Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

scraped against the stone floor as he twisted in his seat, uncharacteristically excited. “Wait a minute. Come to think of it, that thing’s blood tasted kind of – familiar. Almost – wait.” The chill building down my back crept further up my spine as Sterling’s eyes swiveled very, very slowly in my direction.

Everyone turned to stare at me. The room went still, and dead silent, disturbed only by the flicker and sizzle of Arachne’s magical screen.

“What? Why’s everybody looking at – oh. Oh no.”

“My sweetling,” Arachne said. “These corrupted abominations are grown from the seed of your very blood.”

I started to chuckle. “Haha. Real funny. Ha. Right? Guys?” No one was joining in. “Uh, guys?”

“What Arachne says points to a very real possibility,” Carver said slowly. “This isn’t the first I’ve heard of this. But to produce so many at such a rapid pace?”

Sterling clucked his tongue. Gil helpfully avoided my gaze. Mama Rosa made the sign of the cross, muttering something I couldn’t understand. And Asher kept slurping.

“I leave you to discuss this among yourselves. It is a busy time for Arachne. So many places to be, people to eat.”

“I, uh. Thank you, Arachne,” I said.

“Think nothing of it, sweetling. At least until the next time we meet. Remember. From this point forth, Dustin Graves will always pay the fullest price.”

She giggled to herself, vanishing from the screen as if she had stepped away from an arcane webcam. Then the web disintegrated, collapsing into a tangle of dust and loose silk. The secret-spider glimmered again as it climbed into a corner cabinet, then disappeared.

“Wow,” Gil said. “Handy trick she’s got there.”

Carver nodded. “Arachne is a powerful ally. How she’s able to penetrate our domicile is anyone’s guess, but Dustin should be thankful for her aid.”

Mama Rosa swatted at me with a rolled-up newspaper.

“Ow, geez, hey.” Where did she even get that?

“No pets. Was that your pet? No pets, especially insects.”

“Well technically that was an arachnid, and – hey, ouch, quit it.”

“Don’t care. I don’t like pets. Mr. Carver doesn’t like pets. Please.”

“Technically that is correct. But there’s no need to be upset, Mama Rosa. Dustin speaks the truth. That was simply an entity delivering a message.”

“It’s homunculi, isn’t it?” Sterling cut in, with what I thought was an unnecessary amount of enthusiasm. “Everything she said totally points to homunculi.”

“I’m afraid you’re correct,” Carver said. “It appears that the doppelgangers were taken from the same source. These are not creatures that have existed for ages. It is not a race of changelings or a huddle of mages with access to glamours. What we have here is an infestation of homunculi.”

I cleared my throat. “You guys keep throwing that word around like it’s common knowledge. What is a homunculi?”

Carver folded his hands together, setting them down in front of him on the kitchen table. I was in for a lengthy lecture. “Homunculi is the pluralized version of the term. The word you are looking for is homunculus. It’s the name given to a creation made from a union of sorcerous and alchemical talent, one that results in a servant that, while capable of independent thought, is totally loyal to its master.”

“And the main ingredient,” Sterling said, “is usually blood.”

Carver nodded. “That is correct. Though it isn’t unusual to hear of alchemical recipes where the base is generated from human feces, or even semen. Normally homunculi are very small, the way you might see imps or other minor demons, but whoever is generating these clones of yours has found some method of making them human in size.”

“Small?” Mama Rosa glowered, then crossed herself again. “Dios mio. I have heard of these things. We have them in the Philippines. They belong to people with bad magic. We call them tiyanak.”

Asher blinked, then set his down spoon for the first time. “Hey, I’ve actually heard of those. Mom used to scare me with those stories when I was a kid. You mean to say she was right?”

“Of course,” Rosa bellowed. “Mothers are always right. It is terrible how they make them. You take an aborted fetus, then you put it in a jar. And you give it a drop of blood every night. And when a whole month has passed – ”

Mama Rosa shuddered. It was a strange sight, because I’d never thought her capable of being frightened of anything. And that, naturally, gave me more cause for concern.

“Indeed,” Carver said. “After a month, the being comes to life to do your bidding. It is very similar to another version of these strange creatures, called the toyol, from your neighboring Malaysia. Interesting, isn’t it, how stories and myths can cross oceans and continents? But as I said, there are many ways to generate homunculi, and whoever has created your copies, Dustin, has found an exemplary manner of doing so.”