Jessica Andersen - Blood Spells

What was more, it wasn’t chaos. As she watched, mental images of high wooden filing cabinets materialized within his consciousness. Moments later, the glowing bits of information, which had been whirling madly around, all started sailing toward the cabinets, which thrust out their drawers to snap up the information, sorting the whirl by skill, spell, subject, and whatever other filing system Brandt’s highly ordered brain could devise.

Understanding broke over her like the dawn. The sun god might have almost chosen Rabbit as the Triad mage, but whatever god had saved Brandt from the accident years ago had known the truth: Brandt had been destined for this all along. He was, for better or worse, perfect for the job.

His analytic, linear thought process, combined with the strength of an eagle warrior, had given him an almost terrifying ability to compartmentalize. And although that had caused problems before, now it would allow him to continue functioning as both a Triad mage and the man she loved. She hoped.

As if that was what he had wanted her to see, the filing-cabinet images shimmered around her, then dissolved, and she was back in her own body, blinking down at Brandt. Moments later, he stirred, groaning. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, his expression awed.

“Gods,” he croaked, finally able to call on the sky deities after all these years. “All their powers, their talents. The battles they’ve fought. The things they’ve seen . . .” He trailed off, expression clouding.

“You can handle it,” she said.

The full impact still seemed to be catching up with him, though. “If I can do almost anything an eagle mage has ever done,” he said softly, thoughtfully, “how can I tell what , exactly, I’m supposed to do?”

“You’re not alone.” She gestured to their teammates, then to Hannah and their sons. “We’re all in this together.”

His eyes never left her face. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m not alone. And thank the gods for that.”

They were going to be okay, she thought. “I think—” A train-track rumble erupted beneath them, around them, cutting her off. The teammates braced as the tunnel shook and shuddered in short, rhythmic bursts, then in one long, drawn-out shimmy before the movement stopped.

There was dead silence for a moment, as the miniquake brought home an ominous fact: The magi might have prevented Iago from enacting the first-fire ceremony, but the threat of Cabrakan remained.

And the clock was ticking.

Brandt moved to where Woody lay, still and gray. Hannah sat beside him, the boys beside her.

Patience joined them and burrowed in, needing to touch them, feel them, be reassured that they were there, they were okay, for the moment at least. Brandt, too, crouched to be with his family, and to reach out and touch his winikin ’s face, stroke a hand along the gray-shot hair. “Woodrow’s a good name,” he said softly. “We won’t forget it.”

He reached for Patience and folded their fingers together, and she felt a surge of power, sensed a reshuffling of the cabinets. When Sven started to say something, she shook her head and mouthed, “Wait. Let him work.”

After nearly a minute, Brandt broke the contact and looked up at the others. “Okay. Triad-magic time. When I concentrate on the solstice-eclipse and Cabrakan, I get two images from my ancestors.

The first is a hand-drawn map of an island with four straight causeways leading to it and a bunch of buildings on the island, like a city, or maybe a sprawled-out palace. The second is a painting from an old wall mural, or maybe part of a codex. There’s a bunch of people standing near a broken wall that has a repeated eagle motif carved into it. They’re holding hands beneath a full moon that’s painted dark orange, like it’s in full eclipse, and lines of red light are radiating away from them.” He paused.

“I think we need to link up right near that wall. Problem is, I don’t have a clue where it might be.”

“I do,” Patience said. When he glanced at her, she said with some asperity, “I tried to tell you about it earlier.”

“Sorry.”

“I get a freebie on our next fight.” There would be one, of course. But this time she wouldn’t have to wonder if he loved her. She knew it—believed it—deep down inside. Feeling an inner glow at the thought, despite everything else, she continued: “What I figured out was that big earthquake in Mexico City wasn’t just the year after the Solstice Massacre. It was less than two days before the fall equinox. What’s more, there were two major aftershocks: a seven-point-five on the day of the equinox, and a seven-point-six exactly six months later, a few days after the spring equinox.” When she paused, there was dead silence.

Then Brandt muttered, “Cabrakan was testing the barrier even back then.”

She nodded. “I think so. Only the massacre had sealed it tight, and kept it sealed for the next twenty-some years, so Cabrakan couldn’t do anything. Then, last spring, a five-point-nine tremor hit, followed by the one the other day. All under Mexico City.” She paused. “I think there must be a weak spot in the barrier right there, maybe one that’s specific to Cabrakan himself.”

Lucius said, “Moctezuma reportedly sacrificed hundreds of thousands of captives, trying to appease the dark gods when the conquistadors arrived. That sort of sacrifice, along with the geologic makeup of the place, with the dry lake bed amplifying even the smallest tremor, could certainly attract Cabrakan. And the map fits: The city was originally an island in the middle of the lake, and the Aztecs built four causeways connecting it to the mainland.”

Brandt turned to him. “Tell me you know where there’s a wall of carved eagles in Mexico City.”

Lucius nodded, suppressed excitement firing in his eyes. “Five centuries of Mexico City are layered over the top of Moctezuma’s palace, but archaeologists started seriously excavating the site in the late seventies. One of the buildings found near the palace has been identified as the barracks of Moctezuma’s warrior elite . . . who were called the Eagles.”

“That’s where we need to be,” Patience whispered.

Gods willing, they wouldn’t be too late.

Mexico City The ruins of Moctezuma’s palace—the Templo Mayor—were set up as a tourist attraction, complete with a museum and clearspan roofing that stretched across the excavated areas, including the warriors’ barracks. Little remained of the original structure except for a long wall that had been intricately carved with bas-relief eagles, repeated over and over again.

The Nightkeepers had detoured to Skywatch in order to drop off Hannah and the boys and grab calories, which meant it was almost exactly fifteen minutes before the moment of solstice when their boots hit the ground near the eagle-carved wall.

The ground hit back.

The earthquake tossed the world around, making the surface beneath them undulate and heave. Out in the street things crashed and people screamed. The Nightkeepers had materialized with Patience’s magic in full force, rendering them invisible to any humans who might be nearby, but although the Templo Mayor and surrounding buildings were popular attractions, the place was deserted. The locals and tourists were far more concerned with either getting out of the city or hunkering down someplace reinforced to ride out the quakes.

Brandt landed and locked his knees, and when Patience nearly went down, he hooked an arm around her waist. They hung on to each other while the quake went on far too long, the earth rippling with unnatural liquidity.

“It feels like the barrier,” Patience said against his chest, and she was right, except that instead of a soft, yielding surface and harmless fog, they were standing on stone slabs that threatened to crack and buckle, and there were steel girders all around them, arching overhead to support the flapping expanse of plastic.