Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

“Enough of this stupidity,” Carver snarled. He slashed his arm in a wide arc, and the hillside glowed with a burst of orange light. Every homunculus toppled to the ground, asleep.

Thea was unimpressed. She placed her hands on Diaz’s temples, her luminescent talons framing his face. For a moment, he screamed. And then silence. He opened his eyes again. They were totally blank.

Thea raised her head. “Serve your purpose, blood witch.”

“Sanguinare,” Diaz said, his voice low, and flat.

All across the hillside the homunculi wriggled back to wakefulness, screaming, clawing at their faces as blood ran from their eyes, their ears, their nostrils. By the light of the massive pillar atop the hill I could see the grass run red with their blood. Something terrible was happening here, and I didn’t know what.

Thea released Diaz’s temples, and his eyes flickered back to brown. They rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the earth. Thea turned in place, surveying the perfect circle of blood she’d inscribed around the hill, and smiled.

“They serve so many purposes, these homunculi. I needed them to retrieve enough magical detritus for my offering, you see. And what better way to cover my tracks than to use your face, Dustin Graves?”

I stared in horror at the corpses littering the grass, knowing that within minutes, all of them would disintegrate into so much worthless gore. “Then why bother creating so many?”

“I needed their blood. Your blood. And the most efficient way to extract so much of it, all at once, was with a blood witch. Far more practical than butchering them all myself. You’ve proven yourself a dangerous adversary, Dustin. As a sacrifice, you would have been incredibly useful. The blood of your brothers may be inferior, but in great enough quantities, it still makes a suitable ingredient for a grand communion.”

Carver traced patterns with his hands, readying another spell. “You know as well as I that nothing good will come of communing with the Eldest, Thea. They will corrupt you into a useless twist of flesh. Fight us, and you will surely die. Cease your madness now. Surrender.”

Thea smiled. “I politely decline your offer.” She raised her hand. “Kill them.”

From behind her, the pillar’s wail grew even louder, a speck of black in its center expanding, until it opened into a rift. A gateway. Tentacles probed the entrance, ebony and slick, savoring the wet air.

“This shit again,” Sterling said.

Gil’s howl curdled my blood. He’d already gone full dog, speeding up the hillside in his wolf form, a glistening blur of fur and fangs and talons.

The first of the many-tentacled horrors stepped through the gateway, shambling jerkily into our reality. Ah. Of course. I was wondering when the shrikes were going to show up.

Chapter 27

I raised Vanitas, following Carver up the hill. “I wish I had more interesting ways to express just how tired I am of this shit.”

Carver led with his hand, clenching his fist and disintegrating three of the shrikes into powder. “I wouldn’t take this so casually, Dustin. The homunculi might have been inferior copies of

your corporeal form, but arcane blood is arcane blood. Thea has performed powerful ritual magic. We must be on our guard.”

“Understood,” I said, bracing myself to meet the shrikes. Sterling and Gil had corralled them near the line of blood traced by the homunculi, but more and more of the creatures were streaming out of Thea’s portal. I shouted over my shoulder. “Asher. Hang back. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

“I can help,” he said, moving faster, keeping pace.

“Stay out of the way, and stick close to Carver whenever you can.”

“But I can help.”

I admired his tenacity, but we didn’t need anyone else getting hurt tonight. I loosed a battle cry as I charged up the hill, slashing Vanitas in an arc and disabling a shrike, hacking off half of its tentacles in a single blow. Mammon’s demonic craftsmanship didn’t just make Vanitas lighter. It made him far sharper, too. I tried not to think of what the demon prince had in store for me in exchange for the sword’s augmented power.

Neither the time nor the place. I chopped, and hacked, and slashed, wielding Vanitas with renewed confidence. Things were so different on the hill at Latham’s Cross than on the night I had first fought the shrikes. One of them had almost killed me then. But not this time. This time was better. I hadn’t even used my shadow magic yet and I’d already downed half a dozen.

Something felt off. This was – it was all too easy.

In the midst of the chaos, standing by the pile of magical ornaments, Thea watched us with cold, unfeeling eyes. She almost seemed bored. Unthreatened. I hadn’t even seen her launch a single spell. She waved her hand, gesturing at the gateway, and somehow more – impossibly more shrikes poured out of the portal.

This was bad news. I spoke too soon. In the battle at Central Square, there were dozens of mages from the Lorica fighting with us, experienced Hands and even Scions among them. When we last encountered Thea, we had Bastion, Prudence, Romira, and Vanitas to shore up our ranks. All we had tonight was a ragtag bunch of the undead.

Sure, we had a vengeful vampire and a furiously violent werewolf on our side, but we’d be overwhelmed soon enough. For the first time since we showed up I had the feeling that the Boneyard had bitten off more than it could chew. I glanced over at Carver. He was holding off huge numbers of the shrikes on his own, but lich, sorcerer, it didn’t matter. A mage was a mage, and we all had limitations to our power.

I fought off another shrike with Vanitas in one hand, then rummaged in my jeans pocket with the other, looking for my phone. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, but maybe getting in touch with the Lorica would help us. Herald, Prudence, Bastion, anybody. Hell, why hadn’t anyone shown up? Had Thea cast a glamour over the entire graveyard? Shit. Maybe she did respect the Veil, after all, even if it was for her own perverted purposes.