Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage 4)

“I will search your room the way a mother searches under the mattress for her son’s naughty magazines. And when I find this grimoire, Dustin, so help me – ”

Sterling groaned. “You’re just giving him reason not to keep it in the Boneyard. Nice going, Carver.”

“Great ideas, guys,” I said, dancing nimbly away from the conversation. I donned an invisible hat, then tipped it at each of them. “I bid you gentlemen adieu.”

Carver rubbed his face, as if a throbbing headache had just spread across his entire skull, and he sighed. “Sterling. Go with him and make sure he doesn’t kill himself, or everyone around him.”

Again, I’m sure I’ll never get used to how quickly Sterling moves – certainly faster than any of the multiple vampires I’ve already met – but in a flash he’d already beat me to the portal leading out of the Boneyard. I grumbled at him indistinctly, but okay, fine. Carver had a point. I didn’t exactly know how to find the Black Market, anyway, and it might be nice to have a shopping partner along for the ride.

Plus Sterling was always so oddly accommodating about paying for cabs and rideshares, which he did so again, hiring us a car for Central Square, Valero’s business district. Actually, our destination was close to Central Square, but not quite there: Silk Road, a whole street dedicated to high-end commercial establishments. I guess it made perfect sense for the Black Market to hide in plain sight, right where wealthy tourists and Valero’s elite bought their luxury handbags and wristwatches and solid gold toilets.

“Indulge me,” Sterling said as we waved our driver off. “What’s so important that we have to go to the Black Market? And why do we need one of those bureaucracy imps specifically?”

I looked down the glitzy avenue of Silk Road, at its glittering marquees and blinking lanterns, all beckoning me to run into little boutique shops and clean alleyways so I could dodge Sterling’s question.

“Um,” I said, adjusting my backpack, which I’d brought in case I did end up doing any serious shopping. “I needed a favor to bring Vanitas back, and considering how popular I’ve been with gods recently, a friend told me that maybe I was better off checking with a different kind of entity.”

“And?” Sterling held so perfectly still I swear he could have passed for a marble statue.

“And – we decided to go with a demon.”

Sterling blinked. “Which one?”

“Oh, like you know anything about demons.”

Sterling stuck his hands in his pockets, raised his chin, and sucked on his teeth. “Try me, loser.”

&nbs

p; I pursed my lips uncertainly. “Mammon.”

Sterling’s laughter could have woken the dead. “The prince of greed? Are you serious right now? You’re so over. You’re done.” He threw his arm over my shoulder, and I scowled. “Might as well cherish your last moments with us, because you’re as good as dead.”

“Not a chance.” I shrugged him off, sniffing. “And I told you to change your body spray. That stuff smells horrible.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re dumping me for a demon.” Sterling’s fangs glinted in the streetlight as he grinned. “I guess your tastes have changed. What do you prefer now, the smell of brimstone? Sulfur?”

I scratched my nose, leaning against a railing. “It’s not funny, dude.”

“It totally is. And what does Mammon want from you, exactly?”

So I told him, and Sterling laughed so obnoxiously loud that shoppers started actively making an effort to walk around the two of us, if not pointing and muttering.

“And what, you’re just going to hand it over?”

“Hell no. Over my dead body. I don’t know how, but there’s got to be some way for me to squirrel out of this deal. That’s why I need to find the Tome. We can keep it at the Boneyard, far from anyone who might think to use it for evil.”

“Aww. Dusty. My hero.” Sterling cocked his head. “But what’s a hero without his own soul?”

“You’re a pain in my ass, Sterling.” I shoved him in the chest, and he only chortled some more. “Shut the fuck up and let’s get going.”

Sterling took the lead, walking us through the throng of shoppers and navigating the very convenient layout of Silk Road. I swerved around some construction cones and bright yellow tape that had been set down around an open manhole, expecting Sterling to do the same, but he only stood still.

“This is the place,” he said.

I looked at the dented cones, at the limp ribbons of caution tape and the weathered “Men at Work” signs.

“Really? Here?”