Jessica Andersen - Dawnkeepers

Something tickled the hairs at the back of Rabbit’s neck. “What—” He broke off as the door to the pizza joint slammed open, and a big biker-looking guy with reddish hair strode through, looking pissed. He was dragging Mistress Truth along behind him.

Adrenaline kicked Rabbit’s system even higher when he realized it was the Xibalban. Iago. Rabbit knew it like he knew his own name—not just from the description, but from the power that churned off the guy, murky brown and shit-strong.

Mistress Truth pointed at Myrinne. “That’s her. She must’ve stolen it!”

Heart hammering up into his throat, Rabbit scrambled up and shoved Myrinne behind him. “Out the back,” he snapped, pushing her in the direction of the door. “Hurry!” He didn’t wait to see if she’d followed orders; he was too busy scrambling to call the fire magic, a shield, telekinesis, whatever the hell magic he could get his hands on, because he had a feeling he was going to need all of it and more.

Panic kindled in his gut, alongside excitement and a whisper of, It’s about time .

“I don’t want any trouble in here,” the pizza guy snapped real quick. When nobody paid attention to him, he ducked down behind the counter and came up with a Louisville Slugger. He was halfway around the pass-through, weapon raised over his head, when Iago flicked the fingers of his free hand and said, “You’re leaving now.”

The guy got a blank look on his face, turned, and walked straight out the door. Rabbit froze too.

Holy shit. This guy had some serious magical ’nads. He wasn’t just a ’port; he could mind-bend too.

What the hell else could he do?

Rabbit had a feeling he was about to find out, because Iago was headed in his direction, moving fast.

“Take this,” Myrinne whispered, pressing something into Rabbit’s hand. The feel of the stone haft and a serious buzz of power told him it was the knife. Then he heard footsteps and the slam of the back door.

The enemy mage slowed and stopped, and opened his fingers so Mistress Truth dropped in a heap on the floor, weeping softly. The big guy smiled mockingly. “Don’t be a hero, kid. Hand it over and you’ll live to report back to your father.”

The taunt broke over Rabbit, chasing some of the terror with hurt, and the mixture of resentment and grief he couldn’t seem to get past no matter how hard he tried. He closed his fingers over the knife and felt the blade bite into his palm, felt the blood flow. “News flash, asshole: Living isn’t going to get me a convo with the old man. Dying will.”

The blood sacrifice jacked him in; he stuck the knife in his belt and felt the barrier connection flare through him, starting in his bones and radiating outward, buzzing in his skull.

“Don’t do it,” Iago warned.

Rabbit would’ve told him to go fuck himself, but he couldn’t find the words amidst the sudden spinning in his brain. Something was happening to him. A crazy pressure was crawling inside his skull, rooting around and taking him over, and then sudden rage poured through him, hot, angry joy, and the thrill of power. Burn them, something said deep inside him. Burn them all. He fought the impulse, but it quickly became a compulsion, an overwhelming need to destroy.

Blood riding high even as a small piece of him screamed, Stop! Rabbit clapped his palms together, dropped his head back, and shouted, “Kaak!”

The ancient word called the fire, called the gods, called a detonation that blasted through the room, laying waste to everything in its path. The front of the pizza joint blew outward in a hail of glass and superheated air. Flames lunged from Rabbit to the walls and ceiling.

Alarms wailed and people out on the street started screaming, shrill calls of, “Fire!” and, “Call nine-one-one!” and, “Hey, somebody’s in there!”

At the center of the conflagration, completely untouched by the fire, Iago held out a hand, baring his crimson-marked forearm. “Give me the knife.”

The order grabbed onto Rabbit, dug into him. Give me the knife. The words twined around his soul, twisting and caressing and making him want to do exactly that. The knife, his instincts said, the knife, give him the knife . Just as he hadn’t wanted to call the fire, not really, he didn’t want to give up the knife. But to his horror, he saw his bloody hand stretch out, saw his fingers open to offer up the bloodstained blade.

He’s a mind-bender, he screamed inside his own skull. Fight it, fight! But he couldn’t. He could only stand there while Iago grabbed the knife, gave him a middle-fingered salute, and disappeared, taking Mistress Truth with him.

Then there was nothing but the fire, and the screaming inside Rabbit’s head as the world went dark, and he collapsed.

The door to the tea shop hung open. Nate was about to jump out of the cab, a really bad feeling knotting the pit of his stomach, when he smelled the smoke. That decided it for him. Lunging back into the taxi, he slammed the door and snapped, “We need to be where the fire is.”

“Will do!” the cabbie shouted, and floored it, lost in some sort of James Bond fantasy and unaware that the reality was so much worse.

Alexis’s expression tightened when a siren split the air, starting low and mournful and climbing to a shriek. “Damn it.”

“Call Strike,” Nate said. “We’re going to need a quick exit. And have him bring Patience.”

He took it as a bad sign that she didn’t argue the need for the emergency evac ’port, or for Patience’s talent of invisibility. Worse was the sight he caught when they rounded the next corner: glass blown out into the street, and most of a block aflame. “Shit.”

He was out of the cab before it stopped moving. Aware that Alexis was right behind him he spun and snapped, “Stay here, and this time I fucking mean it!”

She called his name as he turned away, but he didn’t look back. He headed straight into the flames, shouting, “Rabbit? Rabbit, goddamn it, answer me!”

There was no answer but the roar of fire. He sucked in another breath to try again, and pain seared his lungs, the foulness of smoky air grabbing on and doubling him over in a fit of coughing. He staggered onward, though, passing tables and chairs that had already burned to skeletons, as though they’d been liberally dosed with napalm.

Goddamn it, he was going to be seriously pissed if he died saving the kid’s punk ass from fire he’d created himself and didn’t have the chops to control. “Rabbit!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

And thank the freaking gods he got an answer, more a groan than any words, but it’d do. Staying low and holding what was left of his shirt across his mouth, Nate headed that way, not bothering to test the floor or worry about the flaming timbers overhead, because if he didn’t move fast they were dead anyway.

“Keep talking!” he ordered, and heard another groan. Two more steps and his foot snagged on something and he went to his knees, kneeling atop a semiconscious Rabbit. “Got you,” Nate said, voice cracking on smoke. “I’ve got you.”

But who has me? he thought as he grabbed onto Rabbit’s hoodie and jeans and started dragging the kid in what he thought was the direction of the door. The answer was, Nobody. He’d have to make it on his own, like always. But the room was spinning and the floor was pitching beneath his feet as he staggered onward, dragging Rabbit’s limp body. He missed his next step and went down to his knees, then fell forward. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even feel the fire anymore. The flames were cool, licking across his skin like a lover.