Spellfire (14 page)

A glance at her comm device showed that there weren’t any blinking lights, no evidence that anybody needed her. So, as the guard ushered her through an unmarked door into a prefab steel room that held a desk, a couple of chairs, a huge wipe board scrawled with guard shifts and notes suggesting that she was in what passed for their security hub, she followed his orders without question, figuring she would go with the flow, do her best to smooth things over, and talk her way out of starring in an incident report.

Gods knew that in a place like this, with so many people coming and going, the left hand probably wouldn’t know what the right was doing half the time. Ten bucks said she could convince this guy that she’d been waved through the checkpoint on the strength of Dr. Dave’s name, asked some volunteer for help with her protective gear, and found him on her own. And if they couldn’t track down anyone to verify, they’d just figure it’d gotten lost in the chaos.

Last resort, she’d lock herself in the bathroom and put in a call for some mind-bending support—which she was far less reluctant to do on the guards than she had been on David. Either way, she could deal with this. Hopefully, Rabbit and Myrinne could handle things on their end for a little longer without getting in major trouble.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Oc Ajal, Mexico

Rabbit faced the fire pit and tried to block everything else out—the rain forest, the remains of the village where he’d been born, the latent hiss of magic surrounding him, the Nightkeeper powers that wanted to flare and combat the darkness—all of it. He was still aware of Myr standing behind him, though, with her shield running hot, ready to protect him . . . and to protect herself against him.

Hoping it would be enough—hoping
he
would be enough—he sent a quick prayer to the gods he’d forsaken. Then, pulse thudding in his ears, he opened his hands and cast his blood into the cold, bare fire pit.
“Cha’ik ten ee’hochen!”
Bring the darkness to me!

Blam!
The floodgates slammed open, giving way beneath an onslaught of power. Dark magic hammered through him, terrible yet incredible, and as he staggered back a step, flames erupted from within the stone circle, writhing like serpents.

“Rabbit!” Myr cried, her voice sounding far away.

“Stay back!” he shouted as the darkness surrounded him, swamping him with an incalculable power that gushed up from the depths of his soul. More, emotions tore at him—frustration, impotence, resentment, murderous rage, loneliness, all of it mixing together into a blinding fury that made him want to howl.

No!
He fought the impulses, but he wasn’t braced for fury, wasn’t buffered against one of the red rages that used to grab on to him, making him do stupid, impulsive things. For that was what raced into his mind.

Suddenly, he wasn’t himself anymore, at least not the guy he wanted to be. Instead, he was the whipped dog he had become beneath the ’
zotz
’s lash. He was the pissed-off teen who had torched Jox’s garden center, the frustrated punk who’d wanted to make his mark on Skywatch. He was the impulsive asshole who’d led Iago to Oc Ajal, the gullible prick who had listened to Phee’s lies, sucking them up like soft-serve. And he was the stone-cold bastard who’d held a knife to Myr’s throat and made her bleed.

He clenched his fists as his soul overflowed with every bad decision he’d ever made, every moment that he’d been unhappy, pissed off, pissed on.

Burn it,
whispered a voice inside him.
Burn it all down
.

The fire climbed hotter and higher, sending out billows of dark, oily smoke that tore at his throat and filled his lungs. His heart hammered as his warrior’s instincts said to back up, back off and lock himself down. But another set of instincts said he couldn’t shut himself off now. Not if he wanted to become the crossover.

“Oh, shit,” he said, not sure if he said it aloud or only in his mind. “I get it. I fucking get it.”

This was why the Nightkeepers’ ancestors had deemed the dark half of the magic too dangerous and banished the dark magi . . . and it was why they had feared the wild powers of a half blood like him—because where the light magic tapped into the good stuff, like love, sex and the power of teamwork, the dark magic drew from all the bad stuff inside its wielder. It concentrated it, encouraged it, made it real.

He hadn’t felt these things when he’d used the dark magic before, when the rage had already been at the surface of his soul, ready for the darkness to tap into it. Now, though, he could feel the old frustrations hissing and seething inside him, heard them whispering,
They never believed you, never believed in you. You can show them all just how powerful you really are.

Sudden images crammed his mind’s eye, and anger surged through him, pure and powerful. Screw them. They never liked him, never understood him, had always been afraid of him. They were small-minded, shortsighted, jealous, and—

Rabbit shuddered as he recognized all the things he’d told himself when he’d been under Phee’s spell. But those weren’t his words; they weren’t his thoughts. And that meant he could ignore them, block them off.

You can do this. You can handle it
. He needed to prove it to himself, to the others, especially to Myrinne. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, and he sure as hell didn’t want her to see him fail. More, he didn’t have a fucking choice, not if he wanted—needed—to harness the crossover’s powers. So, imagining a fierce, cleansing wind blowing through his mind, he swept up the voices, the memories, the taunts and the righteous-feeling anger that wasn’t righteous at all, corralling them and stuffing them back into the vault. Then, with a mental heave, he slammed the lid on all of it, leaving the dark magic outside but shutting his own weaknesses away.

The hinges creaked; the door bulged. But it held. It fucking held.

For now, at least. And with the whispers and emotions gone, only the power of the dark magic remained, deep and surging, pulsing an urgent demand through him.
Use me
, it seemed to say.
I’m yours
.

Exhaling, but not daring to glance back at Myr to see how much of that inner battle she had comprehended, he reopened the slashes across his palms and cast a spray of blood into the flames. Then he steeled himself, and said,
“Cha’ik ten nohoch taat
.
”
Bring me the grandfather
.

Fire burst skyward, turning the day red-orange, scorching his skin and sending the monkeys overhead screeching to higher branches as the noise of the dark magic cycled up to a chain-saw buzz, whipping around him and making his jaw ache.

He felt the spell hesitate, teetering between success and failure, felt the vault door shudder as the other part of the dark magic struggled to break free.

Strengthening his mental hold on his inner garbage, he repeated the incantation.
“Cha’ik ten nohoch taat
.
”

Pain streaked along the scars that striped his back, turning them raw and new as the smoke swirled and churned, becoming something. A strangled sound tore from Rabbit’s throat, but he held in the rest as the smoke twined together, and then,
bam
, whipped into the shape of a gimlet-eyed old man who wore the long robe of a Xibalban priest and had the hellmark on his wrist.

And even though Rabbit had come for this, prepared for it, sick and ugly anger awoke at the sight of the old shaman. His fucking grandfather.

The smoke-ghost looked around, seeming unsurprised at the summons. His eyes lingered on Myrinne, but then moved on. “Greetings, young Rabbit.”

“Greetings . . . Grandfather.”
You cocksucker
.

The see-through bastard had the gall to smile. “Ah. So you know the truth now.”

“I know you bred me. I want to know the rest. I want to understand your purpose for me.” He heard Myr’s smothered gasp, felt her mistrust, and hoped to hell she would go with it. More, he hoped he wasn’t making a big fucking mistake. Because if anything happened to him, he wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to take Anntah on her own. Hell, he wasn’t sure
he
could do it, and he’d summoned the bastard. If she got hurt because of him . . .

Over my dead body,
he thought, and the mental promise had the force of a blood vow.

Anntah spread his ghostly arms. “Ask your questions.”

Rabbit was all too aware that the smoke-ghost had his own agenda, that he would lie . . . but he was also the only one left who knew the truth. “How do I become the crossover?”

“You already are. You are the son of a Xibalban princess and the last surviving Nightkeeper mage. You are the child of prophecy.”

A shiver tried to work its way down Rabbit’s spine, but he ignored it. “Okay, let’s try it this way. How can I access the powers of the crossover? Is there a spell, an artifact, what?”

“There is nothing. Only you.”

“Bullshit. Tell me the fucking truth.”

“This is the truth. There is no spell or artifact, no need for you to become anything other than what you already are. You
are
the crossover, Rabbie. The power is inside you.”

Rabbie
. The name echoed in his head, in his heart, rattled at the vault. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s what your mother and I called you, the name your father and the Nightkeepers took from you. Just like they told you that you weren’t good enough for them, that your mistakes were too costly, your self-control too weak.” The ghost leaned in, eyes lighting. “They were wrong, you know. You’re stronger than they are—stronger than any of us. And I can make you stronger still.”

“Fuck you.” But the whispers urged him on. And he had a feeling the bastard knew it.

“You are the last Xibalban, Rabbie. Swear yourself to the dark gods and all our powers will be yours.”

“Swear . . .” He trailed off as shock rattled through him, sounding like the magic. He was suddenly aware that the elder wasn’t alone in the mist anymore. There were others behind him, around him, vague shadows that shifted, yearning toward Rabbit like he was their hope, like he was the hero he’d always wanted to be. More, there was a new note to the power—a deep thrumming that vibrated at the edge of his magic, limitless and tempting.

Take it. It’s yours. You can show them all, burn them all
.

“Rabbit, don’t do it. Don’t listen to him!” Myrinne’s faraway voice was ragged and breathless, like she’d been shouting at him for a while and he hadn’t heard.

Ignoring her, Anntah held out his hand, which bled red-tinged fog from a slashing cut across the palm. “Come, son. Take the oath and you will have more power than you ever imagined. And when the day comes, you’ll rule the war.”

“Rabbit, no!” Myr’s magic surged and a fireball crackled to life in the supercharged air.

“We’ll do it together,” Rabbit said, and reached out and clasped the ghost’s outstretched hand, not just with his body, but with his magic as well. Suddenly, he could feel Anntah’s flesh, his cool skin, and even the slickness of his blood. Gripping tight, he summoned a whiplash of Nightkeeper magic, and shouted,
“Kaak!”

Red-gold fire erupted from his hand and laced up Anntah’s arm, and then higher, racing to engulf him. The ghost shrieked and jerked back. “Aiiee!”

Rabbit hung on, body and soul, and poured himself into the flames. “Myr, now!”

A green fireball hit Anntah and detonated, wreathing the spirit with lambent napalm. And then she was there, standing beside him and hammering the ghost with magic.

“No!” Anntah howled. “Noo!” He whipped from side to side as the fire engulfed him, ate at him. “Whyyy?”

“Because I’m choosing my side,” Rabbit grated, “and it’s not yours.” Nightkeeper power sang through him, driving the dark magic back into the vault. Buoyed by that victory—and by the ferocity in Myr’s face as she fought beside him—he cast the banishment spell.
“Teech xeen!”

Power detonated with a huge shock wave and a flash of brilliant red-gold light. Rabbit reflexively spun and yanked Myr against him, and then cast a shield around them both. For a second, furious magic roared over them, around them, heating the air and lighting his senses.

Then it was gone. And the world went silent.

Suddenly aware that he had his arms wrapped around her when she could’ve shielded herself, he released her and backed off. “Sorry, I . . . holy crap.”

He went silent, stunned by the brilliant colors that suddenly surrounded them.

Myr drew in a breath, and then exhaled it on a soft, “Ohh.”

There was no sign of the fire, the smoke, Anntah, or the other spirits. But where those things were gone, there was something new, something that very definitely hadn’t been there before.

Butterflies.

Everywhere except for the fire pit, the ruined village was carpeted with the creatures—fiery red, sky blue, pale green, brilliant yellow, lacy white—making it look for a second like tens of thousands of flowers had blossomed in the space of a few minutes. Except these flowers had wings and they fluttered and pulsed, bringing the ghost town to life. And then, as if they’d gotten some silent signal, they rose up into the air and swirled like brightly colored confetti.

They danced and spun for a moment, and then began to settle again, many of them wafting toward Myrinne. They landed on her shoulders, in her hair, on her face, until she was dotted with living jewels.

Her eyes shone with wonder. “Look,” she said, even though he was already staring at her. She cupped her palms and they filled with butterflies. “Look at them all.”

“Fuck me,” Rabbit said. It wasn’t exactly poetry, but it was all he could manage as the beauty of the moment cut into him, painful in its intensity.

She was radiant, limned in color, and so very alive that it hurt like hell to know they were running out of time, and he didn’t have the answers he needed. More, he didn’t know what those answers would mean for the two of them. So he didn’t say anything, just cupped his own palms together, very aware that there were only two spots in the village that were bare of the insects: him and the fire pit.

After a moment, a big butterfly landed in his cupped palms. Its wings were streaked with red and orange like flames, its body matte black like his combat clothes, and though he didn’t know what that meant, it sure as hell felt like it meant something.

The creature fluttered up, deserting him, but a second later, a shiny green one lofted up from Myr’s shoulder to join it. The two hovered for a moment at eye level, then headed upward, twining together in an aerial dance that blurred green and red together. Others followed—blue, yellow, purple, pink—as if an entire field of wildflowers had suddenly taken flight. They churned up, swirled once around the ruined village, and then headed into the trees en masse, as if they had somewhere else to be.

Rabbit’s throat tightened at how fricking pretty it was, but also with an ache of frustration, this time not coming from the dark magic, but from him. Because moments like this—beautiful, magical—should be protected. And he wasn’t sure he knew how.

“Gods,” Myr whispered, her eyes locked on the last of the colorful flutters. “That was incredible.” The radiance still surrounded her, he realized. It wasn’t just the butterflies; it was magic.

“You summoned them,” he said, feeling a kick of
holy shit
inside him, because she sure as hell hadn’t inherited that power from him. This was something new, something he’d never heard of before.