

  My alias? Justin Braves.

  I’m kidding. About the name, I mean. I’m not entirely sure what my alias was, only that I managed to make my way into the school with a recommendation from my dad, a second from a certain Professor Jonathan B. Carver, and an enchanted fake ID courtesy of Sterling.

  That last one was especially fun to play with. You hold the card up to your head, and it scans your face and displays a passable assortment of fake information on its surface. Super convenient. Sterling picked it up from the Black Market, the same night he’d helped smuggle Mona through.

  About that. I should clarify. Mona spent some time recuperating in the Boneyard, a short stay that revealed to me just how much of a fan boy Sterling could be, and just how very maternal Mama Rosa could behave around a guest.

  She fussed over Mona, bringing her a change of clothes from who
knows where, carrying trays of food to her room even between meal times. Carver told me that Rosa had always wanted a daughter. It was kind of sweet to watch, but I never snooped or looked too long, afraid of attracting one of Rosa’s patented gorgon stares.

  Carver had suggested that the best course of action was to give Mona a new lease on life by taking her to one of the few magical places over which the Lorica had very little jurisdiction: the Black Market itself.

  Hell, if that place stocked magical fake IDs, then there was no doubt in my mind that Mona could craft a new identity for herself there, for a start. A new life, one to help ease her back into society, and maybe, eventually, she could get a chance to live out in the real world again.

  Predictably, Sterling was devastated to see her go, but he did learn something interesting. The melody for “Unfollow My Heart,” certainly Mona’s biggest hit, was based on an ancient siren song, passed from mother to daughter. Its original lyrics, written in a bizarre, dead language, loosely translated to “give me your innards, sailor boy, for I am starving.”

  Sterling ended up not having to clap Gil in chains after all. Still, Gil wasn’t very happy with me. Most of our interactions after I’d fled dad’s house had been stilted, and kind of awkward. I felt bad knowing that Gil had always been really nice to me, but it had to be done. Carver agreed. But if Gil was annoyed with me, let’s not even talk about Prudence.

  Dad was a little more understanding, which was great, because I really needed to exhaust all possibilities in search of the Tome. Asher was still helping Carver sift through his immense library, and Carver had already put a word out with his contacts in the underground. I’d tried all of the bookstores in Valero – what few that were left – but still nothing.

  The bad news was that there was no word from Scrimshaw. The good news was that there was no word from Mammon, either. But every day my heart clenched with the thought that one of the normals would discover the Tome of Annihilation and cast one of its spells, unknowingly or otherwise. The clock was ticking, and I couldn’t help feeling that the city was due for another eldritch massacre.

  I must have scoured every last shelf in that library. Carver’s research had told us one new thing about the manuscript, at least. It was warm to the touch, burning at all times with a low level of heat, as its pages were scarcely enough to contain the intensity and complexity of its spells. That was at least slightly more helpful than my initial approach, which was to examine the spine of every single book in existence and hope for the best.

  Sighing, I rapped my knuckles against the desk, totally unsatisfied. I’d pulled down a few titles just to double-check that I hadn’t missed anything hiding in the pages of another book, the way a high school kid reads a magazine during class by stuffing it inside a textbook. I mean, who the hell even knew with the damn Tome? It could have been that sneaky. But again, as with Valero Public Library, as with every bookstore I’d turned inside out over the course of my search – nothing.

  Slowly closing the book – no Esthers in sight, but hey, you never know – I collected everything on my desk into a neat stack and brought it back among the aisles, looking for the right home for every volume.

  This was exhausting work, no word of a lie. I liked to read well enough, but after this incident, assuming we lived and I didn’t accidentally trigger an apocalypse, I was thinking I’d get an ereader. I sighed as I perused the shelves, nothing to show for a day of work other than some tired eyes and a nasty paper cut.

  And then, just as I was pushing the last book into place, I saw him. The man with the tattoos. Sam sat cross-legged on the ground, his back leaned against one of the shelves, his nose buried deep in a book, the curls of his hair tumbling over his forehead.

  Keep it nonchalant, I told myself. No sense spooking him and sending him off running like the last time. Sam – potentially the Tome of Annihilation itself in human form – was ripe for the taking.

  I considered my options. If I could subdue him – it? Him? – I could try and sneak him through the Dark Room like I did with Mona. No sweat. And if he was the Tome after all, then even better – the Dark Room never fussed when objects were passed through it, enchanted or otherwise.

  I kept my finger on the spine of every book I passed, pretending to look for something as I inched closer to where Sam was sitting. Without looking up, he cleared his throat, and spoke.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Dustin,” he said, raising his head, blue eyes twinkling with interest.

  “I, um,” I stuttered. “My name is Justin. I’m, I don’t – ”

  “That’s a cute trick you’re playing,” Sam said, tapping the side of his nose. “But I can see right through you. What is that, a glamour? An enchantment?”

  I froze in place. So Sam was magical, maybe even supernatural. Odd enough that he knew what glamours were, he could see my true face without even trying. I hadn’t caught him casting any spells, and he wasn’t wearing any enchanted baubles, at least none that I could see. I’d have to ask Carver if arcane jewelry worn on, um, less conventional parts of the body still worked just as well.

  “How – ” I sidled even closer to him. “How did you know it was me?”

  Sam tilted his head and grinned. “That’s a secret.” He stretched his arms out, his grin going even brighter, and he chuckled. “You’re not the only one with special tricks around here, you know.”

  I got on my haunches, so much more curious, and still so wary. My hand went to feel for my leather backpack on instinct. Just in case.

  “And what special tricks might those be?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Sam stared down the aisle and sucked on the inside of his cheeks, playing coy. Then he looked at me again, beamed, and shrugged. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

  I rested my chin on my hand, my elbow balanced on my knee. “So I was right all along. You know what the Tome of Annihilation is, don’t you?”

  He froze, much in the same way he did the day I saw him at Valero Public. But the sudden tension melted easily this time, his smile going looser.

  “I might know one or two things about grimoires,” he said, his voice deceptively relaxed, though I could tell by the stiffness of his shoulders that he still held some hesitation.

  “Which makes you, what, exactly? A mage? Or at the very least, someone who knows about the Veil?”

  Again, the last thing I wanted was to spook him. Truly, what I really wanted to ask was plain and simple. But it still sounded totally stupid and completely insane, even inside my head. Are you actually a book?

  “I’m someone who knows things,” he said, shutting his book. “Let’s put it that way.”

  I let my eyes linger over his tattoos, watching him closely for signs of another expedient escape – as if I could stop him.

  “I mean, clearly there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “Hey,” Sam said. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  “Very funny,” I said. The corner of my eye twitched, but I said nothing more.

  “Besides,” he continued. “I could say the same for you.”

  He reached out his hand, stopping just short of my shirt, and I nearly stumbled back from surprise. He held his hand there, fingers splayed inches away from my scar, my heart. Oddly I could sense that he didn’t mean me harm. Not just yet.

  “See?” Sam said. “There’s something different about you. You’re not like other people.” His hand rotated just a couple of degrees, his head following suit, and he squinted. “You’re not like other mages, either. There’s a hint of the unfamiliar. Ah – there it is. Your heart. It’s tainted.”

  I sat down flat on my butt, my knees aching, and frankly buckling because of what Sam said. “How could you know that?” I muttered. Never mind that my origins seemed to be common knowledge to every mage in the city, but – no. Sam wasn’t a mage, was he? And something told me he wasn’t from Valero, either. “How could you tell?”

  Sam drew his hand back and
shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve been around people enough to sense the variations in them, you know?” He sniffed at the air between us. “The smell of you is different.”

  I lifted my arm, sniffed, and made a confused face. “I showered today, if that’s what you mean.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not that. There’s something unusual about you, Dustin Graves. Not that this is news to you, of course, but that something is off. Evil. Yet it feels as if you haven’t succumbed to it. Not just yet.”

  My skin shivered. Not just yet. “I fight off the impulse whenever I can. That’s why. I try to do the right thing. I have to remind myself that despite everything that’s changed in me, I’m still human.”

  “That’s for the best.” Sam extended his arms again, his joints popping, the runes written across his torso seeming to writhe as he stretched himself out like a cat. “As for me, there’s a question you’ve been dying to ask. I say you should go for it.”

  I swallowed cautiously, almost certain that we were nearing the end of our very puzzling conversation. “Okay then. Are you human?”

  With a chillingly neutral expression, Sam answered. “No.”

  “Oh – okay then.” I scratched the tip of my nose, my eyes flitting to a row of books. “Are you – oh God, this is gonna sound super dumb – are you the Tome of Annihilation?”

  Sam laughed, so loud that he clapped his hand over his mouth. “No,” he said, his eyes moist. “God, no. A novel idea. But I can assure you that we’re looking for the same thing.”

  I didn’t expect my mood to take such a quick turn. For once I had to slam the proverbial brakes on my arcane energies. My hand was already curled around an invisible sphere, the skin at my palm burning as it prepared to manifest a ball of flames.

  I watched him warily. “What do you want with the Tome?”

  “The same thing you do, Dustin. To keep it out of harm’s reach.” Sam smiled wryly, his eyes lacking their characteristic twinkle. “You – you are trying to keep it away from dangerous parties, aren’t you?”