Spellfire n-8

by Jessica Andersen

  Sobering, he glanced back at the patient, who had sunk deeper beneath the virus, until she was barely tugging at her bonds and taking halfhearted snaps at her attendants while muttering disjointed epithets and warnings. “Poor thing. We’ll dose her with our drugs and your herbs, which should slow things down. I didn’t call you to talk to her, though. I need . . . well, it’s probably better if you see for yourself.”

  “We’ve got this,” said the linebacker-looking attendant, waving him off. “I’ll get the meds into her and set her up for the night.”

  The doctor nodded. “If you have a chance, try to find some family. If you can learn anything else about her and the little girl, it might help.”

  Anna was all too familiar with the vague hospital-speak that translated to “don’t alarm the patient, but we don’t know fuck-all about what’s going on here,” but the instinctive kick of irritation it brought was dampened by his obvious frustration. “What little girl?” she prodded.

  “Follow me.” He shucked his gloves and dumped them in an overflowing bin out in the tent-city hallway, then pulled out a fresh pair from the pocket of his lightweight coat, which had an ID badge clipped to the collar and DAVE written on a pocket in faded blue Sharpie. As he led her through the human traffic, dodging laundry carts and gurneys with the ease of long practice, he said over his shoulder, “The cops brought them both in this morning after a neighbor reported hearing screams. They found a man and a woman dead out in the front room—they were infected, but it looked like a murder-suicide. The little girl was locked in the bathroom and the woman you just saw was going at the door with a hammer, screaming that she was going to kill the little devil. The virus must’ve crossed the blood-brain barrier, though that’s not the normal presentation. Anyway, we’re guessing she’s a relative.” He grimaced. “You saw what she was like.”

  “Scary,” Anna said softly. “And very sad.”

  “Yeah.” He stopped outside a closed door near the end of the hallway. There was a hand-drawn biohazard symbol on the door, along with DO NOT ENTER in three languages. Putting a hand on the knob, he said, “This is a rough one. Kids always are.”

  “I’m tougher than I look.” You have no idea.

  He didn’t look convinced, but nodded and pushed through, paused a moment to survey the patient, and then said, “Come on in.”

  Anna stepped through into a smaller room, which was hot and stuffy despite a narrow window vent near the ceiling. The space was maybe ten by ten, and held two beds; one was empty, the other occupied by the heartbreakingly small figure of a child.

  She was curled on her side as much as a set of padded, too-large restraints allowed, and barely made a lump beneath a soft blanket that was decorated with smiling cartoon teddy bears in jarring primary colors. It had no doubt been a donation from some group or another and designed to cheer up younger patients. Here, though, it just emphasized the gloom of the shantytown hospital and the pallor of the little girl’s face, which was a sharp contrast to her dark lashes and the glossy blue-black hair that had escaped from a thick braid.

  The sight of a pink ribbon tied at the end of her braid—and the smear of bloody fingerprints on the crumpled bow—had Anna blowing out a steadying breath and telling herself, You’re here to help, not hurl. The latter was tempting, though, as the antiseptic-laced smell of disease and jammed-together people went suddenly oppressive.

  She’d said she could handle a sick child. Maybe she’d been wrong. Suck it up. You can do this.

  The girl was murmuring something, her lips moving almost soundlessly.

  “Hey there, Rosa,” the doctor said gently, in English. “I’ve brought the lady I told you about. Can you open your eyes and talk to us?”

  “I’m still not sure what you need me for,” Anna said, equally softly. “If the mother speaks Spanish, and the child understands English, what—”

  “Lean in,” he said, waving her to the bed. “Listen.”

  She leaned in . . . and froze as the girl said, in perfect ancient Mayan, “Ilik oolah. Tun k’eex le ka’ano’ tin kaxtik aantah.” Greetings, seer. The sky is changing, and we need your help.

  * * *

  Oc Ajal, Mexico

  Myr and Rabbit didn’t have any big “aha!” moments picking through the overgrown remains of Anntah’s hut, and they didn’t get anything when they spiraled out around the site, searching for a hotspot, a spike in the force, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. Some sort of evidence that they were on the right track.

  There was plenty of dark magic—she could dimly sense it as a greasy shiver down her spine—but that was all. Which left them standing back at the main fire pit, feeling like that was where they’d been heading all along. One look at Rabbit’s face and she knew it wasn’t her imagination. He was tight and withdrawn, his eyes shadowed as he stared down at the spot where his grandfather had died. Or maybe it would be more accurate to call the old bastard his breeder. His creator. Gods.

  She swallowed as sympathy warred with uneasiness. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He hesitated. “You’re not going to like it.”

  Probably not. “Try me.”

  “Phee never really mentioned the crossover, or what she was going to do with my magic once she had it. Which makes me think she didn’t know everything about it . . . and that would mean the Banol Kax don’t, either. If that’s the case, then we can assume that Anntah’s soul never made it to Xibalba, because sure as shit they would’ve pumped him dry.”

  “Okay. So you’re thinking . . . what, that his soul was destroyed?” It sounded logical enough, but didn’t do anything to ease the shimmies in her stomach.

  “Not exactly. He used a seriously powerful dark-magic spell to anchor his soul to his body, so he could talk to me when I got here. So I was thinking . . . what if his soul got stuck?” He gestured to the fire pit. “What if he’s still here?”

  Myr’s mouth went dry. “You want to summon Anntah’s ghost.” It wasn’t a question.

  He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, but there was nothing casual in his expression as he said, “It’s the best theory I’ve got right now. Unless you’ve got another idea?”

  “How about anything that doesn’t involve summoning another one of your relatives from beyond the grave?”

  “It’s not like I want to do it this way, especially not with you here.”

  “Because you knew I would argue?”

  “Look around you.” His gesture encompassed the village. “The whole place reeks of dark magic. I used it to bring Anntah’s soul back the last time, and I’m going to need to use it again.”

  She lifted her chin. “I won’t run away from you this time. I sw—”

  “Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t promise me that, not ever. In fact, promise me that you’ll run if you need to, call for help, whatever it takes. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  Suddenly, it didn’t feel like he was talking about just here and now. She remembered what he’d said back in the cave, about not wanting her beside him during the final battle. She hadn’t really thought about it at the time—too many other things had been going on. Now, though, as he faced off against her wearing combat black and bristling with weapons, with his eyes fierce and his jaw set in a stubborn line, she could picture him standing alone in the final battle, so damn determined to make things right that he wasn’t thinking of anything else. Even himself. “Rabbit . . .” she began.

  “Promise me.” He looked away, voice roughening. “I’m not kidding, Myr. I’ve kept the dark magic under control so far, but it hasn’t been testing me. It is now, though. It wants out. And once it’s out, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle it.”

  Oily brown magic surging in the air, pulsing and writhing as if something was trying to be born from the other side of the barrier. Rabbit looming over her with his ceremonial knife at her throat and dark-magic madness in his eyes. The images came straight from her nightmares.

  She shov
ed them aside. “Stop trying to scare me.”

  “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to protect you, damn it.”

  “Well, knock it off.” She called her magic and cast a crackling green shield around her body. “I can take care of myself. What’s more, I can keep an eye on you and make sure things don’t go very wrong . . . or I can deal with it if they do.” She tapped her armband, indicating the dead man’s switch she’d had JT install. “One way or another.”

  He stilled. “You knew.”

  “I guessed it would come to something like this. Why would you come to Oc Ajal otherwise? And I figured I was the best one to stand guard, both over you and against you.” She paused. “Besides, I think I need to do this. It’s one thing to say I can handle myself and another to actually prove it.”

  Phee’s ghost had nearly killed both of them. Anntah’s wouldn’t get the same chance. Not if she had anything to say about it.

  He hesitated, then blew out a breath. “Shit, Myr.”

  “You can do this,” she said, and heard the words echo back to her old self, the one who’d had his back no matter what. “Just remember whose side you’re on, okay?”

  For the first time in days, she caught a flash of his grin. “Okay.” Then he sobered. “Okay. Let’s do this.” Turning to face the fire pit once more, he pulled his combat knife from his belt and used it to cut his palms.

  Red blood welled and flowed, the air stirred around them, and Myr’s heart stuttered. Oh, hell. They were really doing this. Reminding herself that she had asked for it, argued for it, she held her ground as a faint rattle hissed to life, as if a giant snake had been disturbed. Her heart thudded, but where the other day the syncopated beat had sounded like I’m-alive, I’m-alive, now it sounded like oh-shit, oh-shit, oh-shit.

  She stayed put, though. Not because there wasn’t anywhere to run to, but because she wasn’t going to leave Rabbit behind.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Chichén Itzá, Mexico

  Anna’s mind raced as she stared at the child and tried not to let Dr. Dave see how thoroughly freaked out she was, or how sudden sharp hope flared through her, making it hard to breathe. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered in the ancient language.

  The little girl—or whatever entity was speaking through her—said, “There is a ruby skull hidden within the chac-mool at the center of your home. It holds the key to your powers and the secret of the true gods.”

  Anna fought not to gasp. According to the archive, thirteen life-sized crystal skulls had come out of the sinking city with the earliest of the Nightkeepers, the ones who had built the barrier to contain the demons in Xibalba. Four had been sacrificed to the underworld, four had been sent into the sky, and four had been given to mankind. The last and final one had been split into thirteen smaller amulets, one for each of the itza’at bloodlines. As far as she knew, hers was the only one left.

  What if there was another? What if it could awaken her powers? Excitement whipped through her and her voice shook as she said, “Who are you?”

  But Rosa’s expression didn’t change and she didn’t answer. After a moment, she said, “Greetings, seer.” And Anna’s heart sank as she repeated the message, word for word.

  “She just keeps saying the same thing, over and over,” David said. “What does it mean?”

  Anna jolted at the doctor’s question. Keep it together, she warned herself. Don’t let him guess what’s really going on. How could he, though? The truth was so far out of normal reality that it wouldn’t even compute for most rational humans. He’d think she was insane.

  She chose her words carefully. “It’s ancient Mayan, sort of. But it’s gibberish, like someone taught her a few words, but not their meanings or syntax.” There was no reason for her to feel guilty about lying. It was for his own protection.

  “You’re sure?” Behind the face shield, his eyes were too perceptive.

  “I’m sorry.” That was no lie. “What were you hoping for?”

  “Something . . . more.” Expression going rueful, he shot a glance at the now-dozing child and said in an undertone, “The way that woman was calling her the devil and blaming her for the outbreak and all . . . Intellectually, I know she was raving, that both cases are just atypical presentations of the virus. But after reading the stuff you sent over, about bloodletting, rituals, sacred incense and gods and stuff, when one of the volunteers told me she thought Rosa was speaking an old Mayan dialect . . . well, I guess I was hoping she might tell us something useful.”

  She did. Thank you for calling me. “Like what?”

  “More herbal remedies, maybe, or an incantation.” At her startled look, he shrugged. “The station where I grew up put the ‘out’ in outback. I was making potions long before I learned about chemical drugs, so you’re not going to get any guff about traditional medicine from me. Some of the other doctors, maybe, but not me.”

  Rosa was murmuring in her sleep. The same thing, over and over again. There is a ruby skull . . .

  “It’s not a cure,” Anna said softly. Worse, the message was specifically for her, which meant she was the reason the child had been chosen. The gods had seen her as a way to get to Anna. Why not just send me a damn vision? she thought viciously. But they couldn’t, of course, because her subconscious was blocking her magic. Her fault. Swallowing, she asked, “What will happen to her?”

  “If she lives? Foster care, probably.”

  Anna knew she couldn’t afford to get any more involved than she already was—not with Rosa, her aunt, or any of the other motionless figures bound to their beds in rooms nearby, and certainly not with the handsome doctor. They were part of the larger fight, not its focus. But she said, “I’ll keep looking for cures.”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t mean to put this on you. It’s not your fight.”

  Oh, yes it is. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

  “Do that. Or, hell, just come to the main entrance and have someone track me down.” His hazel eyes locked on hers through the shield, going suddenly intent. “How much longer are you going to be here?”

  “I don’t know. A few days, maybe longer.”

  “Where are you staying again?”

  “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . shit.” She didn’t want to lie to him. He was a good man. Faking a look at her wristband, she said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.”

  She was through the door before he could say anything else, heading up the corridor at a fast walk as the panel thunked shut.

  Moments later, it wonked back open. “Anna, wait!”

  I can’t. Pretending not to hear, she ducked through a makeshift decontamination area that led from the inner area to the outer ring of buildings. There, she shucked off her protective clothing and sailed through a half-assed monitoring station, giving a vague wave when the guy called after her in Spanish.

  Outside, she dodged around a ragged knot of shell-shocked-looking locals she guessed were the family members of a newly made xombi. “Sorry,” she murmured as she got around them, apologizing for far more than crowding them, though they would never know it.

  “Wait, damn it.” A hand grabbed her arm and swung her around, and she found herself with her back against the wall, staring up at David, who looked frustrated and grumpy, and as flustered as she’d yet seen him. He had shucked off his gear, too, and his bare hand on her forearm seemed suddenly very naked, as did his bewilderment. “Anna, seriously. What’s going on here?”

  She tried to edge around him, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t a good time. I really need to go.” Her mind raced, but even though she’d spent an entire career—and an entire marriage—playing human, with all the lies that had entailed, now she couldn’t come up with a damn thing.

  “What aren’t you telling me? Are you in some sort of trouble? Damn it, I told you to watch out for the cops.”

  “It’s not . . .” She trailed off, because she didn’t know what it was or wasn’t anymore, couldn’t wrap her head ar
ound anything with him touching her.

  When was the last time she’d been this close to a man who wasn’t one of her teammates? When was the last time someone other than Strike had crowded her overprotectively, trying to make sure she was safe? How sad was it that she couldn’t remember? The answer should’ve involved her ex, and maybe it did, but she couldn’t remember how it had felt to have Dick’s body this near hers, and he’d never been one to get big and protective, at least not over her.

  She had told herself she liked that he respected her independence, and maybe back then she had. Now, though, she was badly tempted to lean into David’s warm, solid strength.

  Instead, she braced a hand on his chest and levered him back several inches, until their bodies weren’t touching anywhere except at palm and wrist. Then she broke those contacts, too, dropping her hand from his chest and using it to pry his fingers off her wrist. He let go immediately, looking surprised to find that he was holding her at all. Which left them standing there at the edge of the hallway chaos, not touching anymore. But not moving either.

  “Talk to me,” he said quietly, urgently.

  She shook her head, denying more than just the question. “You’ve been on shift too long, doctor, with too many weird things happening. You’re imagining things.”

  “Am I?”

  “I’m just a linguist.”

  “No, you’re not.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “You’re a top-notch Mayanist who hasn’t published anything in nearly three years, and who’s been on sabbatical for the past year and a half, since not all that long after your grad student protégé got in trouble for defending a thesis on the twenty-twelve doomsday . . . which by my calendar is just over a week away. And that makes this outbreak—and your presence here—look awfully coincidental.”

  Anna. Couldn’t. Breathe. “You had me investigated?”

  “If you call spending five minutes on Google the same as having you investigated, then yeah, I did.” His features tightened. “Look, I’m not trying to freak you out or come off like Creepy Stalker Guy, but I was interested, okay? Even more so once you sent me the recipe for a wacky-sounding herbal mix that actually worked.” He lifted a hand, but then let it fall again without touching her. “That’s why I called you when Rosa came in and started spouting ancient Mayan . . . because I need to know what’s really going on here. Is this the beginning of the end, an army of darkness, or what?”