Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

If I’d brought us in just a few more feet to the left, Asher and I would have manifested right in the middle of a vending machine. Lucky. It would have made for an especially messy and kind of hilarious way to die, our blood and guts mixed in with all that candy.

But as we’ve already established, I wasn’t prepared to go. Not my time. We were waiting for someone else to die that night, a man by the name of William Reynolds – Billy to his friends. Eighty-seven years old, according to his chart, and due to expire at any moment.

Frankly, I thought it’d take us more time to actually find the right candidate, but something about Asher’s wiring made it easy for him to sniff out the weak and the dying. His eyes had started to burn with green fire the very moment we shadowstepped onto the seventh floor. Creepy as hell, but it did make things a little more convenient for us.

And I know. It’s not lost on me, how terrible it is to talk so candidly about something like this. But what kind of approach is ever appropriate when it comes to stealing someone’s dying breath? I was doing my best to be practical, given the situation. It helped convince me that we were somehow doing the right thing.

“Coast is as clear as it’ll ever be,” Asher said, turning his head around, his bewitched eyes seeing more than I could, piercing through walls.

“So creepy,” I said. Useful, though. Asher could detect death, so it only made sense that he could perceive life as well.

He squinted at me, blinking once, the jade fire fading from his eyes. He stared me down with the natural brown of his pupils. “Now’s not the time, Dust. Let’s do this.”

We crossed the hall into Reynolds’s room. He was dozing when we entered, his body a tangle of wires and tubes, barely alive. His lashes began to flutter as we approached his bedside. We stood over him in silence, with Asher just behind me, preparing to siphon Billy’s final breath.

Mister Reynolds looked groggily between us, his gaze a mix of confusion and mild annoyance. “Not nurses,” he croaked. “Don’t know you.” His eyes narrowed, and he coughed. “Where’s Mary? I miss Mary.”

“You’ll be seeing her again very soon, Mister Reynolds.” Asher’s voice was gentle.

“About time.” He chuckled, then coughed again. Satisfied somehow, he rested his head back against his pillow and shut his eyes once more. Death was kind to Billy Reynolds. His breath left him in a final, whispering rush, his mouth falling open, his wrist slipping, dangling from the edge of the bed.

“Rest in peace,” Asher murmured.

“Mister Reynolds?” I nudged him by the arm. “Billy? Sir?”

Nothing. Billy Reynolds was gone. I spun in place. “Did you get it? His last breath?”

“No,” Asher said, staring at his hands. “I tried, but nothing happened. I was sure it would work.”

“Damn it,” I said. “We should get out of here.”

His brows shot up his forehead as he stared past me, a strange light reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah, I think that’d be a good idea right about now.”

I looked over my shoulder. A tiny sphere of light was leaving Billy Reynolds’s body through his mouth. His soul? Something else? I didn’t want to wait to find out, and Asher clearly felt the same. He dug his fingers into my arm as I dragged him into the darkness beneath us.

We shadowstepped back onto the sidewalk outside the hospital. Asher was searching the building with his eyes, but he didn’t need to resort to necromancy. I could see the orb of light just fine, and I watched as it floated lazily through one of the hospital’s windows

– then straight towards us.

“The hell is going on?” I hissed.

“Dunno. This has never happened before.”

“You’re the necromancer. I’d imagine you’d know a thing or two about – ”

The orb rocketed straight for my face. My heart slammed against my ribcage. Instinctively I reached out to the Dark Room, ordering it to swallow me. But a hand reached out past my head.

I froze. The hand and its pallid fingers expertly caught the little sphere of light. Asher and I skittered away, breaking off from the hand and the woman it was attached to.

My pulse settled only the slightest when I saw her stepping out of the darkness.

“Izanami,” I said.

“Dustin Graves,” she answered, a warm smile on her lips. “And this one is – ah, the young necromancer. Asher Mayhew.”

“Ma’am,” Asher said, giving her a quick, polite nod. “Pleasure to meet you.”

He didn’t need to be told. It was safe to assume that Asher was familiar with at least a few of the names of the gods of death. Knowing how good of a student he was, he probably had them all memorized, too.