Blood Pact (Darkling Mage 7)

“Which is why I still think it’s a good idea to consult the right entity. Go to Artemis. Goddess of the hunt, remember? She’s probably familiar with all kinds of magical animals.”

“That’s what the guys said.” I scratched the end of my nose. “But really? A magical corgi? That’s not in the myths anywhere. What would she know about it?”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

“Just one. We should get the hell off the street before Mammon decides to send more lackeys.”

Herald smirked at me. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.”

“Shut up.”

We walked fast. Herald suggested that we get a rideshare somewhere busier and more brightly lit so we wouldn’t have to wait and risk being jumped in the dark. I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets, the brisk pace winding me a little because of my insistence on talking. I was curious.

“You’re the demonologist,” I said. “So there’s a bunch of demon princes, right? One for every sin?”

“More than that,” Herald said. “We’ve been over this. The Seven are the most powerful and influential, naturally, but there’s a prince for nearly every vice. It doesn’t get super specific, but I’d say there are scores of them. Maybe a few hundred.”

I whistled, my breath curling past my lips in a tumbling wisp. “And I’m going to guess that they’re all different? I don’t know how else to put it. Thematically, I mean. Like, would the demon prince of wrath be way more violent than Mammon?”

Herald chuckled. “You have no idea. Even their minions are more vicious. Really dangerous stuff. I’ve heard that the court of gluttony is pretty fond of actually eating people.”

“Shit.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what you’d end up as – once a demon of gluttony passes you through its digestive tract. And the demons of sloth are even worse. You’d think it wouldn’t be so bad, but those bastards are far more creative about it than assaulting you with a wall of golden light.”

My lips were slightly parted as I waited for Herald to continue, but I never did find out how much worse sloth demons could be, because I was then assaulted by a wall of golden light.

This one hurt a lot more, too, slamming into my chest, knocking me on my ass, and shoving all the air out of my lungs. It wasn’t just like walking into that golden barrier that Mammon had erected. It felt like a lot more force went into this one, like Mammon had punched me with way more anger.

I stared at the sky, wondering how I was seeing so many stars with the smog of Valero blanketing the city’s air, when I realized that it was probably just random, blinding spots of light from smashing my head on the pavement. Again. Concussion central. I groaned, and when I couldn’t from a lack of oxygen, wheezed. I reached for my mother’s amulet, wincing. Please. I just wanted to survive the night without having my skull cracked open like an egg.

Something gold and bright smashed into the pavement right by my head, threatening to crack it open like an egg. Bits of debris struck my cheek. I blinked rapidly, willing my sight to clear up, but all I saw were stars, and the pale halo of gold at the edge of my vision.

“Mammon,” I said, “Truce. It’s too soon for a revenge attack, leave me alone.”

“It’s a kid, Dust,” Herald yelled. “It’s not Mammon. Just a kid.”

“Okay, Donovan Slint, truce. It’s too soon for a revenge attack, leave me alone.”

“Not that kid,” Herald said.

Then who? I wondered if it mattered. I felt the presence above me, just within punching distance. My fingers clenched into a fist, and the anger and pain inside of me swirled into a cloud of fire around my hand. I swung my arm into an uppercut.

And screamed. My knuckles had connected with something like metal.

“Damn it,” Herald said, and flecks of purple filled my field of vision. My eyesight cleared at last – mostly only blurry with tears of pain, because holy shit, whatever I’d punched hurt like hell – and there he was, standing over me.

Just some kid. A young man, no older than eighteen, I was sure, with half his body hidden behind a glowing golden shield. And not just a plain magical barrier, either. This thing on his arm looked like an actual medieval kite shield. That’s what I’d punched. My knuckles throbbed. The shield looked way too big for him to handle. Maybe he was stronger than he looked – he did use the thing to bash me in the chest, after all. Where’d he even find an artifact like it?

“Don’t know what a Mammon is,” he said, his voice deeper, more menacing than I’d expected. “And my name sure as hell isn’t Donovan.”

That was the main detail about him, apart from the enormous glowing shield. The guy seemed pretty pissed.

The other thing I noticed was how the ground was covered in shards of broken ice. So Herald had tried to fight him already, probably using a bunch of those icicles he loved so much – and it looked like he was getting ready to try something new. I had to distract our attacker long enough for Herald to prepare, maybe to produce one of his ice swords.

“You and I need to talk,” the stranger said.

Behind him, Herald bared his teeth in fury. The sword at his hands had grown longer, much longer than I’d seen him make before. I strained not to look directly at him, so as not to give him away, but even in my peripheral vision I could see. Herald was building an entire spear out of solid ice. Shit. He was pissed, too.