Page 39 of Dark Stars
"I am The Eclipse of the Final Dawn."
Harold rolled his eyes. "I forgot howfucking stupid they get."
Jones snorted.
"Moon, Eclipse. Whatever. You're going totell me everything I want to know, one way or another. Who wants togo first?"
Chapter Fifteen
"Let's start with you," Bobby decided,pulling up a chair and flipping it around to straddle it with hisarms across the back. He stared at Eclipse, regarding himpensively. Messing with someone this corrupted was always achallenge. He was immersed enough in the primordial dark that allof Bobby's usual tricks would not faze him. But if he pushed toohard, he could still break them, and broken humans did not provideuseful information.
So he started with something they'd befamiliar with—one of his kind wanting to hear more aboutthemselves. "Lord of the Flickering Lights, was it?" Wholly oftheir own volition, without him asking or even pondering them,fireflies began to trickle inside. "What else do they say aboutme?"
Well-trained to obey and please, Eclipsereplied, "That the dark loves you and dreads you in equalmeasure."
The same could be said for all hisrelatives, but he supposed it was rather strange that he drewfireflies. Stranger still that in all his many centuries of life,he'd never once pondered the oddity of that. They seemed so naturalto him,wereso natural to him, he'd never given thepeculiarity of it all a single thought.
It was Moon who added, "Offerings to theLord of the Flickering Lights promise light that can cut throughany darkness, wisdom that can answer any question, sharpness thatcan cut through any flesh."
"No one has ever offered me anything," Bobbysaid. "I'm not really into the whole worshippers thing."
They frowned in eerie unison, same furrowedbrows, lines around the eyes, cutting down on either side of theirlips.Your face will freeze that way. "You have an altar,though, Lord."
Bobby hissed. "Where?" How had he neverknown of it? He should havefeltit.
Unless the dark was hiding things from him.Keeping its little secrets, plotting and conniving in its ownway.
This was a deeply unexpected development forsure.
When they remained silent, he let a trickleof power into his voice and asked again,"Where is thealtar?"
It was Eclipse who flinched and said, "Inthe woods, Lord, south of our home. Nine miles into the woods, downin a hollow of blackened trees. Only those who seek your guidancecan find it. All others who try will find themselves lost in thewoods until they give up and go home."
Curiouser and curiouser. That was somethinga worshipper would do, a high priest or some rot. But Bobby knewwithcertaintythat he had no such thing. He would feel itif he had worshippers—ignoring them would be like trying to ignoreflies buzzing around his head.
Jones stirred, dropping his arms where theywere folded across his chest as he said, "Even leaving aside youdon't really go in for that, it's one of the conditions of yourliving here: no cults."
"I'd forgotten all about that," Bobby said."You're right. Even if I wanted, I couldn't." He'd agreed to therestriction easily because he'd been relieved about it. One lessthing to worry about. Because if worshippers were like buzzingflies, the primordial dark was the honey that drew them.
He really should have expected the flies tocome buzzing sooner. He'd just been so happy tucked away in hislittle corner of this world that he'd let the matter fall to thewayside.
Jerking his head at the others, he threw aspell of silence at the cultists and headed for the main part ofhis house. When the others had joined him, he said, "I need to gofind that altar. I didn't make it. I didn't order it made. Nobodycame to me about making it. Whatever is going on, I like it evenless than the demon problem, and Leviathan is always a veryserious, capital letter Problem."
"Who are you telling," Alejo muttered. "Howcan you have worshippers and stuff without realizing it?"
"The dark, always the dark," Bobby murmured."But did the dark itself get a little brazen—"
"It can do that?" Alejo blurted.
"Yes, but rarely does. Much like angels andother beings of perfect power, the dark must be moved to do so, andthere is very little in all of existence that bestirs a presencelike that. The ocean does not bestir itself for an ant, and that isvery much what I am to the ocean known as the primordial dark. Thepart I communicate with, that loves me and helps me, is more like abit of the dark caught in a tidepool. No, I am not my mother, or mygrandfather, or any of my other relatives. Something strange isafoot—stranger than cultists and your shithead friend showing up atthe same time." He worried his bottom lip. "I'm starting to wonderwhat exactly engineered that. Too much coincidence is involved,even for me, and I know how capricious coincidence can be." Heshook himself from his thoughts. "I'm going back to Marsh."
"I'm coming with you," Alejo said, a hardset to his mouth that said he was clearly braced for anargument.
Bobby grinned. "I know."
Alejo matched the grin with a smile of hisown. "Good."
"What should we do with the little witch?"Jones asked.
