Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

“This doesn’t work as well here – it’s not like there are dozens of the dead just hanging out in the Gridiron.”

Too true. The Gridiron was sort of Valero’s industrial district, filled with rows and rows of warehouses. I’d been in and out of the area enough times to expect the worst from the inside of them. Dead bodies, rites of human sacrifice, and maybe most unsettlingly, my first encounter with a clone of myself, a homunculus that Thea Morgana created out of my own blood.

“I think I’m okay,” Mason said, holding his hand across his mouth, turning in place as he surveyed the area. “Is this how it works? You see through the eyes of ghosts?”

“Basically,” Asher said. “Shush. I can hear through them, too.” He spun on his heel, flinging out one hand towards a block of buildings that looked just as rundown and unobtrusive as the others. “There. That’s where Odin is holding him.”

My blood raced to my temples. What the All-Father even wanted with Herald was entirely unclear. For all I knew, this was just another manifestation of an entity’s pettiness. We took something of his – Banjo – so now he wanted something of mine. My fists clenched.

“Let’s go,” I said, leading the way.

Asher blinked as he walked astride me, and his eyes went back to normal. Mason made a small retching noise as he caught up with us.

“For real, I think I’m fine now,” he sputtered.

“Get it together,” Asher said. “I’m sure we’re in for a hell of a fight.”

“And I’m ready for one,” Mason said unconvincingly, his skin paler than usual, his forehead sweaty.

“Damn it.” Asher stopped in his tracks, pressing his open palm against Mason’s chest. Mason stopped as well, looking down at the green light pouring into his body from Asher’s touch. “I’ve never dealt with teleportation sickness before, but if this doesn’t pep you up, nothing will.”

Color returned to Mason’s face slowly, the sweat there now only evidence of the heat of the sun. “Thanks,” he muttered, looking at his own hands, flexing his fingers, the glyphs near his clavicles glowing. His strength was flowing back. Good to know.

It was also good to know that, in a pinch, I could nab someone and force them through the Dark Room, maybe give them a nice old headache or a case of the pukes. I needed to learn some nonviolent ways of dealing with problems someday, right?

But today wasn’t that day. Asher stopped us in front of the correct warehouse. I assessed the situation in silence. Shadowstepping blindly in was never a good idea, not unless I knew what I was getting myself into. I could shadowstep my way into a brick wall, for example, or materialize with my torso sticking halfway out of a pallet of crates. Fun times.

Plus, chances were good that Odin was waiting inside with a swarm of lackeys ready to chop us into pieces. I wondered where his truck was, scanning the surrounding lots for it, when I decided that magical eight-legged transforming horses could probably hide wherever they goddamn wanted. Sleipnir was probably lurking somewhere in the warehouse himself, waiting for a chance to trample the shit out of us.

Vanitas finally spoke. “I don’t like our chances, Dustin.”

“I don’t either,” I replied through my mind. “But we need to do something. Herald’s in there.”

“Odin knows we’re coming,” Mason said. “Unless you guys you have some sneaky plan in mind, there’s no point being subtle about this. He’s going to trap us either way.”

“Sure,” I said. “But if we just barge in, we’re dead.”

“That’s the strangest part,” Asher murmured. His eyes were glowing green again. “It seems that a lot of the dead are gathered right inside. But they aren’t responding to me. They won’t cooperate or even acknowledge that I’m around.”

That just added another layer of fuckery over the whole situation. What was Odin up to? Unresponsive dead people? Did he have zombies in there? Where did he get them?

“God,” a voice said from behind us. “Indecision can be so tedious.”

I looked over my shoulder. “What the – Royce?”

And Romira, too. The two of them stood side by side, each with a hand extended towards the warehouse’s doors.

“Ah, the cavalry’s arrived,” Vanitas said, his voice slightly more cheerful.

“You act like you’re so relieved that they’re here now,” I grumbled to him mentally.

“The nephilim and the necromancer are powerful, but they’re rookies. These two, at least, are more tested in battle. They have a better idea of who they are, and what they can do.”

Fair was fair.

“Hi, Dusty,” Romira said. “You boys better stand clear. No way we’re getting out of this without a fight, so we may as well make a grand entrance.”

“Hah,” Royce said. “Make an entrance. That’s a cute one, babe.”