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Chapter 1
My breath caught in my throat as I watched, as the sorcerer’s fingers sifted through blazing coals. To the unlearned, to someone who does not understand the vagaries of the arcane underground, this could have seemed like some eldritch ritual.
A baptism by fire, how a man cleanses himself in the most purifying element known to our reality: scorching flame. I watched as the sorcerer lifted his bare hands out of the coals, and I marveled at the perfect, unburnt olive of his skin. I watched as he flipped a burger onto the grill.
Hi. I’m Dustin Graves, and I’m at a barbecue.
Or was, rather, in the great outdoors of Heinsite Park, a refreshing expanse of green in the otherwise urban environs of the city of Valero. Incidentally, it was where I got kidnapped prior to being turned into a ritual sacrifice, but yeah, let’s not get into that.
Happy thoughts. Let’s focus instead on the warmth of a bright California sun, on the murmur of trees as a balmy breeze rushed through their outstretched branches. It was a great day for a cookout, to just unwind with a beer and a burger. I mean, hey. Even the handsomest of heroes – that’s me, in case you missed it – deserves a little break every now and then.
The sorcerer in question, as you might have guessed, was my mentor and employer, the man known only as Carver. He was an undying lich who had an expensive fondness for enchanted jewelry, and something in his magical arsenal was keeping him protected from mundane flames.
Carver had taken the responsibility of firing up the grill for us hungry picnickers. He was also responsible for getting so many of us together in the first place, more or less commanding me to invite everyone over for a big old barbecue.
“I’m not sure this is very hygienic,” I muttered, one eyebrow raised at Carver.
“Preposterous,” he snapped. “Fire is cleansing. This crucible you use to char your deceased cow parts is more than good enough for searing away any impurities that may have found their way upon my person.” He raked the coals with his fingers and sniffed. “And my nails are impeccably clean, I’ll have you know. If you must complain, then cook your own bloody meat.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’m sorry I said anything. Please, sir, may I have one of your gross finger burgers?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Carver slapped another patty on the grill, then raised his face to the sky, the light glinting off his very expensive-looking sunglasses. “It’s too lovely an afternoon for me to let you spoil my mood.” He poked at the patties, nodding at them approvingly, looking utterly bizarre as he did something so very pedestrian while dressed in one of his signature tailored suits. “I’m glad I decided for all of us to come out for the day after all.”
None of us would have turned down the idea of a little afternoon picnic, frankly. We got entangled in world-threatening events with such painful regularity that we all figured it’d be nice to take a break for once, just have a pleasant, low-drama, no-nonsense cookout. We, in this case, being the good old boys from the Boneyard, and the members of the Lorica that I counted as my friends.
I’ll spare you the details – surely you’ll be familiar with the lads and ladies by now – but that meant Gil, Asher, and even Mama Rosa were in attendance. Carver had gently, politely ordered me to invite the Lorica half of the party along, and they were only too keen to meet us for something that, for once, did not involve having to save the damn day. Again.
Heck, even dad showed up, which I suppose I should have expected, considering how much he appreciated a good piece of meat. Which isn’t to say that he was feeling very relaxed at all. He was hovering over Carver, only half-listening to our conversation, wincing and grimacing each time Carver’s fingers accidentally brushed against the blistering-hot grill.
Fortunately, we’d picked a spot in the picnic area a little ways away from prying eyes. A lot of normals had elected to spend their afternoon in the park, but we were in the company of people who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at Carver’s arcane antics.
“Carver,” dad muttered, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mustache faintly trembling. “Are you – are you sure you’re okay doing this?”
I could tell that Norman Graves – that’s dad, to me, unless I wanted my head smacked clear off my body – wasn’t super comfortable with Carver’s unorthodox culinary technique. He was the most human of all of us, a newbie to the world of the arcane underground, and though he was squarely planted in Team Boneyard by association, he was still getting used to the way we magical people did things.
“I’m quite all right, Norman, thank you,” Carver said, smiling sweetly. He wiped his hands off on a paper towel, patting dad gently on the shoulder. “Now why don’t you take over grilling for a while? I find that it relaxes me, and it should do the same for you.”
Dad picked up a pair of tongs, nodding politely as he stared at Carver’s fingers, quite obviously looking for burns. Naturally, Carver’s human husk remained unblemished. An outdoor grill was no match for his protective enchantments.
I scanned the picnic tables we’d invaded to see how Team Lorica and the others were doing. We’d intentionally kept things a little intimate, only inviting my friends that the Boneyard unanimously liked, or at the very least, tolerated.
Herald sat in a corner, looking through his phone, cursing as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. He was drenched in sweat, even in a tank top. Herald strongly disliked the heat, and for some reason I’d never connected that it might have to do with his affinity for ice magic.
I locked eyes with Bastion as I scanned our group, and I gave him a tight smile. He returned it, then took an exaggeratedly long pull of his beer, as if to break eye contact. Things were still awkward between us, or more accurately, more awkward than ever since that little incident where he tried to kill me. Mind control was involved, sure, but it still made me jittery.
Prudence and Gil were huddled together, speaking in hushed tones as they nursed a couple of beers. Romira sat off to the side, sharing a plate of chips and salsa with Asher, who was doing al
l he could to stop from drooling and melting into a worthless puddle.
Sterling, sadly, could not come along, due to that tiny, inconvenient “bursting into flames in the sunlight” problem that came with being a vampire. He was surprisingly unbothered about being unable to attend. He’d been partying pretty hard lately, anyway, maybe his way of coping with stress. I guess he wanted to sleep in or something.
Nearby, Mama Rosa remained stony and impassive as she unpacked plastic tubs full of marinated pork belly – it was liempo, a fantastic sweet and savory Filipino recipe, one of Asher’s favorites. She sat patiently, waiting for her turn on the grill, and when our eyes met, the corner of her mouth trembled. That was the best she could manage for a smile. Mama Rosa was having a great day. We all were, really. It was idyllic. Lovely. Quiet.
I squinted, my eyes flitting to either side of me.
Hmm. Too quiet.
Chapter 2
I shook my head, forcing the thought away. No. This was just another case of my mind trying to rope me into an anxiety spiral. I had to focus on having fun, on just chilling with my friends. On being some regular guy, for once. Hey, we deserved some R and R too. Not everything had to be doom and gloom all the time.
So I cleared my throat, took a swig of my beer, and held my paper plate out to dad. I'd placed a lightly scorched bun on it, which I’d toasted all by myself, thanks very much, with a judicious and very subtle application of fire magic. Dad selected the juiciest, freshest patty and winked at me as he put it on the bun. I laid a slice of cheese over the glistening, greasy burger, my mouth watering as it slowly melted over the beef. Then I went over to join the others.
Carver was already there, his fingers steepled, watching Team Lorica over the edges of his fingernails, somehow managing to look impressive and authoritative while sitting at a park table. It was one of those awkward things that had benches attached to it.
“So,” Carver said. “How are things at the Lorica?”
“Quite good, actually,” Herald said, his eyes lighting up. “Especially at the Gallery. We just got in this new stack of grimoires, and – ”
Carver waved his hand. “Wondrous, and exciting, to be sure. But I speak of other matters.”
I sighed. I knew what was coming. Carver really couldn’t help himself.
“What of your masters?” he asked. “Have the great wizards of the Lorica deigned to acknowledge the coming of the Old Ones, or are they still so caught up with progress that they’ve forgotten the threats that dwell in our not-so-distant past?”
That was how Carver had described humanity’s attitude towards the Eldest. Once they existed on earth, just like our entities, worshipped, feared, reviled. And then one day, they were gone. And mankind whooped and rejoiced and celebrated, never truly questioning whether the Eldest would return to wreak havoc on the world again.
All we had done, Carver said, was build our homes and our palaces on quicksand. As mighty as the magical community had become over the centuries, it had also fallen prone to shortsightedness, a victim of its own pride and arrogance. He was right, too. None of us – fucking none of us were prepared to deal with disasters on a cosmic scale.
I groaned and shook my head. “Listen,” I said, taking a gorgeous bite out of my burger, the crisp bread and melted cheese mingling gloriously in my mouth. Mmm. Almost as good as the Happy Cow. Almost. “Can we not do this every time we meet up with my friends? It’s getting real old, Carver.”
And he was the one who wanted to get everyone together in the first place, for what I’d initially assumed was going to be a casual, fun little gathering. I didn’t think he wanted to talk about the Eldest. It kind of felt like a trap, to be honest.
“Gather your comrades from the Lorica,” he’d told me. “It is good for us to break bread together, to forge stronger bonds. Do you recall, once, when we visited a restaurant? When we dined on boiled crustaceans and other delicious, many-legged horrors dredged from the bottom of the ocean?” Ugh. Trust Carver to corrupt the memory of a fantastic seafood dinner into something so much grosser.
