Spellfire

by Jessica Andersen

  While those questions and answers were ping-ponging, Myr leaned in and whispered, “Dez has balls of steel.”

  Rabbit nodded. “And a legacy he’s trying like hell not to live down to.”

  “Rabbit?” Dez called. “A word?”

  The meeting had started breaking up around them, so he rose, caught Myr’s hand and tugged her with him when he headed toward where the king was standing with Reese and his advisers. Rabbit didn’t miss the way Red-Boar’s eyes tracked him, seeming to say: Remember your loyalties, boy . . . I won’t even need to touch her.

  Fury spurted through him, lighting his senses and bringing a surge of magic. Tensing, he fought it down. Deep inside him, though, his own voice whispered, You can take him. You’re better than him, stronger than him, and—

  “What’s wrong?” Myr’s voice echoed strangely in his ears, and when he looked down at her, all he could see were her eyes, gone dark and worried. When he focused on her, though, the fog cleared and the magic receded. Within a few seconds, it was as if it hadn’t ever been there at all.

  More, his inner vault was still secure, sealed shut by this morning’s meditation. So where the hell had that come from?

  Or was he fooling himself with the whole vault thing? Was the dark magic playing him?

  “I’m okay,” he said, even though he was anything but. “Come on.”

  They joined Dez, who said without preamble, “Okay, Rabbit. Here’s the thing. You know how you’re usually the exception to every rule? Well, the same thing goes here. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you the same choice as the others.”

  “You’re ordering me to renounce the sky gods?”

  The king snorted. “I don’t care what kind of spell your father cast, I don’t believe for a second that I could force you into betraying something you truly believe in.” He paused. “I’m asking you to renounce the sky gods and fight with me . . . but if you choose not to, I’m going to lock you in the basement for the duration. I just can’t risk having you running loose.”

  “What makes you think I’ll stay put if there’s no spell that’ll hold me?”

  “Welded cuffs with a shield spell will.”

  He couldn’t picture himself in the storeroom. But he couldn’t picture himself renouncing the gods, either. “How long do I have to decide?”

  “Forty hours, just like the others.”

  “Right.” Because there wouldn’t be any ’port escape for him. “What about Myr?”

  The glint in Dez’s eyes might’ve been sympathy. “It’s her decision.”

  And although Rabbit had been the one to say he didn’t want her fighting beside him when the time came, now he wanted the king to say that he and Myr were a pair, that they needed to stay that way, fight that way. Hell, he wanted to say it himself.

  Instead, he nodded woodenly. “Yeah, good. That’s . . . good.” He caught Myr’s frown out of the corner of his eye, and squeezed her hand.

  “Forty hours,” Dez repeated, then paused. His voice roughened. “I don’t know if this’ll mean much—you and I aren’t tight like you and Strike or some of the others. We just don’t have that kind of history. But as one former fuckup to another, I hope you’ll fight with me. I’d really, really like to know you’re on my side, and not just because you’re the crossover, but because you’re a hell of a warrior. A good Nightkeeper.”

  Rabbit heard a muttered oath behind him, from where his old man was standing. Ignoring that, he stuck out a hand. “For what it’s worth, I think you did something good here today. Something very, very worth saving. And I’ll have an answer for you in a few hours.” More, he would catch the king in private and warn him about Red-Boar. He’d been putting it off, waiting to see what happened. He couldn’t put it off any longer, though.

  Dez turned away to face the growing line of Nightkeepers and winikin who had massed behind him, wanting to ask questions. Or maybe they were there to get their payouts and get a place on the Teleport Express.

  Gods, Rabbit hoped not.

  “Want to take a walk?” Myr was looking at him sidelong, as if measuring his mood.

  Well, that made two of them. “Yeah. One minute. I’ve got to take care of a little problem first.”

  But when he turned around, expecting to see that problem breathing down his neck and raring for a fight, there was nobody there. His old man had disappeared.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A couple of hours after the meeting broke up, once Leah had gotten done easing the mob-mentality panic as best she could in her officially unofficial role as the keeper of morale at Skywatch—a role she blamed squarely on her old boss in the Miami PD, who had been a big believer in trust circles and desk yoga—she went looking for Strike, following the faint trickle of energy coming from their jun tan connection.

  She found him in their private shrine.

  When Dez took the kingship and she and Strike had moved out of the royal suite and into an apartment in the Nightkeepers’ wing, they had converted the hallway walk-in closet to a shrine almost identical to the one they’d had in the royal suite, with stone veneer, motion-sensitive fake torches, and a highly polished disc of black obsidian on the back wall that showed their reflections. Below the disc was a small chac-mool altar.

  Ever since the day Anna had beheaded the statue in the main ceremonial chamber, the altar in the closet had looked different to Leah, sort of grim and accusatory. Strike had seen it, too, but they had put it down to guilt and the power of suggestion. They hoped.

  Now, as she opened the door and let herself into the shrine, her view of the chac-mool’s face was blocked by Strike’s bulk. His gaze met hers in the reflection, and although the polished black stone robbed his gorgeous blue eyes of their color, there was no mistaking the grim resignation. “I can’t get through.”

  He said it matter-of-factly, like he was doing a “can you hear me now?” on his cell phone, but she knew he meant that he couldn’t connect with the gods, couldn’t pray. And she could see the grief beneath the “it’s going to be okay” shell, felt its twin inside her. She’d been holding it together up to now, needing to put on a brave face for the others rather than spark a stampede, but now, with him, her bravery threatened to falter, her “it’s okay” face starting to crumble. Because by the gods, this was a terrible decision they were being asked to make.

  She hadn’t grown up with the Nightkeepers’ gods, but she’d sure as hell become a convert—and fast—when she’d seen the sky gods and their demon foe up close and personal, and she and Strike had become the joint godkeepers of Kulkulkan, a huge feathered serpent that flew high above the earth and carried their spirits with it to fight the Banol Kax on the Cardinal Days.

  If they did what Dez was asking, they would be giving that up. More, they would be betraying a creature—entity?—that had been one of their strongest allies. They shared a special bond with Kulkulkan, and through the winged serpent to each other. The godkeeper spell had brought them together, made them into the warriors and mates they were today. Had that been part of the true gods’ plan, or part of the distraction? Had they truly been destined mates, or was that whole concept some game of the false gods? What were they supposed to believe when faith itself turned out to be a lie?

  She must have made some sound, because Strike turned and drew her into his arms, and then leaned in to rest his cheek on the top of her head. They stood like that for a long time, holding on to each other, holding each other up. She didn’t let herself cling too hard, though, didn’t let herself think that this might be one of the last times they stood like this. Because once she started thinking like that, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself, and right now they needed to deal with the issue at hand.

  As if following her thoughts, he sighed against her hair. “I’m blocked—question is, who’s doing the blocking? If the true gods have been hearing me all along, shouldn’t I still be able to get through to them?”

  “The true gods,” she said softly. “Are we sure we know wh
ich ones those are?”

  He pulled back to look down at her. “I’m sure. Are you?”

  “I’m not backing out of what we already agreed . . . but that’s not the same thing as being sure.” She wished she could tell him she was as confident as he was. Despite the way he’d challenged Anna and Dez back in the meeting, he had been ready to renounce the sky gods almost from the beginning. Maybe it was his warrior’s instincts talking, maybe faith in his sister’s magic . . . Leah hoped to hell it wasn’t because it could explain his father’s behavior as kohan-induced madness.

  That question was there, though, inside her even when she wished it gone.

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, just held her close and breathed her in. She let herself relax into him, trying to believe that they were on the right track, that it was all going to be okay. After a moment, he turned her toward the mirror and the altar, tucking the two of them together in the small space and letting the door swing shut.

  When it did, he said softly, “Will you stay with me for a bit, my beloved detective?”

  Her lips curved. “Of course, my king.” She wasn’t a detective anymore and he wasn’t a king, but gods willing, they would live long enough to be something else. They had talked about it, of course, planned for it—dreams and realities, and a whole lot of “what do you want to be when you grow up?” But now, as she stood beside him, all that mattered was that they were there, together.

  Normally, she didn’t feel anything much when she prayed—she was only human, after all, though a godkeeper. Now, though, as she faced the mirror and the chac-mool, she felt a faint tingle of a magic not her own, as if Kulkulkan himself was reaching through the barrier to warn: You don’t want to do this.

  And the damn thing was, he was right. She really, really didn’t want to give up the one piece of the magic that was hers, the connection to the god who had taken her and Strike flying together. Who had saved them from the Banol Kax, over and over again. But that was the point, wasn’t it? The enemy of their enemy wasn’t necessarily their friend anymore.

  Please gods, let us get this right.

  * * *

  “Did you get it?” A blond bundle of energy and nerves whipped through the door and homed in on Brandt. “Was it there?”

  He grinned and lifted the thick yellow envelope, then shook it a little so the flash drive made a noise. “Got it.”

  “Oh!” Patience stopped halfway across the sitting area and clasped her hands, eyes filling. Then she covered her face and gave a watery laugh. “Shit. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. It makes me feel like a . . . a . . . I don’t know.”

  “Like a mommy?” Brandt suggested. “Hey, roll with it.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to ding her, given that he’d watered up a little when he’d gotten the end of the scavenger hunt Jox and Hannah had set up so only he or Patience could reasonably find the drop box, and he’d reached in to grab the envelope, knowing that the twins had no doubt touched it. Plopping down onto the couch, he patted the cushion beside him. “Sit. Christmas came early this year, so let’s open our presents.”

  He’d meant it as a joke, but wished it back even as he said it.

  The Nightkeepers didn’t celebrate the holiday per se, but most of them had fudged it to one degree or another in order to fit in with the lives they’d lived in the outside world, and they had kept up the tradition at Skywatch with a festival to honor the wayeb days at the end of December, when there were five “forgotten” days in the Mayan calendar, blanks that didn’t have any names. Either way, it had looked suspiciously like Christmas, with gifts, feasting and decorations, especially that first year, when Harry and Braden had lived at Skywatch. The presence of two active little three-year-olds had made it easy to appreciate the whole Santa thing, or a version thereof.

  In the years since the boys had gone into hiding with the winikin, the holidays hadn’t seemed nearly so important—or fun—but Skywatch had still celebrated them. Last year, Brandt had taken Patience away for a long weekend, just the two of them and a familiar cheesy hotel room in Cancun, with mirrors every damn place and all the tingles and romance they could’ve wanted.

  It was a hell of a thing to think that they might not live to see another Christmas, especially when it was less than a week away. Worse to think that the boys might not, either. The winikin would keep them as safe as possible, locked down somewhere off the beaten track, in a doomsday bunker with all the amenities . . . but that wouldn’t protect them forever.

  He didn’t want to think about them coming aboveground to a blasted, empty wasteland or, worse, a demon-occupied earth and a populace that had been enslaved, turned to makol and xombi. He hated, too, picturing them showing up at the prearranged meeting point on the morning of December twenty-second . . . and waiting in vain. Or having only one parent show up. Or—

  “Don’t.” Patience wrapped her arm around his waist and put her head on his shoulder. “You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

  “Hello, pot? This is the kettle.” Gods knew that they had both been struggling with their decisions—not just to follow Dez’s lead and renounce the sky gods, but also to post an online personal with prearranged keywords that counted as their good-bye, rather than setting up another drop box, as they had planned. They had decided they couldn’t risk it, though. Not when they couldn’t even trust their own prayers not to give them away.

  She nudged him in the ribs. “Just open it already!” But when he started to, she grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”

  He started to laugh at her, but the impulse died when he saw the tears welling in her eyes. His voice went to a rasp. “Ah, baby. Don’t.”

  “I won’t. I’m not.” She reached out a trembling hand to touch the envelope. “I just . . . gods, Brandt. Tell me that we’re going to make it. You, me, Harry, Braden, Jox . . . even if you have to lie, tell me we’re all going to be okay.”

  “Hey.” He shifted, caught her chin and turned her to face him. “We’re going to be okay.” Tears broke free and trailed down her cheeks, and he forced determination into his voice, forced himself to believe it when he said, “We’re a team, Patience, you and me. Until death do us part, right? Well, that’s not happening this week.”

  “Promise?” she whispered, then shook her head. “Sorry. Forget I said that.” A vow carried the force of a spell for him, after all, and she’d told him it was okay to lie.

  He wanted to. He wanted to promise her that the Nightkeepers were going to win the war, that both of them were going to survive. He wanted to swear that four days from now they would be standing on the Cancun beach where they’d first met, watching Harry and Braden run toward them with the winikin walking more sedately behind them, hand in hand. He wanted to say all that, wanted it to be true. But he couldn’t make it a promise.

  So instead he said, “We’re going to be okay, Patience. We’re going to win the war and make it through, and four days from now we’re going to hold our boys again. And after that, we’re never going to let them go, ever again. Because we’re a family. And I don’t care what the writs say, there’s nothing more important than family.”

  There was a time when he wouldn’t have said that, and she wouldn’t have believed him if he had. It was a sign of how far they’d come since the bad days between them, how solid they were together, that she relaxed against him, letting out a watery sigh. “I know. I just . . . I needed to hear that. I needed you to say it.”

  He brushed his lips across her cheek and then, when she leaned in, he found her lips. The kiss started soft, more an affirmation than any effort to incite, but then she touched her tongue to his, and things got more serious. Magic kindled low in his gut and flared out from there, making him very aware of his own body, and hers, and the fact that they were alone in their suite, with nobody expecting them to be anywhere for a couple of hours.

  Hello, afternooner, he thought, and grinned into the kiss.

  But at the same time, he knew that could wait. The heat was always there b
etween them, more now than ever before, and the anticipation would only add to the thrill of making love. So, easing away, unable to wait any longer, he tore open the envelope and dumped the contents onto the coffee table, next to the laptop he had there, ready and waiting.

  Smaller envelopes cascaded out—those would be letters from Jox and Hannah, updating them on the more serious stuff the twins didn’t necessarily need to know about, along with the flash drive and a fat folder, which would contain printed-out photos, schoolwork, and letters from both boys.

  Each care package had a different theme, which was announced by artwork on the carefully selected folder. Last time around, Braden picked Transformers. This time, Harry had gone with dinosaurs. The folder had an ominous background of darkness, ferns and mist, with a cartoon T. Rex giving a big cartoon “Rawr!” Across the raging Rex’s stomach, two very different hands had written I want a brontosaurus burger and Look out for the meteor!

  Brandt chuckled, though the sound cracked at the end, catching against the lump in his throat.

  “Oh,” Patience breathed, and reached for the folder. But then she stopped herself, and pulled back. “No. Let’s do the video first.”

  “You sure?” Usually they eased into it with the photos, so it wasn’t such a shock seeing the boys, and realizing all over again how much of their childhood they were missing.

  “Positive,” she said, but he was already fitting the flash drive into the laptop, and feeling his heart bump unsteadily as they waited for the video to open.

  Moments later, the window popped up and a boy’s face filled the screen—just a nose and a gap-toothed grin. Then he pulled back from the in-computer camera to reveal unruly dark blond hair and a face that looked so much more grown-up since the last video they’d gotten. His green tee had a cartoon T-Rex on the chest and a smudge of something on one sleeve.