Oblivion Heart (Darkling Mage 4)

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” I spat, no ceremony, and once more totally in defiance of entity etiquette.

“And a lovely evening to you too, thing of shadows.”

Mammon’s grin was strangely tight, meant to tease and cajole, except that I could see the tension in the line of its mouth, the twitch in the corner of its eye, the fluttering of its fingers as it reached for the Tome. Ah. So even the demon prince of greed was subject to the clutches of its own dominion.

“Sure. I had a great night. I had my bones broken and my blood spilled, then put back in place, and a friend had to die to make that happen, but yeah. Fantastic evening.”

Mammon’s smile dropped. “You are unhappy. Mammon understands. But is this not for the better, Dustin Graves?”

“Is it, though? Really?” I folded my arms across my chest, squeezing the Tome against my body in the process, prominently displaying its cover. Mammon’s eyes glinted. “An angel died to bring me back to life.”

Mammon’s gaze flitted away from the book, and it curled its taloned fingers into a loose, hungry fist. “Is that what your friend told you? An angel, was it? One of the grigori. Yes. A fallen angel. But no matter. A dead angel is a dead angel. One less member of heaven’s host for the princes of hell to worry about.”

My lips drew back, a curse forming somewhere behind my teeth, but I bit it back. Mammon is a demon, I told myself. A prince, no less. Sympathy wasn’t in their nature. Samyaza’s death meant nothing, and would always mean nothing to the infernals.

“Forget it. Here’s your damn book.” I extended the Tome, and Mammon’s lips parted with what looked like erotic anticipation. None are greedier, then, than the prince of greed itself. But Mammon couldn’t simply take the book from me. Avarice or no, a demon’s contract was binding: I had to hand it over willingly. “But tell me something.”

Mammon’s smile was frozen, humorless, its eyes burning with want, and with anger.

“What do you want the book for?”

“Mammon desires it,” the demon said, wiping at the corner of its mouth. Was it drooling? “To keep in Mammon’s library. This Adriel’s plan was foolish, so characteristic of heaven’s zealotry and blind devotion to its singular goals.” Mammon rubbed its hands together, its nails gleaming like slivers of gold. “Let humans be humans. Hell benefits from your debauchery, feeds from your corruption. Less humans means less power for the infernal court.”

“Then you’re saying that you won’t use its magic to harm humanity?”

“Give it to me!” Mammon shrieked, clawing at the air, unable to leave its pool of molten gold.

I stood perfectly still, feigning defiance, the fear bubbling in my belly. Mammon’s face had changed then, its beauty sloughing away to show the dread dragon that lived beneath its alabaster skin.

Mammon sank back on its heels, its body seeming to grow smaller, and it clasped its hands. “Mammon – apologizes for this outburst. The Tome has long been a desired addition to Mammon’s library.” The demon smiled, its teeth wet, its lips curved in an enigmatic manner. “Mammon wants the book for some pleasant fireside reading. But never to cast from it, oh no. Then it would flee again, and where would that leave poor Mammon?”

So I d

idn’t have to destroy the book in the end. The heat from within my core receded, the flames that had threatened to burst from the palm of my hand dying before they even fanned into life. The last thing I needed was one of hell’s princes holding a grudge against me.

“Here it is, then,” I said, stepping forward to place the book in Mammon’s hands. The demon accepted gratefully, making a soft squeal, embracing the Tome like a long-lost friend, rubbing its cheeks against the leathery skin of the book’s cover.

“Mmm. This has been a most profitable exchange, thing of shadows. Most profitable indeed. Mammon was wise to make an investment in a man so cunning, and so talented.”

I pushed my hair back, feigning humility, but Mammon’s words were buttering me up pretty successfully. “Pssh, whatever,” I said.

“Until next time, Dustin Graves. This contract is complete, the exchange made.” Mammon snapped its fingers, and a tattered, scorched piece of parchment – the contract? – appeared in the air between us, then just as rapidly, vanished in a puff of smoke and fire. “The princes of hell may require your services again. Mammon will be in touch.”

“Yeah. Sure. Don’t call too soon.” And I meant it, too. I’d had enough of angels and demons to last me a lifetime.

Mammon sank into its puddle of gold, the Tome of Annihilation cradled in its arms, a smile of childlike elation on its lips. Its head melted into the pool, and the gold itself seeped into the asphalt, swallowed by the ground.

“Interesting friends you’re making, Dusty.”

I looked over my shoulder, half-annoyed, half-smiling to see Bastion back on two feet. He had his hands cupped under each elbow, hugging himself to stave off the cold of the early morning. When we fled the Comstock studio, I’d somehow managed to safely shadowstep both of us all the way back to the Boneyard. By rights my mind and my body should have been too fractured to succeed. We would have been dead it if it hadn’t been for Samyaza’s sacrifice.

And that’s where we found Carver, back at home base. The shield that he’d cast over us at Comstock was the one thing that saved him and Sterling from Adriel’s smiting, ensuring that they wouldn’t be destroyed by the angel’s light. It had bought Carver enough time to teleport them back to the Boneyard, to escape total annihilation.

Carver and Asher had hurried to help the moment I appeared, tending to Bastion’s injuries, but no one rushed to him faster than Prudence. She stayed by his side, stroking his hair and his forehead as the others applied their healing magic.

I’d left the Boneyard to broker the Tome’s exchange. Mammon had conveniently deigned to meet on the corner outside Mama Rosa’s restaurant, so that was where Bastion came to see me.

I clenched my fists and dug my heels into the asphalt, careful not to show Bastion that my body was still reeling from the trauma of what he’d done to it. I had to keep telling myself that it wasn’t his fault.