Blood Spells

desperate cry, but suddenly she was shouting Strike’s name.

He was barely conscious of the magi converging on him, their mouths opening and closing as they asked him questions he couldn’t hear. All he could do was stare at them while his vision flickered from green to normal and back again, like a hard drive rebooting.

Then Iago vanished from inside him.The invading presence disappeared. The green disappeared.

The mental blocks reappeared, seeming strong and solid, like there had never been a problem.

But there was a big problem. His brain was in a fucking shambles.

Rabbit writhed as his body tried to tear itself apart from the inside out, like that was going to make up for the weakness it had just displayed. Memories hammered through him—his own, someone else’s; he didn’t fucking know anymore. Tremors racked him; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except clutch himself and groan, wishing to hell he’d paid more attention to that twitchy feeling.

Then he couldn’t even do that, because the seizure got worse. He staggered away from the pyramid, and passed the fuck out.

As Rabbit went down, a headache came out of nowhere to nail Patience behind her eyeballs, washing her world white with sudden agony. She reeled sideways, grabbing for her temples, as the others bolted for Rabbit.

Brandt spun back. “Patience!”

She waved him off as the sharp pain subsided, leaving a dull ache behind. “I’m fine.” Or if not exactly fine, she was doing better than Rabbit.

The others were trying to keep him from hurting himself as he thrashed wildly, his eyes rolled back in his skull, his lips drawn back in a terrible, silent scream. Strike had his shoulders and was wrestling to hold him flat on the ground, while Nate, Sven, and Lucius grappled with his flailing arms and legs, and Jade tried to get something between his teeth.

Then, as quickly and unexpectedly as the convulsions had begun, they ended. Rabbit went limp and utterly still.

Too still.

“He’s not breathing,” Myrinne cried.

Patience’s heart clutched at the sight of Rabbit’s sharp features gone lax, his bristly haircut and beard shadow forming a dark contrast against his too-pale skin.

Without a word, Brandt shouldered his way through the small crowd and dropped down beside Rabbit. Moving with grim efficiency, he checked vitals and then started CPR, snapping, “Myrinne, get in here and breathe for him. Pinch his nose. On my count, breathe.”

Patience’s initial surprise quickly morphed to the realization that he must have learned the first aid after the accident, thinking that maybe he could have saved his friends if he’d known how.

She dropped to her knees opposite him. “What can I do?”

“Pray,” he said raggedly.

Almost before the word was out of his mouth, Rabbit jerked and shuddered. She gasped, afraid it was the beginning of another seizure. But then he rolled partway onto his side and dragged in a rattling breath. He tried to say something, but the words devolved into a painful hacking cough.

“Thank the gods,” she whispered, and the sentiment was echoed by several of the others.

Brandt didn’t call on the sky, but he did rock back on his heels, his expression easing slightly. When Rabbit struggled to speak, he pressed on the younger man’s shoulder. “Take it easy. There’s no rush.”

But Rabbit shook his head furiously, finally managing to get out, “It was Iago. He came right through the blocks and saw everything. He knows exactly what we’re—” A rattling roar split the air, drowning him out.

A millisecond later, twenty warriors materialized within the confines of the chameleon shield.

The men were in their twenties and thirties, lean and muscled, their arms and legs marked with scars and tattoos that ranged from crude letters to intricate, high-tech art. But although the ink was modern, their outfits and weapons were pure Aztec.

They wore bulky quilted shirts and intricately wrapped cotton loincloths that were knotted at the front, leaving the decorated ends to dangle at knee level. Most of them carried long, flat wooden staves that had rows of sharpened obsidian blades inset along the edges, turning them into crude but effective swords. The lone exception carried a long, obsidian-tipped spear and wore a blue-painted wooden helmet that left his face visible through the gaping mouth of a terrible horned creature with a pug nose and sun-disk eyes.

Their eyes glowed luminous green.

Strike roared, “Makol!”

The Nightkeepers reacted instantly. Red-gold magic sang in the air as the magi brought their talents online and ranged themselves around where Brandt, Patience, and Myrinne still crouched over Rabbit.

At first the obsidian-edged staves didn’t seem like much of a threat, but then the demon-helmeted leader barked an unfamiliar spell, dark power rattled in the air, and the obsidian blades spun into magic-wrought motion, whizzing chain-saw-like. At a second command, the sword tips became spear throwers that launched spinning, razor-sharp blades toward the Nightkeepers.

“Shields!” Strike ordered, though most of the warriors already had their protective spells online.

The first barrage bounced off those shields, except for a single blade that caught Sven in the shoulder, sending him to his knees as blood splashed the rock behind him. He clamped his lips on a cry.

Alexis dropped down beside him, yanked his shirt off, and worked it into a passable field dressing as the others launched a salvo of fireballs and jade-tipped bullets. Within the core of the defensive formation, Patience brought up her shield magic and spread it out, forming a protective globe that encompassed a groggy Rabbit, and Myrinne, who hadn’t left his side. Brandt did the same, so together they cast a double layer of protection as Rabbit struggled up, eyes wild. He pointed to something behind them. “The doorway!”

Patience’s heart lurched as she spun and saw that two of the Aztec makol were headed straight for the tunnel mouth, both loaded with heavy satchels. They are headed for the cave!

As one, she and Brandt started after them. Behind them, Rabbit shouted, “Iago got right into my head. He knows about the light-magic entrance.”

Brandt cursed. “If he sent the makol to breach the inner doorway, he must not have known how to get into the intersection, after all.”

“And watch your backs,” Rabbit said, his voice now coming from their earpieces as they crossed to the pyramid. “He knows you two killed Ix. He’ll be gunning for both of you.”

“Roger,” Brandt said. He paused near the darkness of the doorway. The two makol were gone. When he glanced at Patience, she saw the warrior in his eyes, but there was something more there too.

Something worried. “You should stay up here and make sure none of the others get through.”

Which was logical enough. But it was also bullshit, and they both knew it.

“You’re not leaving me behind.” This was their cave. Their intersection. She wasn’t letting Iago have it.

But at the same time, part of her liked that Brandt was suddenly acting more like a mate than a mage. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his.

When she drew back, his eyes were dark, without a hint of gold. But they weren’t cool. Not by a long shot. His voice was rough when he said, “They’ll pin us down in the tunnel if they sense us. We’ll have to sneak in. Which means no shields.”

“Then that’s an even better reason to bring me along. They can sense spells, but not talent-level magic.” She held out her hand.

He took it. And she turned them both invisible.

They dropped their shields and headed through the doorway and down the stairs. As the cool darkness closed around them, Patience felt naked, partly because she couldn’t use her shield and partly because going invisible always made her feel strangely insubstantial even though her mass didn’t change. But although she didn’t need direct contact to maintain Brandt’s invisibility, he didn’t let go of her hand.

Instead, he tightened his fingers on hers as they rounded the first curve, and whispered almost soundlessly, “I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine. Deal?”