Dawnkeepers

they were one, with Iago in control, Rabbit shoved to a corner of his own mind.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything except watch as Iago used his body as a puppet, forcing it to focus on the dark-haired woman, forcing it to call on something Rabbit didn’t know he’d possessed, a grayish intensity of magic he didn’t recognize.

Then Iago and not-Rabbit spoke in synchrony, asking the woman, “Where is the library?”

Her drug-dulled eyes blanked for a second, and her mouth opened as though to answer, but only a strangled cry emerged, one that went to pain as the woman bit down on her own tongue and blood flowed. “I don’t know,” she said.

The gray haze in Rabbit’s brain thickened, and he could feel the magic, feel the pressure as Iago and not- Rabbit said, “Tell us where your father hid the library.”

“Fuck. You.” Her words came from between gritted teeth.

Iago leaned on Rabbit for more power, dug deeper into the woman’s mind for an answer. Grinning a horrible rictus of pain, she writhed against her bonds, emitting high, inhuman mewling noises that made Rabbit’s blood freeze with horror at the knowledge that he was helping Iago torture her.

Stop it, he told himself. Make him stop! But he didn’t know how to use his own mind-bending powers, hadn’t known he had them until the Xibalban had pulled them to the surface.

The woman was screaming now, deep, raw cries that started at the back of her throat and rose up through the octaves, each one a little weaker than the last.

“Your father found the library and recovered it from the caves,” Iago pressed in his and not-

Rabbit’s voices, their talents amplifying each other, the mind-bender and the borrower, locked together to break a human woman who was so much stronger than she should have been. “Where did he take the codices? Where did he hide them?”

She was beyond speech now, but speech wasn’t necessary, because they were inside her head.

Rabbit could see flashes of an older, gray-haired man, and a busy restaurant. And over it all was the refrain of a song, one that he almost recognized.

She was using the song to block the invasion, Rabbit realized, and was impressed. More than that, he was free to go after the magic, because Iago was pissed, and entirely focused on the melody that blocked the information he wanted. Hustling, Rabbit fought to track the grayish mist to its source, only it didn’t seem to have a source; it was all over, all around him. And then, somehow, it was inside him, inside the small knot of Rabbit- consciousness that he’d managed to retain within the prison Iago had made of his mind.

He threw himself into the mist, took it within himself, and found the magic. Or maybe the magic finally found him, as it had done with fire and telekinesis. Either way, he grabbed for it, locked onto it, and threw it straight into Iago’s head. Stop! he shouted mentally, as loud as he could, pouring all the power he possessed along the link. Barrier power, hell power, he didn’t care; he just threw all of himself into the Xibalban, screaming, Stop!

Roaring, Iago yanked his hand away from their uplink and grabbed for his skull. “Get out!” But he didn’t have control of the mind-bend anymore, so the words were just words.

Die! Rabbit shouted, beyond himself with hatred, with violence. Die, you son of a bitch!

Too late, he realized they were still connected to the woman. The command split between her and Iago, traveling the mind-bender’s link to both of them. Iago fell with a crash and went still. The woman arched up with a soundless cry. Then she too went limp and motionless.

In the sudden silence—both inside his skull and inside the cabin—Rabbit stared at the bodies. He reached out trembling fingers to touch the woman, and exhaled a shuddering breath of relief when he felt the faint flutter of her pulse. Same for Iago. They were alive. Sort of.

He wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed. He hadn’t wanted to kill the woman, but the world would be better off without Iago. Way better.

He grabbed the ceremonial knife and lifted it to the Xibalban’s throat, but then paused. He needed to get home as fast as possible, which meant ’porting. A quick search through Iago’s pockets came up with nada on the cell phone front, and he didn’t need to look to know the bastard had ’ported in from wherever. Which meant they could be a hundred yards or a hundred miles from the nearest phone, seriously cramping his ability to phone home. But the bastard had ’ported in from wherever, and he was alone, which meant it was a real talent, not a borrowed one. And maybe Rabbit could borrow it in return.

He lurched to his feet, feeling the world tilt and spin around him, warning that he didn’t have much magic left in him.

It was going to have to be enough.

Sticking the knife in his belt, he staggered out the door and down the pathway, trying not to imagine what Iago had done with Myrinne. “Please, gods,” he muttered, slurring his words, his tongue gone numb from too much power drain. “Please let her be okay.”

He was seeing double by the time he got to the cabin they’d been living in. He was afraid to call her name, afraid there wouldn’t be an answer. He unlocked the door with a touch and pushed through. A step inside, though, he stopped dead, panic coming hard and hot when he didn’t see Myrinne. Then motion blurred and he turned just in time to see her jump out from behind the door, screaming as she swung what looked like the leg from their sleeping cot.

The impact sent him sideways. He saw her mouth go slack in horror and remorse. Then the world blinked out in a natural fast-forward.

When he came to, he was sprawled in Myrinne’s lap, which probably would’ve been nice if he hadn’t been on the verge of puking. He forced the nausea down, though, and struggled up into a mostly sitting position. “How long was I out?”

“Only a couple of minutes,” she said, voice quavering. “I’m sor—”

“Save it,” he said shortly. “We’ve gotta move. Help me up, will you?”

His head hurt like hell. The spinning had stopped, but that was actually bad news, because it meant he’d gone to the next stage in the postmagic shutdown: i.e., the one right before unconsciousness. He didn’t have time for the luxury of sleep, though. He had to get them out of there.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he’d sort of stagger-stepped them outside and partway down the beaten track in the snow.

“Back to Iago. Trust me.” It hurt to talk, hurt to think. Hurt to put one foot in front of the other.

Myrinne’s breath hissed out when she saw the mage and the woman sprawled on the floor, but she didn’t ask, said only, “Tell me what to do.”

“Stand back.” Rabbit fell to his knees between Iago and the woman, and used Iago’s knife to reblood his palm, then the Xibalban’s. Taking the other man’s hand in his and assuming the role of dominant power, he searched for the gray mist, found it, and climbed back inside the bastard’s head.

Send us here, he ordered, and pictured the gates outside Skywatch, outside the wards. Aloud, he said to Myrinne, “Take my other hand, and grab on to the woman.”

“We’re taking them with us?”

“Gonna try.”

But the magic was sluggish, the power slow to come. The preteleport rattle cycled too slowly, cutting in and out like a bad engine no matter how hard he leaned on his connection to the barrier and Iago’s faltering power.

They weren’t going to make it. Shit.

“Let go of her,” he ordered tersely. “Listen carefully. If I’m unconscious when we get where we’re going, you’re going to have to deal with . . . with my family, I guess you could say. Here’s what I want you to do.” He sketched out the best plan he could think of with his brain halfway inside Iago’s. Then he fell silent, unable to spare the energy for more explanation. He dropped Iago’s hand but kept the mind-link intact. Gods help me, he said inside his swirling skull. Myrinne is important; I know she’s important. Help me get her safe.

This time when he leaned on Iago and forced the mage to initiate the ’port magic, the rattle cycled up faster, still not quite enough, but as good as it was going to get.