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The interloper scrambled through the rubble of Brandt Manor’s grounds, negotiating the shattered remains of what used to be the helipad. I recognized the man’s pallor and gleaming leather outfit in an instant. It was Sterling. He stood there, looked around the compound, and blinked once.
“What the fuck did I miss?”
Chapter 35
“You knew all along, didn’t you? You knew it was there, and you said nothing.”
I looked guiltily away from Herald’s gaze, but I felt his eyes searing into me.
“I knew,” I said. “And I tried. God but I tried, but I couldn’t control it any longer.”
“I’m sorry,” Herald said. “I’m not trying to blame you for any of this. It isn’t your fault.”
I sighed, still believing, at least on some level, that it was.
“It isn’t the end of the world,” he said, giving me a tight smile, squeezing my hand. “Not if we have anything to say about it. You and me, right? Gonna save the world. Kill the bad guy. Send Mason to college.”
I frowned. “He’s not my kid, and therefore, not our kid. We need to drop this joke, it makes my skin crawl. Whatever happened to Mister Grumbles?”
Herald laughed heartily. “Mister Grumbles is highly intelligent, I’ll have you know, and is going to receive a full scholarship. He takes after me. We don’t need to worry about his college fund.”
I rolled my eyes, then tugged him towards the gardens by the Brandts’ indoor pool. If I got some food in Herald, maybe he’d shut up, at least long enough to choke down a hotdog.
It had been a day since the incident at Brandt Manor, and after a night’s rest – however many hours I could grab considering how much my brain was still whirling in bed – we decided to reconvene at the mansion. Team Boneyard and Team Lorica had agreed to meet to strategize about this new threat, and to attend the poolside barbecue that Bastion had promised Sterling. Luella needed the distraction, Bastion said. Hell, we all did.
An adjoining door leading out of the pool area went directly out to a section of the gardens, where Remington and Mama Rosa had set up a grill. It was odd seeing Remington in his chauffeur-slash-butler livery cooking up hotdogs, burgers, and other pedestrian treats, but he seemed to be enjoying Rosa’s company. It was hard to tell if he was ever smiling under his huge white mustache, but even to a casual observer, it was clear that the two of them were getting along just fine.
Herald wandered off to find some beers. In my search for something to stuff down my gullet, I locked eyes with Carver. He was dressed in a suit, as always, even though it was nearly ninety degrees out that night. I almost did a quick one-eighty, but it was too late. I felt as though things would be awkward after what had happened with my chest, with the Dark Room.
Carver had been nothing but understanding, cursing Jonah and Donovan under his breath as I explained. But it just felt different somehow, the dynamic, like I’d betrayed my friends, my own family. I hadn’t even gotten around to telling Dad what had happened yet. I wondered if I should. God, he’d be so pissed.
“It is fine, Dustin,” Carver said.
He didn’t need to use his false eye to look into my mind to know I was still bothered – not that I’d ever confirmed he could do that. But Carver had this talent for zeroing in on how I, or anyone else at the Boneyard felt, as good a father as anyone could have. For Asher, hell, even for Sterling, and now, for Mason, I thought it counted for a lot.
“I do not blame you either,” he said, patting me on the back. “There, there.”
I squinted at him. “You don’t have to do that.”
Carver kept patting me. “By my understanding, and from memory, this is how compassion is expressed, yes?”
“To a dog, maybe.”
“Yes,” Carver said, sighing. “I do wish we could have brought Banjo along, but I still need to put protections in place before I will feel safe allowing him out of the Boneyard, to properly hide him from the All-Father.”
We’d left Banjo in his bedroom – yes, the Boneyard designated the corgi an entire bedroom – and figured it couldn’t hurt for a couple of hours. I was positive that Carver would leave Brandt Manor at the soonest opportunity, though. He just couldn’t bear to be away from his new son for very long.
“Perhaps an enchanted collar,” Carver said, looking over the spread of snacks and dishes, perusing. He sighed again. “How Banjo would have loved this festival of sausages.”
I would have corrected Carver, but technically, he was right that time. I left him to his own devices, poking among the meats and cheeses. Mason bumped up against me, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he worked on an impressive mouthful of burger. At least he was dressed sensibly: shorts and a tank top. Just right for the weather.
“Sup,” he managed to say.
“Not much,” I answered. “Probably going to grab one of those burgers. That looks good.”
“It is,” he said in a muffled voice, finally swallowing. He plopped his burger onto a paper plate, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I can grab you one if you like. You want cheese on yours?”
I shook my head and smiled. “You don’t have to, Mason. You’ve done enough.”
