Spellfire n-8

by Jessica Andersen

In the soft bluish glow of Anna’s foxfire spell, the child’s face was soft and sweet, yet it carried a trace of hidden mischief that promised a bright and lively little girl, if only she could fight off the virus.

  Guilt tugged. “We’re going to do it,” Anna said, keeping her voice down so nobody out in the hall would hear her. “We’re going to renounce the imposters and promise ourselves to the ancestors’ gods, right at Coatepec Mountain, where the bad guys are going to come through the barrier. And then . . . well, I guess we’ll pray for a miracle.” There was a chance—backed up by a couple of papyri—that once they were free of the kohan, the true gods would be able to help them.

  Maybe. Possibly.

  “I know I should be back in the library right now, working on more translations or helping Leah keep up morale, but I just . . . I needed some peace.”

  It probably should’ve seemed strange that she would find her peace here, in the middle of illness and death. But it was partly her fault that Rosa was here, and it helped to sit at her bedside, helped to be able to whisper, “I’m going to protect you. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re okay after all this.” One way or another. “I’m going to—”

  A muffled exchange reached her through the door, bringing her to her feet. She doused the foxfire and ramped up her magic, but her gut—those instincts the warriors swore by—told her not to ’port away this time. Her pulse kicked up a notch. Had her magic sensed danger on the other side of that door? Were the xombis mobilizing now that the time was near?

  With sudden energy sizzling along her skin, she cast a chameleon spell and stepped into the corner on the other side of the door, where the deepest shadows would be cast by the small camp lantern. Right now, it sat unlit on the cardboard box that had been set up as a nightstand, attesting that the little girl had become a favorite of more than a few staffers.

  In a flash, Anna had cataloged the contents of the room and their potential as a distraction or a weapon, and where before the thought process had so often felt awkward and ill-fitting, now it came naturally. And, as the hallway conversation cut out and the doorknob turned, she braced to defend the defenseless.

  She didn’t know if the intruder was xombi, makol, human or what, but it wasn’t getting past her without a fight.

  Hidden behind the chameleon shield, she bared her teeth as the door swung open and a small flashlight beam cut into the room, swept it in a casual look-see, and then fixed on the small bump beneath the teddy bears. The door swung shut and the beam headed for the bed . . . and in its reflected light, Anna saw a camp shirt rolled up over strong, tanned forearms, and a body that was sturdy and compact, and moved with an unswerving determination that said “Everything’s okay. I’m here.”

  She relaxed and blew out a silent breath. She knew that shirt, knew that arm and that way of moving. Ah, she thought. David. She didn’t know why she was surprised, why he hadn’t been her first thought when she’d heard the voices out in the hallway. Or maybe he had been and she hadn’t let herself go there. Because now her pulse was drumming with a different sort of adrenaline.

  She had seen him a couple of times in the past week, keeping up her pretense of being in the area while deflecting his curiosity. They had also exchanged a half dozen or so e-mails, notes that had started as quick updates on Rosa’s condition and had evolved to snippets of each of their days, with Anna telling half-truths that fit into the life she was supposed to be living, while he talked about being frustrated by the virus, the politics, the buzz about the coming doomsday. And eventually about himself, too. She now knew he’d been divorced for ten years, loved his work, and wasn’t looking to change his lifestyle. She also knew he still wondered about the scars on her wrists and the way Rosa had stopped talking after she’d passed along her message, but he didn’t ask about it. In fact, he didn’t ask anything, really. He just shared himself, slowly and cautiously, but with a quiet openness that drew her in.

  It was a very different flirtation than any she’d ever had before, and she was all too aware that most of it was lies, at least on her part. David thought he was talking to an academic on sabbatical, a woman in search of meaning in the wake of a life-changing event. And gods, how she wished that she could’ve been that woman, that it could’ve been that simple.

  It wasn’t, though. And she should go.

  There wasn’t any danger here; exactly the opposite. She could leave, knowing that Rosa was almost as safe as she would’ve been under Nightkeeper watch. But as David sat in the chair she’d just vacated, not giving any indication that he’d noticed its butt-print warmth, she stayed put, looking at him. Spying on him, really. But this might be the last time she saw him, so she would let herself look her fill.

  “See?” he said to the little girl, “I told you I’d be back. You ready to write her another little letter?”

  A thrill raced through Anna. Did he mean her?

  He dug in the pocket of his lab coat and came up with the little foldaway computer he used—a clever machine with a decent-sized keyboard and the ability to get a satellite uplink almost anywhere, at least according to him. He woke it up, tapped a few keys, and gave a little laugh. “It’s only been twelve hours since the last one. Too much, do you think?”

  The thrill turned to giddy, excited warmth, though Anna told herself to take it down a notch. This wasn’t the time to be crushing on her human contact.

  If not now, then when? her inner voice of reason asked.

  “Ah, heck,” David said, laughing at himself. “Nothing ventured and all that.” He patted the teddy bears near where Rosa’s hand would be. “I hope you’re taking notes, little one. You’ll need to know this stuff in another ten years or so. And don’t think it’s irrelevant because I’m, well, not as young as I was the first time around, or as young as you’re going to be when you start trying it out for yourself.” He looked down at the scant paunch that just barely overhung his belt, sat up straighter until it went away, and grinned. “Well, anyway. Love makes you goofy, no matter what age it hits.”

  Anna’s breath whooshed out, loud enough that she was very glad the chameleon shield cloaked sounds as well as her image. Love? She had been thinking of it as a crush, infatuation, interest . . . but love?

  Part of her backpedaled hard and fast, saying, No way. This is just . . . I don’t know. A distraction. At most, it’s the potential for something more, something to look forward to. But another part of her yearned toward the word, and toward the idea of a man who wanted her enough to suck in his gut and worry about how long it’d been since his last e-mail.

  She stared, drinking him in as he said, “Ah, well. In for a peso, or however that goes,” and started typing out a message.

  Her phone weighed suddenly very heavy in her pocket. When was the last time she’d been wanted? When was the last time she had wanted in return? When had she thought about loving and being loved, rather than about the war?

  She didn’t remember . . . and she didn’t remember it feeling like this before.

  With Dick, it had been more about being awed by his quick mind and caustic wit, and feeling so very normal when she was with him. Their love had evolved in a series of kite-flying dates—he designed and built them when he wasn’t being a brilliant economist—and their marriage had stayed solid for more than a decade. Eventually, though, infertility had undermined the foundation, boredom and lack of communication had knocked out more of the bricks, and his infidelity had eventually brought down the walls. Or maybe her being a Nightkeeper had more to do with it than she wanted to admit. She didn’t know anymore, wasn’t even sure she cared.

  She had truly loved Dick while it lasted. But even back when she’d been falling for him, her feelings for him hadn’t been anything like this. They hadn’t hit her like a funnel cloud of champagne, surrounding her with fizzy, tickling bubbles and making her head spin. And they sure as heck hadn’t made her want to tell him the truth about her, about everything.

  Don’t even think i
t.

  Maybe she was projecting. Maybe this was one of those, “I’m being deployed tomorrow, let’s shag,” impulses she’d heard about. Maybe when the day after tomorrow dawned—and, damn it, she would let herself believe there would be a day after tomorrow—she wouldn’t be dying to catch him alone and really touch him, more than just the casual brush of bodies in passing. It was so frustrating to feel that contact through the protective gear he still insisted she wear, even though the virus appeared to have entered stasis. She wanted to lose those layers, wanted his hands on her, his mouth on hers, and—

  Down, girl.

  She blew out a steadying breath as her pulse thudded in her ears. Maybe in forty-eight hours, with the world’s problems solved and her whole life opening back up in front of her, she would look at him and see just a guy who appeared to own three shirts, one pair of shoes, and no comb.

  She didn’t think so, though. And for right now, when she needed to believe in so many new, scary things, she would give herself permission to believe in this one, too.

  “Too much?” he asked, tipping the small display toward Rosa. “Yeah. I thought so.” He tapped a key, muttering, “Delete, delete, delete,” under his breath.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Anna said softly. It didn’t matter that he was thinking about her, writing to her; he didn’t know she was there, and would certainly be acting differently if he did.

  She should go.

  And she would. In a minute. Right now, though, she couldn’t pull her eyes from the intense concentration in his face as he typed one-handed, or the way his other hand rested on the teddy bear blanket, including Rosa in the moment. The camp light cast strange shadows, making him look larger than himself, larger even than the room itself.

  “How about this?” He tipped the screen again. “I think that’s better. Don’t you?”

  Rosa didn’t answer, but the image of the two of them together engraved itself on her mind, looking somehow both fragile and rock solid, and so very worth saving.

  Just go, she told herself. You can see them both later. Maybe. Hopefully.

  When the thought threatened to depress the shit out of her, she closed her eyes and made the ’port. And as the magic closed around her and yanked her from the room, she told herself not to think about the two people she was leaving behind, not to hash over something that shouldn’t be—couldn’t be—her main concern.

  Still, once she was back at Skywatch, alone in her suite, she checked her phone every thirty seconds or so until David’s e-mail came through. When it did, the ringtone made her jump and sent her pulse into overdrive.

  Her hand shook a little as she hit the key to bring up the message, and she made herself look away for a moment, partly to prove that she could, and partly to enjoy the anticipation. It was real. He was real, and he was interested in her for real.

  Finally, she blew out a breath and let herself look.

  Dear Anna,

  I hope this message finds you away from the doomsday craziness, perhaps even back in the States. Not that I want you gone, but I’d rather have you safe, even if it means I won’t have my favorite translator to call on, at least not in person. At least not right now. Granted, we’re safe here inside the zone, but the crowds are growing and small riots have already broken out beyond the perimeter. I’ve been out to tend some of the wounded, and I don’t want to see you among them. Please don’t make me.

  Ah, I’m messing this up, aren’t I? I don’t mean to be a downer, or to order you around. Blame it on the hours, I guess, or the frustration of knowing that although the virus has stalled, it did it on its own terms, and could, for all I know, kick back on at a moment’s notice. I hate that we’re not making any progress in curing it. Rosa is here with me right now, but there’s been no change. We’re just sitting here, waiting it out. But for how long? Will tomorrow really be the turning point? As much as I’ve tried to level off the doomsday rumors, it’s hard not to think that the tide is poised to turn. I just hope—pray, though I wouldn’t know what god or gods to pray to under the circumstances—that if things do turn around tomorrow, they turn in our favor.

  Blah, blah, blah, me, me, me. Like I said, I don’t mean to be a downer. So how about I move the heck on, and tell you something you don’t know, giving you one of the little vignettes we have begun to trade, which I look forward to more than you can know. You have started to show me a little of your life, and I respect you more with each small insight. I hope the same is true in reverse. Since I last wrote about my childhood, now I’ll give you a snippet of the present instead. Or, rather, the present I’d like to return to, for a day. A week. A month. However long I can manage.

  Which is the long way of saying that I’m attaching a picture of my cabin back home, where I go on the rare occasion that I can pull myself away from work. It’s small and basic—in fact, the amenities aren’t much better than here at the quarantine camp, come to think of it—but the views make me glad to be alive. I don’t know that I could live there full time, at least not at this point in my life—I need fast food and a challenge—but it helps me get through the dark times—like now—knowing that when they’re over, I can go there and just

  be.

  So have a look. I’m not sure what you’ll see in the picture, or even really what I want you to see. All I know is that I need a pick-me-up tonight, and wonder if you might not need one, too, so I’m sending you my happy place.

  Be well, Anna. Take care of yourself and watch out for the doomsday crazies.

  Yours,

  David

  It was the longest note he’d yet sent her, and the first that openly acknowledged that they were doing more than exchanging just updates on the virus and Rosa’s condition. Breathing through an emotion-choked throat, Anna read it twice, and found herself nodding as she read. Yes, I know. Yes, I feel the same way. Then she clicked on the attachment, and caught her breath. “Oh.”

  The picture showed David standing by a rustic cabin that was exactly as he’d advertised—small, simple and neat, with a lake edge nearby, a gorgeous mountain view and a huge sky spreading behind it. But although the scene was a postcard, she was far more interested in the man. His clothes were very much like the ones she’d seen him in when he was out of his scrubs—a long-sleeved shirt rolled up over his forearms, with worn jeans and battered boots. But although he was dressed the same, nothing else looked familiar.

  He was smiling broadly, looking relaxed and happy as he held up a stringer of fish and mugged for the camera.

  Looking at the picture, she yearned all over again, not just for the man she’d been getting to know, but for the same man entirely in his element. Or one of his elements. He hadn’t invited her to go with him, but the hope was there, she thought, between the lines. And oh, how she wanted to go.

  Yes, she could ’port herself there right now. But she didn’t want to go alone, and she didn’t want to cheat. She wanted to wait for him, to go there with him and see it through his eyes and her own.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned, but it was already too late.

  So, knowing she was playing a potentially dangerous game, she sent the e-mail to her desktop and printed out the picture in full color, and then folded it and tucked it into the combat gear she would wear tomorrow. And for the first time in a long, long time, she felt like she wasn’t going to just be fighting against the enemy . . . she’d be fighting for something, too. A future. And, maybe, a new life.

  Gods willing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  December 21

  Six hours until the Great Conjunction

  Skywatch

  Myr woke when the sunlight shone on her face, all too aware that today was the day. She had been dreading this solstice for so long . . . but now it was hard to believe it was finally upon them.

  Yeah, she could’ve bailed to hide out in a bunker somewhere and pray, but that hadn’t been an option for her any more than it had been for Rabbit. They both believed in
the Nightkeepers and the war . . . and Bastet’s message had struck major chords. So they were both still at Skywatch, both ready to renounce the sky gods, and then fight the kax and the kohan when the barrier fell.

  We might even die. She’d been trying on the concept for the past few days, trying to imagine how it would happen, what it would feel like. Sometimes picturing it made her weep, other times she just went numb. Right now, the terror was a dull throb.

  Maybe if she went back to sleep, when she woke up it would be tomorrow.

  Or not.

  Murmuring a protest, she turned her face into Rabbit’s warm bulk beside her, letting herself snuggle up against him a little tighter, with her head beneath his beard-shadowed jaw, her thigh over his.

  Yeah, she had stayed the night. So sue her.

  “Hey.” His voice was a warm rumble, his hand gentle when it skimmed up her arm to her throat, then to brush across her cheek. “Don’t.” It wasn’t until she felt the chill of cooling moisture that she realized there were tears on her cheek.

  “I’m not. I won’t.” She rolled away.

  “Don’t do that, either. Seriously.” He snaked out an arm, wrapped it around her waist and rolled her back into him in a smooth move that didn’t seem to take any effort for him, but wasn’t something she could fight. Not that she tried all that hard, because for a moment it almost felt like a regular morning, the kind they used to have.

  The kind she wanted to have more of.

  She had gone into this saying they had to keep it casual, that she wasn’t going to fall back into old patterns, but this wasn’t an old pattern—it was a new relationship, a new love affair. They spent their days together training, their nights together loving each other, talking about everything and nothing, holding each other, just freaking being together, a way they hadn’t before. And as the barrier grew thinner, their powers—and their feelings—grew.

  This time around, being with him didn’t make her weaker. It made them both stronger.