I blinked, staring off into the distance of the void that the Boneyard’s own kitchen overlooked. Carver had this strange habit of accidentally digging into my mind, at times convincing me that he could read its contents, and this throwaway talk of food couldn’t have been coincidental.
Maybe it was just his way of trying to distract me with idle conversation, but it gave me an idea. We still needed to track down the idiots responsible for casting the spell that opened the Heinsite rift, but we hadn’t hit a dead end like I’d thought. We still had one asset that could tip the scales in our favor.
Specifically, someone who was good at finding spells and spellbooks. It wouldn’t take a lot of reagents, either. Just some greasy comfort food.
“Dustin,” Gil barked. “Food’s ready. Come on.”
“Coming,” I said, vaulting off the sofa. Hey, I was hungry. Dusty can’t save the world on an empty stomach.
Food first, I thought to myself. Then I would pin down a plan of action. Maybe I knew someone who could help after all – even if I still wasn’t sure where I stood when it came to demons.
Chapter 7
“I’m stuffed,” Asher said. “Absolutely stuffed.”
“This was so wrong,” Gil grumbled. “Why do I do this to myself?”
I wasn’t sure how it had happened exactly, but between the five of us we’d demolished nearly two cartons of eggs, a loaf of white bread, and far, far too many rashers of bacon.
“That was great,” I said, restraining a massive burp. “Thanks for cooking, dude.”
“No problem,” Asher muttered. “Ohhh. Oh God. I’m going to hate myself all day for this one.”
I’m not sure how it happened, exactly, but I blinked, and they were gone. All of them. Not in any magical sense, mind, but all at once the dining table was empty, dishes uncleared, pots and pans still sitting in the sink. I barely caught a glimpse of Carver as he patted his belly and glided out of the Boneyard’s living area.
“Take care of the dishes, will you, Dustin? Asher did handle the cooking after all. There’s a good boy.”
I was positive I caught a smirk as he turned the corner and disappeared. It was pointless trying to argue these things with Carver. In his mind every little task he assigned me helped in deepening my connection to the arcane strands of the universe, in strengthening my bond with magic.
It all had to do with discipline, he said, whether he asked me to clear the dishes, throw together a cookout for a meeting of magical persons, or scrub a toilet. Like Mister Miyagi, but dead, and a lot meaner, too.
Sighing, I rolled my sleeves up to my elbows and began the laborious process of transferring the dishes the guys had left behind. At least I could be thankful for how ridiculously thorough they all were when it came to leftovers, which is to say that we almost never left any. Some sausage, mostly. You’ve got growing, virile young dudes like me and Asher, and a literal werewolf, so I suppose that shouldn’t have been a surprise.
I dumped the first load of dishes in the sink, still not quite accustomed to having all these mundane amenities placed on a stone slab that honestly looked like it was suspended in the void of space. That was part of why I didn’t like doing the dishes manually at the Boneyard. In a normal place you might have a window looking out into the yard, or a view into your very sexy and very candid neighbor’s apartment.
“How the mighty have fallen,” said a woman’s voice, bare inches from my ear.
I froze. Definitely not Rosa. No way she could have ever snuck up on me. The woman was powerfully constructed, with a generous build and huge hands skilled at both cooking delicious Filipino food and snapping human necks. Probably.
That and the fact that the entirety of the Boneyard was basically a sausage party made me extra suspicious. I clenched my fingers around an invisible sphere, summoning a vortex of blinding hot air without moving
a muscle, then whirled on my heel, prepared to fry our interloper to a crisp.
I wasn’t expecting there to be three of them. I wasn’t expecting the intruder to be Hecate, the triune goddess of magic. Flustering, I curled my fingers back, snuffing out the ball of fire I’d been more or less prepared to lob directly into her face.
“Hecate,” I stammered. “Hi. Um, sorry about that, we’re not used to having – ”
“Guests?” Hecate tittered, waving her hand over the filthy sink as her doubles vanished, leaving only one copy of the goddess. “You could have fooled us, fleshling. It appears as if a small battalion of minotaurs dined here.”
“Big lunch,” I said, parting my arms to indicate the size of the spread.
Hecate tilted her head, her lashes fluttering as she blinked innocently. “Is this what the darkling mage has been reduced to? Cleaning up after his companions like a scullery maid?” She tutted. “What a strange fate for a man who holds the potential to be one of the arcane world’s strongest, most formidable powers.”
“Hey,” I said. I pushed my hands into my hips, insulted. “First of all, you’d be hard pressed to find a scullery maid quite this handsome.” I cleared my throat softly, remembering the other thing that she’d said. “And second. Did you say strongest?”
The goddess clasped her hands together, the ever-shifting forms of her face wavering like a mirage over a hot desert. Only the piercing black of her eyes and an otherworldly, overwhelming sense of sheer beauty anchored my brain to the fact that I was still speaking to the same entity.
“Do you doubt our assessment?” she said. “It is but one of many eventualities, after all.”