Dark Harvest (Darkling Mage 2)

He must have consumed a gallon by then, but Sterling finally turned the goblet upright, slammed it back onto the center of the table, and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, smearing blood across the corner of his mouth. He was flushed, like the blood from the Chalice had already worked its way into his system and given him a kind of feed-driven afterglow.

“Did you have your fill?” Carver asked.

Sterling smiled, then nodded groggily, as if he had been drugged, eyes glazed in a kind of dopey euphoria. Was that how vampires behaved after they fed? I watched him closely for signs of violence, but if the Chalice was supposed to drive him into a frenzy, either it didn’t work on the undead, or it took longer to take effect.

“Curious,” Carver said. “You look properly fed. I didn’t realize the Chalice could produce blood.”

A dazed smile split Sterling’s lips. “Human blood, too.”

Carver frowned. “Which makes this relic more dangerous than I initially thought.” He held his hand out – the one bound in a leather glove – and before Sterling could protest, curled his fingers into a fist.

The Chalice shattered into pieces, crushed and splintered under the weight of Carver’s power. A brief sputter of light issued from its golden fragments, followed by a thin wisp of something effervescent, the last of the artifact’s magic returning to the ethers. Sterling stared at the debris dumbstruck, a tiny whimper emanating from his slack jaw.

“You do understand, don’t you, Sterling?” Carver’s voice was soft and even, his expression neutral. “This is how the Chalice hooks you in. It encourages a dependency on its power, and once you’re in too deep, that’s when the frenzy takes over. It fosters obsession. Quite fitting for the artifact’s patron.”

Gil nodded sagely. “Plus, whether or not the hideout is warded, the Lorica can’t come sniffing around, not when there’s nothing left to sniff after.”

Carver curled his fingers and the remnants of the Chalice cracked and splintered even more, until they were reduced to specks of dust. He gritted his teeth as he worked, apparently satisfied.

I cleared my throat. “A patron, you say? Like an entity?”

Carver nodded. “The wine, the vines, the frenzy? All signs point to Dionysus, also known as Bacchus, the Greco-Roman god of indulgence.” He dusted his fingers off, an unnecessary gesture considering he didn’t even touch the Chalice. “I’ll need the three of you to investigate.”

Gil nodded. Sterling folded his arms and sulked.

“Can it wait until tomorrow night?” I said. “Just that I have plans during the day.”

“Of course,” Carver said. “It’s too late to visit the god tonight, and his realm is only accessible after the sun goes down, anyway.”

“Oh, you have something planned?” Gil asked.

“Yep.” I beamed, my back straightening. “I’m going to see some friends tomorrow.”

Sterling smirked. “Huh. I didn’t realize you had any friends.”

“Die in a fire,” I said, through my most winning smile.

“Can’t,” Sterling said. “Already dead.”

Chapter 3

I sank my teeth into my second lobster roll. Ever had one? Those things are amazing. Sweet, fresh meat, crisp bun, and a rich meld of mayo and butter. Total indulgence. I mean, Carver always made doubly sure to keep the hideout’s pantry well-stocked – or at least, Mama Rosa did – but there’s nothing quite like tucking into some hearty seafood to lift the old spirits. Or, depending on where you’re visiting in Valero, give you a case of explosive diarrhea.

Lucero Beach was gorgeous. The day was warm, sure – okay, bordering on hellishly sunny, but not a lot can beat the marvel of seeing beautiful blue water against an equally blue sky, and a beach with sand so smooth that it looked like powder. A welcome salt breeze blew across the waterfront, though not strongly enough, and Herald wasn’t at all shy about reminding us of that fact.

It was tank top weather, to be sure. Must have been ninety out, and Herald was in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, like I was, but his griping wouldn’t end.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” he said, tugging on his shirt. “I’m hot. Are you hot? God, it’s hot.”

It certainly felt hotter the more Herald kept talking about it. I could feel the sweat beaded on my forehead trickle down my temple. I pushed the hair out of my face. Maybe it was time for a haircut.

Prudence rolled her eyes and swallowed a swig of her beer. “It’s honestly not that bad. Stop being so whiny.”

She was in a tank herself, revealing a tattoo of a blue dragon that I never knew was on her left shoulder. Hell, I realized I’d never seen either of them outside of work clothes at the Lorica, Prudence in her standard body-fitting ass-kicking clothing, or Herald dressed as what I can best describe as a stylish librarian.

I hadn’t seen either of them in a while, and brunch seemed a good idea for a catchup. Prudence Leung was one of the first friends I made at the Lorica. She was a Hand, likely one of its most powerful ones, capable of imbuing her fists with arcane energy, enough to punch someone’s head off. I watched as she shook her hair away from her nape, revealing the small panel of locks she kept dyed blue, brushing off the last of it with delicate fingers that stealthily disguised her talent for breaking and smashing things with terrifying precision.

Herald Igarashi worked there, too, as one of the Lorica’s archivists. His job involved cataloguing and researching the organization’s vast collection of artifacts. He was the reason I even had possession of Vanitas, who he’d smuggled to me through a mag