Blood Spells

And then they were on top of them. Brandt whipped around a corner, caught sight of a double row of makol standing at some sort of parade rest, and slammed himself flat along the wall. The others did the same as Michael lunged to the front of the group, pulling Sasha with him. He slapped a chameleon shield across the entrance to the ceremonial chamber, which was just beyond the enemy squadron. In almost the same move, he unleashed a deadly stream of muk, hosing it from one side of the tunnel to the other.

The silver magic flared brightly, searing Brandt’s retinas with the afterimage of Michael’s face, etched with a terrible combination of exultation and grief as he wielded his death magic.

The makol died as they had stood. A couple in the back managed to get their buzz swords activated, but the magic died as quickly as they did.

When it was done, the silver muk drained away and the tunnel returned to fireball-lit darkness, with a glimmer of torchlight up ahead, past the ash-shadows that were all that was left of the Aztec makol.

Michael collapsed against the wall and waved them past. “Shield’s down. Go! ”

Brandt lunged past him, skidded on the ash, and surged through the doorway. His brain snapshotted the first frozen image: Woody lay strapped atop the crude altar, his head hanging off one end, his legs off the other, his arms out to the sides and his Hawaiian shirt open, his torso bare. Iago stood over him, holding a forearm-long knife that was made of carved stone and edged with gold. Its tip was stained with blood, and red rivulets ran from Wood’s palms to drip on the floor.

But when Brandt burst in, Wood’s head whipped up and his eyes snapped wide. “Brandt!”

Iago spun, his glowing green eyes going wide with shock. That moment of surprise, coupled with a jerky hesitation that had to be Rabbit’s work, was enough.

Roaring, Brandt unleashed a fireball straight into the Xibalban’s face, which was unprotected above black body armor. The bolt hit hard and exploded on impact, napalming to engulf the Xibalban’s head and upper body in flames.

Patience darted past Brandt, leaped in the air, and kicked the staggering Xibalban in the chest, driving him down and away from the altar. Iago roared and went down on the far side of the altar while she stood watching, her eyes bright with fury.

She looked every inch the capable warrior. The realization tightened something in Brandt’s chest.

Then she turned to him, locking eyes. He saw the fierce lust for action that he’d seen in her from the very beginning, tempered now with her loyalties: to him, their sons, their winikin, their teammates.

And something clicked deep inside him.

“I’ll get Woody,” she said, heading for the altar with her knife drawn. “Finish the bastard.”

Was it close enough to the solstice for the head-and-heart spell to work on the powerful ajaw-

makol?

Let’s find out.

Baring his teeth, Brandt unsheathed his ceremonial dagger and headed for Iago. He lay still, curled up on one side. And he stank of charred flesh.

“Brandt!” Patience’s cry was scant warning as the second group of Aztec makol erupted from the light-magic doorway and raced for Iago. Their buzz swords were whizzing, and they launched a salvo of the deadly blades as they came.

He got up a shield just in time, protecting Patience and Woody as well as himself, but it cost him: The makol got between him and Iago, covering their master and driving the Nightkeepers back with swords and flying blades.

With Michael’s death magic depleted and Rabbit sagging on Myrinne’s shoulder, too exhausted to command fire, the Nightkeepers let rip with a salvo of fireballs—or in Jade’s case iceballs—and conventional jade-tipped bullets. The weapons barely made a dent on the solstice-toughened makol.

Brandt fell back to the altar, reaching it just as Patience finished hacking through the leather straps that had held Woody bound. The winikin lurched up and off the altar, and fell when his legs gave out.

Brandt caught him on the way down, and for half a second just hung on to the slight, wiry man. “Damn good to see you.”

Wood hugged him back, but said, “Hannah and the boys are up in the other tunnel.”

In other words, Fight now. We’ll talk later. It was typical Woody, and sent a burst of relief through Brandt as he released the winikin. Some things, it seemed, didn’t change no matter what.

He caught Patience’s eye and jerked his chin toward the tunnel. She led the way, followed by Woody, with Brandt forming the rear guard.

The other magi were fighting a battle of attrition against the makol. “Go,” the king shouted. “We’ll keep the exit open.”

But then, without warning, a new group of war cries split the air and eight more makol soldiers, entirely unexpected based on Rabbit’s psi-scouting report, poured through the dark-magic entrance.

“The sentries!” Brandt cursed, making the connection—the Nightkeepers might have made it past the outer perimeter of guards undetected, but now that stealth became a liability, as it meant the makol had reinforcements and the magi were surrounded.

He slapped a shield just inside the door, slowing the rush, but the makol attacked the shield with their buzz swords and he felt the spell give. It wouldn’t hold for long. These bastards were strong.

And when they broke through, they were going to go after Hannah and the boys. Brandt saw it in their green-hued eyes, in the way they were wholly focused on the far doorway. Gods.

“I’m going up that tunnel.” Patience’s expression was fierce. “You stay here and keep the exit open.

The others can’t hold it without you.”

The tightness in Brandt’s chest increased a thousandfold. He grabbed her arm, felt her strength, but also her softness. No, he started to say, but the word died in his throat when he saw the look in her eyes—not weakness or a plea, but a challenge. A warning.

Love me for who I am, she had said. Make me your partner. Trust me.

Brandt froze. They hadn’t been fighting about the Akbal oath, after all. It’d been about him trusting her to make her own decisions. Maybe she had said that, but it hadn’t registered. Now it did.

Woody shot a look from Brandt to Patience and back again, and shook his head. “Don’t try to do everything yourself,” he said, as he’d said a hundred times during Brandt’s teenage years. “You’re not a fucking island.”

“Shit.” He wanted to kiss her, hold her, put her behind him, protect her with every last breath in his body. Instead, he tossed her his extra ammo clips and spare flashlight. “Tell them I’m on my way. Tell them . . . tell them that I love them.”

Her eyes flashed and a fierce smile lit her face, a brief oasis in the midst of battle. “I will.”

“Go!” he barked as the shield spell gave and the makol reinforcements rushed the chamber. And, as she bolted across the room and into the tunnel, he said under his breath, “Gods, please keep them safe.”

But as Wood yanked the autopistols off his belt and fired into the onrushing makol, and Brandt spun up his magic, he was all too aware that his prayer had stayed on earth. He was still cursed.

He just hoped he hadn’t cursed all of them in the process.

Patience raced up the dark tunnel with her heart hammering so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t hear her