Nana’s steady stream of chatter worked its usual magic, soothing the ragged edges of her soul. The fight with the Fae warrior had bothered her more than she had let on. What had been done to him—that kind of depravity and desperation left a mark, even when a person only bore witness to it.
Bussing Nana’s cheek, she hugged her goodbye before taking Ciro’s rod and walking to the village square. The cluster of houses in the center of town had their lights on. Inside, her relatives went on with their lives, uninterrupted by her visit. Even Nana stayed behind in her kitchen, pleased to have a man to cook for again. And as long as that man didn’t share his family name, he would live to see another day.
Gia reached the open space in the middle of town, taking a seat at the base of the statue dedicated to the Mother. Like many in this part of the world, it more closely resembled the Virgin Mary than the Mother, but it was all in the eye of the beholder. The bird she held in one hand was a dead giveaway.
Salvador appeared a few minutes later. He had showered and changed clothes, and he held a pan dulce in each hand. “I brought one for you,” he said handing her one of the breads. “They’re still warm, hot out of the oven.”
Shaking her head at his boundless appetite, she took the bread. It did smell good. They ate in silence, leaning against the base of the statue.
“I’m surprised Nana didn’t insist on coming to see you off,” he observed between bites.
“She’s old, and her arthritis is acting up,” Gia replied, polishing off the last of the sweet bread.
“And your other relatives?” he asked, gesturing at the clearly occupied houses.
Her mouth pulled up at the corner. “You act as if my visit here should be a big event. But as you pointed out earlier, this isn’t T’Kaieri. We don’t stand on ceremony here. We don’t even sit on ceremony.”
Gia licked her fingers, then gestured at the benches she’d passed over in favor of the statue base. But he shook his head, squatting at the base of statue.
“So, they don’t make a big deal about you coming around?” he asked.
“No, and thank the Mother for that.” She snorted. “My relatives have their own lives, their own struggles and triumphs. Some are big and some aren’t. I come from a talented line of practitioners. That talent lives on in the current generation.”
“Well, I know all about magic begetting magic,” he acknowledged, looking around him contemplatively. “There must be some pretty interesting stories in this village. But you’re still the center of it, aren’t you? I feel like there should be fanfare or a spotlight on you and what you’re doing. Isn’t this an extraordinary situation with the Mother being so directly threatened?”
“If the world was ending tomorrow, would you want to know?” Gia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t sound the alarm every time the world comes under threat. It would be selfish…and repetitive.”
That finally seemed to sink in. Salvador stopped glancing around as if expecting the villagers to surround them—in his case, with pitchforks.
“So what dreaded fate is in store for me?” he asked with a significant look at Ciro’s rod, brushing the sugar off his hands.
“I figured out a shortcut, one that doesn’t require being at the perfect place.” She lifted the rod, then pushed it into his hands. “We’re going to turn you into the perfect user instead. We are going to make the rod think you are Ciro.”
Salvador frowned, limply holding the handles of the divining rod. “And how are we going to do that?”
He could tell from her expression that he was going to hate this part.
“I am going to alter your aura’s wavelengths to match his—or close enough to his to make the rod work.”
“Okay…I thought you didn’t know Ciro. How do you know what his aura looked like? Also, how the hell do you ‘alter’ them?”
Her hesitation spoke volumes. “Well… I don’t have a clue what Ciro’s aura looked like. But I’m familiar with the resonance and specific frequency unique to Thiago’s.”
He scrambled away so fast he almost fell on the floor. “Wait, what?” He put his hands up. “I don’t know what the hell you are planning, but no!”
He was nearly shouting by the time he was done.
Carmen, Nana’s niece, poked her head out of the window of the house across the way. “Quien handa haciendo todo este ruido?” she asked, annoyed. “Estoy mirando mi novela.”
Gia waved. “Todo esta bien.”
Carmen’s head retreated, but not before giving Salvador the stink eye.
“Keep it down,” Gia muttered in an aside. “You interrupt her soap operas at your peril.”
“Sorry, but you can’t be serious,” he burst out.
“I assure you I’m quite serious. Carmen can turn you into a frog faster than you can blink.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You can’t make me like Thiago. He was a monster. His aura was darker than Vantablack.”
She frowned at him. “Vantawhat?”
“It’s the darkest shade of black there is,” he supplied. “Manmade.”
“I see.” She lifted her hands. “Look, I’m not going to make you evil. Or, at least, I don’t think I am.”
He hung his head. “You have no idea, do you?”
Gia pressed her lips tightly together. “I admit I haven’t done anything like this before. But it’s our best shot. And if you happen to get all stabby, I will keep tweaking your aura until you’re not. We have to keep adjusting it until the rod works for you.”
“Assuming you chance on the right frequency.” His face twisted as if he’d smelled something foul. “None of this sounds even the slightest bit appealing.”
“It’s not supposed to,” she said honestly. “And you’re going to do it because neither of us wants to deal with the alternative. Besides, we don’t have to add the black. Or not a lot of it. I did run into Thiago when he was young enough for him to be relatively clear of most of the darkness that eventually consumed him. But it’s a starting point. Aura patterns are based our parents—combinations with variations, just like genes for hair or eye color. Honestly, you’re more than halfway there. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were most like Thiago in appearance.”
“So, it’s not just my nose and striking cheekbones,” he grumbled. “The family resemblance extends to my aura?”
“Are you surprised?” She gestured for him to sit on the ground.
“Not anymore.” His expression was so downcast that she put her hand on his shoulder before she could think better of it. When he cocked his head to put his cheek against it, she pushed him down until he rested on the ground.
“Is there a leyline nexus here?” he asked as he arranged his long limbs to sit cross-legged, his face resigned.
“Yes.”
Nodding, he placed the rod in front of him. The point dug into a crevice between the cobblestones. “All right. Do your worst.”
Gia ignored the sneaky voice in the back of her mind that told her this was a bad idea.
As the Mother’s warrior, she was used to putting her life on the line on a daily basis. True, she did have some experience protecting others, but it was usually an abstract act—i.e. kill the bad guy so others could live. If it were direct, it was usually because she stood between someone and the monsters who wanted to eat or dissect them. Having a person entrust their life to her in this manner wasn’t normal.
She moved behind him, then put her hands on the back of his head. He jerked, twisting to peer up at her.
There was a hint of a smirk on his face. “I thought you didn’t like touching me.”
“I never said that,” she admitted before she could stop herself. “And for the record, I have to touch you to do this.”
He faced forward again, taking a deep breath. “If the worst happens, promise not to leave me dark. I’d rather be a vegetable.”
Gia patted his head. From his sudden scowl, she could tell he hated it. “If the worst happens, I’ll pr
obably have to kill you.”
“I never doubted it for a second,” he said easily, making her laugh.
Then she ran her hand from the top of his head to the nape of his neck where his hairline met smooth supple skin. She blinked, letting her second sight take over. Salvador’s aura flared, a rainbow of light spilling over into her hands.
Most of the Delavordos sat firmly on the red end of the spectrum—they ran around flaring crimson and orange as if they were on fire. But like Thiago and presumably Ciro, Salvador was a kaleidoscope of cool tones, the shades of green indicative of his healing talent, along with more indigo than she would have guessed.
Thiago’s had been quite a bit darker than this, of course. Gia bit her lip before she could confess that she didn’t precisely know where to start. In theory, this was similar to mending an aural tear like Logan had done a few years back. It was also nothing like that.
Mother guide my hands. Gia studied the shifting waves of his aura. Mentally, she gave it an experimental push.
“Ow.”
She pulled her hands away. “Did that hurt?”
“Uh, no. Not exactly. It was more…shocking and creepy. Like someone walked over my grave.”
“Hmm. Let me try again.” She put her hands back on his neck. The muscles underneath corded like iron as he braced himself.
“You can’t be this stiff.”
Salvador jerked his head up. “You can’t possibly tell that.”
Confused, she frowned. “What?”
His eyes cleared, then he blushed. “What?” he echoed.
Realization dawned, and her face heated. “I mean you have to relax if this is going to work.”
The burst of laughter was unexpected, especially since it came from her. Straightening, she cleared her throat as Salvador studiously avoided her eyes. He faced forward again. Resuming her position, she closed her eyes, picturing herself surrounding Salvador’s aura with her own.
Yes, that was the key. She couldn’t poke and prod here and there, and expect his wavelength to shift. No, what she had to do was far more intimate…
He was reacting to her physical touch. What she was about to do to him was more invasive than a proctology exam. Damn. Gia hadn’t expected this to be so embarrassing.
Swallowing, she shook herself, then shoved her feelings away. Stretching her ability, she wrapped her essence around Salvador until she had totally enveloped him.
Salvador tried to hold still, but he almost vibrated under her hands. When he threw his head back, she suddenly knew exactly what he would look like during a sexual release.
Blushing madly despite herself, she slid her hands to his shoulders, trying not to let his response distract her. She redoubled her efforts, using her own aura to recalibrate his.
It was more difficult than she’d thought. Every time she got close, his natural aura would rebound, fighting to reassert itself. She poured more energy into her hands, shifting and nudging. The effort required considerable effort and precision.
Sweat broke out on her brow. That hadn’t happened in a while, but then this wasn’t her normal kind of fight.
“Does this hurt?” she asked after a big push made Salvador groan aloud. His head fell back again, and she stared into his glazed eyes and slack features.
The man felt no pain. Quite the opposite. It was startling enough for her to stop.
“Keep going,” Salvador urged.
Gia hesitated, clearing her throat. “O-kay,” she said, unsure whether to laugh or douse him with cold water. Or herself. Maybe them both.
His aura was resonating, the colors distinctively different now. “Well, the good news is you don’t appear to be growing homicidal,” she reassured him, resuming her work.
Even if it didn’t hurt him, she was quickly tiring. Gritting her teeth, she ignored her growing exhaustion. She had to remind Salvador to keep trying to use the rod, but if this went on much longer, she was going to have to take a break.
Except she didn’t. Gia couldn’t remember the last time she quit at anything. So, when the edges of her vision began to darken, she powered through because she didn’t know how to do anything else.
Failure is not an option, Gia kept thinking as she began to lose consciousness. In the distance, she heard Salvador’s voice calling to her. It no longer had a languorous hint. That had been replaced by panic. And then she fell forward, carrying him with her. Together, they kept falling.
28
John scowled. His goggles were too damn tight, but he’d learned from experience not to adjust them outside the shelter. His fingers didn’t work that well in the cold. And despite all the high-tech cold weather gear he wore, John was freezing his bollocks off.
Antarctica—the mysterious realm. Many of his countrymen had explored this place with the intent of planting their flag in the name of their king. Personally, he couldn’t see the appeal. To his eye, this was a wasteland, full of ice, snow, and not much else.
John tapped his glasses to clear the buildup of snow. Britain has a queen now, he reminded himself. And with her ascent, the dominance and prominence of his home nation had predictably waned. Pity.
After failing to discover a natural passage to the Mother, John decided on another course of action. If he could find a way to get his formula down to Her, his purpose would be served nearly as well as going down to take care of business on his own. Not as satisfying, of course, but he would have to make do.
John had tried the hot springs in Yellowstone, trusting one to be the conduit he needed, but his efforts there had failed when no clear passage down to the earth’s core materialized, despite the research claiming there was one. He’d even tried the volcanoes and hydrothermal vents of the Kamchatka peninsula, but after almost falling into a steam vent, he’d decided Antarctic drilling was the way to go.
He sniffed, then squinted. The wind was up, whipping the tattered flags over the buildings. The defunct research station had changed hands many times. At one point, America, Russian, and Norwegian flags had been flown here. Hell, that light blue bit up there was Argentinian, if he wasn’t mistaken.
The buildings had been empty for over a year. Fortunately, most were still sound. They would hold the elements at bay until the job was done.
John guffawed aloud at his brilliant pun. The isolation of the station had made setting up this operation a bitch, but now the heavy equipment was here, the isolation was in his favor.
He knew he was being hunted. But this was literally the last place those Elementals would search for him. And his little project? It resembled every other drilling or research operation out there. He could be digging for oil or getting ice-core samples. Little did the men working for him know he wasn’t interested in taking something out of the ice. He was interested in putting something in.
When he heard a shout, he turned to see Han Cho, the deep-core drilling engineer he’d hand-picked for this leg of the project. Cho waved him into the main office, so they could talk inside.
It took him a full minute to pull all the gear off his face. The air inside was recycled, but at least it was warm.
“I’m afraid I have bad news, sir,” Cho said regretfully.
“You didn’t hit the drill depth I wanted. Did the damn drill bit break again?”
Equipment failure had become the norm out here, but he had been told the new drill was top of the line. “I told you it was too small,” he bit out.
“It’s not the drill, sir. We hit the depth you required, then tried to lower your…err…your device.”
John was thrilled. “The censor.” That was what he’d told Cho it was—a prototype that would collect scientific readings for research purposes.
“Uh, yeah. The sensor…” Cho’s voice sounded skeptical. “I’m afraid the casing cracked, and some sort of liquid spilled.”
A bit premature, but as long as it was at the right depth, they were golden. The poison would be disseminated along the leyline that ran all the way down to the earth’s cor
e. “The fuel?” he said, attempting a cover-up. “I think that’s fine. The electronics shouldn’t be damaged. We can try again.”
“Well, there was a lot of fuel, sir. We were going to pull the sensor back up, but I’m afraid the liquid froze. Now the entire apparatus is stuck.”
He stilled. “It froze?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fuck. That shouldn’t have happened.” His poison had plenty of antifreeze components. He wasn’t a complete idiot. Apparently, his preliminary tests had been insufficient to capture the harshness of this extreme landscape.
It needs to stay liquid to saturate the leyline. Damn. Not to mention adding more chemicals at this stage would alter his perfect formula, destroying the potency.
John felt rage simmer in his chest. In earlier days, he would have strangled Cho to death, but he was past such immature displays. That and a body dropping among such a small group would definitely be noticed. He could see the headlines now—Murder in Antarctica.
So, he simply shrugged and forced a grin. “Back to the drawing board.”
29
It felt as if her eyelids were weighed down with stones.
“Please say you’re awake.”
Five more minutes.
“If you don’t wake up, I’m turning this car around and taking us back to the surface.”
Ugh. “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked with a groan, keeping her eyes closed.
“By car, I mean Ciro’s rod,” Salvador supplied. “And by wake up, I mean open your damn eyes because I don’t know where the F we are.”
“Are we not swearing now? I know you can,” she said, reluctantly lifting her lids. “Are my eyes still closed?”
“Nope,” Salvador said. “It is actually this dark.”
“Where are we?” she asked, making out his outline above her and to the left.
Belatedly, she realized the things underneath her were Salvador’s legs. He’d gathered her body to him in the darkness.
His concern was obvious. “I don’t know exactly where we are, but I believe it’s where we’re supposed to be.”
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