Just like they told you that you weren’t good enough for them, that your mistakes were too costly, your self-control too weak.” The ghost leaned in, eyes lighting. “They were wrong, you know. You’re stronger than they are— stronger than any of us. And I can make you stronger still.”
“Fuck you.” But the whispers urged him on. And he had a feeling the bastard knew it.
“You are the last Xibalban, Rabbie. Swear yourself to the dark gods and all our powers will be yours.”
“Swear . . .” He trailed off as shock rattled through him, sounding like the magic. He was suddenly aware that the elder wasn’t alone in the mist anymore. There were others behind him, around him, vague shadows that shifted, yearning toward Rabbit like he was their hope, like he was the hero he’d always wanted to be. More, there was a new note to the power—a deep thrumming that vibrated at the edge of his magic, limitless and tempting.
Take it. It’s yours. You can show them all, burn them all.
“Rabbit, don’t do it. Don’t listen to him!” Myrinne’s faraway voice was ragged and breathless, like she’d been shouting at him for a while and he hadn’t heard.
Ignoring her, Anntah held out his hand, which bled red-tinged fog from a slashing cut across the palm. “Come, son. Take the oath and you will have more power than you ever imagined. And when the day comes, you’ll rule the war.”
“Rabbit, no!” Myr’s magic surged and a fireball crackled to life in the supercharged air.
“We’ll do it together,” Rabbit said, and reached out and clasped the ghost’s outstretched hand, not just with his body, but with his magic as well. Suddenly, he could feel Anntah’s flesh, his cool skin, and even the slickness of his blood. Gripping tight, he summoned a whiplash of Nightkeeper magic, and shouted, “Kaak!”
Red-gold fire erupted from his hand and laced up Anntah’s arm, and then higher, racing to engulf him. The ghost shrieked and jerked back. “Aiiee!”
Rabbit hung on, body and soul, and poured himself into the flames. “Myr, now!”
A green fireball hit Anntah and detonated, wreathing the spirit with lambent napalm. And then she was there, standing beside him and hammering the ghost with magic.
“No!” Anntah howled. “Noo!” He whipped from side to side as the fire engulfed him, ate at him. “Whyyy?”
“Because I’m choosing my side,” Rabbit grated, “and it’s not yours.” Nightkeeper power sang through him, driving the dark magic back into the vault. Buoyed by that victory—and by the ferocity in Myr’s face as she fought beside him—he cast the banishment spell. “Teech xeen!”
Power detonated with a huge shock wave and a flash of brilliant red-gold light. Rabbit reflexively spun and yanked Myr against him, and then cast a shield around them both. For a second, furious magic roared over them, around them, heating the air and lighting his senses.
Then it was gone. And the world went silent.
Suddenly aware that he had his arms wrapped around her when she could’ve shielded herself, he released her and backed off. “Sorry, I . . . holy crap.”
He went silent, stunned by the brilliant colors that suddenly surrounded them.
Myr drew in a breath, and then exhaled it on a soft, “Ohh.”
There was no sign of the fire, the smoke, Anntah, or the other spirits. But where those things were gone, there was something new, something that very definitely hadn’t been there before.
Butterflies.
Everywhere except for the fire pit, the ruined village was carpeted with the creatures—fiery red, sky blue, pale green, brilliant yellow, lacy white—making it look for a second like tens of thousands of flowers had blossomed in the space of a few minutes. Except these flowers had wings and they fluttered and pulsed, bringing the ghost town to life. And then, as if they’d gotten some silent signal, they rose up into the air and swirled like brightly colored confetti.
They danced and spun for a moment, and then began to settle again, many of them wafting toward Myrinne. They landed on her shoulders, in her hair, on her face, until she was dotted with living jewels.
Her eyes shone with wonder. “Look,” she said, even though he was already staring at her. She cupped her palms and they filled with butterflies. “Look at them all.”
“Fuck me,” Rabbit said. It wasn’t exactly poetry, but it was all he could manage as the beauty of the moment cut into him, painful in its intensity.
She was radiant, limned in color, and so very alive that it hurt like hell to know they were running out of time, and he didn’t have the answers he needed. More, he didn’t know what those answers would mean for the two of them. So he didn’t say anything, just cupped his own palms together, very aware that there were only two spots in the village that were bare of the insects: him and the fire pit.
After a moment, a big butterfly landed in his cupped palms. Its wings were streaked with red and orange like flames, its body matte black like his combat clothes, and though he didn’t know what that meant, it sure as hell felt like it meant something.
The creature fluttered up, deserting him, but a second later, a shiny green one lofted up from Myr’s shoulder to join it. The two hovered for a moment at eye level, then headed upward, twining together in an aerial dance that blurred green and red together. Others followed—blue, yellow, purple, pink—as if an entire field of wildflowers had suddenly taken flight. They churned up, swirled once around the ruined village, and then headed into the trees en masse, as if they had somewhere else to be.
Rabbit’s throat tightened at how fricking pretty it was, but also with an ache of frustration, this time not coming from the dark magic, but from him. Because moments like this—beautiful, magical—should be protected. And he wasn’t sure he knew how.
“Gods,” Myr whispered, her eyes locked on the last of the colorful flutters. “That was incredible.” The radiance still surrounded her, he realized. It wasn’t just the butterflies; it was magic.
“You summoned them,” he said, feeling a kick of holy shit inside him, because she sure as hell hadn’t inherited that power from him. This was something new, something he’d never heard of before.
“Maybe.” She hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. Not on purpose, but maybe deep down inside . . .”
“Tell me.” Talk to me.
Shadows crept into her eyes, but she said softly, “When I was maybe nine or ten, I found a book on one of the shelves. I don’t know why the Witch bought it—an accident, or maybe a special order someone had bailed on. Certainly wasn’t her style, with flowers and butterflies on the cover. And the magic inside was so different from hers, all about power flows and respecting the earth and all its creatures.” She paused. “Anyway, I used to wait until she was asleep at night, and I’d take the book off the shelf and sneak out to the little garden behind the tea shop, where I’d practice the incantations by candlelight. At first nothing happened, but then, one night, a butterfly came and sat near my candle. Then the next night, there were two of them, then more and more.” Her voice flattened abruptly. “I was up to a dozen when the Witch caught on.”
“She punished you.” One of Rabbit’s biggest regrets was that Iago had killed the bitch before he’d gotten to her.
“Worse. She used me. She snuck up behind me and netted the butterflies, then locked them in a cabinet so I couldn’t set them free. The next day, she pinned them down alive, dried them in the oven, and sold the powder to the owner of the bar next door, telling him it was an aphrodisiac.” Her voice was flat, her eyes hollow. “She made me call them again the next night, and the next. Every night for a week, until they stopped coming.”
Ah, baby. He hated what she’d been through. Hated even more that he didn’t know what to say.
“I tried to tell her I wouldn’t do it, and when that didn’t work, I tried to screw up the incantation. But she knew. Somehow, she knew, and she made me do it right. I’m not even sure how. I guess I was that afraid of her, that afraid of what would happen to me if it wasn’t for her.”
“You were a kid.”
“Even later, when I was old enough to run away, I didn’t. I just wasn’t ever strong enough to stand up to her.”
“You are now.” When she just shook her head and started to turn away, he caught her hand and drew her back toward him. “Hey, look around you. You just helped banish a dark-magic ghost. You could handle fifty of her.”
She started to argue, but then hesitated. “You think so?”
Something shifted in his chest. “I know so. You’re not just a mage now, Myr, you’re a warrior too. You were
