The two guards led her through the stone passageways of the temple, heading for its summit. Those Tzitzime servants they passed looked on her with contempt and self-satisfied sneers. Some spat at her. She ignored them, ignored the spittle on her face. Once, she had believed she would usher in a new era for humanity. When Memnog was freed, he and his children would rule the world, and she'd stand at their side, serving as the highest of humanity. But that was not to be. When one served the Twin Deaths, there can be no failure.
Unless...
She had talked her way out of failure once already, convincing Tezcatlipoca to give her another chance. Could she do it again? She'd need to convince the dragon that only she could recover the Haanal X'ib. It was a reasonable argument. She had grown powerful over the years, and there were none among the Tzitzime who could match her strength. It would be a waste to kill her.
The guards led her up the steps to the temple’s summit, the scene of her earlier failure. The stone steps were warm to the touch on her bare feet, far warmer than they should have been, as was the air around her. A layer of sweat coated her skin, and it felt as if she had just walked into a sauna.
When she saw which dragon awaited atop the summit, she understood why it was so warm. Her terror surged, threatening to stop her heart. She fell to her knees before Itzpapalotl, the black dragon known as the Obsidian Butterfly, the much more dangerous sister of Tezcatlipoca. A stone had more forgiveness than Itzpapalotl.
She lowered her head to the stone floor and peered out from lowered eyes. Itzpapalotl was so large she took up most of the temple's summit, even with her wings and long forked tail wrapped about her powerful dark body. The only sound was the bellows of the dragon's steady breathing. Others were in attendance. The new Mother Smoke Heart, that fat fool Tlaco, stood nearby, her eyes shining with anticipation at Rayan’s humiliation. Aernyx, the leader of the Night Kin, waited in the shadows. It was hard to make out his features, but unlike Tlaco, there was no gloating in his dark eyes, only indifference.
"Beautiful Mistress," Rayan said, her tongue thick in her mouth. "I live to serve you and your brother." Where was Tezcatlipoca? This underground cavern was his lair, not his sister's, and he should have been present.
"You live to serve my brother, do you?" the black dragon asked, her thunderous voice dripping with malice. "Then you have already failed. Tezcatlipoca, the Lord of the Smoking Mirrors, is dead."
At the black dragon's words, Rayan's mind swam with the impossibility of that statement. Tezcatlipoca was dead? "Beautiful Mistress, how … is such a thing possible?"
"My brother was murdered by the craven winged serpent. Murdered after he was tricked out of his lair by the enemies you failed to stop. Murdered for his own failure to see the trap the winged serpent had set. Quetzalcoatl struck, and my brother died. That is why we rarely venture out of our lairs—at least in physical form."
"I ... his loss is ... there are no words, Beautiful Mistress. I accept responsibility for failing you."
"There is more to his death than just your failure, Rayan. After all, you are only human. My brother was safe here, yet he put himself under Quetzalcoatl's talons. He was ever too eager, ever too willing to trust in his own strength. His arrogance killed him as much as Quetzalcoatl."
"Let me help you avenge him. I am your most powerful blood mage. Even at my worst, I could slaughter the next best dozen Tzitzime mages—especially that fat fool standing next to you."
Tlaco's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of barely contained rage, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. Pity. Had she spoken out of turn, Itzpapalotl might have devoured her. That would have made Rayan's fate a fraction more bearable.
"You have failed twice now. Why would I let you fail me a third time?"
"Because only I can return the Haanal X'ib. Only I can defeat the Jaguar Knight."
Smoke jutted from the dragon's nostrils, and her serpent eyes narrowed into angry slits. "You?"
"Beautiful Mistress, of all your servants, only I have the power."
This time, Aernyx's expression did change, and he smiled, his eyes shining with amusement at Rayan’s boast. Rayan’s gaze darted about, and she saw the sacrificial altar, the stone that the Tzitzime tied their victims across, the stone that arched their backs, exposing their chests to the obsidian knives that would cut out their hearts.
They've brought me here to sacrifice me, she realized. Rayan felt the heat of the dragon's gaze upon her, and her heart pounded so hard that pain shot through her chest. I've failed too miserably to be given another chance. I have nothing left with which to barter for my life.
"Tell me," the dragon said, "what do you know of the young female mage who fights alongside the Jaguar Knight?"
"Angela Ritter?" Rayan asked in confusion. The dragon couldn't be referring to her; Rayan had driven her hexed sword through Ritter’s chest. True, the damned woman had cast a surprisingly powerful Shockwave spell at Rayan before she could cut her head from her shoulders, but there was no way she could have survived that wound. "She's dead ... isn't she?"
"She is not," the dragon answered. "Those who attacked the temple have eluded capture."
"That ... I ..." Rayan's thoughts spun wildly. She had stabbed Angela Ritter in the chest, driven her pulwar right through her body. Could she have missed her heart? But even if she had, such a wound had to be lethal. But she still somehow beat you, Rayan, she told herself, remembering how hard the woman’s Shockwave spell had hammered her. How did she cast such a powerful spell? Rayan had no idea, but if the dragon was interested in Angela Ritter, then the woman might be her only hope to keep her heart. "She ... she is the adopted daughter of Chararah Succubus. I have probed her mind. I know it better than any other."
"Have you?" hissed the dragon, her deep voice like the breath of doom. "And what did your probing reveal? Aernyx believes she carries a hidden power."
"She ... portions of her memory have been locked away from her," Rayan said, desperately trying to remember what her probing had revealed. At the time, it had seemed unimportant, and only capturing Erin Seagrave had mattered. Now the secrets hidden away in Angie Ritter's mind could save Rayan's life—if she were clever enough to make herself of value. "It was … strange magic. A portion of her memory was walled away."
"Most curious," said the dragon. "Why would the succubus hide her past from her? Aernyx, what think you?"
Aernyx glided out from the shadows, moving like the predator he was. "She walks with fire, Beautiful Mistress. I cannot explain the aura in any other way."
"Can you track her? Uncover her secrets?"
"In time, yes, Beautiful Mistress. But it will be days, perhaps weeks before I can find her in the dream world. I do not know her well enough to hunt her in her dreams."
"I can help you," Rayan said. "I can show you what I saw in her mind. Through me, you can track her."
Tlaco stepped forward, her face scarlet with rage. "Beautiful Mistress, this one lies to save her own skin. Do not trust her. We will find the fugitives without her. They cannot elude us for much longer."
"Yet they have eluded you. For days now, they have eluded you. I grow weary of promises and excuses. Before this day ends, I open the gates to the underworld to bring forth the Death Bat, Sudden Bloodletter."
Tlaco looked down quickly, no doubt wishing she had kept her mouth shut.
Rayan, panic threatening to overwhelm her, now understood why she had been brought forth. They’ll use my blood to summon the demon. She glanced at Tlaco quivering in fear. But it doesn't have to be my blood.
She seized her opportunity, rising to her feet and extending her arms to either side. "Beautiful Mistress, go ahead. Take my heart and use my blood to summon Sudden Bloodletter. I have always lived to serve. But if you kill me, I can't help Aernyx find Angela Ritter, and wherever she is, there you will also find the Haanal X'ib. What use will a demon be if you cannot direct it to its prey?"
"What are you saying?" the dragon asked, smoke dri
fting from her nostrils. "I grow weary of the subterfuge. What would you have me do, summon the demon or use you and Aernyx to hunt this mage?"
Rayan glared at Tlaco, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly smile. "Do both, Beautiful Mistress. Sacrifice a powerful mage to summon the demon and use me to help you find Angela Ritter."
Tlaco's mouth fell open, her fat face blanched.
"So be it," the dragon said. She turned her majestic horned head to Aernyx. "Can you do it? With Rayan's help, can you hunt this Angela Ritter?"
"Probably, Beautiful Mistress," Aernyx said. "I can try this very night—as soon as the prey sleeps."
"Do it, then," the dragon said. "Sacrifice this other one and use our servant Rayan to help hunt the human mage. Find both her and the Haanal X'ib."
"Beautiful Mistress," Tlaco screeched, throwing herself to her knees before the dragon. "She lies. She can't help. I am loyal. I should serve, not her."
"And you shall serve," the dragon hissed. "You shall serve as the conduit between this world and the underworld."
Tlaco screamed as the guards hauled her to the altar. She screamed as they cut her expensive new robes away. And she screamed as they stretched her, naked, across the stone with her chest arched upward, her wrists and ankles tied to iron rings in the floor around the black altar. Rayan stood beside Aernyx and watched as the pale, dark-haired young man lifted the obsidian dagger.
Aernyx paused, watching Rayan. All the while, Tlaco screamed and pleaded for mercy, her eyes wide. "Would you like the honor, Mother Smoke Heart?"
"I would indeed," Rayan said as she took the dagger from him and positioned the razor-sharp point over Tlaco's chest.
With one quick thrust, she drove the blade into the other woman. Killing her took only a moment but cracking open her ribs and cutting out her heart took much longer. When she was finally done and held the woman’s warm heart in her hands, Rayan's arms were coated in blood to her elbows.
"Begin," the dragon commanded.
Rayan swayed in place as she began the incantation to summon the star demon.
Chapter 7
Angie dreamed she was a teenager again, no more than thirteen. She strolled through the forests of Char's home, the former zoo grounds in the Fresno Fey Enclave. Her heart filled with joy. She was home, the only home she had ever known.
No. That’s not true, she realized with a start.
There had been another home, a happy one with smiling parents and a young boy, an older brother. She remembered her bedroom, her toys. She remembered playing outside with other children on the … the naval base. She had lived on a naval base. She stopped in place, closing her eyes and trying to focus on her family’s faces. She could just make out the faces of her mother and brother, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t see her father’s face. His features blurred and ran together.
And then her dream shifted, and she stood before the large wooden door to Char's sanctum.
She raised her hand to rap on the door but stopped herself. The door was ajar. She pushed it open. Char’s sanctum was as she remembered it: gleaming wooden floorboards, comfortable throw rugs, bookcases filled with ancient tomes, a laboratory table in the far corner with glass tubes, beakers, and other chemistry apparatus cluttering its surface. Shelves were filled with small objects and keepsakes, rolled parchments and stoppered vials containing sorceress substances. Comfortable chairs and a love seat covered with pillows sat next to a small table, upon which was placed a steaming tea service.
Teenage Angie stepped into the chamber. "Mother."
Angie meant Char, but the face of the other woman flashed in her mind, and she reeled. She leaned against the doorjamb. When she felt steady once more, she closed the door behind her. The air was warmer than it should have been. She saw why in a moment: a dark clay jar floated in the center of the sanctum, slowly rotating—the same jar that had held the Shade King all those years ago. Fire hissed and bubbled from the broken lid of the jar, dropping spits of flame onto the wooden floorboards to evaporate with puffs of smoke. The jar was bleeding fire, bleeding the Shade King. This isn't right. That's not what happened. The fire flowed into me, all of it. The Shade King flowed into me.
The air reeked of sulfur and brimstone, reminding her of the demon Gouger of Faces. Yet how could she, a teenager, know of Gouger of Faces? The adult Angie had fought the demon, not her. With trembling fingers, she reached out to touch the jar.
Just before she touched it, Char spoke softly behind her. "It is fire, you know."
Angie spun to see Char watching her. At six and a half feet tall, she towered over Angie. She wore a simple silk robe, cut too short and exposing too much bosom and thigh, but that had always been Char's style. She was a sexual creature, a succubus, and couldn't dress demurely to save her life. She was grace and beauty and irresistible sexual attraction. It was why she attracted young men and women, turning away all but those who were dying of sickness. Char fed on their sexual energy, using her magic to negate their illnesses while prematurely aging them as she fed upon their sexual energy. Char fed on others. Not as Ephix and her vampires did, but not entirely different either.
Much like Angie.
"It’s not supposed to be like that," Angie said, pointing to the fire dripping from the jar.
Char's large bat wings flapped once before falling about her shoulders like a cape. She cocked her head, her curved ram horns tilting as she watched Angie with her Fey eyes. "It comes from the east, from the age of legends."
"Mother, it's the Shade King." But if it was still in its jar, then it had never bonded with her, and she shouldn’t know what it was.
Char smiled, and Angie's heart warmed. "I've missed you so much, my daughter." She held her arms out, and Angie rushed forward to embrace her adopted mother. Char was warmth and love and safety, and Angie buried her head against her large bosom and was content.
"I've missed you too, Mother," she said, only now realizing she was no longer a teenager but a grown woman. When had that happened?
Char ran her fingers over Angie's hair, gently smoothing it. She kissed the top of her head. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should have told you the truth. Ephix was right. I see that now. I was afraid it would break you."
"You told me the truth, Mother. You told me I'm a source mage. I forgave you."
"No." Char's voice broke in a sob. "I should have told you everything."
Angie pulled back to look into Char's tear-filled eyes. When had Char ever cried? "Tell me what, Mother?"
"Something's coming," Char said, her eyes darting about.
"What's coming?"
Char’s lips moved but made no sound. Angie stared in confusion. Now Char screamed in silence like a television with the volume muted.
"What's going on?" Angie asked, hearing her own voice echo, as if from the bottom of a well.
Then the sanctum vanished, and she found herself standing in a forest once more, but now it was dark, with an almost full moon shining through the branches above her. Where was Char? She turned in place, her heart racing, but saw nothing but the shadows of trees, heard nothing but the creaking of branches. "Mother!"
"Angela," a female voice that sent a chill down her spine said from behind.
She turned to see Ephix Lamia standing before her, a young woman with long dark hair who was wearing a plain toga, her feet bare. This was the form Ephix wore when she moved among humans, when she didn’t want to terrify them. Ephix Lamia was not only Char's sister but also the Mistress of Vampires, their Night Mother. She was just as powerful a Fey enchantress as Char had been but possessed little of the succubus's kindness. All her life, Angie had been terrified of Ephix and her vampires. Something about Angie drove the vampires mad with bloodlust, and only Ephix kept them at bay. But despite Angie's fear of her, when they had parted, it had been as allies. Ephix had helped save the Seagraves and defeat Gouger of Faces. Yet only days later, her vampires had tried to kill Angie.
"You tried to kill me,"
Angie said, the words slipping past her lips without thought of consequence.
"No, of course I did not."
"They were vampires."
Ephix smiled, her dark eyes shining in the moonlight. "Not all vampires are mine."
"Why are you here?"
"You need to wake up, Angela. You are being hunted by one who does not fear me. And you are vulnerable in dreams. You must go to Elenaril. She can protect you."
"I don't understand."
"You don't need to understand, Angela. He hunts your dreams, but his children have found your trail in the waking world, and they are coming for you. You need to wake up. Now!" Ephix snarled, her face transforming into that of a black-eyed beast, a nightmarish creature with rows of needlelike teeth.
—Angie cried out and bolted upright next to Erin, her blanket falling from her, the stars shining down on her. Sweat coated Angie’s skin, her pulse raced, and her heart pounded like a drum. She remembered the dream of Ephix—She was warning me!
Erin sat up, her werewolf eyes flashing in the darkness. "What's wrong?"
"They've found us!" Angie said.
Chapter 8
Angie grasped for her boots, pants, sub-gun, and sword belt, clutching them against her chest as she scrambled to her feet, trying to look in all directions at once. It was another cloudless night, the sky a vast canopy of brilliant stars, the bright moon waxing gibbous—it would be full tomorrow night.
Erin, in a T-shirt and underwear, stood and gripped Angie’s arm. "Who’s found us?"
"We're under attack!" she said.
"Stand to!" Erin yelled, letting go of Angie and grabbing her sniper rifle from the ground. Erin threw her load-bearing vest over her T-shirt, her fingers patting the ammunition pouches. "Stand to!"
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