Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

k, providing him with small doses of his vampiric blood, which I was told was supposed to create a numbing, even soothing effect. It was good to know that Asher wasn’t suffering, and that his eyes were going to be just fine. The surest evidence of that was seeing Sterling head into Asher’s bedroom with an armload of nudie magazines.

“The hell are those?” I said.

“Never you mind,” Sterling said. “Boobies, if you must know. Isn’t it adorable?” He sniffled, dramatically brushing one finger under his eye. “Our little baby’s all grown up.”

I shook my head and stepped away. Sterling was a pervert and a deviant, but he had a good heart. He was a good friend to Asher, and when Asher was ready to mingle with the rest of us again, I hoped to be the same.

Royce and Romira actually stuck around long enough to help out with the Boneyard’s reconstruction, at least for sealing the breach and closing up the many, many tiny cracks caused by all the rumbling.

Carver’s demeanor might have had something to do with how much they helped. It’s rough when the man you look up to at the end of the day – the one who’s supposed to be barking orders and always knows which end is up – looks like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At least he had Banjo for comfort.

Prudence’s transformation had taken a lot out of her, which meant that she had little mana to contribute renovation-wise. Gil spent a large part of the day rearranging what was left of our furniture and putting things upright again.

Mason lived up to his name, too. He wasn’t a mage, and couldn’t help with sealing the breach, but he put his hands to good use, fixing up the cabinets, putting fallen bookcases back together, and sweeping up broken dishes.

He was the one who found Vanitas in the rubble. He’d been swatted away yet again during the fight with Agatha. Mason spotted him somewhere among the Boneyard’s myriad corridors, lying shuddering in a crater of shattered stone. Vanitas didn’t even complain when Mason delivered him to me by hand. He was too weak for that. But he was fine, and I knew he’d get better. He’d emerged from the experience mostly unscarred, apart from a few new scratches along his blade.

“None the worse for wear,” he groaned as I settled him down on his stone shelf. “I’ll be back to fighting form soon enough.”

I patted him on the hilt. “Sure you will, buddy.”

The two shifters disappeared from the Boneyard after we’d mostly made it livable again. I don’t think Gil was kidding about being more attracted to Prudence than ever, and it was going to be good for them to spend some alone time someplace where Carver’s all-seeing eye wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon them doing something, uh, frisky.

Bastion and Herald stuck around the longest, unsurprisingly. As mages, the three of us felt obligated to help out with reinforcing the Boneyard’s barriers and structures, whether it was through applying magical energy or small, simple reconstructive rituals.

I was a little surprised at how enterprising Bastion was, if I’m honest. Prejudiced of me, I suppose, to immediately assume that someone like him would be so eager to help out with the magical equivalent of manual labor, but his fondness for creating sturdy, solid things meant that he couldn’t stand to leave the Boneyard a crumbling, rickety husk.

“Thanks,” I muttered to him, just as he was getting himself ready to leave.

Bastion cocked an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Don’t make me say it. Aww, man. For saving my life. You shielded me from Agatha’s spell.”

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Anyone would have done the same.”

See, this was the point where we would have been trading barbs, poking cruel jokes at each other, but things were still weirdly awkward since that night on the hill. I stared at the ground, wondering what to say, hating that I was at a loss for words. It just wasn’t my style.

“So,” Bastion started. “About that night.”

Yeah, about that. Dude was hot, no question. Very, very hot. And he’d proven time and again that he cared, that underneath the bluster and the arrogance, Bastion had a good and loyal heart. In another time, in some alternate universe, I might have considered it, but I was with Herald, and with Herald I was going to stay. And what about Mr. Grumbles? No. No lions for me. Tigers all the way.

All that and more swirled in my head, but all I could say in a breathless rush was “Let’s just try to work past it.”

“Yes,” he breathed, his face flushed with relief. “Forget I said anything. I was being a dick. Let’s just – let’s try to do the same thing that we did around here.” He gestured around the Boneyard vaguely.

I chuckled. “Rebuild?”

“Sure. Why not.” He offered me his hand. “Friends?”

I reached for his hand, but he snatched it away at the last moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back.

“Psych.”

He turned to leave, and I chuckled. Good old bad Bastion. Perhaps things could go back to normal after all. But as he left, he threw me one last glance, holding his gaze a little too long. He grinned out of the corner of his mouth, then winked at me as he exited through the Boneyard’s portal back into Valero. I swallowed thickly. Maybe I wasn’t being clear enough.

Herald sidled up to me, wiping his hands off on a rag, sweaty from exertion. “What was all that about?” he asked, nodding his head at the portal.

I shook my head and smiled. “It was nothing. Nothing at all.”