Bereft

- 46 -

Darius hopped over with minimal effort. It was difficult to discern the extent of his injuries in the diluted light of the gloaming hour—but for half a moment, the Sin's skin became lambent as his energy overran the night. Blood and bruises were briefly illuminated before disappearing into the dark. Darius grunted.

"Are you...all right?" I asked, unsure of how I should phrase my question. Darius was impervious to most injuries, but I had never seen him fend off a pack of sharp-toothed blood drinkers, either.

The withering glance he gave was enough to answer my inquiries.

"Get away from the aqueduct. I didn't kill all of them; one may be stupid enough to follow our trail."

"Trail?"

Darius flicked his hand toward the concrete. Confused, I looked—and found a sizable blob of blood. I didn't know if it was mine or Darius', but the splotches dwindled into the distance. Great.

We walked deeper into the scraggly wilderness neighboring Verweald Lake. This area was contiguous to the city and, if memory served, extended for a number of miles into the high desert before dissolving into the rocks and sand. It was federal land, a nature preserve, and was off-limits to civilians. Darius and I were unlikely to run across another person here.

After ten minutes of stomping through sage bushes and ducking below the untrimmed boughs of oaks, I sat on a rock and refused to budge. My side leaked, my injured nose throbbed, and my head swam with dizziness. I lowered my weight onto the rock and sat, deciding that I did not care if the demon continued off into the unknown and left me here. I simply panted and prayed I wouldn't pass out.

Darius didn't wander farther. He stopped when I did and found a thick tree to lean upon. He crossed his arms, spat ash on the undergrowth, and stared into the distance. The spotted moonlight sifting through the leaves brought into focus the multitude of slashes and puncture marks marring his clothes, his hair a briary mess of congealed liquids and flakes of char. The Sin's eyes were reptilian, hooded with hunger, fatigue, and a morass of recondite musings.

"Why couldn't I go through the Realm?" I asked, overcome with palpable guilt. Darius' plan had counted upon his ability to leap through the Realm, but he had been unable to do so with me. I couldn't exist within the Realm.

Darius shrugged. "I have not had this problem personally, but I have been told it happens with hosts who are fading." His fingers came together to tap one another in a tired, ceaseless rhythm. "To be blunt—dying. Your soul is weak. It cannot move into the Realm."

I had nothing to say in return. I was dying. Balthier's wound was killing me, injuring my very soul. What could I say to that? "You recognized the name," I said instead, breaking the idle quiet that had formed between us. "Exordium Insaniam. You've heard of them before."

Darius nodded in a gradual manner, as though he were unsure. "Yes. I have heard of them. However, your cult cannot be them."

Startled, I said, "You're saying the vampire lied to me?"

"Would it matter if he had?" The creature's answering grin was unkind. My gun was tucked into his waistband, visible only as a small protrusion under the jacket's hem. "Your lethal proclivity is a lovely surprise, by the way. However, we can't very well extort information from a dead witness."

I blanched and wrung my cardigan's dirty sleeves.

"No. I do not believe the vampire lied to you. It would be far too fortuitous for him to know the name, as lacking and uneducated as his kind are." Darius leaned off the oak tree and began to pace. The bracken cracked and smoked beneath his shoes. "This collection must be...a copy-cat?"