Spellfire n-8

by Jessica Andersen

  And after that? Marriage, she hoped. Kids. The family neither of them had gotten when they were growing up, but could give to the next generation.

  “Gather round!” Dez called, tossing a last few sticks on the huge mound of pallets, kindling and other flammables he and the others had built. “It’s time.”

  The former residents of Skywatch formed a horseshoe, with the open end facing south, the direction the wind was blowing, leaving room for the gods to join them, at least in spirit if not in practice.

  What do you say? Ready for some action? The words formed in her mind, accompanied by a phantom brush of warmth across her lips, stirring her blood.

  She looked up to find Rabbit standing at the center point of the horseshoe, with an open spot beside him. Her spot. With her head up and her eyes on him, she swaggered over, feeling good in black jeans and a tight black top, with high black boots that had a glint of silver at the edges. When she reached him, she leaned in and kissed him with a little nip of his lower lip that had him sucking in a breath.

  Then, as the magic gathered in her head and heart, making her feel like she could do almost anything, she took her place beside him, and grinned around the horseshoe at the others, at her friends and teammates. “Okay. Now I’m ready for some action.”

  That got a chuckle, the loudest from Rabbit, as Dez cleared his throat. “Then by all means. Let’s link up!”

  She and Rabbit could’ve lit the bonfire on their own, given the magic that was zinging through them, reawakened by the equinox. But the ceremony belonged to all of them, so they joined hands—Nightkeeper, winikin, human—and opened themselves to the magic. Where before the uplink would’ve been a huge, roaring upswell of power, now it was a softer, mellower heat. Still, though, it was magic. And it was beautiful.

  He squeezed her hand. “Do you want to do the honors?”

  “You do it.” She didn’t need to prove anything, not anymore.

  Nodding, he spread his fingers toward the stacked wood and said, “Kaak!”

  A soundless shock wave detonated from them both, and red and green fire exploded from his fingers and curled around the beehive-shaped stack. It whirled around once, twice and then a third time—and whoomp!—the bonfire lit with a crackling roar, sending a pillar of red and green flames twenty feet in the air, then thirty.

  Heat drove everyone back a couple of steps, but nobody seemed to mind, given the show.

  “Whooo!” Reese called, bending back to watch colored sparks swirl up on the breeze, and the others joined in with a chorus of oohs and aahs.

  Getting into it, Rabbit made the flames spiral and then curl around themselves. Myr laughed and added a little more blue to the mix, dropping fire bursts that looked like flowers on the curling vines of flame.

  “Show-offs!” Dez called, but he was laughing.

  “Sorry,” Rabbit said, totally unrepentant.

  After another minute, though, they let the pyrotechnics die down, so the heat subsided a little and the bonfire became just a normal bonfire, the magic just a background hum. The teammates were still linked, though, and their power sang a sweet note in the air as Dez led them through the first Cardinal Day prayer of the new age.

  There was no bloodletting, no sacrifice, no prophecies or threats of dire retribution. Instead, the teammates thanked the true gods for their help, for the victory, and for their lives. It still seemed impossible that they had all survived, yet they had. Now they would go on to live as they chose. And thank the gods for that.

  There was a soft upswing in the magic, as if the gods had heard them. Or maybe it came from the prayer itself; Myr didn’t know. But she knew that she was happy, here and now, standing beside Rabbit in the center of a community that her childhood self never would have dreamed existed, never mind that she would become part of it. These were her people, her friends. And Rabbit was hers, always and forever.

  “Before we break for games and food,” Dez said, “I believe someone wanted to say something?”

  Myr frowned with the others, looking around. “What the—”

  “That’d be me,” Rabbit said, and stepped out of line, then turned to face her.

  And got down on one knee.

  She caught her breath at the sight of him down there—Rabbit, who wouldn’t willingly get on his knees for anything or anyone. Rabbit, who pulled a ring box out of his pocket and flipped it open to reveal a blaze of ruby and emerald, two perfect stones set atop a diamond-studded ring.

  “Oh,” she said, the word barely a breath as all the oxygen suddenly left her body.

  His eyes gleamed as he said, “I’ve never loved anyone but you, and I’ll go on loving you forever, with or without this. But this is what I want, and I hope it’s what you want, too.” Then, with him on one knee and everyone they cared about watching, he levitated the ring and sent it floating into the air, so it hovered between them, wreathed in red-gold magic. “What do you say, Myr? Will you marry me?”

  Now it was her turn to go deer-in-headlights. Not because she was horrified or steamrollered or anything, but because she hadn’t expected this. Not in a million years—or at least not for a few more years, anyway. Her pulse drummed in her ears and her hands shook. She was overwhelmed, she was shocked, she was—

  She was supposed to say something.

  Everyone was waiting.

  The ring was waiting. The magic was waiting.

  Yes, of course, yes! she shouted inside, but even if he heard her through their link, it didn’t count. This was the sort of thing she needed to say out loud to make it real. And she would. In a second, when she remembered how to breathe.

  Behind him, the bonfire grew hotter and bigger, going the pure orange-red of his magic now. For a moment, she thought he was letting off some steam into the magic, channeling his hidden nerves. But then the flames rose up from the bonfire, curled in on themselves, and made a perfect heart. It hung there behind him, living, beating in time with her pulse, then dissolved to the words “I love you.”

  Suddenly she could breathe again. She could even laugh again, though the sound was breathless and a little wild. “Only you,” she said on a rush. “Only you could propose by writing it across the sky in flames.”

  “And?”

  “And yes, of course. Of course I’ll marry you. Only you, Rabbit. My one and only.” She held out her hand and watched it tremble as the ring floated onto it and snugged into place.

  He exhaled in a rush and bowed his head for a second. “Thank fuck. For a second there, I thought . . .”

  “No,” she said, tugging him to his feet. “Don’t ever think it.” Then they kissed, triggering a chorus of whoops and applause, along with shouted suggestions that ranged from cute to borderline obscene, though all in good fun.

  Rabbit chuckled against her mouth. “Hope you didn’t want me to do that in private.”

  “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  “That’s pushing it.”

  “Okay. You’re perfect for me, which is why I love you. It’s why I’m going to marry you. And it’s why, as soon as I get you alone, I’m going to . . .” She put her lips to his ear and started whispering.

  Her skin heated as she got to the nitty-gritty and heard his breath quicken, felt his fingers tighten on her hips. The air around them hummed with equinox magic and the blood began to roar through her veins like—

  “Whoa!” Rabbit pulled away and put himself between her and the bonfire, which suddenly flared higher and hotter, reaching up into the night sky. “Sorry. Got a little carried away there.”

  But when he gestured to bring the flames under control, the bonfire didn’t respond, even when Myr added her magic to his. Instead it burned even brighter, flaring into strange shapes and moving like a living creature. It wasn’t under their control anymore!

  “Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “Look!”

  The flames curled into the shape of an animal’s head on a man’s shoulders. It wasn’t any critter that’d ever done a cameo
on Animal Planet, though.

  It was Seth.

  The god didn’t speak, but it moved within the flames and the smoke, turning to peer down at Rabbit and Myrinne. Its eyes shimmered, and the radiance of golden magic emerged from the flames and snaked to wrap around them, touch them, twine around their wrists.

  Myr gasped as her skin heated, then burned, and something shifted inside her, soldering into place with a click that she felt more than heard. Then the burn faded and the smoke withdrew.

  “Gods,” Rabbit whispered. “Father. Thank you.”

  The giant head of flame tipped once in acknowledgment, then shimmered and disappeared. Moments later, the fire died down to normal once more, leaving a stunned, awed silence behind.

  “Did that just happen?” Leah whispered. Her face was lit with wonder and her hands were wrapped around Strike’s arm as if she’d had to hold him back from coming to Rabbit’s aid.

  Rabbit hadn’t needed help, though. And Myr had a feeling he’d finally gotten what he wanted. What they both wanted, though they had trained themselves not to care.

  Now, though . . .

  Holding her breath, she put her right forearm near Rabbit’s, both of them facing down. “You ready?” she whispered as her heart drummed against her ribs.

  He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

  “On three. One . . . two . . .” On “three” they both flipped their wrists over to show their marks. And sure enough, they both had a new golden glyph: the intertwined curlicues of the jun tan. The mated mark that signaled the gods’ acceptance of their paring.

  Finally, Myr thought. Or maybe she said it aloud, because Rabbit looked at her with a quick grin that did nothing to wipe the awe from his face.

  “Myr . . . gods. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Tears were running down her face, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t thought the jun tan would matter, but it did. It really, really did. Because as she held him, kissed him, she could feel the magic of their new connection, feel the love washing from her to him and back again. More, she felt him. He was tough and solid, and ready to go to war for her, for what he thought was right. He was her soldier, her lover. More, he was Rabbit. Her man. Her mate. Her one and only.

  And her husband-to-freaking-be, thankyouverymuch.

  * * *

  The next twenty minutes or so were pretty much a blur to Rabbit. He got his hand shaken and his back thumped enough that his shoulder started to tingle. Or maybe that was just part of the whole-body sizzle that’d hit him about three seconds after he got the ring on Myr’s finger and the first wave of Oh, holy shit, I’m getting married! hit him for real.

  He’d known what he wanted, had known he was going to ask her, of course; hell, he’d had the ring for nearly a month, burning a hole in his frigging pocket. He’d wanted to wait until today, though, to share the moment with their teammates and the magic of the equinox. No way he’d expected Seth’s trick with the fire, though, or for the god to give them their mated marks. That added a whole ’nother layer to the tingles, that was for sure.

  As the crowd around him thinned a little and the congratulations died down, he took her hand and brushed his fingertips across her mark, feeling a skim of heat shiver through his own forearm.

  He grinned. Oh, yeah. This was going to be very cool.

  “Happy?” she asked with a sassy, knowing arch of one eyebrow.

  “Very. You?”

  “Duh.”

  He chuckled and tucked her close against his side, “Yeah. Duh.” Their style might not work for everyone, but it was perfect for the two of them, and that was what mattered, wasn’t it? He didn’t think he’d ever find someone else who got him the way she did, or who made him want to protect the hell out of her on one hand, while challenging her to go faster, farther and hotter on the other. And the thing was, as he looked around, he saw the same kind of love in each of the mated pairs—and in the family joy of Patience, Brandt and the twins—as they leaned into each other and laughed, touched, looked. There was love in every small gesture and moment, reaffirming the bonds that they might have discovered in the years leading up to the war, but that would last for decades to come.

  He didn’t know if it was because the magic-users were wired to love so deeply and fiercely, a trick of the jun tan, or what, but he got it now, more than he ever had before.

  Looking up at the sky as the fire started to burn low, he let out a long, slow breath. “It doesn’t excuse everything you did, you know.”

  “What?” Myr had been talking to Anna—he had tuned out at the first mention of bridesmaids—but now she zoned back in on him and followed his eyes to the sky. “Are you looking at the moon?”

  “No. Those five bright stars over there.” He pointed. “They make up the great boar constellation.”

  “Your place in the sky.”

  “And the old man’s.”

  She tightened her grip on him. “He’s gone.”

  He shook his head. “Not really. He’s still stuck in here.” He tapped a thumb on his chest. “I can’t . . .” He glanced off to the side, to where the ceiba spread its huge branches far overhead. “I’ve fought and I’ve protected, but I haven’t really forgiven, until now.” Looking back down at the others, he swept a hand toward the mated pairs. “Look at them. Hell, look at us. What we’ve got is special. It’s everything. If you had died—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But if you had, that would’ve been the end for me. I would’ve . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to say what was in his heart. Not with the gods so near, with their gift so fresh. “Anyway. I understand better now what happened to the old man, how it must’ve felt to watch Cassie die, then see the boluntiku race off to Skywatch, knowing they were going to kill his sons and not be able to do a damned thing about it. Look at Brandt.” He pointed to where the big Nightkeeper had Harry on his shoulders and Braden swinging from one of his arms, the three of them laughing like loons while the puppy barked like crazy and jumped up, trying to nip at the boy’s sneakers. A few feet away, Patience stood back with Jox and Hannah, and tried to look like she thought they were a bunch of idiots. Her eyes danced, though, giving her away. “Think of what he’d be like if he’d lost that. If any of us had lost each other.”

  “It didn’t happen.” She pressed her face to his arm. “We’re all here. I’m here.”

  “I know. But the old man didn’t have that, he hadn’t had it for a long, long time.” Looking up at the Great Boar, he said, “I owe you, old man, for getting me away from Oc Ajal, away from Phee and Anntah. I owe you for raising me on your own, and when you couldn’t handle that anymore, for bringing me to live with Jox and the others. I owe you for coming back and helping the others find me, and for telling me the truth about who I am. I’m grateful for all of those things, even if you didn’t really do them for me. And I get it now. I understand why you were the way you were. That didn’t give you the right to be an asshole or a shitty father, but it gives me a reason to let it go. So there it is. I forgive you, Father. It doesn’t matter whether or not you give a crap, because I do. I forgive you, and I hope you’ve found your peace up there with your family.”

  It wasn’t until he finished that he realized the others had all fallen silent, that they’d heard what he’d said. But as he looked around at them and shrugged a little, suddenly uncomfortable, he caught Patience giving him a thumbs up. Then Jox. Then Strike and a few of the others. And that made it okay, somehow. Better than okay, even.

  It made it right, finally.

  “Well,” Dez said into the silence. “I think this calls for the newly traditional Cardinal Day feast . . . Who’s up for some football, beer and wings?”

  A laughing, ragged cheer rose up from the group, gaining ground and volume as it went, and the others dispersed to grab the coolers and other essentials from the winikin’s hall.

  When Rabbit started to follow them, though, Myr tugged him back. “Not so fast, buster.”

>   “Wait, what? Did I do something wrong?”

  Her flashing eyes softened. “No, baby, you did something very right.” She pressed her hand over his heart, which thudded double-time when she leaned in and kissed him softly. “I’m so proud of you.” She kissed him a little harder. “I love you.”

  This time when she kissed him, he closed his hands on her hips and took it deep, whispering through their new bond, Thank you, and, I love you, too, and Gods, I’m so glad you’re mine.

  Heat rose as the kiss continued, tightening his skin and making him think they should slip away for a half hour or so and nobody would notice. But when he started to urge her off toward the shadows, she twisted away, shot him a sidelong look and headed for one of the coolers to snag a couple of beers, then skipped toward where a game of touch football was forming up, cocking a “come hither” finger at him as she went.

  He laughed aloud and followed, joining her in the huddle, grabbing his beer and letting his body bump against hers, amping the anticipation that was growing steadily between them.

  The night was young, after all, and they didn’t need to rush. There was a whole world of trouble for them to get into . . . and they were going to have a lifetime together to do it.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A series of childhood trips to the Yucatán left Jessica Andersen with an enduring love of Mayan myths and legends. Since leaving academic science for a career as a novelist, she has written more than twenty science-based romantic suspense novels. Now she’s thrilled to bring her research background to bear on one of her earliest fascinations, the Mayan 2012 doomsday. Jessica is a lifelong New Englander; she and her critters currently live in eastern Connecticut, on the border where Yankee country intersects with Red Sox nation (go, Sox!).