Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

“Dispose of him, Royce,” sa

id a woman’s voice. “He was only ever a Hound. Expendable.”

“Fuck you, lady,” I shouted. “And fuck your Hounds and your Eyes, and all your fucking Cocks and Assholes. I’ve been working against the Eldest ever since I left your precious Lorica. My friends and I are always first on the scene, bleeding and breaking ourselves to do your fucking jobs, cleaning up your messes before you’ve even gotten your useless corpses out of bed.”

“Dustin,” Royce said, gripping my chest hard, restraining me with both hands now. Physically, he was so much stronger than me, but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“You’re all cowards,” I screamed, my cheek stinging from new warmth, the salt of my tears spilling into my wounds. “I only ever wanted to help. You don’t touch my family, you useless fucks. You don’t ever touch my family.”

I thrust my open hand at the ring of crystals orbiting at the crown of the holographic map. I hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the shadows burst from the darkness, from the patch of blood on my palm, their spikes and spines smaller, more precise as they knocked the crystals out of their slow, lazy cycle. They went scattering. Some smashed on the ground. Gasps and cries of outrage went up from Scions. I laughed.

“Okay,” Royce muttered, taking me by the back of my jacket. “You’re done here.”

“No,” I yelled. “I’ll never be done, and you know why? It’s because – ”

A little boy caught my glare, then ran away crying.

What the – what the fuck just happened?

The air was cool again. We were outside, in the midst of trees, of families picnicking and enjoying a quiet night, at least until I appeared out of nowhere and started screaming my head off. Royce had teleported me to Heinsite Park.

He slung his arm over my shoulder, putting on an easy laugh. “It’s okay, folks,” he said. “My buddy’s just had a little too much to drink. Gonna get him some coffee. Cheers.”

Scattered voices responded, lifting beer bottles and plastic wine glasses, and the normals went back to what they were doing. Movie night in Heinsite, as it turned out, some family-friendly comedy playing out on a giant projector screen.

“Come on,” Royce said, softer this time, but with more urgency. “You’re coming with me.”

“I wasn’t done,” I said, suddenly deflated, the air all gone out of me, my rage cooled by the wet night air. “I wasn’t finished and you took me away.”

He shoved me in the chest, and I stumbled back, struggling to find my footing. Yeah, I definitely seemed drunk, but the fury had died down, wicked out of my body by the cold.

“I don’t think you understand what you were doing back there,” he snarled. A few more steps of backpedaling and he had me up against a tree. I noticed that it was the same one he smashed me into that time he tried to first warn me about the Heart.

“The Heart wants what it wants,” I muttered, echoing Royce’s words.

He frowned harder. “What?”

“You tried to warn me before, and I wouldn’t listen.” I looked down at his hand, his fingers still fisting a clump of my shirt, like he was about to hand me a beatdown. “I never thanked you then. Guess I should thank you now for taking me away from the Scions.”

Royce gaped for some moments, then retrieved his hand, regaining his composure. “Well. You see. Um. It wouldn’t have ended well, okay? Surely you understand that. You, up against all those Scions? You were lucky they even let you leave alive.”

I narrowed my eyes, my gaze focusing on the projector screen just past Royce’s head, my voice trailing off into calm. I couldn’t tell if they were showing a comedy or something meant to be romantic, yet clean. A romantic comedy, then?

“Funny, isn’t it?” I said. “How they think of themselves as the arbiters of justice, at least in the underground. How do you deal with it, Royce? It’s so fucking frustrating.”

He sighed, patting my shoulder, his hand somehow warm and comforting, words I never thought I would ever use in the same sentence as the name Royce. He fiddled through his pockets, bringing a cigarette to his lips and lighting it.

“Why do you think I smoke so much?” he grumbled. He leaned against the tree, sliding down until his butt hit the grass. He patted the earth, indicating for me to sit, and so I did.

“Give me one of those,” I said.

“Don’t you fucking start,” Royce said. “Honestly, you don’t want this.”

I really didn’t, but I wanted something to just knock me out of whatever I was feeling. The delirium had left me, that brew of rage that was simmering in my body gone flat. A kind of numbness was taking over, as if to remind me that anything I said or did when the Lorica was involved meant nothing. I never realized that dealing with the Scions would ever be more infuriating than dealing with the gods. At least the Convocation offered to actually help.

Royce pushed something metallic and cool into my hand. “Here,” he said. “No cigarettes for you. Just shut up and drink this.”

I twisted the cap off the flask, a powerful hit of whiskey vapor wafting into my nostrils. I winced, but took a sip anyway. It burned on the way down, drops of it like liquid fire on my lips. I licked those away, too, then chuckled.