Blood Pact (Darkling Mage 7)

Of course the Brandts had their own indoor pool. I didn’t care to restrain my open awe as lights from the bottom of the pool broke and refracted across the ripples on the surface, causing shapes to snake and swim across the walls and ceiling in a mesmerizing, undulating pattern.

“Ooh,” Sterling cooed, his boots clacking as he padded over to the pool. “Is it heated?”

Bastion frowned. “Of course it’s heated, we’re not animals. This is where I do my morning laps. Well, nightly too, depending on my schedule.”

I folded my arms, still wondering why we were there. “So. You owe us an explanation. Is there some reason you kidnapped us all the way to your ancestral home, then walked us thirty miles into it? For what, privacy?”

“You could say that. Eyes and ears everywhere, you know that.” Bastion flicked a switch, which lit up the far wall to reveal the poolside bar, because of course there was a poolside bar. “Drink?”

“I’m good,” I said. “Well, maybe a beer, if you have one.”

“Me too,” Sterling said. He’d already taken off his boots and rolled up his jeans, sitting on the edge of the pool and splashing his feet in the water. I frowned at him, not out of annoyance, but quiet jealousy. I wish I’d thought of that.

“How’s the water?”

“Wet and warm. Like blood.”

I wrinkled my nose.

Bastion handed us our drinks, setting down his own second glass of whiskey on one of the poolside tables, gesturing for me to sit on the woven furniture. I obliged, the chill of the beer stabbing at my skin. It was like being at a resort, except not at all. They even had some indoor plants with massive leaves, just to complete the California effect.

“Oh my God, Dust, the water is so nice,” Sterling said. “Brandt. Hey Brandt. Can we go swimming here? You owe me. Remember that time you flattened me with an entire car?”

Bastion smiled at him and shrugged. “Fine. I don’t see why not.”

“Pool party at Brandt Manor. You’re all right, Bastion.”

Sterling raised his beer and gave a little salute. Bastion took a careful sip of his whiskey, his glass tinkling as he set it down again.

“So,” he said. “We know about the dog.”

From the poolside, I heard Sterling gasp and sputter on a mouthful of beer.

He laughed nervously. “Of course you do,” Sterling said. “I just told you everything about Banjo. He’s the new Boneyard mascot.”

Bastion leaned back in his chair, way too comfortable and way too smug about all this. “You left out the part about finding this so-called Banjo in the aftermath of the Ramsey House massacre.”

Sterling’s tittering went up an octave, basically into hysterics. “What are you even talking about? I’ve never heard of a – did you say Ram-say House? Now don’t be silly, what would we be doing in Gordon Ramsay’s – ”

“Sterling,” I droned. “Just stop already. He knows. They know.”

“Shut up,” Sterling hissed. “You shut up with your stupid mouth and – ”

Bastion raised his hand, and somehow that was enough to quell Sterling’s sputtering. I got the impression that he was out of things to say, anyway.

“No need to fight, you two. It’s a very select few in the Lorica who know about this. You’re in no immediate danger. As far as everyone knows, whatever killed Marybeth Ramsey and her guests is still at large.”

I studied him carefully. “Because it’s too ridiculous to sell a story about a little corgi killing all those people, even to the arcane underground.”

Bastion tapped the side of his nose. “Even Royce would have a hard time spinning that, and this time it’s not even for the normals. Imagine being unable to convince your own colleagues.”

Actually, I didn’t have to imagine very hard. Royce had been pretty vocal with me when it came to grievances with his coworkers. Part of it was my fault, sure, but let’s not get into that.

“So you’re saying that Banjo was planted?” Sterling said. “Someone made him the way he is, then let the Ramseys have him? Like a ticking bomb.”

Bastion tipped his glass at Sterling. “That’s one possibility. The problem is, we have no idea about the dog’s origins. All we can do in the meantime is stop it from killing more people.”

I didn’t mean to look – I swear – but the muscles in my neck moved of their own accord, and I exchanged glances with Sterling.