Final Prophecy 05 - Blood Spells (23 page)

Myrinne had initially moved off with the others, but now backtracked and put herself in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not wrong, so much. I’m just getting a strange buzz off this place. It’s probably just the same thing Brandt was talking about.” He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m probably feeling it because we’re almost on top of the solstice-eclipse. I bet the others will start noticing it soon.”

She looked dubious. “Should we tell Strike?”

“Not yet.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he warned, “Don’t cry wolf on me, babe.”

She made a face at him. “You’re just pissed that when he finally gave me something to do, it turned out to be babysitting you.”

“Ouch.” But he snorted, amusement smoothing out some of the itchiness. “Witch.”

“Pyro.”

They grinned at each other like a couple of idiots in love—which they pretty much were—then linked hands and headed for the pyramid. But even as he let himself be distracted by the bounce in her step and the excited gleam in her eyes, he stayed very aware of the angry-mosquito buzz that plagued him just below the audible level . . . and the feeling, deep in his gut, that he was missing something.

At the back side of the square pyramid, out of sight of the tourists and the park attendants, the magi gathered near the center point of the lowest tier.

Brandt flattened his hand on a section of stonework that looked exactly like its neighbors on either side. “It was right here.” Beside him, Patience nodded.

They were standing closer together than usual, Rabbit saw, and when Patience caught his eye and sent him a “hope this works” look, she didn’t look as tight as she had for the past few months. He hoped that meant she and Brandt were putting things back together. He didn’t like them being out of whack, because if those two couldn’t make it work—hell, he didn’t know. It wasn’t good.

Jade stared at the stones, her eyes going blurry with the inward-looking expression she wore when she used her spell caster’s talents. After a moment, though, she shook her head. “I’m not sensing any sort of concealment spell. Let’s try uplinking and see if the power boost helps.”

To be on the safe side, Alexis cast a thin chameleon shield that would obscure them from view, making them seem to blend into the surrounding stone. Michael had discovered the variation on the warrior’s traditional protective shield, and Alexis had picked up on it through her connection to Ixchel, the goddess of weaving and rainbows; she said it was like weaving light.

They were the only two who had mastered the magic so far, though. Most of the others could only cast the protective shield. Rabbit had managed to alter his, but instead of going into stealth mode, it turned the deep, vibrant orange found at the heart of a fire, and grew bitching hot to the touch. Which was neat, but not exactly subtle.

Once the chameleon shield was in place, perceptible as a wall of blurriness separating them from the human world, Nate passed out the combo earpiece-microphones the warriors wore to keep in touch on ops. The reception wasn’t totally reliable underground, but the earbuds were better than nothing, and although this wasn’t an official op and they weren’t wearing full combat gear, they were all on guard, and most of them were carrying, concealed in some form or another.

At Strike’s cue, the magi pulled their ceremonial knives and blooded their palms on both sides. Rabbit
pasaj och
-ed his way into a barrier connection, and grinned when Nightkeeper power flared to life within him. Gods, he loved magic. The energy level kicked higher when the others started joining up, linking blood to blood, with the three non-Nightkeepers standing outside the main circle.

With his senses amped, Rabbit smelled blood and the mingled scents of his teammates’ soaps, colognes, and perfumes, along with the sharp edge of rich Mexican coffee and breakfast grease. He heard the trill of a sugarbird and the sigh of a gentle breeze, and saw subtle imperfections in the seemingly smooth spots on the pyramid face. But he didn’t see a doorway, not even with the inner senses that followed the flow of magic.

Then the energy flow fluctuated as Jade leaned on the uplink. Because the magi were all blood-linked so deeply, Rabbit picked up on the shimmer of her normally intangible magic as it spread across the stone surface, seeking a concealment spell.

And finding one.

Seeing the magic trace the contours of an arched doorway, Jade bore down, pulling magic from the whole team as she whispered a counterspell.

For a second nothing happened. Then the pyramid face shimmered and changed, revealing the doorway as a dark square leading inward.

Beside him, Patience gave a low gasp, and pain echoed through their handclasp.

Rabbit said in an undertone, “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, equally quietly. “It’s just that—”

Without warning, the mosquito buzz in Rabbit’s head ratcheted to a shriek and dark magic smashed through his mental blocks like they were fucking newspaper.

The hell-link slammed open and a terrible presence entered him, swelling inside his skull and seizing control of his body.

Before, Iago’s mental pattern had felt like those of the other magi. Now it was ten times stronger, faster, and more complex, with his and Moctezuma’s thoughts and memories twisted into a single entity controlled by the mage’s consciousness. And the bastard dug in and hung on tight. Agony ripped through Rabbit, but the Xibalban didn’t let him cry out in pain or yank his hands away from the blood-link and jam them against his temples. More, the bastard blocked Rabbit’s magic, not letting him transmit any sort of warning through the uplink.

Rabbit’s inner vision kaleidoscoped inward, spinning with fractured images, most unfamiliar. He caught impressions from Iago’s current lair: a cement-slab tunnel lit by strings of bare bulbs with a time-worn yellow sign hung on the wall. Those images were mixed with Moctezuma’s memories: scenes of sun-drenched pyramids, bright feathers, blood pouring onto sand as his Aztecs fought their Spanish enemies. Over it all lay a night-vision overcast of luminous green.

But then, a few frantic heartbeats later, the kaleidoscope reversed. It stopped showing him memories, and started taking his instead, lifting them wholesale from his mind.

Oh, holy shit. The bastard was fucking
downloading
him.

No!
Rabbit screamed inwardly as information gushed out of him, Iago focusing on the Nightkeepers’ recent highlights: the Triad spell, Patience and Brandt’s visions, the breakfast meeting, Ix’s death. Iago roared with rage over that last memory; he hadn’t known what had happened to his brother, or who had been responsible. He dug deeper, probing Rabbit’s memories of Patience and Brandt, and what he knew of Ix’s death. The information sped faster and faster, going to a blur that left Rabbit with no idea of what he’d divulged.

Howling inwardly, sick with the knowledge that he was giving up his teammates while they stood around him, unaware of the danger, he hammered against the bastard’s hold, trying to break free, trying to keep some part of himself locked down, but not managing to do either.

“Rabbit? What’s wrong?” Myrinne’s voice seemed very far away.

Help!
He didn’t know what had tipped her off, or whether she caught his desperate cry, but suddenly she was shouting Strike’s name.

He was barely conscious of the magi converging on him, their mouths opening and closing as they asked him questions he couldn’t hear. All he could do was stare at them while his vision flickered from green to normal and back again, like a hard drive rebooting.

Then Iago vanished from inside him.The invading presence disappeared. The green disappeared. The mental blocks reappeared, seeming strong and solid, like there had never been a problem.

But there was a big problem. His brain was in a fucking shambles.

Rabbit writhed as his body tried to tear itself apart from the inside out, like that was going to make up for the weakness it had just displayed. Memories hammered through him—his own, someone else’s; he didn’t fucking know anymore. Tremors racked him; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except clutch himself and groan, wishing to hell he’d paid more attention to that twitchy feeling.

Then he couldn’t even do that, because the seizure got worse. He staggered away from the pyramid, and passed the fuck out.

 

As Rabbit went down, a headache came out of nowhere to nail Patience behind her eyeballs, washing her world white with sudden agony. She reeled sideways, grabbing for her temples, as the others bolted for Rabbit.

Brandt spun back. “Patience!”

She waved him off as the sharp pain subsided, leaving a dull ache behind. “I’m fine.” Or if not exactly fine, she was doing better than Rabbit.

The others were trying to keep him from hurting himself as he thrashed wildly, his eyes rolled back in his skull, his lips drawn back in a terrible, silent scream. Strike had his shoulders and was wrestling to hold him flat on the ground, while Nate, Sven, and Lucius grappled with his flailing arms and legs, and Jade tried to get something between his teeth.

Then, as quickly and unexpectedly as the convulsions had begun, they ended. Rabbit went limp and utterly still.

Too still.

“He’s not breathing,” Myrinne cried.

Patience’s heart clutched at the sight of Rabbit’s sharp features gone lax, his bristly haircut and beard shadow forming a dark contrast against his too-pale skin.

Without a word, Brandt shouldered his way through the small crowd and dropped down beside Rabbit. Moving with grim efficiency, he checked vitals and then started CPR, snapping, “Myrinne, get in here and breathe for him. Pinch his nose. On my count,
breathe
.”

Patience’s initial surprise quickly morphed to the realization that he must have learned the first aid after the accident, thinking that maybe he could have saved his friends if he’d known how.

She dropped to her knees opposite him. “What can I do?”

“Pray,” he said raggedly.

Almost before the word was out of his mouth, Rabbit jerked and shuddered. She gasped, afraid it was the beginning of another seizure. But then he rolled partway onto his side and dragged in a rattling breath. He tried to say something, but the words devolved into a painful hacking cough.

“Thank the gods,” she whispered, and the sentiment was echoed by several of the others.

Brandt didn’t call on the sky, but he did rock back on his heels, his expression easing slightly. When Rabbit struggled to speak, he pressed on the younger man’s shoulder. “Take it easy. There’s no rush.”

But Rabbit shook his head furiously, finally managing to get out, “It was Iago. He came right through the blocks and saw everything. He knows exactly what we’re—”

A rattling roar split the air, drowning him out.

A millisecond later, twenty warriors materialized within the confines of the chameleon shield.

The men were in their twenties and thirties, lean and muscled, their arms and legs marked with scars and tattoos that ranged from crude letters to intricate, high-tech art. But although the ink was modern, their outfits and weapons were pure Aztec.

They wore bulky quilted shirts and intricately wrapped cotton loincloths that were knotted at the front, leaving the decorated ends to dangle at knee level. Most of them carried long, flat wooden staves that had rows of sharpened obsidian blades inset along the edges, turning them into crude but effective swords. The lone exception carried a long, obsidian-tipped spear and wore a blue-painted wooden helmet that left his face visible through the gaping mouth of a terrible horned creature with a pug nose and sun-disk eyes.

Their eyes glowed luminous green.

Strike roared,
“Makol!”

The Nightkeepers reacted instantly. Red-gold magic sang in the air as the magi brought their talents online and ranged themselves around where Brandt, Patience, and Myrinne still crouched over Rabbit.

At first the obsidian-edged staves didn’t seem like much of a threat, but then the demon-helmeted leader barked an unfamiliar spell, dark power rattled in the air, and the obsidian blades spun into magic-wrought motion, whizzing chain-saw-like. At a second command, the sword tips became spear throwers that launched spinning, razor-sharp blades toward the Nightkeepers.

“Shields!” Strike ordered, though most of the warriors already had their protective spells online. The first barrage bounced off those shields, except for a single blade that caught Sven in the shoulder, sending him to his knees as blood splashed the rock behind him. He clamped his lips on a cry.

Alexis dropped down beside him, yanked his shirt off, and worked it into a passable field dressing as the others launched a salvo of fireballs and jade-tipped bullets. Within the core of the defensive formation, Patience brought up her shield magic and spread it out, forming a protective globe that encompassed a groggy Rabbit, and Myrinne, who hadn’t left his side. Brandt did the same, so together they cast a double layer of protection as Rabbit struggled up, eyes wild. He pointed to something behind them. “The doorway!”

Patience’s heart lurched as she spun and saw that two of the Aztec
makol
were headed straight for the tunnel mouth, both loaded with heavy satchels.
They are headed for the cave!

As one, she and Brandt started after them. Behind them, Rabbit shouted, “Iago got right into my head. He knows about the light-magic entrance.”

Brandt cursed. “If he sent the
makol
to breach the inner doorway, he must not have known how to get into the intersection, after all.”

“And watch your backs,” Rabbit said, his voice now coming from their earpieces as they crossed to the pyramid. “He knows you two killed Ix. He’ll be gunning for both of you.”

“Roger,” Brandt said. He paused near the darkness of the doorway. The two
makol
were gone. When he glanced at Patience, she saw the warrior in his eyes, but there was something more there too. Something worried. “You should stay up here and make sure none of the others get through.”