Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

He led us towards the back of the room, to a table close to where Connor was still bench pressing what must have been the equivalent weight of a loaded refrigerator. His eyes flitted nervously between me and Sterling. I smiled, but he only gave a grunt. Or maybe that was just from the strain of lifting. Who knows, really.

Diaz gestured at the shrouded object spread out on the table. I skidded to a halt when I realized that it wasn’t just a bunch of stuff with a cloth thrown over it. There was a body underneath.

I was aware that the room was still humming with activity, but there was a different quality to the bustle now. The vampires were going about their business more reservedly, as if they were straining to listen.

“Now,” Diaz said, folding his hands. “Dustin, was it? I must apologize for my colleagues’ earlier behavior. My undead companions are very protective of me, you see. That sense of responsibility extends to my collection of curiosities, the Heartstopper among them.” He clapped me on the shoulder, squeezing with a firm touch. “Let me be the first to apologize for how crudely Connor treated you.”

I heard one or two restrained snorts go around the room. The vampires were keeping tabs on us after all. Connor grunted even louder, and this time he set his weights down on the ground, as if to pay us his fullest attention. The earth moved the tiniest bit as his barbell clanged to the floor.

“You know, don’t worry about it. No harm done. I gotta admit, I admire how you guys can interact so harmoniously.” I chuckled and nudged a thumb over at Sterling. “I can barely get along with this one. It’s a work in progress.”

Sterli

ng hissed. I shrugged. Diaz chuckled.

“I confess, my abilities play some part in that. The dynamic I maintain with my twelve undead companions is wonderfully symbiotic. They offer protection, strength, and – entertainment.”

He turned his head so subtly when he spoke, as if to display the series of scars on his neck, around his clavicles, on his shoulders, little raised dots where fangs had punctured his skin. I tried not to swallow.

“In return I offer magical support, the many gifts brought by my artifacts, and to an extent, wisdom.” He held his hand out to Sterling. “You said you had a sample for me to examine.”

Sterling riffled through his pockets, then extracted one of the phials of blood that he had taken from the homunculus at the warehouse.

“How the hell did you manage to keep that fresh?” I asked. “You have a fridge in your bedroom?” I blinked, then turned to Asher. “Dude, do you have a personal fridge, too? Am I the only one who – ”

“Shut up,” Sterling said. “The phial’s special. It’s from Diaz.”

“The vampires of Valero come to me with their needs.” Diaz took the phial, holding it up and examining it in the light, then letting it roll around in the palm of his hand. “These phials hold a very minor enchantment that helps preserve the organic matter contained within. The same enchantment that allows the Heartstopper to preserve dead flesh.”

He uncorked the stopper, then tipped a couple of drops of blood directly onto his tongue. Around us, the vampires were transfixed, their eyes glued to the phial in the blood witch’s hand. Diaz smacked his lips once, twice, savoring the blood.

“Sterling was right. This is horrible. Inorganic, and thin. Very much the same quality of blood as we found on this corpse.”

Ah. So it was a corpse after all. I held my breath, even though I fully knew what to expect when Diaz threw the sheet off the body. Spread over the table was a perfect copy of Dustin Graves, pale in death, stark naked, with a teardrop-shaped ruby in the hollow of its chest. Sterling gave the corpse a once-over, then made a low whistle.

“Not bad, Graves.”

Asher murmured his assent.

“Sterling. Stop perving over my dead body. And Asher, just – you two need to shut up.”

“On the contrary,” Diaz said, “we’d very much like for Asher to use his communicative talents. This creature stole my Heartstopper, one of my own signature enchantments, then returned within a matter of days, doubtless with the intent to steal another one of my artifacts. But we were ready for him this time.”

I didn’t ask how the homunculus died, but the puncture marks on its neck and chest should have been a clue.

“I’m amazed you managed to preserve it this way,” I muttered, reaching out to press on the thing’s forearm. It was cold, and stiff to the touch. I tried not to think about how I would look very much the same if I was dead. This was how I must have looked the night Thea sacrificed me, splayed naked across an altar.

“It’s the Heartstopper’s doing. The artificial quality of the homunculus’s blood was a clue that something was not quite right. Its form lacks a firmament, something fundamental to bind its body together.”

Asher piped in. “You mean a soul?”

“Exactly. Without it, Dustin’s clones can barely hold the threads of their sordid lives together. That they can exist at all suggests that there is a glimmer of something that keeps them alive. Asher. I’d like for you to commune with this creature’s spirit – or whatever vestiges that could be considered its spirit.”

“Oh, wow. Yeah. I could certainly try.”

“And then maybe it can show us where to find the others,” I said. “Stem the tide at its source.” Find Thea, and kill her.

“Yes,” Diaz said. “Precisely what I had in mind.”