Dawnkeepers

gone invisible or anything like that. The redhead had ’ported back to the shop.

Back to where Rabbit was waiting, jacked up on magic and angst.

“Come on!” Nate grabbed Alexis’s hand and practically dragged her out of the crypt to their cab.

They piled in and he told the cabbie to take them back to the tea shop ASAP, while she whipped out her cell and speed-dialed Rabbit’s phone, punching it to speaker.

After five rings it kicked to voice mail, and Rabbit’s recorded voice said, “I’m not here.”

Then the line went dead. There was no beep, no nothing. Only silence.

Rabbit thought he was handling the negotiations pretty well. After a flash of panicked certainty that he was going to fuck this up the way he’d always fucked up pretty much anything else important he’d ever tried to do, he forced himself to slow down and focus. Think.

He’d let the girl—she’d said her name was Myrinne—keep the knife. Okay, actually she’d refused to hand it over, but he hadn’t pressed. He had, however, insisted that they get their asses out of the tea shop. Myrinne hadn’t argued; she’d just put her hand in his and let him lead her through the streets of her own neighborhood, looking for someplace loud and crowded. As they walked, she told him a bit about the other guy who’d wanted the knife, namely that he called himself Iago, and had actually identified himself as Xibalban, and promised to share his magic with the witch in exchange for the knife.

“He’ll kill her,” Rabbit said.

Myrinne said nothing, just pointed to a pizza joint across the street. “Let’s go in there. It’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.”

Quiet was an understatement, Rabbit decided. The place was empty except for the guy behind the counter. Rabbit snagged a table in the corner and put his back to the wall, feeling nerves and power vibrating through him. When the guy headed toward them with menus, Rabbit ordered a couple of Cokes and told him they’d need a while.

Make that a long while.

Under the bright fluorescent lights, Myrinne’s shiner stood out loud and clear, angry and purple-

black, with spider tracks of broken veins edging the white of that eye.

Seeing that he was staring, she jerked her chin up and glared. “What’re you looking at?”

“Did the witch do it?” he asked, knowing they both knew exactly what he’d been looking at. “Is that why you want to come with me?”

At first he wasn’t sure she was going to answer, because she sort of locked up and hunched over, as though she weren’t sure how much to tell him. But then she said, “Yes, she clobbered me. But no, that’s not why I need you to take me with you. It’s because of the dreams.”

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.”