Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

Chapter 29

We were doomed no matter what, then. Loki snapping Nightmare in half had only been his guarantee for drawing Agatha Black’s attention. She would have found us either way. And despite all appearances, I believed him. Loki didn’t do this to be vengeful, or to help the Eldest. Like Odin, like all the other entities, he was bored. That was all. Just bored.

My heart stuttered as Asher wept and thrashed on the ground, but Sterling picked him up and whisked him away, carrying him like a bundle of sticks in his arms. I’d never seen Sterling so worried, or so frightened. He sped down the hall towards Carver’s offices.

“Give him your blood if you must,” Carver shouted. “I will be there to attend to him soon.” He turned to the rest of us. “We need to reinforce the barrier. There’s no telling when she – ”

The Boneyard’s firelights flickered, guttering in a sudden shear of chilling wind.

Carver looked around and hissed. “Impossible.”

She was already there. The barrier between the Boneyard and the rest of reality hadn’t mattered at all. Agatha Black was standing at the rim of the platform that held our living area, peering over the edge and into the abyss.

“Curious,” she said slowly, with the deliberate care of someone who hadn’t spoken in decades. “How you managed to sculpt this home for yourself. A man who is neither god nor demon, not an entity at all.” Her great mane of silver hair was like a helm, or a crown, the same color as the cruel eyes she cast across our faces. “You wear your lichdom well, sorcerer.”

Carver showed her his teeth. “Leave us be, witch. This is not your place. You were not invited here.”

Agatha scoffed, the sound of laughter cut at the first note. “The lioness goes where she pleases. You should consider yourself fortunate that only one of me has deigned to visit your interdimensional hovel. My sisters are quite busy with their work. Quite busy indeed.”

“And what is the nature of this work?” Carver said, his hands loose at his sides, fingers splayed. I noted that Agatha had adopted the same stance, as if readying her hands in a neutral position, prepared to gesture and conjure a spell in a heartbeat. “What does your coven have planned?”

Agatha’s mouth broke into a smile. She wagged her finger at Carver, tilting her head as she grinned.

“The lioness does not explain herself to the sheep.”

“Grandmother. Please.”

Bastion pushed out from our press, placing himself bodily between Agatha and the rest of the Boneyard. The idiot. I tried to rush after him, but Royce grabbed me by the arm, shaking his head at me in silent warning.

Agatha’s smile dropped from her face, and she clasped her hands as she regarded Bastion. “Why, is this the boy that my harlot daughter squirted out? I told her to marry better. The Brandts were never the right pedigree. Never good enough, I said. Come here so I can look at you.”

When Bastion hesitated, Agatha beckoned with one finger. He reappeared steps away from her, teleported instantly by her summons.

“Bastion,” Prudence cried out. My feet shuffled against the ground as I tried and failed to chase after him once more. This time Gil restrained me – well, both me and Prudence.

“Better than I expected,” Agatha said, running fingers tipped with long, cruel nails across Bastion’s shoulders, along his brow. “At least the Brandt men have good stock.” She patted him on the cheek, smiling. “You are less disappointing than I expected.”

Bastion croaked as he tried to speak, then cleared his throat when he found the courage. “We’ve met before, Grandmother,” he said quietly. “We spent a lot of time together, when I was a child.”

Why was he talking to her like she was still human? Bastion wasn’t going to get through to some hidden fragment of her personality that still understood compassion and mercy. As if to prove the very point, Agatha stepped past him, approaching the rest of us and showing him her back. She knew on some level that Bastion still clung to his childhood memories, that he wouldn’t attack when she was so vulnerable. That, or the lioness really did believe in her own invincibility.

“One of you carries the sweet smell of the Old Ones. One of you – yes, this one – has been blessed by the Eldest.” She pointed at me, and my heart seized as I was yanked straight up into the air. Voices shouted from beneath me, Herald’s and Bastion’s loudest of all. I looked down, horrified to find that everyone was as small as ants. I didn’t even know that the Boneyard’s walls stretched this high. I looked up, and regretted it.

I wasn’t alone.

Agatha had teleported herself precisely to my level, holding me at arm’s length with the telekinetic force of her power. She watched me curiously, a finger on her chin. I couldn’t tell if she was studying me or waiting for me to say something first. I held perfectly still. We were dozens of feet in the air. No. Hundreds.

“Ah. It is you, then. Most beloved of the Eldest, the boy who slew the White Mother, then the Overthroat. How cruel were their deaths, little one, crueler still that they perished at the hands of someone they so truly loved.”

I struggled to keep myself composed. She could pop me like a grape with a single gesture, or drop me on the stone below. I didn’t like either one of those outcomes.

“I don’t understand,” I started carefully, “how you can begin to describe what the Eldest do as love. I did what I did to protect my world – the human world.”

Agatha shook her head slowly, her eyes kind, swelling and wet with understanding. “But dearest boy, that is the same thing that the Old Ones desire. They’ve returned to bring their mercy and justice back to the realm of humanity. This is best. This is good. You should not have fought against the Eldest, against your elders.”

Cold sweat crept down my nape. “You say that like I belong to them, like I’m actually one of their own. Part of their offspring.”

She smiled. “But are you not? Thea Morgana placed you on that altar and planted the seed of the Old Ones within your heart, giving your their blessing.”