Dark Harvest (Darkling Mage 2)

I sipped my vodka coke sullenly. “All of them.”

Gil nodded, then waved for our server, calling for our bill. “And Dionysus makes a third. Right. So assuming we can find a way out of this for you, consider this a lesson learned. Etiquette is one thing, but entities don’t think the way we do.”

I tried not to look so startled at that, and probably failed. He said “we” as if we belonged to the same species. I suppose we did, to a certain extent, but I figured it wasn’t polite to probe into the shared origins of humans, vampires, and lycanthropes just then.

“You know what I mean,” Gil said impatiently, plunking down a wad of bills. “They behave differently. Fickle, like. They don’t take mortality into consideration. It’s a game for them, and we’re just pawns.”

The maenad nodded enthusiastically as she gathered up our check. “Oh, totally. But the master’s different. Not quite so cruel, I’d say.”

I finished the rest of my drink, then set my glass noisily back on the table, hoping the ice was clinking in some suitably ominous way. “Easy for you to say,” I mumbled.

“Oh, relax,” she said. “He may have poisoned you, but Dionysus is merciful. He has a lead for you boys.” She gestured at a corner of the bar. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed him, the blond man in the gray suit, but that was when I realized how nondescript he was, as if he was attempting to fade into the background on purpose. He gave a small nod, and strode over.

“Arnaud,” he said, by way of introduction, his speech inflected with a faint French accent. He slipped a hand into his jacket and retrieved an ivory-colored business card, placing it into Gil’s hand. “My employer is in need of your services. We must speak, and soon.”

Gil looked up at this Arnaud as he left, his brows furrowed, then down at the card in his hand. I peered for a closer look. The card had a series of numbers embossed into it, with no ink or anything, so that you could read it by running your fingers across.

“Fancy stationery,” Sterling said.

Gil fingered the card. “Phone number. We’ll figure this out back at the hideout. No sense talking about it now. Clock’s ticking and all.” He nodded at me in what I knew was meant to be an encouraging way, but I still felt my heart sink. “Maybe Carver will know some way around this.”

“That,” I said, “or we’ll just have to work extra fast.” I scooped up my backpack. The worn hide was soft under my touch, almost comforting, and it was just another reminder of how vulnerable and naked I had felt back in Dionysus’s domicile.

We stepped out into the street, the warmth of the Amphora leaving us to the chill of Valero’s night air. My buzz wasn’t going anywhere fast. I was too full up on fear and alcohol, caught in that disgusting limbo between my blood running warm from all the drinks and my skin being coated in the damp, reptilian sheen of a classic cold sweat. It hadn’t sunk in yet, somehow. I was going to die.

Gil took the lead, but Sterling hung back, to my surprise, chucking me on the shoulder.

“Cheer up, man. We’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah,” I said, mildly suspicious of his friendliness.

“Worse comes to worst, I could always turn you.”

He grinned, his overlong canines giving me the heebie-jeebies as they always did. But maybe that genuinely was Sterling’s best effort at being a buddy. I sighed. “Thanks.”

We walked along in silence, and I assumed we were going to continue the rest of the way on foot. I’d run into trouble in this neighborhood before. Anyone who’s spent any time in Valero knows not to go walking around in the Meathook, especially not during the night, but that was how Vanitas and I first became friends. And seeing as how I had both a werewolf and a vampire for company, it felt like I didn’t have much reason to be concerned, Meathook or no.

But Gil stopped in his steps abruptly, his shoes scraping against the asphalt. Sterling stopped moving, too, as stiff and as quiet as a corpse. We weren’t even in the Meathook yet, but the sudden stillness of my two companions had me worried.

“Company,” Gil said.

Sterling sniffed at the air. “Trouble.”

Further down the street, just paces away from Gil, I spotted a familiar blue glow. Oh. Oh no. Prudence. Great. Just great. Sterling hissed.

I backed away, inspecting the choicest shadow I could leap into, then bumped into the second of the Lorica strike team that had been waiting to pounce on us. I didn’t even have to guess to know who it was, but I sighed and turned resignedly on my heel all the same.

Bathed in the harsh florescence of a street light, Sebastion Brandt’s teeth glowed whiter than white.

“Hiya, Dusty. Did you miss me?”

Chapter 7

Bastion’s smile was playful, and as infuriating as I remembered. He rolled his shoulders, his joints popping as he rocked his neck from side to side.

“Man, how long has it been since we’ve seen each other? A while, I bet.” He gestured at his chin, then pointed at mine. “Growing the stubble out? It’s a good look. Helps you fit in with your new, um, friends.” Sterling scoffed. From somewhere behind me, Gil growled.

“Must have been a couple of months now,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Yeah. Good to see you too. You haven’t changed a bit.”