“I don’t give away information for free either.”
“You’d like to trade for how I made the rift, wouldn’t you? To figure out how close I’ve gotten to mastering translocation, eh?” Xander’s smile widened as he stepped up to the hole still smoking and flickering in the ground then hopped over it, easy enough with long limbs. “Hmm, no, your words levied against mine aren’t an even enough bargain. I’d be willing to take something else though.” He grinned over at Amma.
Damien felt Amma shift further behind him. Good instinct on her part, though he fought against his own to fully cover her. Letting Xander know how much he cared about her—or rather, cared about the talisman—would go over about as well as a dragon with its wings shorn off.
“How about I give you all my notes on this spell, including the parchment I lifted from the Grand Order, and you give me that little human who’s inexplicably following you around. Fair?”
Damien’s jaw tightened, and he swallowed. “The spell’s experimental, you said so yourself.”
Xander groaned. “Fine, you can throw in the imp too, if you insist. I’m flattered you don’t want to cheat me considering the value you’ll be getting.”
“I’ve seen your writings,” Damien said, keeping his voice taut. “You only spell phonetically in Chthonic.”
“Oh, it’sliterallya dead language, Bloodthorne, no one cares how you spell it,” he groused then inhaled sharply. “But, I’m happy to duel you for it instead then. Winner takes everything? The spell, the imp, the girl?” He slid a hand beneath his robe’s lapel.
Shit, thought Damien. He only wanted to confirm Xander was behind the possession and that he had thwarted him, but he hadn’t counted on coming face-to-face with a fellow blood mage. Reflexively, he unhitched his dagger and slid the hilt into his palm. “Really?” he mustered as drolly as possible. “You want to play some childish game now?”
“If it’s just a game, it should be easy enough to win.” Xander revealed the vial that hung from an exceptionally long, leather cord around his neck. The slender tube was filled with a thick, crimson liquid—his blood—stored careless and cavalier with an enchantment to hold the arcana in it, as was Xander’s way. As his other hand came up to uncork it, he paused, and then his lips came together in another exaggerated pout. “Unless…oh, Bloodthorne, you’re not actually considering going after it, are you?”
Damien lifted one brow. Now, that was interesting. The two of them were on near identical paths in life, and if Xander had suddenly figured out that Damien was headed to Eirengaard to release his father, why would he be so disapproving?
Xander clicked his tongue and dropped the vial so that it hung against his tan chest. “Listen, I doubt very much it’s worth it. You know Malcolm blew himself up with that book, and I’d just be an absolute wreck if you accidentally killed yourself, and I ended up having nothing to do with it.”
“Malcolm’s dead?” Damien cocked his head.
When he nodded, both men dropped their chins and drew Xs over their chests, eyes flicking to the ground.
“Rest in darkness,” Damien muttered as Xander whispered the same.
“But seriously,”—Xander pulled the neckline of his robe a bit tighter, the vial hidden again—“that Lux Codex is a grimoire for good. It practically ate through his hands when he touched it.”
“Well, Mal was more allergic than most to holy texts.”
“Sure, sure, but the binding on it is said to be dipped in luxerna itself. And the spells in that thing, from what I understand, are the exact opposite of our brand of arcana. Trying to work them actuallyturnedhim a bit—that’s what his imps say anyway—and then he just combusted, spontaneously. It sounds like a messy way to go, not even a head left to have mounted.” His lip curled with disgust at the wastefulness. “And I’m sure you remember just how nice Mal managed to keep his face. No scars or anything.”
Damien rolled his eyes, but put the dig out of his mind, replaced with the idea of this Lux Codex. The crickets had gotten louder as night fell around them, buzzing in his brain with the image of a book that held magic so contrary to a blood mage’s that its pages couldn’t be safely touched by his kind. A firefly blinked into existence out in the bushes and then disappeared. “If I did want the book, where would I find it?”
Xander snorted out a laugh, biting his tongue. “If I tell you, will you share it?”
“I thought it wasn’t worth going after?”
“Well, ifyouwant it, thenIwant it, that’s how this has always worked, with the odd exception, if you remember.”
Damien did remember, and despite nearing thirty, Xander still acted just like the spoiled child he had first met over two decades prior. Almost each memory Damien had of him involved being tricked or hurt or challenged, all but one, and he wasn’t sure that memory was even real.
But with their history also came the knowledge of what actually got to the other blood mage. He set his gaze right in the center of Xander’s forehead and imagined boring a hole through to his squirrely, little brain. He wiped all emotion off his face and just stared, waiting, giving him nothing.
“Oh, fine!” Xander threw up his hands, and they were all lucky the shadows were doing the work his short robe couldn’t. “Some intrepid adventurers recovered the book in the mess Mal left behind—I may have bumped into them trying to recover it myself, infuriating bunch of bastards—and anyway, they brought it to this library they’ve got in a place called Faebarrow, you know, with the magical grass or whatever? Just west of here, maybe a week or two if you go all the way around the Gloomweald. The Faebarrowins call their library The Grand Athenaeum because, apparently, they think quite highly of themselves for putting a few books together all in one room, but,”—he leaned in, a hand to the side of his mouth to whisper as if there were anyone else around to hear—“apparently the Lux Codex isn’t even that well-guarded because they think the thing can’t be stolen by a set of evil hands what with the burning when we touch it and all.” He wriggled his fingers and snickered. “Admittedly, I didnothave a plan for that.”
Damien tried to keep the look of interest off his face, but it was mostly pointless—he’d asked, and Xander already knew.
“I can help when you fetch it.” Xander reached into a pocket, and Damien readied himself, but the tiny stone he pulled out didn’t seem particularly threatening. He tossed it through the air, and Damien caught it. In his palm, it was no bigger than an acorn, inside a red mist swirling about like a bloody sandstorm.
“That’s another of these.” Xander stepped back into the crevasse in the ground and began to descend as if steps were built right into the earth. “If you use it, you’ll have a much better idea of how the whole thing works, and you get the added bonus of seeing me in my natural habitat on the other end. Now, don’t get killed, that’s my job, but do have a little fun on the way.”
As he sauntered downward, Damien pocketed the tiny orb. “You’re being exceptionally generous for such an asshole.”
“Oh, no, I’m not.” Xander laughed as he finished descending, sticking a hand up through the rift as it began to close. “Toodles, Bloodthorne. And kitten, it was a pleasure. Until we meet again.” The earth swallowed itself up just as he pulled his fingers away leaving the smell of cinnamon and charred flesh behind.
