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“That’s right,” Herald said. “We had some Eyes scanning for the artifact for a while. The Chalice of Plenty.” He nudged his glasses up again, his cheeks a little reddish now from the heat and his drink. “They were supposed to send in a Hound or two, but something happened that night. All we know is that the relic triggered some sort of reaction, and that caused those people to – well, you know.”
I held my breath. The Chalice’s horrible enchantment must have created a signature large enough to mask my own, or maybe the Eyes were too busy tracking it down to notice my presence. Hell if I knew how it worked, but as long as the Lorica didn’t know I had absconded with the artifact –
“Here’s your sangria,” our waitress said, grinning. I took it in both hands gratefully, tossing back half in the first gulp.
“Going to be a real problem with the Veil,” Herald said, referring to the masquerade that the Lorica meant to preserve, the covenant of hiding magic from the human world. “I wonder if the normals will even buy a story like that.”
“It happens,” Prudence said. “Bath salts. A whole lot of alcohol. Someone snapping mentally. Or all of the above.”
It sounded callous, but Prudence was right. Sometimes there were casualties as a result of the arcane world’s impact on regular people, and sometimes the collateral damage was worth keeping humanity ignorant of what mages did, and do. But twelve dead, and a thirteenth who may as well have been? I chugged more of my drink.
Prudence did the same, downing the rest of her beer, and Herald tucked into what was either a frozen margarita or a daiquiri. He took a long pull, then wiped at the spot of shaved ice stuck to his nose.
“Still hot,” he said. “Cripes. I’m sorry, I have to do this.” He reached across the table to grab a paper napkin, but knocked over the salt shaker in the process. “Damn,” he muttered, and he kept muttering, dragging his finger across the tablecloth.
To an onlooker, it might have seemed as if Herald was just clearing away the salt, but Prudence and I knew better. Spilling the salt was just an excuse. We watched as each motion of his fingers left a faint, violet trail, subtle enough to be missed by someone walking by, say, our waitress, or the dozen or so other tables of day drinkers who were far too busy eating to pay attention to the Japanese guy in the stripey tank top who was casting an actual magical spell.
Herald closed his fist, and the pale light dissipated. Cool air blew out of nowhere, gentle enough that it hardly lifted Prudence’s hair, but with just the right amount of strength to counter the sapping heat of the day. Who knew where Herald pulled this very specific cantrip out of, but considering he spent a huge percentage of his day perusing and cataloguing spell books, I couldn’t really be all that surprised.
“Way to uphold the Veil, Herald,” Prudence said, but her sigh of contentment was proof that she was just as grateful for the coolness as we were.
“I wish I could do that.” I couldn’t keep the sulk and small resentment out of my voice. “Hell, I wish I could cast something. Anything.”
Herald puffed his chest out, smiling smugly.
Prudence tilted her head. “Why would you need to learn how to cast anything? I get that you want to diversify, but shadowstepping’s pretty cool on its own. And
useful.”
“I know that. But I mean, how can I call myself a mage if I can’t cast a proper spell? And that thing I did at Central Square – I don’t know if I can do that again.”
Or if I should. The ordeal had taken so much out of me. I’d learned that I could open the door to the Dark Room that night, not just to step into it, but to let things out. It was terrifying, the slaughter that transpired, the black shapes and shadows that spilled out into our reality, slashing, tearing at everything. That and how the scar above my heart reopened and bled freely. Yeah. Long story short, I needed a slightly more subtle way to defend myself. Plus come on, how completely badass would I look throwing fireballs? Imagine it. Take a second. Imagine. Ah. How handsome of me.
“It takes a long time, Dust,” Herald said, the smugness melting from his face. “Lots of study, and practice. There’s no rush. You can duck into shadows. That counts for a lot. You’re a mage, like it or not.”
“Yeah, but you can cool the air, bind misbehaving artifacts, probably make knives out of thin air and shit. I wanna do that.” I cupped my hand the way Carver taught me, then I watched my palm expectantly for the puff of flame that never, ever manifested, no matter how hard I squinted.
“You’re being silly.” Herald nudged my drink closer. “Here. Finish it off. Then one more and we’ll call it a day.”
“Really shouldn’t,” I said, stifling a burp. “I’m basically drinking all day. Heading to a bar tonight.”
Prudence raised an eyebrow. “You, a bar? Who are you? What happened to the old Dustin?”
Herald reached for his own drink and smirked. “He’s exactly the same, just with a more pickled liver. You meeting some other friends of yours?”
“You could say that.”
Herald narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion. “You don’t have other friends.”
I frowned and picked up my glass. “Cheers, you smug bastard.”
Eight hours away until we had to find Dionysus and my bloodstream was already half alcohol. I downed the sangria, maybe in some hopes of drowning out the image of twelve dead bodies slumped in a puddle of blood and wine.
Chapter 4
I sipped on what must have been my fifth drink of the day, a wine so red that I could taste every grape and sunbeam that went into it, out of a goblet that looked very much like the Chalice of Plenty. If anything, Dionysus was consistent with his branding, and nearly anything served at the Amphora came in something that could have been carved right out of Greco-Roman antiquity.
It was confusing to me, initially, that an entity would be so brazen about their domicile, especially after the effects of the god murders not so many months ago. But as I studied the bar that the god had decided to call headquarters, I understood more and more that it was cleverer for him to hide in plain sight.
