Power surged, but this time the explosion wasn’t a shock wave—it was fire. Rabbit shouted as the blaze flared, engulfing the godkeepers and bathing them in brilliant red flames. Leah gave a shocked scream that cut off ominously.
“No!” Nate surged forward with Michael on his heels. “Douse it!”
Rabbit yanked back on the out-of-control fire magic, reeling it in, suddenly afraid that the near-death-by-drowning of the godkeeper spell needed to be counteracted by near-death-by-flames. “Godsdamn it, I—” He broke off as the blaze died back abruptly.
The four godkeepers stood there, unscathed.
Thank fuck.
“Holy shit,” Strike said, voice shaking, reaching for his mate as the two other men closed in on theirs. “Leah, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m good.” But her voice was sad, her eyes fixed on her wrist, where there was a bare, scarred patch in place of her mark. The bonds had been broken. She wasn’t a godkeeper anymore. None of them were.
Prophecy said that the godkeepers would be key to winning the war. They could only pray that had been another of the kohan’s lies.
“Still nothing,” Myr said, looking up at the sky. “Where are they?”
Rabbit doused the last of his fire. “Not even a fucking thundercloud. I don’t like it.” His wristband showed two and a half hours on the clock. They were missing something. But what?
Sasha leaned against Michael. “It’s like breaking up with someone you really loved, someone you’ve been agonizing about dumping, and then having them shrug and say, ‘Yeah, okay. Whatever. No biggie.’”
He hugged her to his side. “They’re leaving us alone because they know we’ve figured out their lies, so there’s no point in trying to keep us.”
“Or because they’re planning something else,” Myr said softly. She pulled her wand from her pocket and gestured with it, and green flames kindled where Rabbit’s blaze had burned moments earlier. She looked up at him. “You ready?”
Her magic brushed along his skin like a touch, bringing an echo of the shadows he saw in her eyes, and a tug that came from light magic rather than dark. Ah, baby. Like the king in his recurring dreams, he wished he could bubble wrap her and lock her someplace safe. But, also like Jag, he knew better than to try to leave a warrior behind, and that if they didn’t succeed here and now, there wouldn’t be anyplace safe.
So he leaned in, brushed his lips across hers, and nodded. “Ready.”
Then he pulled his combat knife, and dragged the tip across the bloodred hellmark, and then the black glyph of the boar bloodline. “Pasaj och,” he said. Magic surged around him, inside him, filling him with solstice power. When faint rattles leaked around the edges of the vault, he clamped down on it, determined to stay in control, get this right. “Ma’ tu kah—”
“No!” The blow came without warning—a hot, heavy body in sweat-laced brown robes flying at him from the side. “You can’t!”
Red-Boar! Rabbit didn’t know where the old bastard had come from, how he’d gotten so close without being seen. Shouting, “Dez, now!” he went down and rolled with the attack, kicking his father off him. The combat knife skittered out of his hand. When he reached out to grab it with his mind, though, nothing happened.
I’ve got your magic, you disloyal fuck, the hated voice said inside his head. I’m going to make you— “Aaah!” Red-Boar flew backward as if he’d been yanked by an invisible giant, sailing thirty feet and hitting hard. A shield spell slammed down around him, sparking with Dez’s lightning powers and threaded through with Michael’s silver death magic. “No!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet and slapping his hands against the impenetrable shield. “You can’t do this! You swore on your blood!”
Rabbit came to his feet and faced his old man as wrath and righteousness pounded through him. “You screwed up, old man. I swore not to follow the false gods. And as far as I’m concerned, your gods are full of shit, and so are you.”
Red-Boar flushed an angry, ugly purple. “No! You can’t do it. You can’t—” The rant cut off abruptly, though his mouth still moved, screaming spittle-flecked imprecations.
“Volume control,” Michael said with grim satisfaction. “Shield magic is my friend.”
“Thanks.” Rabbit looked past him to Dez, knowing that the two of them together were strong enough to hold his old man, no matter what. “Seriously. Thanks.” And he didn’t just mean for the shield spell or the silence. If they hadn’t trusted him, hadn’t backed him up, there was no telling what would’ve happened. Red-Boar brought out the darkness in him.
Even now it stirred inside him, seething and whispering, You’re stronger, better than he is. You can show him, show them all.
Yeah, he could. By fucking holding his shit together.
The king nodded. “Hey. You can’t pick your family.”
“Amen.” But to Rabbit’s surprise there was no satisfaction in seeing Red-Boar trapped and silenced, either. There was only the blink of his chrono: 2:50:36. And still nothing from the enemy.
“Here. You’re going to need this.” Myr levitated his combat knife and sent it winging toward him.
He caught it on the fly. “Sorry I didn’t tell you the whole plan.”
“Like you said earlier, he’s a mind-bender. He could’ve read me.” But she didn’t quite meet his eyes as she restarted the fire.
Damn. Rabbit’s heart thudded with dismay. He didn’t want to shut her out like this. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, make everything okay. Later, he promised himself, just like he’d promised her pancakes. Later, when the solstice magic wasn’t gnawing at him. Later, when he’d proven himself once and for all.
Later, when they’d won the war.
Facing the fire, he used his knife to freshen the half-healed cuts, leaned in so his blood fell into the fire, and said, “Ma’ tu kahool tikeni.”
The shock wave didn’t flare out this time; it flared in, turning his vision suddenly to gold. He hissed out a breath and fought to keep his balance, heard shouts but couldn’t understand the words. Then he fell and hit hard, launching himself into a vision, into the same dream he’d been having for weeks now. Except it wasn’t the same anymore.
* * *
Rabbit stood in front of the chac-mool, watching the barrier writhe in the air above the altar. Only this time he was alone . . . and he wasn’t underground. Instead, he stood at the edge of a huge sinkhole, which was sixty feet across and plunged a hundred feet down to a huge, circular pool of blackish water.
Oh, gods. He knew this place.
And, as he felt himself lift his bleeding palms, heard himself chant Scarred-Jaguar’s spell and sensed it burning its way into his mind, he knew what he was supposed to do, what the dreams—or, rather, the true gods—had been trying to tell him all along.
The Nightkeepers were going to shit a fucking brick when they found out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ninety minutes to the Great Conjunction
Coatepec Mountain
“Rabbit?” Myr’s face was the first thing he saw in the too-bright sunlight when he awakened, her hand the first thing he reached for. Relief flooded her features and she gripped his fingers for a moment, then pulled away to call over her shoulder, “Hey! He’s back!”
There was a shuffle of movement around him, and then Dez appeared in Rabbit’s field of vision. After a quick once-over, the king grabbed his arm and hauled him up. “What happened?”
Irritation rattled. “Jeez, give me a . . .” He trailed off at the sight of an armed encampment surrounding him. The equipment had been broken out and dug in, surveillance was up and running, and there were warriors positioned along the perimeter, watching the temple, the tree line, the sky, and Red-Boar, who sat near the temple with his hands tied behind his back, tethered to one of the jaguar pillars. More, the air sang with power . . . and Rabbit’s chrono said 1:28:08. “Fuck me.”
He’d been out for more than an hour.
My
r said, “Talk to us. Did you have another vision?”
“Yeah. This time it was different, though. This time, I got what the true gods have been trying to tell me.” To Dez—to all of them—he said, “We’re in the wrong place. We need to go to Chichén Itzá. . . . and when we get there, we need to use Scarred-Jaguar’s spell to seal the barrier.”
Myr gasped and took a step back, and a ripple of “Oh, hell, no” flung away from them and raced through the encampment, like he’d just dropped a boulder in a kiddie pool. Which he pretty much had.
Dez froze for a split second, but then his face went thunderous. Moving in, he grabbed Rabbit’s shirt and got in his face to hiss, “Godsdamn it, don’t you dare. Not fucking now.”
Rabbit snapped, “You think I want this? You think—” He broke off, seeing that the other man’s anger was more defensive than anything. Dez didn’t want to believe he was going to be the second king to lead the Nightkeepers into battle at Chichén Itzá on the strength of some dreams, didn’t want to think about enacting the same spell that had wiped out their parents. Let the brick shitting begin. “Think about it,” Rabbit said, taking it down a notch, but all too aware of the seconds flickering on his wristband. “That’s why the kohan haven’t attacked us here. They don’t give a damn what we’re doing as long as we’re not at the intersection.”
“This is the intersection.”
“It’s a decoy. They wanted us to think Iago destroyed the real intersection at Chichén Itzá, but he didn’t. The sacred chamber is still there, sunk deep in the cenote.” Rabbit paused. “I think that’s why I’m so important. I’m the only telekinetic left. It’s my weakest talent, but if I give it everything I’ve got, I should be able to bring the altar back up to the surface.” He looked at Myr. “I think the dreams—”
“Bullshit!” JT shouted from the edge of the crowd. “This is bullshit! This is the intersection. This is where we’re supposed to be.” There were a few angry nods and a holler of “We didn’t sign on for this!”
Dez’s hackles rose. “Renouncing the kohan was optional, not the rest of it. This isn’t a fucking democracy, and when you agreed to come here, you put yourself under my orders. There’s only one leader in this army, and it’s me.”
“They’re not your orders. They’re his.” JT glared at Rabbit. “And none of us signed on to follow him.” The two of them had fought together, hung together, had some good times together, but the rebel winikin was looking at him now like he was the enemy.
Rabbit tried not to blame him, but anger kicked in his gut, dark and ugly. “I’m not ordering anybody to do anything. I’m just telling you what I know.”
“You don’t know dick. You dreamed it, just like Scarred-Jaguar.”
“It was a vision; there’s a difference. And I wasn’t in the king’s head this time. I pictured myself standing at the edge of the cenote, and it was like I could see down to the very bottom. I saw the altar down there, felt its magic. More, when I heard the spell, I understood it.” He paused, voice going urgent. “The magic doesn’t just seal the barrier, it connects the other two realms to each other, so the kohan and the kax can duke it out themselves, leaving the earth out of the mix completely.”
“This could be another kohan lie,” JT said, almost desperately, “another distraction.”
Myr said, “Rabbit didn’t hear the spell until after he renounced the kohan. What if the dreams have been the true gods trying to reach him, but they couldn’t get through because the kohan were interfering? Maybe the true gods were trying to get through to Scarred-Jaguar, too, but since he was still bound to the kohan, still praying to them, the interference was even worse. More, the kax and the kohan knew the king’s plan. They were waiting for him.”
JT made a face. “If Rabbit said the sky was purple, you’d back him up on it.”
“Hey!” Rabbit took a step toward the winikin, fists clenched, anger pumping suddenly through him, looking for an outlet. “Don’t you dare—”
“Enough!” Dez bellowed, cutting through the rising din. In the sudden silence, he seemed huge and golden, every inch their king. “You,” he forked a finger at Rabbit. “Dial it down. You”—this time he pointed at JT—“either shut up, or get the fuck out of here.” He glared around the muttering crowd. “Same goes for the rest of you. I said this isn’t a democracy, and it’s not. But I’ll be damned if I go into battle with soldiers I can’t trust.” He paused. “Look, I know you’re scared. We all are. But pretending this is where we’re supposed to be isn’t going to save us. We need to move, and we need to do it now. So go if you’re going. Otherwise, link up. Next stop: Chichén Itzá.”
Rabbit exhaled a tight breath. Thank fuck.
“No!” Red-Boar surged to his feet and flung himself to the end of his rope. “This is the intersection! This is where the gods are going to meet us!”
“Don’t worry. You’re staying.” Dez grabbed Red-Boar’s ceremonial knife off a nearby stack of ammo, and tossed it to the mage. It fell at his feet, pinging on the stones. “It shouldn’t take you too long to cut yourself free.” Waving for the others to join hands, he checked his chrono and swore. “Hurry up. We’re burning time.”
“Nooo!” Red-Boar howled, raising a booted foot over his knife. “Gods help me! Please!” Then he slammed his foot down on the etched stone blade, shattering it.
Magic detonated from the powerful sacrifice, and the air tore with a sickly rriiip, showing the gray-green of the barrier beyond.
“Shit.” Rabbit put himself in front of Myrinne, casting a shield around them both. She readied a fireball, and he did the same as other spells sprang to life.
A figure came through the gap, solidifying when it stepped onto the earth plane. Fully eight feet tall, it was a giant Mayan warrior in full regalia, wearing a cape of woven leaves and a huge headdress of cornstalks and silk.
“It’s the maize god,” Anna cried. “A kohan!”
The king didn’t hesitate. “Fire!”
A salvo of fireballs seared toward the maize god, but they deflected, slamming into the earth around the creature.
Red-Boar didn’t notice. “Tell them!” He begged the kohan, spittle flecking from his mouth. “Tell them they have to stay here and have faith! I tried. You saw how hard I tried, but—” He broke off, eyes bugging as gray-green fog erupted from the ground beneath him. His face blanked with horror. “No! You promised! You told me I could have my family back if I did what you said.”
“You failed . . . and we lied.” The words sounded in Rabbit’s head, as Bastet’s had done.
Red-Boar went to his knees in the fog. “Where’s my Cassie? Where are my sons? Please. Give them to me.”
“They are in the barrier, imprisoned along with generations of their kin. As you shall be, held ready to march for us when the barrier falls.” The rip in the barrier grew wider and the fog began drawing back inward.
“The nahwal,” Myr whispered in horror. “Your ancestors’ souls didn’t stay in the barrier to be your advisers. They’re prisoners of the kohan!”
“Fire again!” Dez shouted, and the Nightkeepers blasted another concerted volley. But it was no use. Their magic couldn’t penetrate the kohan’s shield.
“No!” Red-Boar shouted. “Don’t! Please, gods, don’t!” He surged up, tried to run, hit the end of his bonds, and fell. He screamed as the fog covered him, flowing through the tear in the barrier. For a second, the nahwal were visible beyond the gap—naked and genderless, with shiny skin and eerie black eyes. Always before, the ancestral beings had looked peaceful, otherworldly and faintly disdainful. Now, though, their eyes were wide and their mouths gaped open as they reached for the earth plane. Then the fog surged back through the opening, obscuring them.
When it cleared, the nahwal were gone. And so was Red-Boar.
A cry rose up from the Nightkeepers, and something tore inside Rabbit, sharp and vicious. He didn’t want to give a shit about his old man, but he did. Worse, there were other, far more worthy
souls trapped in there with him.
Rage soured the back of his throat and he stepped away from Myrinne. “Get back and shield yourself.”
“Rabbit—”
“Just do it!” he snapped. Then, dropping his shield spell and blocking her from his thoughts—blocking out everything except the kohan and the gray-green tear in the sky—he braced himself and shouted, “Cha’ik ten ee’hochen!” Bring the darkness to me!
Wham! The tsunami hit him in the shallows this time, pummeling him not just with its own force, but with all the garbage that came with it. Frustration, resentment, impotence, fury—the dark magic rose up and hammered him with the flotsam of his life. But he knew what to expect this time. Maybe he wasn’t armored against it, or for the way some of it still resonated, but he could tamp it down enough to function.
Concentrating on the spells rather than the dangerous impulses that had gotten him into trouble so many times before, he called two fireballs, one in each hand—the left was dark, oily and rancid; the right was brilliant red and threaded through with sparks of gold. Then he brought his hands together, and the light and dark magic slammed into each other and glommed into a seething ball of red and brown.
With mad power singing up his arms, Rabbit shouted, “Cross this over, motherfucker!” And he launched the bolt at the kohan, which was still gloating in the rift, mocking Red-Boar and the nahwal.
The fireball shattered the shield spell, leaving the maize god suddenly unprotected. It whipped around with a hiss of shock and rage, its tasseled headdress flaring out in a spray of silken strands.
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