Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

Not that he had anything against the critters. He’d just figured it would be more of a family decision, maybe even a way for them to celebrate all being back together. Not to mention that he’d been envisioning something more along the lines of a Rottweiler.

“I was going to talk to you about getting them a dachshund,” Patience said mournfully.

Brandt’s opinion of the black mutt notched up significantly.

“We were gonna call him Wolfie,” Harry chirped, “but the first day he was here, when we went to buy him a collar and stuff, he got out of his cage, broke Hannah’s big bowl and the purple vase Jox got her for her birthday, ate the garbage out of the kitchen, puked under the dining table and then chewed up Jox’s boots.”

“Only one,” Braden said defensively, hauling the pup into his arms in an awkward hug that left its face smooshed off to one side and one ragged ear sticking straight up. The puppy didn’t look like it cared, though. In fact, it looked like it was having the time of its little life. Either that, or its doggy smile meant it was planning to eat the computer next.

“Jox can’t wear only one shoe,” Harry said with a serious tone of “duh” in his voice. “Anyway, after that, Jox said we should name him after Unc’ Rabbit.”

Now it was Brandt’s turn to say, “Oh, no, they didn’t.” But there was a laugh in his voice.

After Red-Boar’s death, Rabbit had lived with them and had become the boys’ favorite playmate. And to everyone’s surprise, he had taken to them in return. He’d played with them, hung out with them, told them all the old stories, and become their unofficial uncle. So for Harry and Braden to name their puppy after him was a sign of love. For Jox, it was more along the lines of passive-aggressive revenge. And more apropos than ever, now, though the winikin wouldn’t know it.

Brandt paused the video and glanced at his wife. “Well,” he said, torn between amusement and horror. “That was unexpected.”

“Yes, it was.” She paused, lips turning up with wry acceptance. “Apparently we’ve got one more dependent to add to the list.”

“Yeah.” He kissed her cheek, tucked her tighter against his side, and tapped the touchpad to unpause things. And, as the video kept going with the boys talking over each other in an effort to describe their efforts to housebreak the new puppy, he inwardly promised the true gods that he was going to do his absolute best to honor his creators and ancestors, fight the enemy, defend the barrier, the earth and mankind . . . and protect his family. Which apparently now included a terminally destructive mutt named Rabbit.

Quarantine camp

Chichén Itzá, Mexico

“Only a couple have left so far, both older, more traditional winikin who just couldn’t give up on their gods.” Anna tugged at the edge of the teddy bear blanket, though it wasn’t really wrinkled. She needed to do something, make some sort of contact, yet she didn’t feel like she had the right to hold Rosa’s hand, given that she’d ’ported straight into her room in the middle of the night.

Not that the little girl minded. She was still unconscious and nonresponsive. Waiting for a miracle.

In the soft bluish glow of Anna’s foxfire spell, the child’s face was soft and sweet, yet it carried a trace of hidden mischief that promised a bright and lively little girl, if only she could fight off the virus.

Guilt tugged. “We’re going to do it,” Anna said, keeping her voice down so nobody out in the hall would hear her. “We’re going to renounce the imposters and promise ourselves to the ancestors’ gods, right at Coatepec Mountain, where the bad guys are going to come through the barrier. And then . . . well, I guess we’ll pray for a miracle.” There was a chance—backed up by a couple of papyri—that once they were free of the kohan, the true gods would be able to help them.

Maybe. Possibly.

“I know I should be back in the library right now, working on more translations or helping Leah keep up morale, but I just . . . I needed some peace.”

It probably should’ve seemed strange that she would find her peace here, in the middle of illness and death. But it was partly her fault that Rosa was here, and it helped to sit at her bedside, helped to be able to whisper, “I’m going to protect you. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re okay after all this.” One way or another. “I’m going to—”

A muffled exchange reached her through the door, bringing her to her feet. She doused the foxfire and ramped up her magic, but her gut—those instincts the warriors swore by—told her not to ’port away this time. Her pulse kicked up a notch. Had her magic sensed danger on the other side of that door? Were the xombis mobilizing now that the time was near?

With sudden energy sizzling along her skin, she cast a chameleon spell and stepped into the corner on the other side of the door, where the deepest shadows would be cast by the small camp lantern. Right now, it sat unlit on the cardboard box that had been set up as a nightstand, attesting that the little girl had become a favorite of more than a few staffers.

In a flash, Anna had cataloged the contents of the room and their potential as a distraction or a weapon, and where before the thought process had so often felt awkward and ill-fitting, now it came naturally. And, as the hallway conversation cut out and the doorknob turned, she braced to defend the defenseless.

She didn’t know if the intruder was xombi, makol, human or what, but it wasn’t getting past her without a fight.

Hidden behind the chameleon shield, she bared her teeth as the door swung open and a small flashlight beam cut into the room, swept it in a casual look-see, and then fixed on the small bump beneath the teddy bears. The door swung shut and the beam headed for the bed . . . and in its reflected light, Anna saw a camp shirt rolled up over strong, tanned forearms, and a body that was sturdy and compact, and moved with an unswerving determination that said “Everything’s okay. I’m here.”

She relaxed and blew out a silent breath. She knew that shirt, knew that arm and that way of moving. Ah, she thought. David. She didn’t know why she was surprised, why he hadn’t been her first thought when she’d heard the voices out in the hallway. Or maybe he had been and she hadn’t let herself go there. Because now her pulse was drumming with a different sort of adrenaline.

She had seen him a couple of times in the past week, keeping up her pretense of being in the area while deflecting his curiosity. They had also exchanged a half dozen or so e-mails, notes that had started as quick updates on Rosa’s condition and had evolved to snippets of each of their days, with Anna telling half-truths that fit into the life she was supposed to be living, while he talked about being frustrated by the virus, the politics, the buzz about the coming doomsday. And eventually about himself, too. She now knew he’d been divorced for ten years, loved his work, and wasn’t looking to change his lifestyle. She also knew he still wondered about the scars on her wrists and the way Rosa had stopped talking after she’d passed along her message, but he didn’t ask about it. In fact, he didn’t ask anything, really. He just shared himself, slowly and cautiously, but with a quiet openness that drew her in.

It was a very different flirtation than any she’d ever had before, and she was all too aware that most of it was lies, at least on her part. David thought he was talking to an academic on sabbatical, a woman in search of meaning in the wake of a life-changing event. And gods, how she wished that she could’ve been that woman, that it could’ve been that simple.