small, cold closet adjoining the teashop, listening for details the Witch could use in her “readings,” knowing she would be beaten if she failed. You’re gone, she had told the Witch’s memory, over and over again. You’re nothing to me now. But then again, she’d told herself the same thing about Rabbit, yet here he was. And the painful thud of her heart against her ribs said that whatever he was to her now, it was far from nothing.
“Anyway,” she said, making herself keep going. “After some experimenting, we discovered that I needed to use the accessories of my ‘magic’ to channel the power.” She bracketed the word with finger quotes, because he’d never really taken her Wiccan-style rituals seriously. None of them had, until she’d gone out to meditate in the cacao grove and nearly started a forest fire. After that, things had gotten seriously shaky for a few days, with her trying to adjust to the idea of suddenly being a mage while the others waited to see if she’d inherited Rabbit’s problems along with his magic.
Dez had been the first one to really stand up for her, believe in her. Guilt tugging, she shot a look at the king. “I’m sorry I bolted. I just needed . . . I don’t know. Distance.” Yet the very person she’d needed to escape from was standing a few feet away, looking at her as if she’d just sprouted wings.
Or stolen his magic.
The muscles in Rabbit’s throat worked as he swallowed. Then, voice hoarse, he said, “I haven’t been able to use my powers since I left Skywatch . . . and now they’re gone again.”
Dez’s eyes went from her to Rabbit and back again. She didn’t know how much the others had witnessed, how much they had guessed. Hell, she didn’t want to admit to any of it . . . but with only a few weeks left in the countdown, there was no time for secrets. “The magic reached out to you.” She rubbed her inner wrist, where the marks ached, though that had to be the power of suggestion.
“And now?” It was Dez asking.
“I’m blocking the link. The connection caught me by surprise just now. That won’t happen again.”
With a gesture from her ash wand, she killed the shield spell around Rabbit. It had mostly been a symbol anyway, a sort of in-your-face “look what I can do now.”
Apparently taking that as an invitation, he closed the distance between them with three long strides, in a move that had several of the magi bristling. She shot them an it’s okay look, even though it was far from okay. But if she was going to have to deal with Rabbit, they might as well get this reunion over with. Better to do it in public, too. That way there wouldn’t be any sidelong looks, any pity.
Or less of it, anyway.
As he squared off opposite her, she told herself she was imagining that she could feel his body heat. There was no mistaking the reek of sweat and blood, though. The stink of captivity brought a pang, but she refused to give in to it. She glared at him instead. “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I think the real question is ‘Where the fuck do I start?’”
CHAPTER FOUR
Myr’s chest tightened at Rabbit’s question, because it didn’t have an answer, not really. There was no way he could make up for what he’d done—not in the time they had left. And after that it wouldn’t matter; they’d either all be dead, the earth enslaved by the Banol Kax, or the world would be saved and they would all go their separate ways.
Forcing herself to breathe past the sudden lump in her throat, she said, “Red-Boar explained what happened with the stones and the demoness, so we can just take it as a ‘yeah-I-know’ and move on, I guess.”
That had been how she and Rabbit had sometimes ended their fights. The shorthand had allowed them to walk away from the dispute without really settling it, because it could mean anything from “this is stupid and I don’t want to fight anymore” to “I’m sorry, I love you and I won’t ever do it again.” It didn’t matter, as long as the other person’s expected response would be: “Yeah, I know.” It had gotten them out of a few of their more serious fights—over her rituals, his secrecy, her ambition. And it would work now, not because it would really solve anything, but because they didn’t need to solve anything. They just needed to find a way to tolerate each other for the next three weeks.
But Rabbit shook his head, expression set. “That’s not good enough. Not anymore. Maybe it never should’ve been.”
Nerves tugged at the knowledge that he was talking about their last few months together, when things between them had been strained even before the demoness made contact. “You don’t have to—”
“Yeah. I really do.” He reached out and took her hand.
“Hey!” She yanked away.
“Please.” He held out his hand, palm up to show both his forearm marks and his sacrificial scars.
“If you say ‘trust me’ I’m going to kick you where it hurts.” She was bluffing, though, trying to stay angry when she was suddenly all too aware of the new scars on his chest, arms and back. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, didn’t want to feel anything for him.
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to trust me. I want you to read me.”
“You . . . Oh.” The mind-bender’s talent was the ultimate human lie detector, after all.
“You don’t have to do it,” Dez said when she hesitated.
That decided it for her. “I’ll do it,” she said, reaching for him. She was determined to stand on her own and be a teammate that the others could rely on. She shuddered inwardly, though, when his fingers closed around hers, firm and warm.
He placed her hand flat against his chest, then covered it with his own. “Look inside me,” he ordered. “Believe me.”
She was acutely aware of the ridged scars beneath her palm, the steady beat of his heart beneath that. Through the mind-bender’s magic she could feel his urgency and forthrightness, along with a deep, pained exhaustion. She didn’t open herself any further to the magic, though; she really didn’t want to know what lay beneath that, and she sure as hell didn’t want to read his mind or experience his memories. Her own were bad enough.
So, blocking all but the surface emotions, she nodded, “Go ahead.”
“It’s not enough to say I’m sorry, not even close.” His voice vibrated beneath her palm. “But, I am sorry, Myr. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did to you. I’ve spent the past two months going over and over it again in my head, torturing myself with it, but in the end there isn’t really anything more I can say except that I’m sorry.”
The apology resonated, though.
Don’t, she told herself. Don’t trust him. Don’t believe in him. Don’t let yourself rely on him, lose yourself in him. Because that had been the worst of it, really. It hadn’t been until he was gone, until she had healed, that she stepped back and realized that she had gotten so involved in being the crossover’s girlfriend, she had stopped trying to be herself.
Pulling her hand away, she took a big step back, until she couldn’t feel his body heat anymore. “Apology accepted.”
His pale blue eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
“You’re not the only Nightkeeper to do shitty things under the influence, and now that I’ve experienced the magic firsthand, I get how powerfully it can affect the user. And like it or not, we’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”
The brave words rang hollow inside her, though, because it really, really sucked to realize it was the truth. Once upon a time she would’ve bloodied anybody who’d dared to imply that her and Rabbit’s relationship wasn’t the number one most important thing in the universe . . . but that relationship didn’t exist anymore. And, really, how much did a lover—or an ex—matter when they were facing the end of the world?
“So that’s it?” he said. “We’re done?”
“What did you expect?” snapped, suddenly very aware that they weren’t alone.
“I never expected to see you again. I thought I was going to die in that cave.”
Her heart twisted. “Damn it, Rabbit.”
“Sorry.” He cursed under his breath. “Sorry. I’m the bad guy here, not you. Never you.” He squared his shoulders. “Okay. That’s it, then. I guess I’ll need your help with the magic. Other than that . . . well, I’ll stay out of
