Dark Harvest (Darkling Mage 2)

“I see. So you don’t know anything about a Chalice that went missing at a massacre of thirteen – ”

“Twelve,” Prudence

interjected, landing a brutal elbow strike that left Gil winded.

“Right, twelve dead normals. Something about a Chalice that belongs to the god Dionysus? And I suppose it’s no coincidence that the three of you just came from his bar. Interesting.”

“That’s pretty interesting, all right.”

“Enough with the denial, Dusty. Give us what we’re here for. Where’s the Chalice?”

“Gone.” My fingers made contact with something cold and rough. Ah. Finally.

“Fuck’s sake, Dustin. At least give me the sword.”

I slid the backpack around to the front of my body and lifted the flap.

“Here you go.”

Vanitas flew screaming out of the bag, the shrill scrape of metal reverberating around the dome as he separated into blade and scabbard. Bastion’s eyes went wide with shock as his hands thrust up to his face to erect another shield. Just in time: sparks flew as blade and scabbard smashed into him head on. Bastion stumbled away, winded, then raised a hand again, muttering.

“Don’t kill him,” I thought.

“I’ll try not to,” Vanitas said back. “What’s even going on here?”

Of course. Vanitas was technically in another dimension when he was stuffed in the bag, and didn’t pick up on anything that was happening.

“Former coworkers from the Lorica,” I said.

“Lady Facepuncher and Lord Douchebag?”

“Right. And they want you back.”

“I mean, they can try.” Vanitas’s laughter sounded like it was bubbling from the depths of some ocean. “Hey, Dust, tell them they can pry me from your cold, dead hands.”

“I don’t like that idea at all.”

Vanitas bludgeoned Bastion once more, cornering him against the edge of the dome. “You’re no fun, honestly.”

“Prue,” Bastion shouted. “Little help here? Smash this thing to pieces, maybe?”

“We’re supposed to bring it back,” Prudence yelled. “That’s not the damn point, remember? Subdue it and we can get the – ”

She doubled over wheezing, reeling from a kick to the midsection. I swore I heard something crack, but better than being gored by Gil’s claws. The flames around her fists flickered, then guttered out, but she returned with an uppercut to Gil’s jaw. Something snapped, and Gil backed off, clutching his chin.

Talk about job hazards. This was far from ideal for any of us. I couldn’t just give Vanitas up. He wasn’t just a thing, after all. He was a friend, almost a person, honestly. Who was the Lorica to dictate his fate? And he attuned with me. If we were separated, he’d just go dormant and inanimate again. The only thing worse than losing him as a buddy and bodyguard was knowing that he’d be as good as dead. He only had sentience because of our resonance. Herald said so.

I slapped my forehead. Herald. He must have told them. I filed that away in the back of my mind. We were going to have some very serious words if I somehow got out of this alive.

And if Bastion somehow survived this with all his limbs intact.

“The sword, Dustin,” Prudence cried.

“You can try and take it, lady,” Gil said, chortling through a split lip turned crimson with his own blood. “The Lorica doesn’t have a monopoly on artifacts.”

“Say it,” Vanitas hummed.

“Fuck no.”