Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

My heart thumped. Again there was something so awfully familiar about her features, like this was someone that I might have already met. Her long, sleek black hair hung down the middle of her back, contrasting with the strange, nearly vampiric pallor and perfection of her skin.

She blinked once as we approached, as she took another shot of sake. Her fingernails were painted black, and on more than one finger she wore silver rings in the shape of, well, somewhat macabre icons and images. One was a skull, and another was a skeleton wrapping its limbs in a bony embrace around her finger.

I turned over my shoulder, looking towards Jonnifer to make sure we had the right person. Jonnifer only nodded and turned back to tend to the bar.

“I have the strangest feeling about this,” Gil whispered, nodding cautiously.

“Whatever it is, we’re about to find out,” Sterling said.

The woman set her cup down on the counter, slender fingers brushing against a serviette as she wiped the condensation off her hand.

“Cold sake,” I said, smiling. “The good stuff, too. A fine choice.”

The woman smiled back, her teeth glinting. “I’ve made many interesting choices in the course of my career, Mister Graves. As have you, it seems.” She leaned back on her stool, folding her hands delicately on the counter. “I believe you’ve met my children.”

I raised an eyebrow. That was when I started sweating. “I’m sorry. Your children?”

“I said what I said.” The woman poured herself another drink, hardly looking at me as she spoke. “Amaterasu. Susanoo. Tsukuyomi. Sun, storm, and moon.” The little jug thudded with the counter as she set it down and turned to stare me full in the face, her eyes hard and black.

My heart fell out of my ass. It was her. No. No, no, no.

“My name is Izanami,” the woman said. “And I am a goddess of death.”

Chapter 13

Gil gripped me firmly by the shoulder as my instincts threw my legs into motion. I hadn’t even said anything back but my muscles were already engaging all the bits I needed to run the hell out of there. My eyes scanned for the shadows, for the right spot to enter the Dark Room. Good body, I thought. Loyal body.

But a goddess of death?

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Sterling said smoothly, offering his hand. “The name’s Sterling.”

Izanami took it, smiling politely, shaking it in return. “The vampire, yes. I believe Susanoo has taken quite a liking to you. He gave you one of his swords, did he not?”

“Sure did,” Sterling answered. “I keep it in a place of honor back home. Fantastic weapon. I hope he’s well.”

Izanami nodded pleasantly. “He is. I will let him know you send your regards.”

How the hell was Sterling being so calm? Etiquette, I reminded myself. Be polite. This was an entity after all, and not just any damn entity, but the mother goddess of the Japanese pantheon.

“Gilberto Ramirez,” Gil said, offering his hand next. “Nice to meet you.”

Izanami shook his hand, too. “I remember, yes. My daughter says she had a very enlightening conversation with you about the nature of your moon curse. How interesting.”

“She was very kind,” Gil said. “Served some fantastic tea, too.”

“I am happy to know that my children still adhere to good manners and right conduct.” Izanami lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes downcast. “Quite unlike some others.”

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “It’s just – I figured you’d be super mad at us for what we did. The last time we encountered Tsukuyomi and the others, I mean. It was a trial, and we were going to be put to death if we lost. It was a matter of survival, that’s all.”

Izanami nodded. “Well and truly understood, Mister Graves, there’s really no need to panic. Or to explain, even. We all do what we must to survive. And that is why you have come here, seeking someone of my – well, not to be uncouth about it, but someone of my stature.”

“That’s right,” Sterling said for me as I stammered around a non-reply. “Very interesting that we’d find you at the Leather Glovebox, of all places.”

When she laughed, Izanami’s voice rang clear as bells. “I blame the French.” She cocked her shoulders as she shrugged, the delicate, gauzy black of her dress moving in small, billowing wisps. “I trust you’ve heard one of the fanciful phrases they use to describe the human orgasm. La petite mort?”

“The little death,” I said, finally collecting my nerves and my manners.

She cocked her head, smiling at me broadly. “Well, someone took French in high school, I see. That is correct. The world is so different these days, you see. Once humans were so warlike, and the deities of death had so much to do, so many souls to ferry, and to consume.”