Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage 4)

In a flutter of air, a gust of wind, we were suddenly home, or somewhere close to it: the entrance to Mama Rosa’s Fine Filipino Food, the front to the interdimensional space we called the Boneyard. But it was shuttered and locked up for the evening, a process that Carver could make redundant with a rapid series of unlocking spells, and that I could bypass by shadowstepping.

That is, if I was anywhere close to full strength. I nudged the door to the Dark Room, rapping on it, telling its dwellers that I was coming in with a friend again. But it wouldn’t budge. The fight with Bastion had taken too much out of me. Besides, I doubted that Prudence would have the strength to outrun the Dark’s mists, the way Mona and I had done so when we shadowstepped together.

“Stay here,” I told Prudence, leaning her against the front door. “I’ll shadowstep inside and open up for us.”

“Not enough time,” Sam said, waving his hand. The shutter lifted by itself, the triple locks clicking as they came unfastened, the way I’d seen only Carver himself do.

“Okay, wow,” I muttered, collecting Prudence again. She winced, grunted, then followed, leaning against me for support.

Sam shrugged, then led Gil gingerly through the doorway. Prudence hobbled as I brought her straight to the darkened restaurant’s kitchen, to the grubby patch of exposed brick right by Mama Rosa’s industrial refrigerator.

I didn’t have to cut myself to activate the Boneyard’s portal this time. Cringing, I scooped up a dab of blood from the corner of my mouth, then smeared my finger onto the wall. The bricks slid apart, like a puzzle done in reverse, revealing a shimmering orange portal. Prudence and I stepped through, with Sam and Gil following close behind.

Inside the Boneyard’s gloom, just off the entrance hall, I spotted Asher ambling towards us, headphones clamped over his ears, his gaze distant, like he was deep in thought. It took a lot of waving on my part, and some shouting, but his eyes went wide as soon as he spotted us. He ran straight for me, ripping his headphones off.

“Dust,” he breathed. “Is Gil okay? And Prudence?”

“Also, there’s me,” Sam said. “Hi.”

“Um, hello,” Asher said. “Bu

t they look terrible. Come on. We can set them down in the living area, lots of couches there.”

The five of us did our solid best to navigate the halls, heading to the vast space that had been designated our living room, the part of the Boneyard that was most generously furnished. Well, apart from our bedrooms.

Gil walked abreast of me, or at least tried to. He leaned the bulk of his weight into Sam, who was looking around with a half-open mouth, his wonder-filled eyes reflecting the magical flames of our home.

“Listen,” I said. “How did you know to bring us all here? I didn’t even tell you where we needed to go.”

“Instinct, I guess.” Sam shrugged, still taking in the stone corridors, the multitude of odd statues set into the alcoves. “My people are attuned to the concept of sanctuary, after all. Your mind told me that this was the safest place for all of us, and so we came here.”

Safe was right. The Lorica couldn’t track us down in the Boneyard. Carver had made sure of that. The dimension was warded against both mundane and magical detection, though there were odd exceptions. Arachne’s secret-spiders, for example. Her gem-studded offspring could always find their way to me, and Mammon itself had pulled me directly out of the Boneyard for an audience in its palace.

Dang. Entities really were dangerous. I filed that factoid away in a corner of my mind. As many entities as I’d already pissed off in my short time with the arcane underground, I had to make sure not to get one of the vengeful ones truly riled up. Imagine being killed in your sleep. I guess I wouldn’t mind much, seeing as I wouldn’t be awake when it happened, but never mind. I digress.

We settled Prudence and Gil into individual couches, and Asher immediately set to work assessing their injuries. Restorative magic was part of his portfolio – necromancy wasn’t just the art of manipulating death, after all, but life as well. Sam hung around, nodding approvingly as Asher went about his work, and I did the only thing that amounted to contributing to the situation.

I ran to the pantry to fetch everyone some glasses of water, and a couple of basins and wash towels. Sterling almost knocked me over when he burst out of one of the corridors, his eyebrows knitted, his lips drawn back.

“I heard shouting,” he hissed. “I heard you shouting, specifically. What the hell is going on?” His eyes flitted to my arms. “What are you doing with those?”

“It’s Gil,” I said. “He’s hurt. Come on.”

I forgot to mention our two guests, of course, which was why Sterling reacted so aggressively when we rejoined the others.

“She’s not supposed to be here,” Sterling hissed.

“She’s hurt,” Asher said, his lips twisted disapprovingly. “I’m not going to kick someone out for being injured. Doesn’t matter who she works with.”

“Whatever, Florence Nightingale.” Sterling shoved me in the chest. “Did you at least throw a bag over her head when you brought her here?”

“Sterling,” Gil growled in warning. “She’s with me.”

“Doesn’t justify anything,” Sterling snarled. “She’s with the Lorica, and all it’s going to take is – ”

“She’s a friend,” I said, shoving Sterling back. “Just as close as family. Okay? So back the fuck off, Sterling.”

He did, to my surprise. I didn’t doubt that it was because I’d used that specific word that always seemed to stir such a peculiar emotional response within his cold, dead heart: family. Sterling knew what it meant to lose everyone you love, which was why he was so fiercely overprotective of everyone within the Boneyard, and even the Boneyard itself.