Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

“You should have acted more decisively,” Sterling huffed. “That could have gone so much more badly for you.”

“But we could have captured it. We could have questioned it.”

“You could have died, you idiot.”

I bit my lip, my eyes focused on the ground. “Yeah. Okay.”

Sterling sighed, an irritated, long-suffering sound. “Thank you for saving my life, Sterling. Thank you for disposing of the thing that was trying to kill me. You’re so strong, and brave, and handsome.”

I rubbed at the soreness on my neck, already sure it was developing into a bruise. “Thanks,” I muttered.

He grunted, sifting through his pockets. I frowned when I realized what he had retrieved from inside his jacket.

“A syringe?” And a pair of phials.

“I might get hungry.”

“Sterling. That’s disgusting, even for you.”

He rolled his eyes again. “It was a joke. We might be able to use this thing’s blood. Just trust me on this for once.” He kicked the corpse, as if to test whether it was truly dead, then bent low to begin his extraction. “I’m sure it won’t mind.”

I turned away, suddenly squeamish at the sight of Sterling very nearly desecrating what very well could have been my corpse. I should have had the balls to do it myself – to kill it – but I hesitated. Maybe I was afraid. But I didn’t need the flames, nor did I need to shadowstep to escape.

All I needed to do was hone my connection to the Dark Room, to open just enough of a gap between it and our reality, and I could call a blade of gleaming shadow to kill it in one strike. But I didn’t. Fuck it, I couldn’t. How do you kill something that has its own face? Hell. How do you kill something that wears your face?

Sterling rose from the floor, pocketing his effects, then nudging the corpse with his boot once more. It almost felt like he was getting a kick out of it because it looked so much like me.

Then the corpse moved.

Sterling sprang towards me, hauling me by the back of my jacket with his horrific vampire strength until we were safely away from Other-Dustin’s twitching, convulsing remains.

But it wasn’t coming back to life. Smoke rose from the thing’s body, hissing and churning, and I bit back my revulsion when I realized that the corpse was melting, disassembling into its fluid components right before our eyes.

The smell of burning meat filled my nostrils, and I fought the urge to retch. The last of its organic matter bubbled and burbled on the cement, and the smoke cleared. All that was left of the creature was a puddle of gore.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

Sterling tugged on my collar, p

ulling my face uncomfortably close to his. He thrust one hand out at the puddle. “This won’t be the last of this, Graves, and the next time you run into one of those things, you need to be ready to end the fight quickly.”

“I set it on fire,” I mumbled. “What more do you want from me? What more do you want me to do?”

“Show that you’re not afraid of some magic trick. Show that you can handle your clones.” Sterling stabbed a finger at Other-Dustin’s remains, then released me roughly, his eyes twin points of steel, his voice like the edge of a blade. “It’s simple. The next time this happens? Kill yourself.”

Chapter 9

God but I couldn’t get the stench of burning meat out of my nose. The walk back to Madam Chien’s apothecary had done its work of replenishing the air in my lungs with something almost fresher, but it stuck to me still, lingering like a terrible memory. Barbecued flesh, simmering fat and skin, hair scorched to cinders. Worst of all was not knowing whether it was human.

And Sterling was no help at all. He’d taken up the task of describing Other-Dustin’s death to Prudence and the others with a little too much excitement. Madam Chien’s face screwed into something very much like a dried plum as Sterling went on, gesticulating wildly and placing emphasis on how he very much enjoyed killing my mirror image.

Even Gil was cringing at the retelling, as if I needed further evidence to signify how utterly fucked up this all was. I’d watched someone with my own face die right before me. It made me wonder if I would look like that when I died, with my mouth half open, drool at the corner of my lips, my eyes unfocused and glazed. Those terrible black eyes.

“A doppelganger,” Madam Chien said. “That does not bode well for you, shadow boy.” She pushed her fists into her waist, surveying her shop. The broken glass had been cleaned up, at least.

Prudence shrugged. “It’s already dead. Isn’t that what they say? You’re fine if the doppelganger dies.”

I knew she was trying to be supportive, but it hardly helped, knowing what Sterling had said about the possibility of there being more of those things out there. Surely the same creature couldn’t have stolen the Heartstopper, then broken into Bastion’s place, and then Madam Chien’s, all in such a small span of time.