Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

Instead I deflected, as I always did. It was easier, sometimes, than just dealing with difficult thoughts, with emotions. I patted Romira’s hand, smiling at her as I gently removed it from my shoulder.

I nodded at our friends from the Lorica. Yes, I realize I just used the word “friend” to describe Royce there, but let’s be honest. He did try to help me when the Heart was trying to track me down. That counts for something. Truthfully, it counts for a lot.

“So what,” I said. “You guys are all buddies now?”

Romira studied her fingernails, buffing them against the sleeve of her jacket. “I guess you could say that.” She gave Royce a pointed look, smacking him on the shoulder.

“What?” Royce protested. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I saw that,” Romira growled, wagging one perfectly manicured finger in his face. “I said you needed to cut back on drinking, especially on the job.”

The hell were they talking about?

Bastion shook his head. “You need to not carry a flask around with you, Royce. Everyone can smell the whiskey on your breath. There has to be a better way to deal with your stress.”

“The fuck there is,” Royce snarled, producing a pack of cigarettes from his coat. He brought one to his lips, lighting it shakily, only really relaxing when he’d blown out a plume of white smoke. “You’re not the ones who have to clean up this fucking mess. The hell am I supposed to tell the papers? The hell am I supposed to tell the Heart?”

Romira shook her head at me. “If it’s not the whiskey, it’s the cigarettes. You know, I tried throwing them out, too, but he keeps so many backup packs hidden around his apartment.”

“His what now?” I said. I’m not sure why it took me so long to pick up on it, but I finally figured out what she meant from seeing Asher’s downcast eyes, his crestfallen expression. “Oh. Oh? You two? Really?”

Royce grunted, but said nothing, quietly blowing out another stream of smoke.

“I mean I guess you could call it that,” Romira said. “Dating.”

I turned to Bastion. “And you. What is this, like some kind of throuple?”

Bastion blinked at me for some moments, then blushed. “No, it’s not that at all. Work-related stuff.”

“And the reason Prudence isn’t with you?”

He shrugged. “Again. Work-related stuff. She’s got her beat, I’ve got mine.”

Strange, I thought. The two of them were basically partners from the time I’d first met them at the Lorica. Surely if there was any bad blood between them I’d have heard about it from Prudence or Gil. Hmm. Something seemed off.

“If you’re all quite finished catching up,” Carver said, “there’s still the matter of the Eldest. Gentlemen.” He nodded to Asher and myself. “We should be going. The Lorica will be here any moment now, and I expect they’ll want to pin th

e blame on Dustin yet again.”

Royce exhaled, his cigarette smoke drifting up to join the clouds billowing off the inferno we’d made together. “No objections here.” He tapped his cigarette, snorting loudly. “He’s probably right, anyway.”

See, even Royce believed me now. If I could get him to understand – shit, surely there was some way to get the entities to listen, too. But who would help us? Where would I even start?

As Carver’s sending spell consumed our bodies, burning us out of existence, I felt something move in my pocket. My phone? Ah. Sterling texting me, I guessed, with what I could only hope was the Twilight Tavern’s phone number.

I kept my fingers crossed.

Chapter 10

“Yes,” I barked into my cellphone, pacing up and down my bedroom, my footsteps beating out a rhythm to match the pounding of my heart. Reception in the Boneyard could be so fuzzy sometimes, and it was even more annoying because of how urgent the matter was. “The All-Father. Could you put him on the line, please? That’s right. Odin.”

“I’m not certain that this is the best idea,” said a woman with a vaguely indiscernible accent on the other line.

“Olga? Is that you? Or Helga, was it?”

“What!” The voice took on an impertinent, almost offended tone. “Who is this? Mister Sterling, is that you? If you’ve called for another one of your so-called sexy conversations, I will have you know that I am presently manning the front desk, and sexy conversations are only permitted between the hours of – ”

“Helga, no, it’s me, Dustin Graves.”