Jessica Andersen - Magic Unchained

She could take care of herself, damn it, and she could handle whatever Zane wanted to throw at her. Maybe she couldn’t give him what he wanted on a personal level, but they both wanted the same thing when it came to the war. They would make it work somehow.

The weather was closing in fast, drawing the air tightly around her as she headed for the training grounds. The lights were off, the only illumination the unearthly luminance of the storm, until she dug out a small key-chain flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on. The feeble beam didn’t do much more than glint off a shiny bit of sand here and there along the path, making her wish for her night-vision goggles, but she knew the way and could make out the irregular shadows of fake temples and pyramids in the middle distance.

The rising breeze tugged at her hair and clothing as she continued onward, drawing her nine-millimeter in what had become a habit over the past few days. Don’t go anywhere alone without carrying your weapon, she’d been telling her people. And I’m not talking about in its holster. Now, without Mac ghosting at her heels, she took her own advice and kept her eyes moving, her senses sharp, though she wasn’t getting any bad vibes as she reached the edges of the training grounds. At least, not like she had right before the funeral. But the thought of the funeral brought a kick of instinct, because it had been stormy then too, and the demon creatures had come from fire and lightning. What if there was a connection? Could a storm weaken the barrier?

A scuff of movement to her right caught her attention, coming from a narrow alley between two low-slung temple-size buildings. Stopping just short of the main pyramid, she swung around. “Zane? Is that you?” The wind picked up suddenly, carrying a splat of raindrops that hit with staccato force, soaking through her shirt in an instant. “Ugh. Can we get inside somewhere?”

There was another scuffling noise, this one coming from the other side. Heart suddenly thudding, she spun toward it. “Damn it—”

A heavy weight slammed into her, drove her sideways, and sent her crashing into the pyramid stairs. She screamed as she hit and skidded down, scrabbling for purchase as she lost her grip on her gun, her flashlight, everything but the sudden fear that slashed through her.

Her attacker—heavy and human-shaped, though she couldn’t see in the darkness whether he was a man, a makol, or something else—pinned her against the sharp-edged staircase. “No,” she cried. “Help me! Help!”

She went for her panic button, but he jammed a knee on her forearm and tore her wristband off. Seconds later, something sharp pricked the back of her thigh, followed by the burning rush of an injection. She twisted and surged, but couldn’t break free, couldn’t get leverage, couldn’t do anything but scream, “No!”

The wind whipped to an answering howl and a splash of cold, stinging rain.

Disbelief ripped through her. Panic filled the empty spaces and overflowed, then went swimmy as the world fogged. She didn’t know whether it was a drug or a spell, but as she slipped under, she caught a glimpse of a hand and sleeve, the edge of a face, and not only saw the darkness of normal human eyes, but recognized them too. It wasn’t any demon. It was—

Darkness.

The storm hit hard and fast, going from the moan of wind to a machine-gun fusillade against the windows of Sven’s suite just as he finished packing—one knapsack, no bullshit, as usual.

“Shit.” He scowled at the moisture-pelted night beyond the glass, but didn’t have anybody to blame but himself that he was about to get his ass soaked on his way out to the winikin’s hall. He’d been stalling, alternating between the struggle to come up with a good way to tell Cara he was leaving… and the suspicion that she wouldn’t give a damn. And that, too, wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own. So he dragged out an old, battered slicker that had migrated to the back of his closet, and headed into the storm.

It was pitch dark beyond the lighted pathway, which went slick and slippery under his boots as he fought his way into the teeth of the wind, feeling like he was reliving one of a hundred sea squalls, though this one on solid ground. When he reached the winikin’s hall, lightning flashed for a long three-count, showing him that the cacao grove was lying almost flat beneath the pounding rain, while the branches of the ceiba tree whipped the air above as if trying to protect the precious crop. The rain hammered down onto the steel panels of the training hall with a din that drowned out everything else.

The party was still going—he saw the door open and close, flashing orange-yellow light from within as two figures staggered down the stairs, holding each other up and laughing into the rain. Sven had seen them around but didn’t know their names. They quit laughing when he approached and ducked under the overhang that sheltered the doorway.

“This is a Nightkeeper-free zone,” one slurred, gesturing with a beer bottle that was down to the watery dregs, yet still managed to slosh onto his buddy. “Piss off.”

“Shut it,” his slightly more sober friend advised, then blinked rapidly, trying to focus his reddened eyes on Sven. “C’n I help you?”

“You shut it,” Beer Bottle said, elbowing Blinker. “We don’ have to help ’im.”

“I’m juss bein’ polite.” Blink, blink. “Nothin’ wrong with that, izzere?”

“Absolutely not,” Sven said. “Could you tell Cara I’d like to talk to her out here?” Then, not wanting anybody to get the wrong idea, he tacked on, “I have a message for her.” Which he did, sort of.

Beer Bottle sneered. “Whassa matter? You don’t want to go inside?”

“Do you blame me?”

The sneer flattened, then got a little confused. “Well… no.”

“I don’t want to make trouble; I just need to talk to Cara. Please.”

Blink, blink. “She’s not in there.”

“She’s not—” Sven let out a breath. “Where did she go?”

“Dunno. Saw her leave, though.” Blinker did the blinkety-blink thing, then added helpfully, “It was a while ago.”

“Did you— You know what? Never mind. Thanks.”

Beer Bottle scowled and jabbed an elbow at Blinker. “I tol’ you not to help him.”

“Nothin’ wrong with bein’ polite.” And they were off again, wobbling around the same conversational circuit as Sven popped his hood and jogged back out into the rain, leaving them to it.

He was just about to head back to the mansion, thinking he’d missed her, when a faint tickle hit the edge of his mind, a pulse of agitation. “Mac?” He stopped in his tracks and opened his mind to their bond.

Instantly, thought-glyphs seared themselves across his mind, seeming ten feet high and glowing red-hot: Emergency! Come now! Danger! Comenowcome!

Gut knotting even as his body spun toward the signal, which was coming from the firing range, he sent back: What? Who?

Followfollowfollow! was paired with a glimpse of the main pyramid of the proving grounds.

I’m coming! Catching that Mac was poised to bolt after something—or someone—Sven sent an emphatic: NO. Wait. Then he put his head down and booked it, adrenaline shrilling through his body as his warrior’s talent came online, juicing his magic and getting him ready to fight. A foxfire spell lit the night around him, though he didn’t remember calling it. Was it more of those demon creatures? Something worse? He wasn’t getting images from Mac anymore, just fury.

When he reached the ruins, he caught sight of Mac’s bristling silhouette up ahead and swerved in that direction, skidding in a patch of mud and nearly going down. He kept going, though, racing toward where the big coyote was standing splay-legged with his head down, as if guarding something—or someone.