Skywatch
The next morning, Rabbit woke groggy as hell, and blinked up at the ceiling. Which in itself was disconcerting after spending so long chained to a damn wall.
The wall’s gone, he reminded himself, reorienting. Phee is dead and Myrinne is safe.
And he was back at Skywatch.
Granted, he’d spent the night in one of the basement storerooms that had been retrofitted as a cell, with a narrow bunk, a squat-pot, and a small bookshelf stocked with a few dog-eared paperbacks, bottled water and a six-pack of energy bars. The door was locked and faint crinkle of magic said it was warded, too. Which meant that he was as much a prisoner here as he had been on the island . . . except that now he was a willing prisoner.
By the time he’d hiked to Skywatch yesterday afternoon, he’d been shakier than he’d wanted to admit, knocked on his ass by the aftereffects of captivity, rescue, Red-Boar’s return, seeing Myrinne, finding out that she had his magic now . . . all of it. And after a shower—which had been a weird cross between orgasmic and something out of a sci-fi movie, with all the chrome and gadgets feeling unfamiliar and futuristic—he’d willingly crashed in the basement, knowing the others wouldn’t trust him until he’d made his vow to Red-Boar. And maybe not even then.
I’ll do whatever you want, he was trying to signal by being a good prisoner. You name it, you’ve got it. Anything was better than the chains and being utterly alone except when he was being beaten. And having an opportunity to kick some demon ass and help with the war . . . yeah. He’d do whatever it took. Even stay away from Myrinne.
Probing the idea like an aching tooth, he rose and padded to the chair by the door, where someone had left him clean clothes. He reached for them automatically, but then hesitated at the sight of a familiar pair of jeans, his backup combat boots with the knotted laces and scarred toes, and a black cartoon tee he’d bought off CafePress.
He hadn’t thought much about his stuff while he’d been strung up in that cave—it was just stuff, after all—but the clothes hammered things home.
Christ. What a fucking difference a day could make.
Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been a beaten animal, practically inhuman, living only to kill his tormentor. Back then, if a big-assed foam finger had come down out of the sky and a booming voice had told him he was going to get another chance, he would’ve said it would be enough to kill Phee and do something to balance the scales. Now, though, surrounded by the trappings of civilization, he was coming back to himself—or maybe, hopefully, a better version of the fuckup he’d been. He wanted the chance to prove that to the others, to himself . . . and he’d give anything to be able to make some real restitution. Even promise himself to his old man.
As if on cue, magic sparked, a heavy fist banged on the door and Michael’s voice said, “You up? It’s time.”
A chill walked down Rabbit’s spine, but he shook it off, dredged up a shadow of his old swagger and called, “Give me a minute to get dressed. Unless you’re planning a cavity search?”
“Been there, done that.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Just get your ass dressed.” But there was a thread of amusement in the ex-assassin’s voice that said he, at least, might be willing to give Rabbit one last chance.
Then again, Michael knew better than most just how bad a guy could get under the influence of the dark magic.
But any optimism that might’ve brought died off a few minutes later when Rabbit found himself following Michael to the last fucking place he would’ve chosen for a meeting, the last fucking place he would’ve chosen to be, period: the sacred chamber at the center of Skywatch.
He hesitated in the doorway, becoming the sudden focus of way too many eyes as a couple of dozen team members—Nightkeeper, winikin and human alike—all looked at him as if to say “Hey, asshole, remember what happened the last time you were here?”
Myrinne stood at the edge of the crowd. She had one foot out the far door and looked as trapped as he felt, but she was there. He wasn’t sure what that meant, didn’t know what he wanted it to mean.
He nodded to her as he stepped into the open center of the room. The gesture was for all of them, though, including Red-Boar, who stood front and center before the chac-mool altar. Carved of red-tinged limestone and mortared in place with the ashes of generations past, the statue was a human figure, reclining with its body forming a zigzag shape and its blank-eyed face turned toward him, like it, too, was saying, “Hey, asshole . . .”
Yeah, he remembered what he’d done here, in this room. How the fuck could any of them think he would forget?
The glass ceiling had been replaced, and the floor, walls and altar all looked pristine. Still, though, he saw the scene as it had been, with blood everywhere and Myrinne’s torn body folded up against the foot of the chac-mool. He hadn’t struck the blow that had hurt her—that had been the demons—but he might as well have, because she had taken a blow meant for him. After everything he’d done to her, she’d saved his ass.
Christ, Myr, I’m sorry. He tried to send the words to her, but she was blocking the one-way magical link that had connected them the day before. Which left him standing there, wishing to hell he could warp time and go back to knock the shit out of himself before he fucked up things between them, before he fucked her up.
Only she didn’t look fucked up. She looked fierce and competent in dark jeans and a black tee, and at his glance, she stepped all the way in the room and glared at him, as if to say “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You come here freely to take the Boar Oath?” Red-Boar asked, eyes glittering as he put himself in Rabbit’s line of sight. He was wearing a worn brown robe, tied with a rope. It probably should’ve made him look like Obi Wan, but instead brought memories of him spending most days stoned and pissed off, and not much use to anyone, especially himself. Now, though, his voice was clear and strong as he added, “Once you’ve taken the oath, you’ll be bound to obey three orders given by the eldest of the boar bloodline. Me.”
“They’ll be my orders,” Dez said with a warning look at Red-Boar.
The brown-robed mage tipped his head. “Of course.”
Rabbit swallowed hard, though, because even if the content originated with Dez, he’d still be bound to his old man. But it had to be done. He crossed to the altar, squared off opposite his father, and said, “I’m in.”
“We’ll see.” Red-Boar pulled a stone knife from where it had been tucked into a twisted knot in the rope belt. Rabbit recognized the blade—he’d inherited it from his father and carried it into battle for years before leaving it behind at Skywatch when Phee took him. The sight of the knife back in his old man’s fist dug at him, but he supposed it was fitting.
Sunlight glinted on the blade as the old man lifted it to the sky, where the sun shone through the glass ceiling. Then, in a move so quick it felt like that of a predator snatching up its prey, killing it before it even knew it was in trouble, Red-Boar grabbed Rabbit’s wrist and yanked his hand palm up. The knife flashed down and cut deep.
Rabbit hissed, but the feeling of being palm-cut was familiar, almost cleansing after so damn long. He was more aware of his old man’s hard, hot grip than the pain as blood pooled in his cupped palms, then spilled over and splashed on the stones of the sacred chamber.
Magic gathered around them, sparking red and gold, and filling the air with an expectant hum as Red-Boar yanked him close, eyes going narrow. “Listen up, and listen good. This isn’t like any oath you’ve taken before. It’s not some weak-assed compulsion spell; it’s the real deal. If you break your word, you break your connection to the boar bloodline, understand? So be really fucking sure.”
“What do you care if the bloodline rejects me?” Rabbit said, voice low enough that only the closest onlookers would hear. “You never wanted to accept me in the first place.”
“This isn’t about what I want. It’s about saving the godsdamned world.”
“So
what are you waiting for?”
Glaring, Red-Boar reached into his robe and withdrew a familiar leather pouch. It was worked with crimson and gold threads that twined together to outline the boar bloodline’s glyph, along with the sigils of the warrior and the mind-bender, just like the marks on the old man’s wrist. They were his damned ashes. Rabbit should know; he was the one who’d filled the bag and ritually sealed it into a hollow at the base of the altar. His eyes went to the spot, where now there was a darker smear of new, damp mortar, and his gut tightened.
He wasn’t just going to be swearing on his own blood. He was going to be using his father’s ashes.
“Pretty fucked up, huh?” Red-Boar looked at the bag for a moment, then said, “Hold out your hands.”
Rabbit reached his bloody fingers to take the bag, but instead of handing it over, Red-Boar upended the thing and dumped its contents. The ashes were gray and crumbly, and the whole mess hit Rabbit’s palms and poofed up in his face as he drew in a startled breath. And sucked up his father’s remains.
There were exclamations from the others, a couple of gags and lots of shifting feet, but Rabbit forced himself to hold it together as a dark taste hit his sinuses and the back of his throat, making him want to cough. His palms burned where the ashes mixed with his blood, and strange magic ate into him like acid, roughening his voice when he grated, “Get on with it.”
Red-Boar tucked the empty leather pouch into his robe, used the knife to slash his own palms, and then took both of Rabbit’s hands in his, letting their blood mingle. And, whether or not the old man liked that they were related, the blood-link formed instantly. Red-Boar’s power poured into Rabbit and flared through his veins, until he could feel the old bastard in every damn corner of his being. It was the first time he and his old man had linked up, the first time he’d felt the extra resonance that came from shared DNA. Which was ironic, really, considering that his old man was dead and he didn’t have magic of his own anymore.
“Concentrate on your bloodline mark and repeat after me.” Red-Boar rattled off a spell in the old tongue, one that Rabbit normally wouldn’t have been able to remember, never mind repeat. But somehow the words translated themselves in his head, grabbing on to him, burning themselves into his mind: “. . . by my own blood and the bones of my ancestor, I swear to obey my Keeper’s three demands.” His stomach clutched but he said the words, putting himself under Red-Boar’s command. Making the old man his fucking Keeper.
As he said the last of it, lines of fiery pain burned across his palms and then caught, flaming blue for a moment before they guttered and died, leaving his skin scoured clean of ashes and blood.
“By the Boar Oath, here is your first order,” Red-Boar said without preamble. “Obey your king without exception.” Rabbit felt the order take root, dig in, and twine itself into a hard little knot at the back of his head, where his magic used to be. It wasn’t painful so much as intrusive. Unsettling, knowing the threat was there. His old man continued, “By the Boar Oath, here is your second order: Do not physically hurt any of your teammates—Nightkeeper, winikin, human, it doesn’t matter. Don’t hurt them.” Which only went to prove that Dez had written the orders, because Red-Boar wouldn’t have bothered to add the humans and winikin.
The second order settled itself in his brain, making him feel invaded, controlled. “What’s the third one?” Rabbit asked, his voice sounding strange in his own ears.
“We’re going to save that one for now,” Dez said. But while the answer had come from the king, Red-Boar’s eyes glinted with satisfaction.
Bastard, Rabbit thought, but squelched the anger. This was his punishment, after all. More, despite the oath, his onetime teammates were all looking at him with varying degrees of wariness and skepticism, warning that he still had a long way to go with them. All except Myrinne, whose level gaze said it didn’t matter what he said or did, she didn’t intend to trust him ever again.
Ah, baby. He wanted to get her away from the others and tell her that he wasn’t that guy anymore, that he’d finally learned his lesson. But no matter how important Myr might be to him, she couldn’t be his priority right now. It didn’t take the Boar Oath to tell him that.
So, focusing on Dez but talking to all of them, really—and especially her—Rabbit said, “I’ve taken the vow, and I damn well mean it. You don’t have to trust me, but the gods seem to think you need to use me . . . so let’s get started.”
The king looked at him for a few seconds, weighing his sincerity. Then a gleam entered his eyes, and he nodded. “Well, then. Seems to me that we need to figure out how the magic works between you and Myrinne, what the crossover is supposed to do . . . and why the hell the gods want you on our side when all you ever seem to do is blow shit up.”
* * *
As the crowd in the sacred chamber started dispersing, Myr slipped out the back door and headed for an empty apartment wing–turned–storage area that had little to recommend it except a side door that would get her back to her quarters in the mage’s wing without having to stop and talk to anybody.
In the deserted hallway, cloths were draped over sideboards and chairs, protecting them from stacks of boxed ammo and other gear, and dust motes hung in the air and swirled in the light coming from the curtain-hung windows. Her stomach churned as she walked, but while she’d skipped breakfast, it wasn’t hunger talking—it was her better sense, the part of herself she had learned to listen to over the past few months. Right now, it was telling her to get back to her routine and do her damnedest to pretend that nothing had changed . . . even though as of yesterday, everything had changed.
“Myr. Wait up.”
Damn. It was Rabbit’s voice, Rabbit’s bootfalls suddenly sounding in the hallway behind her.
Which was partly her fault—she would have sensed him through the magic if she hadn’t blocked him so thoroughly, been so determined to ignore the faint tickle of warmth that had kindled at the base of her skull with his return.
She stopped and turned back to face him. He halted a few paces away, eyes dark with lingering exhaustion, along with the pain of having just sworn himself under his father’s thumb. Refusing to feel sympathy, she said, “What do you want?”
I want you, Myr. I came back for you. The words came in his voice and sent a shiver down her spine, but they weren’t real. They couldn’t be, not with the magic blocked off. But that meant they came from inside her, from the weak, wistful part of her that kept thinking how Michael, Brandt and Lucius had all overcome the influence of the dark magic to become better men—and mates—than ever before.
But her smarter self said that Rabbit wasn’t any of those guys. He was the crossover. And the one thing they knew about the crossover was that he was supposed to wield both light and dark magic. Maybe he was channeling only his Nightkeeper powers right now, but that wouldn’t last. Soon, he would have to embrace the darkness again. And she didn’t want to be anywhere near him when he did.
Eyes level on hers, he said, “I want you to know that I won’t hurt you, ever again. Even without the oath, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Jamming her hands in her pockets, she scowled. “I’m not afraid of you, but that doesn’t mean I want to hang out, either. You said yesterday that you’d leave me alone. So how about you start now?”
But he shook his head. “During the spell, the blood-link sent my old man’s power into me, but it didn’t flip the switch on my magic. You’re the only one who can do that, Myr . . . which is why Dez wants us to do some experiments and figure out what’s going on with my magic, the sooner the better.”
“It’s not your magic.” Temper sparking, she slipped the ash wand from her pocket and felt a faint hum enter her bloodstream. “It’s mine now.”
A flick of her wrist opened a nearby box of jade-tipped bullets. Even though she’d practiced endless hours with the magic, the move still sent a burst of energy and wonder through her. Telekinesis. Gods. Power flowed through her, thick, rich
and glorious, and making her feel like she could do anything. Using her mind to direct the energy now, she plucked a single bullet from the box, sent it skimming through the air like a special effect in an unscripted movie, and then brought it to a halt, so it spun gently in midair between them.
Rabbit watched the bullet. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, Myr. We can work together, fight together, just like we did yesterday. I’m not asking for anything more.”
“Yesterday was a fluke.” More, she didn’t want to fight with him, connected through the magic; it was too much like she used to picture, pretending they were both Nightkeepers, destined mates who went into battle as lovers and partners.
Back then, she’d had the man and wished for the magic. Now she had the magic and wished the man would leave her alone.
“I don’t think it was a fluke . . . and if it was, we need to know that, too.” He took another step toward her, so there were only a few feet—and a spinning bullet—between them. “Try it, Myr. Please. Drop the blocks and let’s see if the magic comes to me again.”
“Damn it.” She didn’t want to, but what other choice was there? The Nightkeepers needed their crossover, and she had his magic. Or at least the good-guy half of it. “Fine. Okay. Fine, I’ll do it.”
Gods, she hated this.
Yesterday, the connection had formed spontaneously, unbidden. Now, she concentrated on the place at the back of her skull where she’d blocked the power flow. Stomach churning, she gestured with the ash wand and relaxed the mental blockade, releasing the eager-feeling magic.
It flung toward him as if magnetized; she felt it go, felt it connect, and despair clawed at the confirmation that they were going to be joined more intimately than ever. She might have the magic inside her, but it wanted to be with him, would find a way to get to him, just as it had yesterday. A chill ran through her at the thought that it might leave her utterly. Please gods, no.
“Ah, shit.” His face smoothed and filled as the magic entered him. “Good. That’s so fucking good.”
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