Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

“Come now, boys and girls,” Dionysus said, pulling up a chair and straddling it, resting his arms against its back. “The gods talk. The gods listen. The gods gossip.” He sipped from his goblet again, his lips coming away glistening and wet. “And I am the biggest gossip of them all.” He turned to Bastion, then winked. “May I offer you a goblet of my finest, dear Scion?”

I locked eyes with Bastion and slashed my hand across my neck as I furiously shook my head and silently mouthed the phrase “Hell no.” Bastion cleared his throat and politely declined.

“Truthfully, we’re here about someone from your family,” I said. “Someone might have mentioned that Artemis is hanging out – or has been hanging out at the Amphora. Something about her being bummed over getting kicked out of the Midnight Convocation.”

“Ah,” Dionysus said, leaning closer, the sweet smell of wine tumbling from his lips as he leered at me. “And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, shadow mage? Though it isn’t entirely your fault, I imagine. Oh no. The Convocation has very strict ideas about what is and isn’t considered acceptable conduct by its members.” Dionysus stared into his cup and shook his head. “They probably remember Metzli. Poor Metzli.”

I nodded. It wasn’t my place to say anything. The Convocation wouldn’t forget about the demise of the Aztec night goddess for a long time coming. I bit my lip. I knew that I was complicit in her death, but I didn’t know how I would ever make amends for it. Artemis said that the Co

nvocation understood the risks of helping us against the Eldest, and Nyx seemed to agree, but Chernobog – man, Chernobog. That was someone to look out for in the future.

“Well, it isn’t any of my business, truly,” Dionysus said. He snapped his fingers and the wet sound of pouring liquid rose from his goblet. It filled to the brim with ruby-red wine once more. “For as long as you promise not to make things any messier than they already are, Dustin Graves, I am glad to point out Artemis’s whereabouts. I owe you that much, after all.” He elbowed me in the ribs and winked. “The gods don’t forget those who do them favors. And vise versa, or something.”

“We’d really appreciate that,” I said. “We don’t really have the time to explain, but there’s honestly a lot riding on this. We need to see Artemis, and soon.”

“And see her you shall, Dustin,” Dionysus cooed. He nodded at the far end of the bar. “She’s right over there.”

And he was right. There she was, where she wasn’t before, her waves of hair crowned with a wreath of delicate leaves and vines, a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back, her body clad in practical, protective leather armor. She should have stuck out to us like a sore thumb, but as I’d learned over my time with the arcane underground, the entities had their ways of blending in with the populace, of hiding in plain sight.

I clapped Dionysus on the shoulder. “Thanks a bunch, man. We’ll stay out of your hair. And promise, no drama.”

Dionysus grinned at me and threaded his fingers through mine, grasping my hand and shaking it. “Any time, Dustin Graves. You really should drop by more often. The Amphora is always open to you and your very lovely friends.” He winked again. “And we still have to discuss the subject of getting you a fetching tattoo.”

Ugh. Bad joke. I remembered that, the three-petaled flower that Dionysus had branded onto my skin as a literal ticking clock, counting out the days I had left to live.

“Yeah,” I said, disentangling myself as politely as I could. “I’ll think about that, for sure.”

Wordlessly, the others rose to join me as I approached the bar. Dionysus stayed put at our table, one hand cupping his chin, a lazy grin playing on his lips. I pressed my lips together into the facsimile of a smile and nodded at him, then turned to the others.

“Hey,” I said. “You guys remember when there was a time we didn’t have to talk to three gods in a row just to get what we wanted? That was fun.”

Bastion stretched his arm over my shoulders, chuckling and pulling me in. “You’ve been so damn grumpy tonight, Dustin. You’re being such a bore. Relax. We’ll figure this out.”

I frowned at him. “I honestly can’t see how you can be so blasé about this. Your grandmother,” I said slowly, “came to life, made a man explode, and is now missing in action. How can you be so calm?”

He shrugged, his fingers digging into my shoulder. “You work with the cards that you’re dealt, you know? What’s the point of me being sour this whole time when I could be directing my energy into being productive, into solving the problems we’re actually faced with?”

Prudence chuckled and elbowed me in the side. “And that grim determination is exactly why Sebastion Brandt made Scion. The end.”

Bastion’s laughter was too easy and carefree, almost put-on, but I was distracted by the warmth of his breath as it tousled my hair. The air around us, the scent on his too-close body reminded me of some expensive and frankly intoxicating cologne. Had he always smelled so nice?

“When life gives you lemons,” Bastion said, “you hand them to the kitchen staff.” He waved his hand vaguely. “Or something like that.”

I wriggled my way out from under him, clearing my head. Focus, Dust, I told myself. Focus on the job at hand. I filled my lungs with air, expanding my chest and broadening my shoulders, filling my cheeks with charm and radiance. That’s who I was, after all: Dustin Graves, professional charmer, amateur thief, and a total faker.

At the bar, I rested my elbow just by Artemis’s goblet, leaning onto the counter. I cocked my hip and gave her a flash of my biggest, brightest smile.

“You again,” she slurred, grimacing.

“Artemis, old friend, old pal,” I said cheerily. “It’s been a minute. And have I got a story for you. You’ll never believe who makes Snacky Yum-Yums.”

Chapter 13

“Haven’t you done enough?” Artemis cried out. She clutched her goblet, like she was about to throw it, and I got ready to duck. She fixed me with a steely gaze, shrugged, and tossed back its contents instead. “Bah. Shame to waste it.” She ran the back of her hand across her lips, punctuating her sentence with a savage belch.

“Well, it’s nice to see you, too,” I said.

Artemis blinked blearily, peering past my shoulder to inspect my friends. “I don’t know you people. But I know you’re from the Lorica. Here to arrest me?” She guffawed, banging her empty goblet on the counter. “Hey maenad,” she called out, flagging the single, very attractive woman tending to the bar. “Yeah, top me up. And don’t be stingy, fill it to the brim this time. I pay my tab the same way anyone does in this godsforsaken hole in the wall.”