Blood Pact (Darkling Mage 7)

I shook my head. “Not too soon, damn it.”

Mama Rosa pushed more plastic tubs of leftovers into Artemis’s overflowing arms. I thought I saw a container of flan in there somewhere. I didn’t even know we had flan. Artemis waved, her mouth full, and the siblings vanished in shafts of silver and gold that fired straight through the ceiling.

“Must clean here,” Rosa said, shaking her head at the mess.

Asher sighed. “I’ll stay with Banjo. I always miss out on all the fun.”

“I sincerely doubt that this will be any ‘fun,’ Mister Mayhew,” Carver said. “I shall stay as well. Reinforce the wards, in case anyone tries yet another bloody infiltration. Or worse, a siege. We shall send Sterling to your location just as soon as the sun goes down.”

“Then I’ll come with,” Gil said.

“Count me in.” Now, that, I wasn’t expecting. Mason stepped forward, his fists bunched at his sides, his chest puffed out.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Mason,” I said.

“Probably not,” Mason said, “but you need as many hands as you can muster.”

“Great reminder.” I punched out a text message to Herald, telling him to find as much backup as he could and to meet us at Brandt Manor. “As many Hands as we can muster.”

“Stand closer to each other, now,” Carver said, ushering the three of us to squeeze in together. “No, closer.”

“What’s going on?” Mason said, his eyebrow cocked as Gil corralled us. “No time for family pictures, we need to get going.”

“And going you shall get,” Carver said, one hand gesturing through the air, the other holding Banjo against the crook of his elbow. “Stay alive, gentlemen.”

Mason stared down at his fingers, marveling as the tips of them vanished, as the amber flames of Carver’s sending spell licked at his skin. To be so young, and so inexperienced. I waited for the fires to consume me, to take us to Brandt Manor.

Where it – whatever it was – awaited.

Chapter 31

We reappeared on the Brandt Manor helipad, of all places, as if some part of Carver knew that the thing was meant for transportation. Hah. Close enough.

“What the hell,” Mason began to say, whirling very much like a helicopter, actually, as he took in his surroundings. To be fair, Brandt Manor by day looked even more opulent and ridiculous, since you could see just how far the outdoor swimming pool really went.

“Rich people,” I said. “Teleportation spell. No time to explain.”

Gil was the fastest runner, natch, and he led the way up the mansion’s steps and through the double doors, which were already open. An anxious looking butler and an alarmingly calm Remington were waiting for us by the entrance.

“Sirs,” Remington said, nodding as we dashed past.

“Remington,” I said, zipping into the foyer, my shoes skidding against the marble as we came to an abrupt stop.

“Boys,” Luella Brandt said, greeting us from the top of the stairs. “This way. Try not to trip on your way up.”

We were more careful heading up the staircase – I wondered if I’d scuffed the marble, oh damn – and Luella cooed as Mason passed.

“Well hello,” she said. “This is a new one.”

Mason seemed to grow a few inches taller.

“Mother, please. The boy seems barely legal.”

Bastion stood outside one of the myriad doors just off the landing, and he beckoned for us hurriedly. I stepped into the room, not at all surprised to find Delilah Ramsey in bed – but certainly surprised to find her tied up in her own bedsheets, held telekinetically in place, in an eight hundred thread count white cocoon. Her eyes stared at the ceiling as she muttered to herself, drool dripping down the corner of her mouth.

“Catatonic since she woke up,” Bastion said. “Or at least, this was how we found her.”

“Pulled down the curtains, tore up the sheets,” Luella said, sauntering into the room, a fresh whiskey already in hand. “The good ones, too.”