I’d just barely shrugged on a pair of boxers, about to text Bastion anyway, when I heard someone in my bedroom clearing their throat. The hell? I was pretty sure I locked the door, plus that voice came from outside my head. Definitely not Vanitas. I probed the ethers for a connection, but V wasn’t responding. Either he was asleep, or something was stopping us from communicating properly.
I grabbed the straight razor Herald gave me as a present, the one I never used. Just – just in case. I opened the bathroom door just a crack, one hand gripped tightly around the razor, the other ready to shoot a barrage of fireballs, when I saw the source of the coughing noise sitting on my bedside table.
“Scrimshaw? Is that you?”
The imp glanced over his shoulder, caught my eyes, and smiled. “Dust!” he said, looking genuinely pleased to see me. “It’s been a while.”
I waved a hand under my nose, trying to waft away the odor of brimstone. “I should have known it was you by the smell.”
He put one hand to his waist and shook his head. “Well, that’s no way to greet a friend.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long night, my manners must have gone down the drain when I took that shower. How have you been? Also, your presence is making me super anxious. Why are you here? Is something wrong?”
“Well, first, I’ve been great. My boss lets me on a longer leash these days. The freelance writing is going well, thanks for asking. And second, yeah, I get that. I’m not exactly good news when I show up, am I?”
“To be fair, that’s not entirely accurate,” I said. “You bring good news, um, sometimes, I suppose. But something’s up. It’s in the air. And not just the brimstone smell, either.”
“God, I get it,” Scrimshaw said, his little face screwed into a tight frown. “Also, uh, you have to trust me on this, but I was coerced. Someone wants to see you.” Scrimshaw’s eyes went blank, the copper hue of his skin suddenly tinged with a golden sheen, his eyeballs like brilliant emeralds. “This imp is here as a messenger, to herald the coming of one greater than itself.”
“Mammon,” I breathed. That was Mammon’s voice, coming right out of Scrimshaw’s mouth. “Is this some kind of warning? You’ve infiltrated the Boneyard before. Why not just come yourself? Or are you afraid of us?”
Mammon, wearing Scrimshaw’s face, grinned at me, sending a shiver down my spine. “Who is to say that Mammon has not already penetrated your flimsy defenses?”
I dashed the hell away from Scrimshaw, shouting bloody murder as I skittered down the halls, rattling and banging on doors as I passed them. This was no time to be sleeping. The one time Mammon made contact with me in the Boneyard, it was to suck me into its own home dimension. This time it had actually crossed over, and I had a good idea of where it was waiting.
The stone floor chilled the soles of my feet as I ran, but thankfully it was smooth enough not to cut or scrape my skin. As I made it to the Boneyard’s new section, the practice platform, I spotted someone else who’d decided that going barefoot was good enough for an attack. Mammon stood at the center of the dojo, feet planted firmly in a pool of rippling gold.
“Was Scrimshaw just a distraction?” I panted, already sweaty straight out of the shower.
“Perhaps,” Mammon said, filing its nails against each other, every scrape making a threatening metallic sound. “But a safety net as well. The imp is imbued with an enchantment meant to stop your sword from waking.”
I drew myself up to my full height and thrust my chest out, completely aware of how unimpressive I looked in just my boxers, but what the hell else was I supposed to do?
“You came to the wrong party, Mammon. We’re at full power here, me and my friends. Nobody’s ever stepped into the Boneyard to threaten us and left alive.”
That was a blatant lie, and Mammon could tell, I just knew it. First off, there had never been a fight in the Boneyard. Weren’t we supposed to be safe in our own home, after all? I knew I shouldn’t have fucking let Vanitas attack Mammon, but what difference would that have made? It wanted the dog, and it was sure as hell going to get it.
“What do you want from me?” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. My hands stayed loose at my sides, ready to engage the flames whenever necessary. I felt like a cowboy, almost, waiting to draw my six shooter – except that I was up against a goddamn cannon. I had to hope that whatever curse had been cast over Vanitas would be lifted soon.
“Do not be so coy, Dustin Graves. This is not about a bargain. Mammon is here for an acquisition. Yes. What Mammon wants, Mammon takes. The court of greed will not be denied.”
The demon snarled as its talons flashed through the air, brittle cracks splitting the room as it deflected and shattered two long, crude spears fashioned out of yellow-white bone.
“Little too greedy there, butthole,” Asher’s voice called from behind me, his footsteps ringing as he ran to my side. First to rise. Good. Or first to be alerted, at least. I’d made sure to talk loudly, too, just in case the others hadn’t heard. Carver. Where the hell was Carver?
The answer came in the ring of amber fire that burst around Mammon, encircling, imprisoning it.
“Nobody comes to my domain without my express permission, Mammon.” Carver’s voice lilted from down the corridor, his steps measured and slow, meant to frighten, to intimidate. “And that includes demon princes.”
Another convenient untruth. Arachne and Hecate had found ways into the Boneyard before, but neither of them had meant me or any of my friends any harm. An attack was unprecedented. I had to hope that Carver’s ring of fire was meant to keep Mammon locked in.
But Mammon only laughed, its cackles ringing across the platform, all around the Boneyard, as if the sound was made by several voices. “A seal? A simple seal? Do not embarrass yourself, lich.”
Mammon waved its hand, and the fires snuffed out. It took a step forward, grinning at me. I took a step back.
“Heed Mammon’s request. The court of greed desires new acquisitions, and if these assets are surrendered, then none who live within this residential dimension will be harmed. It is simple.” The demon reached out one hand, its golden talons curling as it beckoned. “Give Mammon the dog.”
“Over my dead body,” I shouted.