Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

“Five minutes,” he said, “then we leave for Nirvana.”

“Huh?”

“Diaz’s home,” Asher said, ambling into the room. “It’s what they call the place where he and his vampire friends live. Remember?”

I raised my eyebrow, looking between the two of them. “Yeah. Is this a wise arrangement?” I lifted a hand, counting off on my fingers. “So that makes one vampire and two human mages. And we’re going to a meeting that involves a blood witch and – did you say twelve vampires?”

“Diaz specifically asked for Asher to come along.” Sterling shrugged. “Besides. I can take ’em. Push comes to shove, I handle twelve of them, and you take the human.”

“Be serious.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Asher said. “Carver gave me this. In case of emergency, he said.” Beaming, he raised something on a chain around his neck, holding it out in front of his face. It was a pendant, set with an amber gem. Huh.

“Fine,” I said. “Okay. That makes me feel a little better.”

Sterling tugged on Asher’s shirt to get a closer look, clapping him on the shoulder and mumbling small assurances about his safety. A

sher didn’t seem to care, if I’m honest. He looked positively thrilled to be walking into a den of lions.

We took a rideshare out from the front of Mama Rosa’s restaurant. Sterling pouted and muttered over how we totally should have booked something as luxurious as Bastion’s ride. Asher was just happy to be there, happy to be out in the world.

He clung to his window, face pressed up against the glass, curious about every damn thing he saw. It was hard to hate him for it. He sat there staring, even seeming to appreciate the increasingly crappy urban landscape as our car crossed from the Meathook over into the Gridiron.

We got out on the sidewalk somewhere in the industrial district, not very far from where Sterling and I had encountered Other-Dustin. Somewhere in the night, I could hear the furious pump of angry house music. Industrial house music, even. Hah, I’m such a genius. Our driver, a friendly Eastern European dude with a thick accent and an even thicker beard, told us to watch our backs.

“Is not safe,” he said.

Asher waved amicably as the man drove off. Sterling scoffed.

“Not safe for the locals, maybe.” He thumbed his chest. “Get it? ’Cause we’re here now?”

“Right,” I said. “Very funny. Asher, did Carver explain your contingency plan at all? Do you know what your amulet does?”

Fire a beam of concentrated sunlight, I was hoping he would say. Cast a single-use batch of protective shells around each of the three of us in case things got hairy.

“Oh.” He lifted his hand to his throat, his pendant glinting in the streetlight. “He says I just have to break this.” He tapped the gem lightly with his fingernail. “Then it’ll teleport me back to the Boneyard.”

“Just you?”

Asher nodded.

I looked up into the sky, hoping Carver could hear me. “Damn it to hell, Carver.”

“Relax,” Sterling said. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s just like you to worry about this shit. Look at Asher. He’s fine.”

Asher beamed.

“Listen. You’ve been in tighter spots. You commune with gods who poison you and want to rip your head off, like, all the time. This is going to be a cakewalk.”

I squinted at him. “You’re being awfully nice to me for some reason.”

Sterling shrugged, wearing his most winning smile. His fangs glinted. “Hey. I’m a swell guy.” He cracked his knuckles. “Also, if anyone asks, it’s way less complicated if we just pretend you’re both my thralls.”

He said that in one breath, and way too quickly, like he didn’t want me hearing. “Whoa, wait, what?”

“Awesome,” Asher said. “I’m a thrall.”

Kid’s sweet. I never said he was very smart.