Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

And then I saw them. At the far end of the corridor were pinpoints of light, only these weren’t steady and blinking, like Nyx’s distant stars. They swirled in midair, vortices of white light that spun like whirlpools. Their appearance – hell, their very existence was ominous enough.

The sound they made was worse. A soft keening, a quiet screeching, not unlike the songs of the Eldest. I crept closer, my fingers curled, prepared to launch shadow or flame as the situation called for. No. That noise really did sound like the Eldest. Surely Nyx wasn’t sending me to my death?

I approached cautiously, my mouth dry, my heart a jumble of excitement and terror. The wheels of light – five of them, that I could see – spun within the confines of a black chamber, a room within the Dark Room. They were spaced evenly from each other, separated only by towering columns of that leathery black stone that made up the Dark Room’s architecture. And in the center of each wheel was a black dot.

My heart fell. These were the gateways of the Eldest, the same ones they used to deliver the shrikes into our world, that Yelzebereth used to infiltrate our reality. I couldn’t understand the geography of it, whether these doors spilled into our world, or out of them, but one thing was clear: the Dark Room was tied directly to the power of the Old Ones, and in turn, to me. To my heart.

In some sense I knew all this already. How many times had I been told that the answer to the problem of the Eldest was my death? Incineration, obliteration, until every molecule of my body was gone. Sweet annihilation. But seeing the portals so close to the seat of my power, to what I’d thought of as my home and my kingdom – this really was the simplest solution. Occam’s Razor.

I rushed for the nearest exit I could find, bursting back into our reality, in the safety and warmth of my bedroom. I sat on the edge of my bed, my hands clasped together. Thinking of the reagents we needed for the sealing enchantment, I scoffed.

It was circuitous, and stupid. If I gave my life to create a sample of the breath of the dying, then the others would have the right ingredients to complete the sealing. But if I did die, then that meant that an enchantment wasn’t necessary to begin with. I looked down at my hands, wondering what my life was worth. I was dust. Just dust, in the grand scheme of things.

I clutched my temples from the sudden stab of pain. “Don’t be stupid,” Vanitas called gruffly into my head. I groaned, never even knowing he could do that – a kind of psychic assault.

“What the hell, V?” I raked my nails against my skull, somehow hoping it would dull the ache. “What the hell was that for?”

“For being stupid,” he shouted, as loudly as a telepathic voice could. “These people you call your family and friends are rallying and doing all they can to help you, protect you. Don’t throw it away with your foolishness. Fight, until there’s nothing left to fight.”

I reached for my end table, scrambling for a glass of water, downing it in one gulp. “Thanks for the pep talk,” I said morosely.

“I mean it,” Vanitas said, his voice ringing with warning. “I’ll kill you before I let you hurt yourself that way. There are many paths. This is not one of them.”

Carefully, I set the glass down. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, V.” And I meant it that time.

“Dustin?”

I looked up to find Asher in the doorway, giving me a small, pressed sort of smile. “We’re ready for you.”

“Right,” I said, sighing. “Right. I’m coming.”

“Good luck,” Vanitas said, softly this time. Silently, through the link of our minds, I thanked him again.

I followed Asher down one of the Boneyard’s twisting corridors, all the way to Carver

’s laboratory.

We needed to complete the enchantment, and no way in hell was I going to engage in torture to get what we needed. I couldn’t offer my dying breath, either. But the screams, maybe those we could manage.

Asher pushed the door open. Carver nodded at me, gesturing at what could almost pass for a doctor’s examination table, improvised with a flat mattress placed on something that looked upsettingly like a stone altar.

And Herald was there, too.

“What,” I started to say, gawping as I looked between Asher and Carver. “Why would you tell him about this?”

“Because I asked them to,” Herald said, placing a hand on my shoulder. Even through my shirt I could feel the warmth of his skin. “Don’t yell at anyone. Carver and I have a standing agreement. He lets me know if you’re about to do something exceptionally stupid.”

Carver nodded. “All truth.”

I scowled at Herald. “You can’t stop me from doing this. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said, rubbing his hands together, bathing his fingers in skeins of violet light. “Which is why I’m here to help.”

I couldn’t say anything else after that, though I did vaguely mumble some words of gratitude. So Herald and Asher were supposed to be backup, then. It gave me a little more comfort, not that it completely dulled how I felt about the coming ordeal.

“If you will, Dustin,” Carver said. “Take your place on the dais.” He cracked his knuckles, activating his magics, and his hands lit up with amber flame. “Asher, if you will. Be prepared to gather his pain.”

I swallowed thickly as I pulled my shirt up over my head, the cool air of the Boneyard rushing over my skin. The mattress was soft against my back, not unlike the inside of a coffin. I hated that it wasn’t the first time my brain had ever made that connection.