“Listen,” she said. “I’m stressing out. Something supernatural has hijacked my son’s brain, so I hope you’ll forgive me for trying to collect my fraying nerves by soaking them in vodka.”
Luella tipped the glass back, swallowing an ice cube with the rest of her vodka. She grimaced, then thrust the empty glass at her driver.
“Remington,” she said, her voice huskier. Maybe it was the cold of the drink, or she could have been holding back a burp. “Mix me another one. Actually, make one for yourself.”
“But I’m driving, madam,” the poor man said, shaking his head of white hair.
“Fine,” Luella said. “Then I’ll drink yours. Make it a double.”
“Hi, Remington,” I said, waving through the window.
“Sir.” Remington nodded curtly as he mixed up another drink. Such an exemplary employee, really. A chauffeur, a bartender, and let’s be honest, probably a skilled gunman, too.
“Luella.” Sterling’s buttery tones slinked past my ear as he leaned one hand against the car, cocking his hip. “Pleasure to see you again.”
“And you.” Luella squinted. “Stirring, was it? Spurling?”
“It’s. It’s Ster – ”
“Anyway.” Luella nodded gratefully as Remington deposited a fresh drink in her hand. “I want my son back. I’ve called ahead. The doorman in the Comstock lobby should let you in. The question is, where will you go from there? How can you hope to find my son?”
“Divination,” Carver said, gently nudging a crestfallen Sterling away from the window. “We haven’t met, Mrs. Brandt. My name is Carver. I am unable to determine the exact cause of your son’s changed behavior. We have – theories, of course.”
It was probably for the best not to worry Luella with the details of Bastion’s condition. But Carver technically wasn’t lying. If he’d known, we would have been able to track Adriel down a long time ago.
“But Bastion himself should not be too difficult to locate.” Carver raised his head to the Comstock Building, all fifty-something stories of it. One of his eyes pulsed with a dull, amber glow. He nodded. “Yes. The thirteenth floor.”
“Ominous,” I said.
“Indeed.” Carver bent closer. “Mrs. Brandt, you told my young charge here that you had a device for us, something to help us retrieve your son.”
“I do.”
Luella reached for something on the seat next to her, a long, slender object wrapped in a bundle of cloth. I knew what it was before she even presented it to me. My hand buzzed as it made contact, the object’s emanations disrupting the flow of magic in my veins. I remembered that sensation. All those years spent dormant in the Vault of Brandt Manor, and the family’s most worthless artifact would finally have its turn to shine.
“The Null Dagger,” I said. “A family heirloom. Mrs. Brandt told us about this once,” I continued, explaining to the others. “It can dispel powerful enchantments. Maybe we can use it to disrupt Bastion’s possession.”
“Of course, proper use of the dagger involves actually stabbing Sebastion with it,” Luella said. She stared at me hard, then grabbed my hand even harder. “Bring back my boy, Dustin. Do what you must to make that happen.”
I squeezed her hand back. “I will, Luella.”
Alive, preferably, I thought to myself, but again let’s not skirt over the fact that he was essentially an angel’s plaything. Said angel was feeding him with a ridiculous supply of psychic energy, too. Assuming we found Bastion and somehow stabbed him in the neck with the Null Dagger without being torn to pieces, we would still have to deal with Adriel.
“We’ll do what we can,” Sam said, clapping me on the shoulder. I’d forgotten he was even there.
Luella’s eyes flitted to him for a moment, and she squinted again. “This one I haven’t met,” she said.
“He’s not important,” Sterling said, elbowing Sam out of the way. “So anyway. Me. Sterling.”
“Right, of course,” Luella said, waving a hand and turning her attention back to her drink. “Dustin,” she said, after another long gulp. “Please. Save my son.”
And again I nodded, hoping that it constituted a promise. What exactly that promise entailed I couldn’t be sure, and I thought about it the whole way through the Comstock Building’s gleaming marble lobby, as we passed the mustachioed security guard who very hurriedly waved us through.
I was especially glad for that. Vanitas was sitting in an alternate dimension, but I didn’t like the idea of someone groping through my knapsack. I knew that Vanitas would like it even less. And sure, he’d been blooded recently – on angel blood, no less – but something told me that Vanitas was still hungry for battle. Hungrier than even before, perhaps.
The elevator hummed as it began its ascent to the thirteenth floor. Soft, jazzy muzak streamed in through unseen speakers. I looked around myself, at the strange assortment of warriors that had deigned to accompany me to this even stranger battle.
Sterling leaned against the far wall, hands stuck in the pockets of his too-tight jeans, moping in a too-tight leather jacket, like some kind of bondage James Dean. Carver tugged on his tie, checking in the elevator’s mirrors to see that his signature tailored suit looked as crisp as ever, as impractical as it was for combat.