Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

It was JT’s quasi-spell, JT’s discovery that a nonmage could kill the bat demons with a sharp knife and a curse. For a second, Rabbit remembered the winikin’s face and his go-to-hell attitude loud and clear, and the memory pushed the animal instincts back down inside him, making him feel for a second like a mage, like part of a team. Sudden heat flared, turned the red-gold of Nightkeeper magic, and then—whump—the camazotz puffed to a cloud of oily smoke.

And all of it—dick, tail barb, ichor, the whole mess—vanished, leaving behind only greasy smudges of char and ash.

In the aftermath, the stone hallway rang with silence.

Rabbit lay there for a second, sprawled and gasping, barely able to believe that he’d done it—he’d freaking done it! More, the silence said that the other camazotz weren’t close by, that maybe he had a chance to get out before they showed. He didn’t know how the hell he was going to get to Skywatch, but he knew one thing for damn sure: he needed to get his ass out of this fucking tunnel.

Cursing, he dragged himself up. It wasn’t until a sharp pain in his palm worked its way through the other discomforts that he looked down and saw new blood flowing, red and thick, from a deep gash that ran along his lifeline, scoring through the tough layers of sacrificial scarring. More, the buzz he’d gotten from the ’zotz’s banishment hadn’t totally faded—it was still there, feeling more like Nightkeeper magic each second. It was weaker than his old fighting magic, more like his healing powers, deep-seated and cellular. And as he headed along the tunnel at a shambling run, it flared outward as if it were seeking a distant connection.

Skywatch

One minute, Myrinne was sitting in the mansion’s main room, listening in on a strategy session with seventy or so of her nearest and dearest—aka the Nightkeepers and their human consorts, the winikin, who had gone from being servants to possessing fighting magic of their own; and whatever the hell she was.

But then in the next second, without warning, she was staring into her ex-lover’s eyes.

Her. Heart. Stopped.

On one level, she was aware that it wasn’t Rabbit suddenly standing up from a straight-backed chair on the other side of the room. But where, in the months since the resurrection spell had shocked the Nightkeepers by bringing Red-Boar back to life, she’d gotten used to seeing the resemblance between him and Rabbit, now it was more than that. It wasn’t just that the older man looked like his son or sometimes moved like him.

No. In that moment, he became him.

Rabbit’s eyes looked out from Red-Boar’s face, hollow and haunted, and his wide-shouldered, go-to-hell stance showed in place of his father’s slightly stooped frame. The sight of it—the painful reality of it—hit Myr in the gut and she lurched to her feet, barely aware that she and Red-Boar were suddenly the center of attention.

Then he blinked, and Rabbit was gone.

For an instant she thought she might have been wrong, that it had been a trick of the light. Then Red-Boar’s face lit and he spun to face the king. “I’ve got him.” He slammed a fist into the opposite palm. “I’ve fucking got him. I’ve got a blood-link!”

And right then, with his features sharp and intense, his body vibrating with leashed energy and violence, the father looked very like the son. Enough to have Myr sinking back into her chair while the air rushed out of her lungs and a complicated sort of shock—part horror, part relief—raced through her.

It was happening. Oh, shit. She wasn’t ready for this. Because as Dez asked if Red-Boar could lead the teleporters to the place and got a “Fuck, yeah,” her heart thudded sickly against her ribs with the knowledge of what was coming next.

They were going to try to rescue Rabbit from the demoness who had corrupted him. And if the rescue succeeded, they were going to bring him back to Skywatch . . . because the gods had sent Red-Boar back from the dead, not just to find Rabbit, but to reunite him with the Nightkeepers.

Apparently the Xibalbans weren’t the only ones who believed that Rabbit was the key to winning the end-time war—the gods did, too, and now the Nightkeepers. And where before their opinions toward him had ranged from “how could he?” to “good riddance,” now along with the wariness and mistrust there was scattered relief and a few “thank the gods,” because they were that desperate for something to believe in. They were pinning their hopes on Rabbit’s rescue and Red-Boar’s promise that he could be redeemed.

The irony seemed lost on everybody but Myrinne.

Then again, she was used to being the outlier.

You can deal with this, she told herself, swallowing hard to keep the growing churn of nausea at bay. You knew it was going to happen one of these days. But now she realized that while her head might’ve known there was a good chance that they would find him and bring him back, her heart hadn’t believed it, not really.

“You okay?” Anna asked from beside her.

Myr just stared at her friend, feeling like she was drowning.

The two of them had nearly two decades between them in age and were miles apart in looks, with Anna’s red highlights, cobalt eyes and ex-professor sensibility contrasting with Myr’s straight dark hair, brown eyes and Goth-goes-coed clothes. Their temperaments were as opposite as their looks, too, but they had bonded recently over their dubious distinction of being Red-Boar’s two least favorite people in the compound—Myr because she was only human and thus worth less than earwax in the old mage’s mind, and Anna because she couldn’t use the seer’s magic of her bloodline.

It took a moment for Anna’s words to get through, another for Myr to nod. “I’m . . .” she began, but then trailed off, suddenly aware that although most of the others were already on the move, getting geared up for the rescue, there were more than a few sympathetic looks—and outright pity—being shot her way. Her spine stiffened. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” Things were different now, and not just because the gods had sent Red-Boar back with an explanation of Rabbit’s brainwashing and a spell to ensure that he wouldn’t betray his king and teammates ever again.

“That’s not the only thing you’re going to be up against, living here with your ex.” Anna’s smile went crooked. “Ask me how I know.”

Maybe it was ridiculous to flinch at the word “ex,” but she’d never had one before. Besides, it sounded weird to call him that. There should be a distinction between a relationship that ended, say, because of infidelity or general assholeness, and one that flamed out in the midst of accusations and attempted murder. And that was when it hit her: after today—assuming the Nightkeepers pulled off the rescue—she would be dealing with Rabbit on a daily basis. Even fighting alongside him.

A dull headache took root, pounding with the beat of her heart. “I’ll be fine.” I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you. Not with anyone.

When Dez called for the teleporters to get into position, Anna hesitated. “I could stay.”

“Don’t. Not on my account. I’ll just . . .” Myr made a vague gesture. “I don’t know. Go take some Tylenol or something. Maybe drink myself stupid.”

Dez might not be the soul of sensitivity—the former gang-leader-turned-Nightkeeper king was more of the club-and-drag variety—but he didn’t ask if Myr wanted to go on the rescue mission. The answer would’ve been “no,” of course. In fact, she didn’t want to be there to see the warriors in their black combat gear, with their loaded weapons belts slung around their hips, didn’t want to wonder what they were going to find when they reached Rabbit, didn’t want to care.