Blood Pact (Darkling Mage 7)

Welcome back, I thought. Welcome home.

Chapter 32

The shadows rose around me in a solid sphere of night, the blades and tendrils of darkness swirling in a vortex that blotted out the sun. The laughter poured from my throat even as the blood spilled from my chest.

I hardly felt the pain. The swell of power numbed anything that could have ruined the reunion: agony, bleeding, even the guilt of enjoying the returning rush of shadow magic.

This was the Dark Room’s way of greeting me, I knew. The sphere, the whirlwind of blades around me was meant to offer us a private moment of togetherness. Catching up, as it were. Little shapes cut out of midnight ran around my feet, nipping at my heels, lapping at the tips of my fingers.

As the black mists touched my skin, as they brushed affectionately against my cheek, I heard the Dark Room’s unspoken story. It had been waiting all along, it told me, in glimpses, in flashes of emotion. There was never any way to truly destroy it, only lock it away. And Donovan, sweet Donovan, stupid Donovan had broken the seal on the thing that I feared and loved more than anything.

More than Herald? The last vestiges of human logic left in me spoke in a tiny voice. More than my father, my family, the Boneyard? And as doubt returned, as the shame of releasing the Dark washed over me, so did the sphere of night recede, bringing back streams of sunlight from overhead, and panicked, shouting voices from all over the Brandt Manor lawn. Some new voices, too. But Bastion’s rang loudest of all.

“You set him up, Jonah,” he shouted. “You did this so you could have an excuse to kill him.”

The shadows dissolved into fine mist, then sank into the ground, unveiling the world around me. Bastion was talking to a group of about a dozen people, some of them familiar faces from the Lorica. A few were Hands and Wings, but the one standing closest to the front of the mob, that was the Scion. Jonah. I could tell from the arrogance in his posture, from the way his eyes burned like coals into mine. He sent Donovan to release me, to ensure that I couldn’t control the Dark any longer.

I had a hard time focusing on the Scion’s face. At first I thought it was the glamour that so many of the more secretive – no, cowardly members of the Lorica’s inner circle liked to wear. But soon I realized that a different part of me was attempting to process the situation, that long-dormant animal brain that enjoyed the kill. Was this Scion a catalyst, or a future victim? Should I thank him, or threaten him?

He answered the question for me.

“Dustin Graves,” Jonah called out, his head held high despite the fear I could taste in his heart. “By the authority of the North American branch of the Lorica, I hereby place you under arrest.”

My head tilted, like my ears were adjusting to hearing sound outside of the Dark Room once more. It was like being on autopilot. I felt the corners of my mouth lift into a smile as I looked down at the dagger in my chest, as I pulled it out, then let it fall into the grass.

Trembling with excitement, my fingers gathered the blood leaking from my wound. I remembered how my bond with the Dark had quickened, how I could use my own life force to empower the shadows. I looked into the Scion’s face, my palms drenched in red, my eyes seeing only a dead man walking.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said.

I lifted my hands, and from my own blood two lances of solid, blackest night shot out of my palms, heading straight for the Scion’s head. His eyes went wide with terror. Inside me, the Dark Room was laughing.

The air flashed with white light as my spears collided against an invisible barrier, exploding into shards of black, then vanishing in puffs of smoke. I set my sights on Bastion, hating that he’d stepped in to defend the Scion, the worthless thing, that worm of a man.

“Dust,” Herald cried out. “Don’t make this any worse than it is.”

Oh. Was he taking sides now? My blood ran hot with anger, wit

h the joy and glory of being tapped into so much power once more. If Herald loved me, then why was he siding with the Lorica against me? If these people were my friends, then why were they standing on the opposite side of the lawn, huddled behind Bastion’s shields?

Why were they looking at me with fear in their eyes?

“Dust,” Herald said again. “Please. You’re bleeding. Stop this.”

Traitors. All of them. I looked down at my hands, willing the Dark to send more of its terrors. I felt the shadows course through my blood, answering my summons as fresh spear-tips of solid night emerged from my palms.

“It’s not us you have to fight, Dustin,” Bastion said. “The Dark Room is taking over. You have to fight it. Let us help you.”

Fight the Dark Room? No. Why would I fight the only ally I had left? I gritted my teeth as slender, barbed javelins jutted out of my hands, prepared to fly for the throats of everyone who had betrayed me.

“Don’t make me do this, Dustin,” Bastion shouted.

I raised my hands. He raised his. My backpack flew open, its flap lifted by the sheer force of Bastion’s will. I jerked from the speed of Vanitas flying out of his dimension.

I didn’t expect him to circle back around, split into sword and scabbard, and come straight for my throat.

“No,” I hissed, dismissing my spears, reshaping them into a black shield, big enough to cover my body. “No. Not you too.”

“You’re acting crazy, Dustin,” Vanitas roared into my mind. “This isn’t you. That other place is taking over. Think of the consequences.”