Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage 4)

When I first met Vanitas, it was to retrieve him for the Lorica. They kept him under glass in the Gallery, the organization’s own collection of magical artifacts, which caused him to lose his sentience. I’d learned since then that the sword needed to be attuned to its wielder, kept physically close in order to maintain both its intelligence and animation. But that still didn’t explain why V hadn’t come back to life.

“Give it time,” Mammon said. “It requires more spiritual energy to tether the sword to your soul now that it has been, in a sense, reborn. Have some faith. Mammon governs greed, remember?” The demon smiled. “The prince of lies is a different creature entirely.”

I took a swig of my beer, holding the bottle firmly to hide the fact that my hand was shaking just the slightest. The prince of lies? Was Mammon talking about Satan? Someone else? I was only just becoming acquainted with the concept of demons, and now they were shoving this in my face. I swallowed a mouthful of beer, playing it off casually, grateful that the faint bitterness and prickling in my throat forced me to grimace enough to hide my mild panic.

“Right,” I said, stifling a burp. “Well you better hope that Vanitas gets back to his full power, because that’s what we agreed on in the first place.” I don’t know where I was finding the balls to get all sassy with a prince of hell, but I decided it best to just roll with it.

Mammon spread its hands and made a shallow bow. “Of course. We infernals may have our faults, but a bargain is a bargain. A contract is a contract.” The demon smiled in a way that made my soul itchy. “Now, as for your half of the agreement.”

Something in the hallway shifted just then, and it felt as if ghostly fingers were creeping across my skin. The temperature dropped several degrees throughout the palace of Mammon. The figures in the portraits hung along the walls turned their eyes in my direction, their lips tightening and curling into sharp, wicked smiles.

“Fine.” I finished off my beer, praying that the last of it would be enough to bolster my flagging spirits. “A promise is a promise. Tell me what you need.”

Mammon stepped closer, its feet leaving wet, golden footprints as it crossed the ornate vermilion carpet separating us. “Your task is simple, in spirit, but functionally quite difficult indeed. Mammon seeks the Tome of Annihilation.”

In my ears, I distinctly heard the demon speak the words “Tome of Annihilation,” but it may as well have said “nuclear bomb,” or “a lawnmower the size of the Empire State.” I rubbed the back of my neck, then pinched my nose as I felt the mother of all migraines threaten to break onto the scene.

“Sorry. Just to clarify. The Tome of Annihilation. Is that correct?”

Mammon smiled. “Quite. A frivolous thing, this book. It travels where it wishes, on a whim.”

Oh. Well. A spell book that was capable of independent thought. Even better. “It’s a grimoire, correct? You’re saying that it’s sentient, like Vanitas?”

Mammon lifted its head, its emerald eyes looking up into the chandeliers of its ridiculous mansion. “Not as such. It cannot speak, or cast its own spells, if that is what you mean. But it does have a limited capacity for free thought. Have you heard, perhaps, of the Book of Plagues?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh. I’m familiar.”

Total understatement. The Book of Plagues was one of the friskier artifacts I had to retrieve for the Lorica, back when I worked for them as a Hound. It couldn’t quite fly or move around very well on its own, but the thing packed a hell of a bite. I mean, it growled and snapped at me when I tried to pick it up.

I remember how Herald had to put it down by punching it right in its ugly mug. Cover? Whatever. Point is, the Book of Plagues was a vicious, feral little piece of shit, and I didn’t much savor the idea of being sent out to fetch an even more dangerous grimoire with a similarly toxic personality.

“Well, the Tome of Annihilation has its own quirks. It does not like to keep in one place, and will, in fact, resist any and all attempts at restraint.”

“Great.” Something told me I’d need more than a well-placed punch to put this thing under control.

“Indeed. Each time a spell is recited from one of the Tome’s pages, it disappears, relocating itself via an innate teleportation enchantment. Its creator was very clever indeed. That way, the grimoire does not draw undue attention to itself, and can therefore evade capture by those who would mean to contain its magic – say, the Lorica you humans value so much.”

“Sounds to me like it’s a failsafe. Kind of like the Tome’s own survival tactic.”

“Yes, precisely. A collector might keep the Tome in his library for years, decades, centuries, and it would be content to sleep. But the moment a spell is used, it flees the premises, finding some other corner of the earth to hide in, waiting for a new owner. And that is why Mammon requires your services, thing of shadows, the greate

st of thieves.”

I cleared my throat. “Handsomest.” Maybe I flexed a little, too.

“Yes. Right. Now, the grimoire was used recently, and has therefore executed one of its flights of fancy. Mammon has learned of its approximate whereabouts. The Tome of Annihilation has found its way to the city of Valero.”

“Wait.” I chewed my lip, studying Mammon carefully. This all seemed too convenient. “So the Tome recently had a spell cast from it – and I’m going to assume that all of its contents are destructive in nature. And you’re saying that it’s appeared in Valero.” I folded my arms across my chest. “You wouldn’t happen to know about a very recent massacre, would you? Last night. Over a hundred humans dead, bleeding out of their eyes and ears. Sound familiar?”

The demon stood stock-still, its face frozen in an unnaturally neutral expression. “Mammon knows not of what you speak.”

“You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”

I knew it was bold, but my body took over. My hand clenched tightly over the neck of my empty beer bottle – I don’t know, like I was planning to smash it against a counter and get ready for a bar fight – and I approached Mammon, my feet making decidedly unthreatening padding noises as I closed the distance between us.

“You used the Tome to bind that poor, innocent pop star’s tongue, then killed all those people. And now that you’ve conducted your little experiment, you need the Tome back for a bigger, even more explosive ritual.” My chest swelled a little, perhaps in pride over having deduced the demon’s plans so quickly.

“Such hideous accusations you make,” Mammon hissed, backing away from me, each of its steps making a soft, wet plop in the puddles of gold it left in its wake.