Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

“Right,” I said, tucking Mister Grumbles under one arm. “If anyone looks for me – ”

“They probably won’t,” Asher grumbled.

“Rude. If anyone looks for me, tell them I’m making amends with my – ”

My words trailed off. What was Herald to me, exactly? It didn’t take a genius to know that it was a huge part of why he was so miffed. It was the fact that he didn’t know where he stood in my life. But how could I tell him what he wanted to hear when I couldn’t even answer that question for myself?

“Making amends with your?” Asher said, spinning his hand in a circle, urging me on. “Your what, exactly?”

“Good talk,” I stammered, shortly before leaping into the closest shadow. As the Dark Room swallowed me up I was pretty sure I heard Asher hurling a string of expletives at my back.

Hey, this wasn’t his business, am I right? It didn’t exactly matter that I had no script going in with this Herald conundrum. Only a few things really mattered to me in that moment.

First, Herald was mad at me. I didn’t like it when people were mad at me, especially not Herald. And two, him being mad at me meant that there was a good chance of him staying mad, and not liking me anymore. And that was important, because I liked Herald a lot. And I mean, a lot.

Don’t look at me like that, you’re worse than Asher.

Cool night air rushed over my skin as I emerged from the Dark Room. The heat of my body from the exertion of running activated the fresh layer of body spray I’d spritzed all over myself. It filled my nostrils with a sharp and, I hoped, sexy scent. I’d appeared just where I wanted: at the foot of the Parkway Heights apartment building, among the greenery, where I knew that they grew a few varieties of flowers.

This was a cinch, clearing distances and picking where I wanted to go. Enough practice with traversing the Dark Room had made it much simpler for me to head between two destinations, especially if I had visited them before. I was pretty sure Parkway Heights had no vending machines for me to get stuck in, for example. Knowing the lay of the land – or the apartment building, as it were – meant that I had a better chance of not materializing inside a brick wall and subsequently dying there. See, a lot of it had to do with confidence.

I gulped as I sifted through the flowers, gathering a bunch of them into a little bouquet. Yeah, this Herald situation clearly had a lot to do with confidence as well. I figured I’d be lucky enough to avoid death by icicles if I just showed at Herald’s up unannounced, but that was exactly where I was headed, and nothing was going to change my course.

Especially now that I was sufficiently armed. With a bunch of flowers in one hand and Mister Grumbles in the other, I sank into the shadows again, this time directing my mind and the compass of the Dark Room towards Herald’s apartment.

It was toasty when I entered, the temperature set to a nice, balmy warmth, and I sighed softly as I shadowstepped into his living area. The air there was always fresh, tinged with a hint of citrus. I didn’t know what kind of sorcery Herald used to keep everything so tidy, but his apartment really did reflect who he was: neat, clean, and organized, with an almost sociopathic kind of precision.

The shower was on, so I flopped onto the couch, figuring it was best to let Herald wash away his anger before he saw me. I guess it was those same qualities that drew me to him. We were opposites in lots of ways. Fire and ice. I was sloppy, a bit of a mess, my life chaotic, my schedule hardly deserving to be called a schedule. But he was put-together, forever in control of himself and his surroundings. His life was planned out so fastidiously, so beautifully, and all he had to do was trace the steps he’d already mapped out for himself.

I admired him for it, in spite of the many, quietly terrifying ways his sense of order manifested itself. His shelves of books were probably arranged alpha

betically, and then by color. I couldn’t see his collection of video games, but knew that they were kept in a drawer beneath the flatscreen, where they, too, were kept immaculately sorted.

And while I’d never taken a peek inside Herald’s wardrobe, I kind of figured that it would look exactly like a retail display, with everything arranged in the sequence of a rainbow, with the neutrals to one side, and with socks and undies properly tucked away in their respective drawers, like a filing cabinet. Hell, filing artifacts was what Herald did for a living at the Gallery, after all. It wasn’t a stretch to assume he was just as meticulous with his briefs. Boxers? What did he wear?

Gotta admit, I was tempted to take a look.

But I didn’t get the chance, and maybe that was for the best. The air in front of me whistled as six razor-sharp icicles shot for my chest. I gasped, and in that same inhalation, instinct told my body to sink into the Dark Room, if only for a fraction of a second.

My physical form wavered in and out of reality, and I repositioned myself, which is to say that I fell flat on my face, sprawled across the carpet. My hair whizzed, disturbed by the passing of six icicles that thudded into the sofa, no doubt piercing the cushions all the way through to the walls.

Okay. So Herald was still pissed.

Chapter 22

“Herald,” I yelled. “Jesus, it’s just me. Mercy. Please. I didn’t know you’d be so mad.”

“Dust?”

A pair of feet appeared next to my head, and I followed them up to the bare and delectably wet everything else that made up Herald’s freshly showered body. Okay, so he had a towel on, but something about the way it just clung to his waist only seemed to heighten his nakedness. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: half-naked Herald is far from the worst thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Hey there,” I said, the bundle of flowers in total disarray in my fist. The makeshift bouquet looked more pitiful than romantic, and probably more moronic than apologetic.

Herald finally pushed his glasses onto his face, which only made him look angrier, more severe. “What the hell are you doing here? I could have killed you.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said, peeling myself off his rug, rubbing the side of my head. “Buddy. You gotta be a little less bloodthirsty when it comes to house guests.”

“News flash,” he said. “The operative word there is ‘guest.’ Guests are invited. You weren’t.”