Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage 4)

“Well,” I said. “At least we know it’s gone.”

“For the moment,” Sterling said, opening and shutting his eyes rapidly as his vision returned. “Damn if that sword of yours isn’t a sight for sore eyes. It totally saved us.”

“You’re welcome,” Vanitas said in my head as he floated towards a patch of grass.

“No,” I said. “Don’t wipe yourself off. We should collect a sample. Might be that Carver can help us figure out who or what attacked us.”

“Hi,” Sterling said. “My name is chopped liver. I can help too. Geez.”

“Ugh,” Vanitas said. “Make it fast.”

I knew by this point that Sterling went around with a small collection of phials and syringes on his person, in case he needed to keep someone’s blood for – well, for whatever horrible reason. It was like watching a forensics expert, one who squeaked as he worked. More curious, however, was the fact that no one had been attracted to the source of the glaring light, or to the brief scuffle involving Vanitas and our unseen attacker.

“What happened here?” a new voice said.

Oh. There it was. Someone had heard after all. Sterling looked up from his samples, a slight frown on his face. I followed his gaze to find, of all people, Sam, from the library, standing a scant few feet away from us. Hard to forget the guy considering the very distinctive set of tattoos he had across his body.

“Sam?”

“Dustin,” he said, nodding. “There was a commotion.”

“Yeah,” Sterling said, eyes narrowed as he looked between us. “Understatement. You guys know each other?”

“We’ve met,” I said. “Sam, what do you know about this? Are you a mage?” Silly question, because I had a different one lingering in the back of my head. But it seemed so much dumber to ask it. Are you, perhaps, a book in human form? I bit my tongue.

“I sensed something,” Sam said, not so casually ignoring my question. He stepped over to where Vanitas had assaulted our attacker, examining the small pool and accompanying spatters of blood left on the ground.

He knelt on the asphalt, dabbing his fingers at the blood, examining its consistency, sniffing. Who the hell was this guy?

“This is bad,” he muttered, though I could tell he was talking to himself. “Really bad.” He bent even closer, and his eyes widened. Then he stood bolt upright, wiping the blood off on the seat of his jeans. He scowled at the ground, then at me. “We’ll see each other again, Dustin Graves.”

I blinked at him. “I never told you my last name.” And right there, without even moving a muscle, Sam vanished again. No puff of smoke, no beam of light. Just – gone.

“Who the hell was that guy?” Sterling said, walking closer, then bending over to examine whatever it was that Sam was looking at.

“Some dude,” I said, too confused to even attempt an explanation.

I came closer, trying to see what it was that Sam had spotted, whatever it was that had scared him off. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it at first, but Sterling reached out his hand and held something up. It materialized, pinched between his fingers, a familiar shape.

It was a single feather.

Chapter 9

I set Vanitas down on the stone shelf in my bedroom that I’d specifically cleared out for him to live on. I mean – well, you know what I mean. I liked to think of it as his bed. Vanitas, being Vanitas, called it his place of honor.

“So that’s how it was?” I asked. “You’ve been dreaming this whole time?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Vanitas’s garnets shimmered in time with his words. “I knew I was gone, and I knew it wasn’t real, what I was experiencing. But I knew that it had happened before.”

I sat back down on the edge of my bed. “So you’re saying that you caught glimpses of your past?”

“Exactly.” He paused, for the briefest moment. “I was a warrior. A mercenary, and I sold my sword to the highest bidder. He was a great lord. Maybe. I can’t remember.”

That checked out. Long ago, when I’d first handed Vanitas over to the Lorica’s Gallery for safekeeping, Herald had given me a brief rundown of the sword’s known history. It had belonged to various European noblemen, but its latest records showed that it was owned by a mercenary – a freelancer.

“I was good at fighting. I suppose that makes sense.” He paused again, and when he spoke, Vanitas sounded almost wistful. “I may have had a wife. I can’t remember.”

I bit my lip, dying to ask him. It was a terrible question, but I wanted to know.