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“And perhaps, fleshling, one day, a goddess will favor you enough to show you its pages.”
Herald’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Truly? You’ve read it?”
Hecate ran one hand through her hair, then flipped it nonchalantly over her shoulder. “We wrote it.”
I restrained a chuckle. Herald was completely fan-boying over the goddess of magic. The look on his face was so precious that I wish I’d taken a picture.
“What of the Dictionnaire Infernal?” Hecate asked, suddenly serious again. “Have you read it?”
Herald’s mouth went tight, a look of distaste passing across his face. “The Infernal Dictionary. I have, yes.”
“And are you familiar with the sorts of entities detailed in that tome? Those might be the ones who would be willing to help you.”
I threw up my hands. “I have absolutely no idea what either one of you is talking about.”
“Those are the names of grimoires, Dust. And the Infernal Dictionary is a compendium of beings from the netherworld. It lists the hierarchy of demons.” Herald turned to me with a grave expression. “Hecate wants us to talk to a demon.”
Chapter 19
“Make it quick,” Herald said, tugging on the handbrake. “I’ll wait here. I don’t want to risk your roomies spotting me.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, shrugging on my jacket. “I think you’re going to be okay.”
I’d asked him to park far enough away from Mama Rosa’s Finest Filipino Restaurant, which at least ensured that no one from the Lorica would know where we were based. I also hoped that it stood as a small sign of my fealty to the Boneyard. I mean I trust Herald with my life, but it was the principle of the thing.
“I won’t be long,” I said.
My heart was pumping. I still wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea of taking long shadowsteps, but this was a matter of timing. I needed to get into the Boneyard, somehow avoid running into the other guys, pick up Vanitas’s remains, then pop back out and join Herald in the car.
I know what you’re thinking. What’s the damn rush? On a pragmatic level, the question of so many homunculi appearing in such a short period of time meant that a tidal wave was coming. We were due for a breaking point, and we’d need as many allies as we could muster. Vanitas was as powerful an ally as they came.
But on a more honest note – color me sappy, but I missed the guy. I know this is hard to process, but I think you’d relate if you’ve ever lost a friend, whether to time, distance, or death. I wanted Vanitas back.
“Here I go,” I said, psyching myself up yet again.
“Just fucking go already,” Herald snarled, his knuckles white over the steering wheel.
I melded into the darkness inside of the car – which, yes, finding out I could do that was as much a surprise to me as it is to you – and entered the Dark Room. I gauged that the location of the restaurant was at least two blocks away in, um, that direction.
I dashed through the shadows, the vague, blackish tendrils of night sweeping at my cheeks with fond, familiar fingers. When I glimpsed the light at the end of the corridor, I held my breath, shut my eyes tight, and prayed that I wouldn’t end up shunted into a brick wall. I took the final step.
The vapors of the Dark Room receded from around me with an audible sigh. I could hear a familiar humming from nearby. I patted at my face, my torso, and my junk, just to make sure that everything was still in place, then finally allowed myself to open my eyes.
The industrial refrigerator in Mama Rosa’s kitchen greeted me with its dead, stainless steel face. I’d made it, and with way more accuracy than I’d hoped. I stifled the whoop of delight building in my throat and sidestepped to the left, putting myself in front of the brick wall that concealed Carver’s portal.
Damn. I forgot to pack a sharp object on me. I briefly considered picking up a knife from the kitchen to expedite the process, but let’s be real, that’s totally unhygienic. Mama Rosa’s restaurant was a front, sure, but it was still a legitimate business, with regular customers and all. As much as Mama Rosa’s dinuguan – a dish made from pig’s blood – was a hit, I was pretty sure none of her clients, nor the health inspector, for that matter, would be too pleased to find my blood in the mix.
I placed the fine web of skin between my thumb and forefinger right underneath my canines and bit as hard as I could. I teared a little at the momentary pain, tasting blood, then retrieved just a spot of it to daub over the brick.
I sucked at my skin, feeling the pain fade in intensity, once again faintly jealous of how Herald and Bastion could so conveniently conjure knives from the ethers. I suppose I could have called for a blade from the Dark, but that would have been total overkill.
The Boneyard’s portal buzzed into life, a swirling oval of humming amber energy. I stepped in, then ran as quickly and as silently as I could through the flickering flame-lit corridors of the stone temple. I had to pass Gil and Sterling’s doors to get to my own room, but both were mercifully shut. Gil was probably out with Prudence, and Sterling was probably hunting for a meal.
I dashed into my bedroom, grabbing the enchanted knapsack Herald had gifted me from the Gallery, the one that could hold more than it looked because its inside was an entire pocket dimension. I swept the busted bronze and shattered garnets of Vanitas’s body into the bag, hefted it over my shoulder, and started to run out of my bedroom. A body blocked the exit, and I bit my tongue to hold back a yelp of surprise.
It was Asher, barefoot and dressed in a tank top and striped pajamas, his hair a tousled mess. He rubbed blearily at one eye and stared curiously at me out of the other.
“I heard noises,” he mumbled.
