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I walked out in silence, Sterling on my heels, when I heard Carver mutter to himself again.
“I said no apocalypses, didn’t I? This boy will be the death of me.”
Chapter 13
I stood at the side of Herald’s bed, watching him sleep. He was a snorer, but a gentle kind of snorer, you know? As if he couldn’t help being proper and put-together even in sleep.
Sure, I know what you’re thinking. You’re such a creeper, Dust. Why are you standing in the darkness of Herald’s one-bedroom apartment, watching him sleep with his stupid mouth half-open? Why do you have your enchanted pocket dimension knapsack strapped to your shoulders, with your even more enchanted sword buddy inside of it?
Here’s why. I knew the Prism existed, but hell if I knew where it was, exactly. Simple as that. I couldn’t very well go back to Prudence and find out, and Bastion would be more likely to rat me out than help me.
So Herald it was, sleeping perfectly still on his back, the white noise of a babbling river playing from the speaker of the little home assistant on his bedside table, his apartment immaculate and almost pathologically organized, a fact that was evident even in the darkness.
I didn’t have to look to confirm that his books were arranged alphabetically. The room smelled like citrus. He had a tiny little cabinet just for his shoes, right next to
the set of weights he very likely lifted three times a week in a routine that lasted exactly forty-five minutes. It felt less like the apartment of a twenty-something bachelor, and much more like the apartment of a twenty-something serial killer.
Kind of appropriate, actually. You’ll see.
I’d been standing there for close to five minutes, wondering about the best course of action. Nudge him, shove him awake? He looked so peaceful, too. I almost felt bad for the guy, but – Prism. And Mona. We needed answers, clues to lead us to the Tome, and fast.
“Herald,” I hissed. “Herald. Friggin’ wake up, man.”
Nothing. He moaned softly, his snoring pausing for a second, the covers pulled exactly halfway up his chest remaining in the same precise, uncreased position.
I put my hand on his shoulder, pushing gently, muttering his name over and over. My dad used to do that to get me up for school, and it annoyed me so much that I typically woke up grumbling and moody.
But I was never quite grumpy enough to shoot holes right through my dad’s body.
If I hadn’t made that last minute twist of my body, if I hadn’t danced out of the trajectory of the six knife-sharp icicles that ejected like missiles from the palm of Herald’s hand, I’d be dead. Super dead. We’re talking bleeding out of six frosty holes in my chest dead. The air whizzed as they sailed past my fragile, fleshy body, slamming into the wall behind my head.
“Jesus Christ,” I yelped.
Then I ducked as a sword conjured out of perfect, clear ice sang straight for my head, razor-thin and sharp enough to slice right through my neck.
“Herald,” I yelled. “It’s me, it’s Dustin, stop, please, I don’t wanna die and – ”
“Dust?” he spat.
The sound of ice cracking broke the silence, shards of frost tinkling to the ground as Herald clenched his fist and disengaged his blade. “What the hell are you doing here?” He spun in place, groping for the bedside table, fumbling to shove his glasses on his face. A powerful sorcerer, yes, but still hamstrung by the ravages of less-than-perfect eyesight.
He clicked on his lamp, which didn’t really improve my vision considering my connection to the Dark Room made it so that I could see better in gloom. It did, however, show me how blisteringly red in the face he was.
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Herald yelled, looking disproportionately angry for someone dressed in really comfy-looking linen pajamas and a loose tank top. “How the hell did you get in?”
“I’m here for a sleepover,” I grumbled. “How the hell do you think I got in? I shadowstepped.”
There was a tap from the wall across the room, and the muffled sound of a presumably very nice young woman very loudly saying “It’s like one in the morning, y’all need to shut the fuck up.”
As if I could forget. Herald lived in an apartment building that housed a metric ton of mages who all worked for the Lorica. It was convenient for everyone involved because it was so close to Lorica HQ itself, and because the residential units each came with their own protective wards. Part of the association dues.
There were no thefts – ever – at Parkway Heights, only sightings of piles of ash that the building’s cleaners wordlessly swept away. Long story short, anyone who ever had ambitions of stealing from the building’s residents frequently received two things: a fireball to the face triggered by an apartment’s warded traps, and, consequently, a free cremation.
But shadowstepping got me past all that. I could moan all I wanted about how creepy and cold it was to move through the Dark Room, but being able to access the dimension obviously had its perks.
Herald pressed his lips together, still fuming, then dragged me by the collar, moving our faces closer. “Speak,” he snarled, in a low, threatening voice. “Explain.”
Few things, I realized that night, were truly more frightening than a sleep-deprived Herald Igarashi. I always knew that he dabbled in demonology, but sometimes I wondered if there wasn’t an actual drop of demon blood in him. Or one or two gallons.
