Spellfire

by Jessica Andersen

  He hadn’t felt these things when he’d used the dark magic before, when the rage had already been at the surface of his soul, ready for the darkness to tap into it. Now, though, he could feel the old frustrations hissing and seething inside him, heard them whispering, They never believed you, never believed in you. You can show them all just how powerful you really are.

  Sudden images crammed his mind’s eye, and anger surged through him, pure and powerful. Screw them. They never liked him, never understood him, had always been afraid of him. They were small-minded, shortsighted, jealous, and—

  Rabbit shuddered as he recognized all the things he’d told himself when he’d been under Phee’s spell. But those weren’t his words; they weren’t his thoughts. And that meant he could ignore them, block them off.

  You can do this. You can handle it. He needed to prove it to himself, to the others, especially to Myrinne. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, and he sure as hell didn’t want her to see him fail. More, he didn’t have a fucking choice, not if he wanted—needed—to harness the crossover’s powers. So, imagining a fierce, cleansing wind blowing through his mind, he swept up the voices, the memories, the taunts and the righteous-feeling anger that wasn’t righteous at all, corralling them and stuffing them back into the vault. Then, with a mental heave, he slammed the lid on all of it, leaving the dark magic outside but shutting his own weaknesses away.

  The hinges creaked; the door bulged. But it held. It fucking held.

  For now, at least. And with the whispers and emotions gone, only the power of the dark magic remained, deep and surging, pulsing an urgent demand through him. Use me, it seemed to say. I’m yours.

  Exhaling, but not daring to glance back at Myr to see how much of that inner battle she had comprehended, he reopened the slashes across his palms and cast a spray of blood into the flames. Then he steeled himself, and said, “Cha’ik ten nohoch taat.” Bring me the grandfather.

  Fire burst skyward, turning the day red-orange, scorching his skin and sending the monkeys overhead screeching to higher branches as the noise of the dark magic cycled up to a chain-saw buzz, whipping around him and making his jaw ache.

  He felt the spell hesitate, teetering between success and failure, felt the vault door shudder as the other part of the dark magic struggled to break free.

  Strengthening his mental hold on his inner garbage, he repeated the incantation. “Cha’ik ten nohoch taat.”

  Pain streaked along the scars that striped his back, turning them raw and new as the smoke swirled and churned, becoming something. A strangled sound tore from Rabbit’s throat, but he held in the rest as the smoke twined together, and then, bam, whipped into the shape of a gimlet-eyed old man who wore the long robe of a Xibalban priest and had the hellmark on his wrist.

  And even though Rabbit had come for this, prepared for it, sick and ugly anger awoke at the sight of the old shaman. His fucking grandfather.

  The smoke-ghost looked around, seeming unsurprised at the summons. His eyes lingered on Myrinne, but then moved on. “Greetings, young Rabbit.”

  “Greetings . . . Grandfather.” You cocksucker.

  The see-through bastard had the gall to smile. “Ah. So you know the truth now.”

  “I know you bred me. I want to know the rest. I want to understand your purpose for me.” He heard Myr’s smothered gasp, felt her mistrust, and hoped to hell she would go with it. More, he hoped he wasn’t making a big fucking mistake. Because if anything happened to him, he wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to take Anntah on her own. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could do it, and he’d summoned the bastard. If she got hurt because of him . . .

  Over my dead body, he thought, and the mental promise had the force of a blood vow.

  Anntah spread his ghostly arms. “Ask your questions.”

  Rabbit was all too aware that the smoke-ghost had his own agenda, that he would lie . . . but he was also the only one left who knew the truth. “How do I become the crossover?”

  “You already are. You are the son of a Xibalban princess and the last surviving Nightkeeper mage. You are the child of prophecy.”

  A shiver tried to work its way down Rabbit’s spine, but he ignored it. “Okay, let’s try it this way. How can I access the powers of the crossover? Is there a spell, an artifact, what?”

  “There is nothing. Only you.”

  “Bullshit. Tell me the fucking truth.”

  “This is the truth. There is no spell or artifact, no need for you to become anything other than what you already are. You are the crossover, Rabbie. The power is inside you.”

  Rabbie. The name echoed in his head, in his heart, rattled at the vault. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? It’s what your mother and I called you, the name your father and the Nightkeepers took from you. Just like they told you that you weren’t good enough for them, that your mistakes were too costly, your self-control too weak.” The ghost leaned in, eyes lighting. “They were wrong, you know. You’re stronger than they are—stronger than any of us. And I can make you stronger still.”

  “Fuck you.” But the whispers urged him on. And he had a feeling the bastard knew it.

  “You are the last Xibalban, Rabbie. Swear yourself to the dark gods and all our powers will be yours.”

  “Swear . . .” He trailed off as shock rattled through him, sounding like the magic. He was suddenly aware that the elder wasn’t alone in the mist anymore. There were others behind him, around him, vague shadows that shifted, yearning toward Rabbit like he was their hope, like he was the hero he’d always wanted to be. More, there was a new note to the power—a deep thrumming that vibrated at the edge of his magic, limitless and tempting.

  Take it. It’s yours. You can show them all, burn them all.

  “Rabbit, don’t do it. Don’t listen to him!” Myrinne’s faraway voice was ragged and breathless, like she’d been shouting at him for a while and he hadn’t heard.

  Ignoring her, Anntah held out his hand, which bled red-tinged fog from a slashing cut across the palm. “Come, son. Take the oath and you will have more power than you ever imagined. And when the day comes, you’ll rule the war.”

  “Rabbit, no!” Myr’s magic surged and a fireball crackled to life in the supercharged air.

  “We’ll do it together,” Rabbit said, and reached out and clasped the ghost’s outstretched hand, not just with his body, but with his magic as well. Suddenly, he could feel Anntah’s flesh, his cool skin, and even the slickness of his blood. Gripping tight, he summoned a whiplash of Nightkeeper magic, and shouted, “Kaak!”

  Red-gold fire erupted from his hand and laced up Anntah’s arm, and then higher, racing to engulf him. The ghost shrieked and jerked back. “Aiiee!”

  Rabbit hung on, body and soul, and poured himself into the flames. “Myr, now!”

  A green fireball hit Anntah and detonated, wreathing the spirit with lambent napalm. And then she was there, standing beside him and hammering the ghost with magic.

  “No!” Anntah howled. “Noo!” He whipped from side to side as the fire engulfed him, ate at him. “Whyyy?”

  “Because I’m choosing my side,” Rabbit grated, “and it’s not yours.” Nightkeeper power sang through him, driving the dark magic back into the vault. Buoyed by that victory—and by the ferocity in Myr’s face as she fought beside him—he cast the banishment spell. “Teech xeen!”

  Power detonated with a huge shock wave and a flash of brilliant red-gold light. Rabbit reflexively spun and yanked Myr against him, and then cast a shield around them both. For a second, furious magic roared over them, around them, heating the air and lighting his senses.

  Then it was gone. And the world went silent.

  Suddenly aware that he had his arms wrapped around her when she could’ve shielded herself, he released her and backed off. “Sorry, I . . . holy crap.”

  He went silent, stunned by the brilliant colors that suddenly surrounded them.

  Myr drew in a breath,
and then exhaled it on a soft, “Ohh.”

  There was no sign of the fire, the smoke, Anntah, or the other spirits. But where those things were gone, there was something new, something that very definitely hadn’t been there before.

  Butterflies.

  Everywhere except for the fire pit, the ruined village was carpeted with the creatures—fiery red, sky blue, pale green, brilliant yellow, lacy white—making it look for a second like tens of thousands of flowers had blossomed in the space of a few minutes. Except these flowers had wings and they fluttered and pulsed, bringing the ghost town to life. And then, as if they’d gotten some silent signal, they rose up into the air and swirled like brightly colored confetti.

  They danced and spun for a moment, and then began to settle again, many of them wafting toward Myrinne. They landed on her shoulders, in her hair, on her face, until she was dotted with living jewels.

  Her eyes shone with wonder. “Look,” she said, even though he was already staring at her. She cupped her palms and they filled with butterflies. “Look at them all.”

  “Fuck me,” Rabbit said. It wasn’t exactly poetry, but it was all he could manage as the beauty of the moment cut into him, painful in its intensity.

  She was radiant, limned in color, and so very alive that it hurt like hell to know they were running out of time, and he didn’t have the answers he needed. More, he didn’t know what those answers would mean for the two of them. So he didn’t say anything, just cupped his own palms together, very aware that there were only two spots in the village that were bare of the insects: him and the fire pit.

  After a moment, a big butterfly landed in his cupped palms. Its wings were streaked with red and orange like flames, its body matte black like his combat clothes, and though he didn’t know what that meant, it sure as hell felt like it meant something.

  The creature fluttered up, deserting him, but a second later, a shiny green one lofted up from Myr’s shoulder to join it. The two hovered for a moment at eye level, then headed upward, twining together in an aerial dance that blurred green and red together. Others followed—blue, yellow, purple, pink—as if an entire field of wildflowers had suddenly taken flight. They churned up, swirled once around the ruined village, and then headed into the trees en masse, as if they had somewhere else to be.

  Rabbit’s throat tightened at how fricking pretty it was, but also with an ache of frustration, this time not coming from the dark magic, but from him. Because moments like this—beautiful, magical—should be protected. And he wasn’t sure he knew how.

  “Gods,” Myr whispered, her eyes locked on the last of the colorful flutters. “That was incredible.” The radiance still surrounded her, he realized. It wasn’t just the butterflies; it was magic.

  “You summoned them,” he said, feeling a kick of holy shit inside him, because she sure as hell hadn’t inherited that power from him. This was something new, something he’d never heard of before.

  “Maybe.” She hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. Not on purpose, but maybe deep down inside . . .”

  “Tell me.” Talk to me.

  Shadows crept into her eyes, but she said softly, “When I was maybe nine or ten, I found a book on one of the shelves. I don’t know why the Witch bought it—an accident, or maybe a special order someone had bailed on. Certainly wasn’t her style, with flowers and butterflies on the cover. And the magic inside was so different from hers, all about power flows and respecting the earth and all its creatures.” She paused. “Anyway, I used to wait until she was asleep at night, and I’d take the book off the shelf and sneak out to the little garden behind the tea shop, where I’d practice the incantations by candlelight. At first nothing happened, but then, one night, a butterfly came and sat near my candle. Then the next night, there were two of them, then more and more.” Her voice flattened abruptly. “I was up to a dozen when the Witch caught on.”

  “She punished you.” One of Rabbit’s biggest regrets was that Iago had killed the bitch before he’d gotten to her.

  “Worse. She used me. She snuck up behind me and netted the butterflies, then locked them in a cabinet so I couldn’t set them free. The next day, she pinned them down alive, dried them in the oven, and sold the powder to the owner of the bar next door, telling him it was an aphrodisiac.” Her voice was flat, her eyes hollow. “She made me call them again the next night, and the next. Every night for a week, until they stopped coming.”

  Ah, baby. He hated what she’d been through. Hated even more that he didn’t know what to say.

  “I tried to tell her I wouldn’t do it, and when that didn’t work, I tried to screw up the incantation. But she knew. Somehow, she knew, and she made me do it right. I’m not even sure how. I guess I was that afraid of her, that afraid of what would happen to me if it wasn’t for her.”

  “You were a kid.”

  “Even later, when I was old enough to run away, I didn’t. I just wasn’t ever strong enough to stand up to her.”

  “You are now.” When she just shook her head and started to turn away, he caught her hand and drew her back toward him. “Hey, look around you. You just helped banish a dark-magic ghost. You could handle fifty of her.”

  She started to argue, but then hesitated. “You think so?”

  Something shifted in his chest. “I know so. You’re not just a mage now, Myr, you’re a warrior too. You were ready to bring me down if you didn’t like what was going on. Instead, you helped me nail Anntah. Hell, I bet you could’ve taken him on your own—you’re that strong now, Myr. Seriously.”

  “That sounds like something I would’ve said to you, back in the day.”

  And it wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever really said to her before, which was his foul—one of many. He should’ve backed her up better, should have helped make her feel safer. Now, though, the best he could do was say, “I mean it. The Nightkeepers should consider themselves damn lucky to have you on their side . . . I know I do.”

  Her eyes darkened. “You’ve got your own magic working now, both halves of it. You don’t need me anymore.”

  He knew he should back off; she’d be safer away from him. Instead, he caught her other hand and leaned in, so she could see the intensity in his eyes when he said, “Fuck that. I need you.”

  “Damn it, Rabbit,” the words were barely a whisper, but she didn’t pull away. And suddenly there was a crackle of new energy in the air.

  “Tell me to back off and leave you the hell alone.” But then, before she could say anything, he closed the last little distance between them, and said against her lips, “Don’t. Please.”

  And he kissed her. Because he’d gotten to where he couldn’t not kiss her. He needed her warmth and sass, needed the woman who could fry a demon one moment and call butterflies in the next. Most of all, he needed the heat that pounded between them, reminding him that he was alive, and that he wasn’t just fighting against his mother, grandfather and a whole shitload of other baddies, he was fighting for the good guys. For moments like this.

  He kept his arms loose in case she wanted to break free, but had no real intention of letting her go. And after only a moment’s hesitation, she made a muffled noise of surrender, then twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back. And all he could think was, Thank fuck.

  Sensations rocketed along his neurons: the softness of her breasts, the curves of her waist and the brush of her hair contrasting with the hard edges of her weapons; the buzz of lust and magic in his veins; and the “Oh hell, yeah” he growled at the back of his throat when she trailed her hands down, latched on to his weapons belt, and pulled their lower bodies tighter together.

  He cupped her breast through her tight combat shirt, found a peaked nipple, and caught her moan in his mouth. Then he broke the kiss and trailed his lips along her jaw. “Myr,” he rasped against her throat, needing to say it. This didn’t feel like a dream-vision, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

  “I’m here.” She pressed her lips to his cheek, his ear. />
  “Thank the gods.” He kissed her again, long and deep, steeping himself in her scent and flavor, soaking her in and—

  Power surged suddenly, coming from a few feet away, and the air sparked red-gold. Cursing under his breath, Rabbit pulled away. “Incoming.”

  “I know.”

  The two of them were standing shoulder to shoulder, breathing hard, when Anna appeared with a whump of displaced air.

  Seeming preoccupied, she glanced at them, scanned the village, and let out a relieved breath. “Cool. Glad to see you guys didn’t get into too much trouble while I was gone. You’ll never guess what happened to me . . . Shit. Why are you laughing? What did I miss?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Skywatch

  After Myr and Rabbit got back to the compound, the next few hours were a whirlwind of debriefings and “what the fuck?” as the Nightkeepers scrambled to plug the new info—or lack thereof—into their battle plans.

  Myr managed to snag some leftover pizza and a Coke in between sitting down with Rabbit, Dez and the royal council; going over what’d happened at Oc Ajal; and hustling to the library, where she was helping Lucius and the other members of the brain trust look for references to the true gods and the ruby skull.

  There wasn’t much in the way of peace and quiet in the library—Lucius, Natalie and Jade were constantly coming and going from the racks, pulling scrolls and artifacts for quick-and-dirty translations before turning them over to Myr for some database work. But even that frenetic activity was oddly soothing. Or maybe it was just that she needed some space—any space—without Rabbit in it, some time to process what had happened at Oc Ajal.

  She had fought a ghost and summoned butterflies. She had stood on her own, ready to face down Rabbit if she didn’t like what she saw. And she had kissed him—not because she was needy or afraid, or because the magic had overridden her control, but because she wanted to kiss him. For the first time, it had felt like they were meeting as equals, as partners.