eyes to adjust, for the cave to come clear around him as a circular space with a sandy floor and ancient paintings of animals overhead. In the center, near a plain, unadorned stone altar, Myrinne sat cross-legged in front of a small fire that she’d laid in a circle of stones.
Heat seared low in his gut and punched beneath his heart, but he weathered the blows like he’d endured the ’zotz’s lash, by telling himself he was getting what he damn well deserved. More, he was trying to give her what she deserved—the respect of a fighting equal and the room to do what she needed to do, even when it wasn’t what he wanted.
The air carried hints of ginger, patchouli and vanilla, making him think of the candles she used to light in her college dorm room, back when things had been so much easier than they were now, though they’d both thought them complicated as hell. It was only a couple of years ago, but it felt like a fucking lifetime. Since then, he’d been to hell and back; he’d destroyed villages, led battles and killed xombis; he’d aged a decade in a year; he’d lost one king and gained another. And, though he wouldn’t have believed it possible back then, he’d lost Myrinne.
She looked up at him now, eyes dark and determined, and if there was an answering flare of heat deep within them, it was quickly gone.
Ah, baby. He wanted to tell her that she could trust him, that he wouldn’t hurt her ever again. And yet he didn’t dare make any promises when his knuckles were bruised with temper and the end of the world lay ahead of them. So he didn’t say a damn thing. Instead, he crossed to her, boots thudding hollowly on the dried mud.
She watched him approach, expression unreadable. The small fire darkened, though, turning more green than orange, and the smoke thickened and turned bitter, coating the back of his throat.
He drew breath to speak, but she forestalled him with: “How about we skip the conversation and go right to the Vulcan mind-meld.” It wasn’t a question.
Exhaling, he said, “Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want.” He told himself to leave it at that. Couldn’t. “Shit, Myr, I—”
“Don’t. Let’s just get this over with.” She pointed to the opposite side of the fire. “Sit.”
He sat, assuming a cross-legged pose that mirrored hers. “You’ve got the spell?”
“Yeah. Here.” She handed him an index card with the Hooked on Phonics version of the ancient Mayan incantation. “I’ll unblock your magic and we’ll both jack in. After that, we say the spell, and . . . well . . .” She looked away.
Before, she had forbidden him from mind-bending her, going so far as to have him put mental blocks in there and teach her how to use them to keep him out. And she had, right up until the moment when she’d realized he had lost himself to Phee’s lies. Then, to save herself, she had let him in and showed him that she wasn’t working for the demons . . . he was. He hated that he’d forced her to that point, hated that he’d hurt her. And he hated that he was about to do it again.
He waited until she looked at him, until their eyes met and held over the fire. “Seriously, Myr. I’m sorry about this.”
Anger flared in the depths of her eyes. “Yet here you are.”
“King’s orders.”
“Right. Because you’ve never gone against orders before.”
“Hello, Boar Oath.” Though he hadn’t really bumped up against it yet, wasn’t sure what would happen when he did. For the moment, he wasn’t having trouble following his old man’s orders.
The look she shot him said she knew it. “You want this. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Myr . . .” He didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to have this fight. Her glare said she wasn’t backing down, though, so he said, “I agreed to this because we need to figure out the crossover’s powers. Not because I want to take the magic away from you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And?”
She knew him too damn well. “Fine. I’m also doing this because when the barrier comes down, the Banol Kax are going to be gunning for the crossover. And I don’t want you standing next to me when that happens.” Not when he wasn’t sure he’d be able to shield her and still do whatever it was the gods needed him to do.
Her expression flattened. “I don’t want you protecting me.”
Quelle surprise. Because if he’d learned anything over the past week and a half, it was that she didn’t want anything from him anymore. “Deal with it. This is one of the few things I can do to protect you, whether you want it or not. I just wish to hell we could break the connection without you losing your magic.” He knew better than to think she would wait tamely behind the lines—she’d be going into battle with or without the magic. Given that, he’d far rather have her fully armed. Unfortunately, the spell Lucius had found was very specific—it would return the magic to its rightful owner.
“You . . . damn it.” She looked around, but he wasn’t sure if she was seeing the cave or fighting back tears.
“Myr . . .” He reached out to her.
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Just don’t, okay? Like I said, it’s probably better if we go right to the spell. It’s not like us talking about it is going to change anything.” She paused, lifting her little wand. “Ready?”
No. “Yeah.”
And, as they had practiced a hundred times over the past ten days, she unblocked the magic, letting it flow from her into him.
Power washed through his head and heart like an old, familiar friend. Suddenly, he was himself again; the cold places were warm, the empty places filling as his magic sizzled through his veins, back where it belonged. The flames changed, gaining red along with the green as his talents came online, his mind-bender’s magic vibrating against hers like it knew what they were about to do.
“Breathe in the smoke and cast the spell,” she said. But then, echoing along their shared magic, he heard her whisper, I don’t blame you for any of this.
Ah, damn it, he thought, as a one-two punch thudded beneath his heart. He wanted to call it off, wanted to hold her, tell her everything was going to be okay. That would be a lie, though, because no matter what happened next, things were going to be anything but okay. And this was one of the best chances he was going to have to protect her, or at least get her out of the direct line of fire when the Banol Kax came for him. So he leaned in, opened himself to the mind-bending magic, and breathed in smoke that was laden with the scents of patchouli, vanilla and ginger. And, as the world spun around him, going faster with each rev, he said the short spell, his words echoing a nanosecond behind hers.
Magic flared between them, lacing the air with sparks of red and gold. His perceptions went swimmy and indistinct and then lurched, and it suddenly felt as if the universe was moving past him while he sat still, more like a teleportation spell than mind-bending. He braced himself to enter her thoughts, but he didn’t.
Instead, he dropped into the mind of a long-dead king.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One second, Myr was diving into the mind-meld . . . and in the next, she found herself in the middle of someone else’s thoughts. But she wasn’t in Rabbit’s head, and she wasn’t in the winikin’s cave anymore. Instead, she was wearing full battle gear and seeing out through the eyes of a Nightkeeper queen.
And oh, holy shit, this wasn’t what the spell was supposed to do.
Summer Solstice, 1984
The tunnels beneath Chichen Itza
“Door,” King Scarred-Jaguar snapped over his shoulder, sending his adviser, Two-Hawk, out of the circular chamber to guard the hallway and keep the stone slab from closing. The plan was for the king and Asia to form a blood-link and open the intersection, as the dreams had said. After that, the others would join in for the spell that they hoped would seal the barrier for good. If they succeeded, there would be no more countdown, no end-time war.
Please gods, Asia thought, not even sure they would be able to manage the blood-link. Not the way things were between them right now.
