Carver smiled. “Unless you die. But as furious as I was with you today, I still have confidence that you’ll make something useful out of this. Find a way to speak to the Beasts.”
“Right.”
“And one last thing. Get in touch with the Bastion boy.”
My heart thumped. “S-sorry?”
“Sebastion Brandt. I need you to contact him directly. It unsettles me to know that the Lorica’s best Eyes have found nothing of Agatha Black’s movements. It disturbs me even more that I have similarly failed on that front. Call Sebastion and ask him for something that once belonged to his grandmother. A lock of hair, an old garment, it doesn’t matter. It must be something that spent time on her person before she was transformed by the Eldest.”
“So, like a piece of jewelry?”
Carver waved his hand. “Yes, that would do just fine. A portion of a person’s life essence remains with their favored possessions, you see, and that may well be the key to tracking down the lioness.”
“Okay then,” I said, swallowing. “Call Bastion. No problem.”
“You will, of course, have to meet him as well,” Carver said. He had no way of knowing how Bastion had been acting weird around me, and therefore no basis for mocking or teasing me about it, but sitting in that chair, stroking Banjo from head to tail made him look every bit the supervillain. “To retrieve said object and bring it to me.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll work it out.”
I went straight for my bedroom as soon as Carver dismissed me, pausing just long enough outside Asher’s room to make sure that Mason was okay. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, but it was still there, sliced into his skin, angry and red. Asher’s magic could only do so much. Was Nightmare really that vicious? Maybe the blades of the Dark Room had properties I didn’t full understand yet. I apologized to Mason again, then locked my door behind me.
It’s not like I was doing anything wrong, was I? I just had to call Bastion, meet up with him, and collect the nebulous anything that previously belonged to Agatha Black. But just to be sure, just to be safe – I picked up my phone, because I needed some backup.
“Hi,” I said. “Prudence? Are you free tonight?”
Chapter 9
I twiddled my thumbs, waiting in a leather armchair in the foyer of Brandt Manor, feeling poorer and poorer by the second. That indistinct smell of something floral and citrus-y wafted gently through the mansion, a scent that said “Yes, hi, I’m a candle that costs sixty whole dollars, and the Brandts light one of me every day.”
Prudence was late. Like hell was I going to tell her why I needed her around, and in retrospect, it sounded silly in my own head. What was I supposed to tell her? That Bastion was being cockier, creepier, more physical than usual, and to make sure that she got there quick?
The padding of what sounded like bare feet came through the foyer. You pick up on these things when you get used to the normal sounds of Brandt Manor, that of servants in fine leather shoes, their soles clicking rhythmically as they went about their work. Barefoot was not a thing at Brandt Manor.
I looked up towards the source of the noise, and held my breath. Bare-chested wasn’t supposed to be a thing there, either.
Bastion had just entered through one of the doorways, wrapped in just a towel, his skin slightly wet. Staring just at his face was a monumental effort, because – damn it, fine, the boy was built like a Greek statue, okay? So I peeked.
“Um,” I croaked. “Hi.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. He had a smaller, matching towel, the same cream color as the one wrapped way too low on his waist, and was twisting its corner into his ear. Both were monogrammed with the letters S and B. Hand-stitched, too, knowing the Brandts. “Sorry, you caught me at a bad time. Went for a swim.”
He was flexing. He was flexing for sure.
“Right,” I said. A likely story. I called him before I showed up, and it took me at least twenty minutes between finding a rideshare and actually arriving at Brandt Manor. And he decided to take a swim just then? Sure. “So,” I continued. “I’m just here for the thing of Agatha’s I asked for, then I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, that.” Bastion swept over to one of the side tables dotted around the room, the kind you might leave keys or spare change on, except this one looked so ancient and ornate that it probably cost more than all my internal organs combined. He collected something from it, then stepped over to my chair. From where I was sitting, he looked more naked than ever.
Just look at his face, I told myself. Don’t look anywhere but his face.
I stared hard into his eyes, gray and cruel, like his father’s in the portrait watching us from above the fireplace. He was flexing even harder, damn it. I reached out my hand, opening my palm. Bastion held both my gaze and his grip a little too long. When he dropped the thing in his hand into mine, it was still warm from his touch. I looked at it more closely, an ornate silver brooch in the shape of a lion’s head.
“It’s an old brooch of hers,” Bastion said. “One of her favorites. She liked to wear it at parties. I’m sure enough of her essence rubbed off on the thing. That’s actually interesting, what Carver’s thinking of. I’ll have some of Grandmother’s things brought to the Lorica for the Eyes to take a look at. Truthfully I doubt it’ll work – she’s changed so much that even her energy signature might not match what it was when she was – well, when she was human. But we’ll take every lead we can get.”
“Wonderful,” said a voice from above us. I looked up to find Luella Brandt leaning languorously on her bannister, swishing a glass of her favorite whiskey in one hand, cupping her chin in the other. “All this business about my mother running loose is terrifying. I’d rather we rein her in before she – gods, what is she even capable of? I couldn’t begin to imagine. All I know is that we need everyone’s help to put a stop to this. Yours included, dear Dustin.”
I smiled at her. Bastion raised his head to meet Luella’s, and gave her a small smile himself. “For once, we actually agree on something, Mother.”
Luella raised her glass at Bastion, then nodded, a silent toast. Then a sharp sort of smile found its way to her lips, a wicked gleam playing in her eyes. “Now Bastion, why are you strutting around in just a towel? I saw you not five minutes ago and you were fully clothed. Next thing I knew,” she purred, tilting her head to one side, “you were rushing to the second floor guest bath, tearing off your clothes and spritzing yourself with water.” Her lips parted, her teeth bared as she stared him down like a jungle cat. “Why – are you trying to impress someone? Is it Dustin, perhaps?”