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“Come now, Sterling,” Carver said, using his soothing, fatherly voice. “As Dustin said, there is no clear evidence that Thea Morgana has returned to our world. It simply wouldn’t be possible. We were all there when she was taken by the Eldest. She was likely consumed when they pulled her into their dimension.”
“It’s not all bad,” Gil said, stepping over to Sterling, clapping a huge, hairy hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “We’re ready for the worst. Even the Lorica knows that we’re in this together.”
Gil was one of the channels connecting us to the Lorica, after all. I hadn’t expected Gilberto Ramirez, the Boneyard’s resident werewolf, to get along quite so well with Prudence, but he had several qualities that a woman like her might find attractive. He was stoic, sensible, incredibly strong, and could turn into a slavering half-man, half-wolf on command. What’s not to love?
Sterling grunted in acknowledgment, the closest he’d ever get to thanking any of us for a show of emotional support, but I could tell that Gil’s gesture had made him feel just a little bit better. It was just the two of them, buddies from the beginning, before Asher and I had shown up at the Boneyard, and whatever it was that had passed between them through their unspoken shorthand was enough to get Sterling almost smiling again.
“You know what, you’re right. We’ve got backup now. As much as the Lorica can act like total assholes, at least we’ve got some extra firepower to count on.”
“Right,” Asher said. He was in our attached kitchen-slash-break room, frying up a greasy, diner-style late lunch that, from the smell, I could tell was rounded out with eggs, sausage, and lots and lots of bacon.
We were all still kind of hungry from having to hurry away from the barbecue, and breakfast food was so quick to prepare, hence Asher’s spontaneous kitchen service. Apparently he was making enough to share. God bless my roommates.
“And besides,” Asher added. “Maybe it’s a simple matter of investing in some really good sunblock, you know? Just in case. For next time.”
Sterling sprang off the sofa, crossing the room with his inhuman speed, and waved one threatening finger in Asher’s face. “You take that back. I find that offensive.”
Asher swatted Sterling’s hand away. “Try and make me. It was a joke.”
“Well sometimes your jokes are insensitive, and it?
?s not like I can just throw on a pair of sunglasses and call it a day. And another thing – ”
The rest of us had learned not to take Sterling and Asher’s squabbles quite so seriously. The two were the fastest of friends, and fighting like insufferable brats was just another integral aspect of their friendship.
I say that like I never behave like a brat myself, but hey, I think I should get a pass for being extra childish around the guys. I didn’t grow up with siblings – I don’t think any of us did – and while I doubt that any of us would ever openly admit it, the boys of the Boneyard were like brothers. I’d eat a bullet for any of those fools.
And that was why, even as Sterling and Asher carried on bickering, I couldn’t quite wipe the worry off my face. Thea had done enough to hurt me. I didn’t want her to come back and hurt my family yet again. She’d taken my mom from me, and like hell was I going to let her take my dad, or any of my friends, whether from the Boneyard or the Lorica.
The couch cushions beside me dipped as Carver took a seat. “Things will be fine, Dustin,” he said, as if sensing my concern.
He patted me lightly on the edge of my knee, rearranging his face into something that resembled sympathy. Carver was good at a lot of things: magic that could disrupt and control the flow of battle, the enchantment of arcane jewelry and devices, a knack for teleportation that could put the Lorica’s best Wings to shame. Expressing sympathy wasn’t one of them. As a lich, he’d given up his humanity a long time ago, so I couldn’t exactly blame him for having forgotten a few of the subtleties that make us who we are.
“There, there,” he said stiltedly, patting again in a wooden fashion, his face screwed up in confusion, possibly revulsion.
I chuckled, then gave him a tight smile. “I’m fine. Really. Or I think I will be after we’ve had some grub.”
“Ah. Food. The great unifier. You all have your divides, whether because of status, or religion, or politics, but slaughter a ceremonial bird and burn it at three-hundred and fifty degrees in a clay kiln for several hours – to crisp, juicy perfection – and everyone is friends for the holidays again.”
I blinked. “Are you talking about a Thanksgiving turkey?”
Carver frowned, staring at the back of his hand. “Perhaps.”
It was fascinating to me, how neither Carver nor Sterling needed to eat or drink normal food to survive, but did so anyway, purely for enjoyment. The fact that their bodies didn’t process calories the way ours do was a bit of a pain point for me, though. Carver could put away half a chocolate cake if he wanted and never have to deal with the consequences, being a bloodless husk operating purely on sorcerous energy and the power of his undead soul.
“But yes,” Carver said. “I suppose it’s time we throw the proverbial turkey on the fire. To commune. To tie even stronger bonds.”
“It’s not even the right time of year,” I said. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes. Quite all right. I am only hinting that it is nearly time for us to consume scorched pig abdomen and hot bird embryos.”
My stomach turned a little. “Bacon and eggs, Carver. Please don’t ruin breakfast food for me. Bacon and eggs.”
“Yes,” he said, fixing me with a quizzical gaze. Then he rose, gliding distractedly over to the kitchen counter. “Bacon and eggs.”
I was still mulling over what he meant with that whole business about food, how it was the great unifier. Kind of a dramatic way to talk about bacon, to be sure, but I suppose it made sense. Food, to an extent, was among the forces that bound the Boneyard so closely together, after all. Carver insisted that we eat most of our meals together, exactly like a human parent. Hell, we technically lived inside of a restaurant.
Mama Rosa’s Fine Filipino Food, specifically, an actual Filipino restaurant that the Boneyard used as its front. Mama Rosa herself was a stern, stalwart bulldog of a woman, loving, I suppose, in her own strangely protective way. I didn’t know how much Carver paid her to keep the Boneyard’s dimensional anchor in the kitchen, but whatever it was must have been worth harboring a bunch of occasionally felonious but always attractive magical criminals.
