Spellfire n-8

by Jessica Andersen

  That was all she got, just a flash, there and gone in an instant. But it was a real memory, one that imprinted itself on all of her senses, so much so that for a moment she could hear the rumble of her father’s voice, feel the nap of the hallway runner beneath her Reeboks and smell the faintest hint of lemon furniture polish.

  But when she blinked she found herself in the here and now, with her parents long gone, her boots planted on limestone dust, and the doctor regarding her with a glint of challenge in eyes that, up close, were a mix of green and brown rather than real hazel.

  It was ironic, really, that this man, this human, would be the one to shake loose a memory of those last few days when all her spells had failed. Not that the memory in question would do a damn thing to help her summon the visions, but still.

  Letting out a long, slow breath that didn’t ease the tightness in her chest, she said, “Okay, here goes. You see this one?” She touched a glyph that showed a peccary with curlicue tusks beside the line-and-dot notation for a number. “It refers to King Ten-Boar. This one means there was a war or a fight, but this symbol over it means it had gone on for a very long time. And this one . . .”

  Realizing that he probably didn’t care about the exact translation of each glyph and phoneme—and that she was stalling—she shrugged. “Basically, it says that King Ten-Boar had a dream he claimed the gods had sent him, telling him how he could defeat his enemies once and for all. His advisers tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he ordered his entire army to march, leaving the women and children behind to guard the city.” Her voice went flat, her insides hollow. “The dream was a lie, or maybe just wishful thinking. Either way, Ten-Boar’s enemies ambushed him, slaughtered his troops and then marched on the city and imprisoned everyone there. Some they used as sacrifices, others as slaves.”

  She had dragged her fingertips along the glyphs as she’d told the story, not as it was written—in an ancient, stilted style—but as she had heard it too many times in the days leading up to the massacre. Now, her fingers rested on the last glyph in the string. Worn almost indecipherable, she knew what it was without squinting, as her fingers found the familiar sockets and gaping mouth.

  It was the screaming skull, the symbol for the end-time war. A warning to those who, a thousand years later, would do their damnedest to hold the barrier when the zero date came.

  What are you trying to tell me? Something? Nothing? What?

  There was no answer from the gods, though.

  He was watching her intently. “It bothers you. It happened centuries ago, but it still bothers you to put yourself in their places and think of what it must’ve been like.”

  She shifted, glancing toward where part of the tent city was just visible beyond the ruins, fenced off and plastered with KEEP OUT signs in three languages, along with biohazard symbols and a spray-painted skull and crossbones. “It bothers me to see what’s happening to their descendants right now, and to know that none of us are safe.”

  “So you snuck down here, thinking maybe you could help.” The suspicion had leached from his expression.

  She shrugged. “It seemed worth a shot.”

  “Any luck?”

  “No. But I’m not giving up.” She didn’t dare, with the countdown ticking toward its end.

  “You’re staying in the area?”

  “Pretty close,” she said, deliberately vague. “I’ll keep out of the hot zone, though.” More or less. Then, remembering her plan to gather intel, she said, “What’s it like in there?”

  He grimaced. “Brutal. Frustrating. Heartbreaking.” Seeming to catch himself wanting to say more, he drew back and stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked out over the rows of crumbling stelae. “We can’t even figure out how the disease really works. Part of it acts like a normal virus, like the flu bug or whatever. Or maybe rabies is a better comparison, since it’s transmitted through saliva bites, rapes, that sort of thing.” He shot her an uncomfortable look. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Though it was nice to be treated like a woman rather than a warrior for a change. Which made her, just for a second, wonder how he saw her. With her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, zero makeup and field clothes that had seen better days—

  Doesn’t matter. Get your intel and get out. She didn’t have time to pretend she was normal, didn’t even really have the time she had taken for this trip.

  But the doc stayed silent, still looking off at the middle distance, where the Pyramid of Kulkulkan rose with its iconic silhouette. That was why he had come out here, she realized—he’d needed to get away from the tent city, away from the frustration of not being able to find a cure.

  You can’t cure it, she could have told him. All you can do is try to contain it. The humans were doing a good job of slowing the spread . . . which was helpful, because the fewer xombis there were, the weaker the demons’ reinforcements would be on the final day. And the better the humans’ chances for survival.

  The Nightkeepers and winikin would bear the brunt of the end-time war, but there would likely be human casualties, too. Maybe lots of them. Always before, Anna had told herself that even huge losses would be acceptable so long as mankind continued on. Now, though, she thought of the people she’d met over the years in what had become the hot zone, everyone from villagers in thatch huts to executives in high-rise penthouses, all vulnerable now. Some were probably already dead, others infected and dying.

  And standing against the demons’ vile disease were men like this one—tough and determined. And human.

  The doc shrugged and looked back at her, his expression tinged with grief and worry. “To be honest we’re running out of ideas. If your research turns up anything at all . . . well, I’d like to hear about it.”

  “You will.” And that was a promise. More, she would put Lucius and Natalie on it, and see what they could turn up in the archives. Granted, they’d been through it all before, trying to get ahead of the first outbreak, far up in the Mayan highlands. But maybe there was something else, some subtle hint that could help the humans fight the xombi virus.

  This time when he reached behind his back, she didn’t tense up. He came up with a battered wallet of leather-edged nylon, and from there produced a business card that he held out. “Call me and we’ll meet someplace safe.”

  It shouldn’t have felt like a big deal to take the card. She gave it a glance. “Well, then, Doctor Curtis.”

  “David. Or Dave.” He paused expectantly.

  “Anna Catori.” She rattled off her phone number, then opened her free hand to show that it was empty. “Sorry, didn’t bring a card.”

  His eyes locked on her palm, where the sacrificial cut had healed to its usual scar, but blood had dried to rusty streaks. “What’d you do there?”

  He reached out and caught her wrist before she could yank it back. And he stilled at the sight of her forearm—not the black glyph-marks of her bloodline and magic, which he would no doubt think were tattoos, but the raised white crisscrosses below.

  “I nicked myself on a rock,” she said, meeting his eyes and daring him to mention the scars. “It’s nothing.” Nothing she wanted to talk about. Nothing he could help with. “Just a scratch.”

  His eyes searched hers, but he said only, “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He hesitated a long moment, then exhaled. “Well, call me if you find something. And be careful, will you? If the militia doesn’t shoot at you, then the real looters will.”

  She didn’t tell him she could take care of herself, or that they wouldn’t see her unless she allowed it. She just nodded. “I will.” But as she reclaimed her hand, she had a strong feeling that they had just agreed to far more than a phone call.

  He watched her go, no doubt trying to figure out how much of what she’d told him was a lie—which was all of it and none of it, really. Dez would be pleased. She hadn’t gotten anything out of Doctor Dave that they didn’t already know, but
the possibility was there, and he was someone they could leak suggestions to, if anything came up.

  More, she had a feeling that meeting him had been important. Maybe it hadn’t been gods-destined, but she had needed the reminder that the outbreak was affecting living, breathing people. Mothers, fathers, children, loved ones . . .

  “Hell,” she muttered under her breath as she headed down the raised stone sacbe that led toward the cenote, where she could use the small temple to shield her from view while she ’ported back to Skywatch.

  Her first stop was going to be the royal suite, to report back to Dez . . . but her second was going to be the library. She might not be able to summon the visions, but she was a researcher, a translator, and damn good at what she did. There had to be something more the humans could do to fight the xombi virus. And she was going to find it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  December 10

  Eleven days until the zero date

  Skywatch

  In the week and a half following Rabbit’s return, Myrinne met with him two, sometimes three times a day, first to figure out the limits of the shared magic, and then to train with him. Because, like it or not, she was the only one who could trigger his powers. There was no sign of his darker side . . . but the sex magic remained a problem. She had learned how to throttle it down, muting the raw lust with meditation, crystals and chants, but the urges remained. It was as if her body cared only that he had been her lover and not why that couldn’t happen anymore.

  He hadn’t been her first—there had been plenty of guys in the Quarter who’d been up for a no-harm-no-foul encounter, and her body had been one of the few things she had controlled back then. Rabbit had been the first who mattered, though . . . and he had been the first to totally consume her world, the first to break her heart. She kept that firmly in her mind as they trained, and did her damnedest not to touch him. The linked magic was bad enough. Physical contact was worse. And when it all got to be too much, she retreated to her quarters and hit the Internet, not to Web surf, but to help search for more information on the xombi virus and the crossover’s magic.

  As the days passed, finding anything new on the crossover started to seem like an impossible quest . . . until she hit the jackpot.

  Okay, it was a small jackpot, but still. It was something.

  “No shit.” She stared at the picture on the page in front of her. It was a purple painting with too many five-pointed stars, but she was willing to bet that it was a reference to the crossover. Courtesy of a kid’s book she’d ordered from Amazon’s Witchcraft and Spirituality department, no less. Go figure.

  The picture didn’t look like Rabbit—more like Gandalf with a touch of Martha Stewart—but the figure was clearly straddling the line between day and night, with one foot in the darkness and the other in the light. More, he was wreathed in fire, and the old doomsday standbys—bell, book and candle—were hanging suspended in front of him. Pyrokinesis, telekinesis and a text that talked about a man who was supposed to “build a bridge between the darkness and light on the day of final reckoning”?

  Yeah, that was the crossover, all right, smack dab in the middle of a Wiccan-influenced children’s story about something called the Gatekeeper’s Doomsday. She didn’t know whether the story had come from the Nightkeepers and morphed from there, or if it had another, more human origin. Either way, score one for her.

  The buzz of discovery didn’t last long, though. Not once she read the rest of the text beside the picture.

  The Crossing Guard stands at the bridge between day and night. A lone warrior, he can free the armies of the dead when the world rests on the brink of war.

  “A lone warrior,” she said aloud, chest going hollow. “Damn it. Just . . . damn it.”

  A few of the other references had hinted that the crossover was supposed to go into the war alone, without a fighting partner at his side. Worse, Lucius had come up with a spell he thought would shift her magic back to Rabbit. So far, Dez hadn’t ordered them to make the transfer, but she had a feeling that one more reference—like this one—would tip the scales.

  Lose it, said a small voice inside her, and it was tempting. She couldn’t, though; she just couldn’t. So instead she took the book to the royal wing, holding it against her chest as she knocked on the carved doors leading to Dez and Reese’s quarters.

  “It’s open,” he called.

  She found the king in the main sitting area, going over something on his laptop. Holding out the book, she flipped to the right page, and said, “You’re going to want to read this.”

  He took it, skimmed it, and grimaced. “A lone warrior. Damn it.”

  “That’s pretty much what I said.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders. “I’ll do it, though. It’s time.” Her voice didn’t shake, didn’t do anything to betray how much she hated the idea of losing the magic.

  Dez reached out and squeezed her shoulder in a rare show of sympathy. “I’m truly sorry. And to be honest, I hope the spell doesn’t work, because you make a hell of a mage . . . But if it does work, remember that you’re one of us, Myrinne. Whether you’re kicking ass with magic or a machine gun, I’d want you on my side any damn day, even if it’s the last day. Especially if it’s the last day.”

  “Thanks. That matters.” She didn’t let him see just how much it mattered. “But before you show me too much more love, I need to ask you for a couple of favors.”

  “Such as?”

  “No offense, but I’m done with public performances. I want this to be just me and Rabbit.”

  He hesitated, then tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I can’t say I blame you. And it’s not like you can’t handle yourself with him. You’ve made that plenty clear since he got back.”

  Which just went to show that she was a better actress than she thought. But all she said was, “Thanks.” Then, taking a deep breath, she added in a rush, “Next favor . . . I want to do it in the winikin’s cave.”

  The cave, which was painted with the strange, ghostly animals that the winikin could call from beyond the barrier, was where she had taken Rabbit’s prized stone eccentrics, hoping to purify them of whatever evil spells they were casting on him. Instead, he had followed her, held a knife to her throat, and accused her of being the enemy.

  She hadn’t set foot near the cave since that day, hadn’t ever planned to . . . but her gut said that if she wanted to move forward, she first had to go back.

  Dez scowled. “That’s outside the blood-ward.”

  “I don’t like it, either, but you have to admit that it makes sense. What has happened before, and all that.” She swallowed. “I need to bring this full circle, Dez.”

  More, she had to do whatever the Nightkeepers needed her to do, at least for the next week and a half. And after that . . . hell, she didn’t know. Whenever she tried to picture her life after the twenty-first of December, all she got was a blank screen and some static, like her inner Cablevision was on the fritz. She didn’t have a clue what she was going to do in the aftermath.

  The others had their plans—Patience and Brandt were itching to reunite with their twins, and would probably move to New England, where Jox and Hannah—the boys’ winikin and current guardians—would reopen the garden center that had long been Jox’s dream. VR game designer Nate and fashion-forward Alexis would undoubtedly go somewhere and be creative, successful and disgustingly happy; Jade and Lucius would probably fund an esoteric Mayan dig somewhere and eat weird food; Strike and Leah would get into law enforcement or private security and have a half dozen kids; and Myrinne . . . well, she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do. She didn’t have a mate, didn’t have any real skills or hobbies, didn’t have much going for her beyond the magic, and soon she might not even have that.

  And she fucking refused to open up a tea shop, sell crappy crystals and illegal voodoo concoctions, pick pockets, and pass off cold reads as fortune-telling. Even if that was all she was really trained to do in t
he outside world.

  “I don’t like it,” Dez grumbled.

  “Me either,” she said, then realized he was talking about the cave. Regrouping, she added, “But if we’re going to try this, we need to give it the best chance of succeeding.” Duty first, she thought, blah, blah, blah and yadda-yadda. It was the truth, though. Now more than ever, their priorities needed to be to the war, the gods, their leader, and from there on down, with personal wants way at the bottom of the list.

  Thus, the cave.

  She and Dez went back and forth for a few more minutes, but in the end he agreed to her plan with a few choice expletives and a worried sigh that touched her more than it probably should have, warning her that her emotions were way too close to the surface right now, and she needed to find a way to dial them down before she met with Rabbit.

  “Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Dez asked.

  “Can you take care of it?”

  “Consider it done.” Hell glanced down at the book, then closed it and handed it back to her with a scowl of well, hell. “Looking at this from an earth-magic angle was good thinking, by the way. Very good thinking. In fact, I’m going to have Lucius and the rest of the brain trust do a broader search along these lines and see what else they can come up with. Okay with you if they give a shout-out with any questions?”

  “Of course.” The vindication helped some.

  The Witch’s spells might’ve been the bastard child of voodoo, devil worship and ancient Aztec rituals, but she’d kept a few Wiccan texts on the shelves for the sake of appearances. Myr had memorized the incantations and practiced them in secret, hiding her small crystals and hoarded scents. And now, at Skywatch, the earth magic was hers alone. More, there was no blood or violence, no sacrificing or swearing away bits of her soul; there was only the peace of incense, the solidity of crystal, the supple strength of wood and a sense of connecting to something far bigger than herself that welcomed her, supported her, and asked nothing in return.