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Mason sprang to his feet. “Still beat you in a fight, Dusty. Kind of the perfect nickname too, if you ask me.”
Something in my face twitched. Mason even knew to use the exact name I hated being called, at least by those I didn’t consider friends. I turned to Carver. “Are all nephilim this rude?”
“Your skills are all dusty, is what I’m trying to say,” Mason said, lowering himself back down onto the couch. “Crusty. Rusty. Musty.”
“Stop being such a child,” I shouted.
Herald’s hand landed on mine. He leaned in to whisper. “Keep your voice down. Don’t stoop to his level. He’s just a kid, and you’re starting to sound like one, too.”
“Enough,” Carver said, his voice slicing across the room. I knew that tone. It called for silence, every time, and even Mason went quiet, relenting. “Now, Mason. If you’re quite finished antagonizing my employee – ”
“I’m very sorry,” Mason said firmly, looking Carver directly in the eyes with a contrite expression on his face. That little fucker. He knew exactly what he was doing. “It won’t happen again.”
Carver nodded. “Very well. The answer to your question is difficult to phrase, at best. Samyaza must have known that Dustin was meant for some greater purpose, that he had some other destiny to fulfill. And that has proven true, in recent times. Tell me. Have you heard of the Eldest?”
Mason looked carefully between us, then shook his head.
“Then there is much for you to learn,” Carver said. “Allow me to extend an invitation. You may stay here for as long as you wish, while you gain your bearings in Valero, come to terms with who you are, with what you are. I confess to being very curious about your nature, and will want to conduct some experiments of my own.” Carver waved his hand as I quietly recalled the time he reached into my chest to attempt to retrieve the shard of star-metal embedded there. “Non-intrusive ones, of course. Only educational experiments, should you consent to them.”
“I’m very grateful for your hospitality,” he said. Again, the smooth little bastard knew exactly what he was doing. “But maybe we’ll hold off on the experimentation until I’m sure I can trust you, Mister Carver.” Mason looked around the room, staring hard at each of us. “Until I can trust all of you.”
Carver spread both his hands outward. “Of course. Take your time to get to know the rest of our motley crew. I hope you will find their companionship to your liking. And if you have any questions about my character, I am certain that they will be more than capable of answering and enlightening you.” Carver poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle, boiling hot, just the way he liked it. “Gentlemen, if you please.”
We all stood, me shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, Herald and the rest of the Boneyard making admirable attempts to actually talk to the new guy. But hey, don’t judge me for not trying. He tried to break my face the first time he met me. And you know the rule: not my face. Never the face.
“Major sausage party you have here,” Mason said. “And you guys seriously call yourselves the Boneyard?”
Gil grunted, turned to me, then poked
a thumb at Mason. “I’m not sure I like this guy.”
Sterling tilted his head and grinned. “I kind of like him. He’s got a mouth on him. Reminds me of myself, a little bit.” He threw an arm over Mason’s shoulder. Mason peered at him with furrowed eyebrows and a healthy dose of suspicion, but said nothing. “Listen, kid. It may be called the Boneyard, but not a lot of boning happens here. Not unless you count our monthly orgy.”
Mason’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. Um. Good for you, I guess.”
“He’s lying,” I barked.
“I am,” Sterling said, gesturing at me and Herald. “Actually, it’s only those two that bone.”
I turned bright red, the tips of my ears burning. Mason looked at us, then shrugged. Herald shrugged, too. “Eh,” he said. “It’s true, why deny it.”
“Come on,” Sterling said, pulling Mason even closer. “Let Uncle Sterling show you around the Boneyard.”
I shook my head. “Uncle Sterling? As if you couldn’t be any creepier.”
Sterling stopped mid-step. “You’re basically his father, aren’t you? That makes me an uncle.”
“He’s not my son,” I grumbled.
“And he’s not my dad!” Mason had that look in his eyes again, the one that said I deserved to be pulverized into mulch, except that he couldn’t be bothered to do it. Not just yet.
“Come on,” Asher said, cutting in smoothly. “You ever looked out into the abyss, Mason? It’s pretty terrifying.”
Mason threw me one last searing glance, but Sterling pulled him away, and Asher’s chatter distracted him soon enough. God bless Asher Mayhew.
Herald took my hand, squeezing it. His skin was so warm, just like his smile. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great dad.”
“To Mister Grumbles, sure,” I said, referring to the stuffed tiger I stole for him. “But not to that little asshole.”
