Part 5 (1/2)
Dez didn't recognize the G.o.d or the glyph, but something inside him gave a liquid tug of longing. It wasn't the same as the way the black idol made him feel-this was softer and more grounded, almost s.e.xual-but the two sensations were definitely in the same ballpark. This was another piece of the puzzle, no question about it.
He held out a hand, careful to stay on his side of the s.h.i.+eld spell. ”Give it to me.”
Keban offered the bust, hands shaking and then sagging as he lost strength. Dez reached for the carving, stepping forward automatically to catch it before it fell.
The moment he made contact, power flashed through him, paralyzing him momentarily.
And in that terrible, vulnerable second, Keban's eyes focused and his fingers clamped on Dez's wrist to yank him closer. The winikin's eyes flashed cruelly, and he was utterly focused and in control as he held up his free hand and blew a puff of white powder through the latticework of the lightning s.h.i.+eld.
Dez yanked away as the fine particles peppered his face. ”Son of a-” Pain lashed through him, starting at his nose and mouth and then racing through his body. His muscles seized up, his senses overloaded, and he doubled over in agony.
G.o.ds! He fought for control, but crashed to the ground instead. The white G.o.d's head rolled away from his spasming fingers and electricity arced through him as his powers raged, veering and colliding. The s.h.i.+eld spell shorted out, freeing Keban, who looked straight and strong, and nothing like the broken old man he had pretended to be.
He moved to stand over Dez. Pulling a wide-barreled gun from the small of his back, he shook his head, expression terrifyingly blank. ”You couldn't just meet me during the f.u.c.king solstice, could you? You had to try and be the n.o.ble motherf.u.c.king Triad mage. Well, this'll slow you down a little.” He took aim at Dez's kneecap.
f.u.c.k! Dez rolled as automatic gunfire split the air. Through the haze of pain and the spinning disorientation that had come from the drugged powder, it took him a second to realize that the barrage hadn't come from the winikin's gun. It had been one of the MAC-10s the magi used for jade-tip combat.
Backup! Dez hadn't wanted it, didn't know how they had found him . . . but he was d.a.m.n glad for the help as the autopistol chattered again.
Cursing, Keban grabbed the G.o.d's head and dove through a doorway as bullets chewed into the thousand-year-old masonry.
Lurching to his feet, Dez shouted, ”Don't let him get away!” He stumbled after the winikin, trying to summon his warrior's magic as he ran, but got sparks instead of a s.h.i.+eld or lightning. He couldn't sense Keban's heat signature, but he could feel the tug of the white statue's magic, headed toward the Hubble Site at the edge of the Aztec Ruin. Pulling a small flashlight from his heavy jacket, he flicked it on. ”This way!” Ducking, he veered into a tunnel he had scouted earlier.
A single set of bootfalls pounded behind him, closing the gap as he burst out of the tunnel into the open s.p.a.ce separating the North Ruin and the Hubble Site. But Keban wasn't headed for the second ruin. He'd made it to his vehicle.
Dez skidded to a stop, swearing over the roar of an engine as rear lights bounced hard and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
”Son of a b.i.t.c.h.” He spun toward his backup, aiming the flashlight. ”We have to-” He broke off, the air jamming his lungs when he saw, not a Nightkeeper, but a stranger. A woman.
And a h.e.l.l of a woman, at that.
The dark-haired beauty was fully decked out for a Nightkeeper op in black Kevlar-impregnated combat pants cut trim across her waist and hips; a tight black thermal s.h.i.+rt under body armor that didn't entirely camouflage her curves; a weapons belt loaded with guns, jade-tipped ammo, and a good-sized combat knife; and a gleaming black-and-chrome communications band around her upper arm that was part tech-ware, part magic.
The look packed a h.e.l.l of punch, as did the shock of suddenly acquiring a new teammate, but then she took another step and her face caught the light.
And time. f.u.c.king. Stopped.
Familiar amber-whiskey eyes framed in long, dark lashes turned a face he had labeled simply ”beautiful” into something else entirely. Suddenly he saw the high cheekbones he had once ascribed to suburban royalty, the pert nose and dented chin that he'd called pixieish when he wanted to tease, and the elegantly curved mouth he had no right to dream about.
”Reese,” he whispered, heart stuttering. Logic said that he was either hallucinating or flat on his a.s.s unconscious, because there was no way in h.e.l.l Reese Montana would be wearing Nightkeeper gear and looking to back his a.s.s up. She hated him, had cut him off, and with d.a.m.n good reason.
Yet there she was. Which meant this had to be a dream. But in his dreams her hair was its natural blue-black, not a warm copper-streaked brunette. And in his dreams, she was looking at him the way she used to, before the storm and the star demon, and his mad slide into darkness. Not glaring at him like he was something she'd found stuck on the bottom of one of her silver-toed boots.
”Reese?” Shock seemed to have reduced him to that one syllable as it started connecting that this might not be a hallucination, after all.
”Guess they were right. You're not dead.” She shoved her spare autopistol against his chest and stalked past him, headed for the second ruin. Over her shoulder, she shot, ”I'm going after the winikin. And I'm not waiting for you.”
Keban. The G.o.d's head. Oh, s.h.i.+t.
His warriors talent took over, getting his feet moving while his brain tried to catch up. Being a Nightkeeper was all about priorities, and the winikin was getting away with the statue, so he did his d.a.m.nedest to focus as he followed her to a thin stand of trees beyond the ruins, where she had stashed her vehicle. But he stuttered to a halt at the edge of the clearing at the sight of her ride.
She was driving an una.s.suming Jeep Compa.s.s with a generic silver exterior that gave zero indication of the rabid, snorting horses under the hood, and the other mods that had been retrofitted. He knew about them because he'd done some of the work himself.
Jesus, G.o.ds. She was wearing combat clothes and driving the newest and fastest of the Nightkeepers' cars. If he could've crafted a wet dream, that would be it, except for the part where she despised him. Because for all that he had remade himself, he was still the guy who had broken her heart, and worse.
”Get in,” she snapped, slinging herself into the drivers side.
The engine roared like a racecar as he took shotgun and strapped himself in. He stared across at her. ”Holy s.h.i.+t . . . Reese?”
”Not now.” She hit the gas and aimed for the road.
But as the acceleration punched him back in his seat, he pointed northwest. ”He's headed that way.” When she narrowed her eyes, he added, ”I can sense the carving.”
She nodded tightly, spun the wheel, and sent them overland.
The next few minutes pa.s.sed in a shuddering blur as they chased the winikin along a series of fire access roads that eventually joined the main road, where Reese muscled the heavy vehicle onto the tarmac and accelerated, two-handing the steering wheel as the odometer edged past ninety.
Dez stared at her bada.s.s pixie profile, the hard line of her jaw. And wished to h.e.l.l he could have a do-over. ”You came after me.”
That was all he could think, that she had somehow figured out that he was alive, gone searching for him, and been recruited by the Nightkeepers. But why had she been looking? He would have thought she'd be glad to let him stay dead.
”I was hired to find you,” she corrected coolly, staring straight ahead and handling the dark curves with grim proficiency.
”Oh.” Which put a different spin on things. Due to the Triad magic, Strike wouldn't have been able to find him with magic, so the king must've gone old-school and hired the only bounty hunter he'd ever met in person. Then, once he figured out that she and Dez had a history and she knew most of the Nightkeepers' legends, he'd brought her into things all the d.a.m.n way. ”Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
”Wrong religion, Mendez. Or so I'm told.”
”Reese-” he began, but she cut him off.
”Are we gaining on him?”
Focus. Prioritize. ”Yeah. Look for a right up ahead. He's off the main road.” He didn't know how he knew that.
She accelerated around the next turn. ”Good. This baby will out off-road the c.r.a.p out of his POS rental in a-s.h.i.+t!”
He barely had time to curse at the sight of the empty rental car parked across the f.u.c.king road right in front of them. Then they were on top of it, going too fast to stop. Reese locked the brakes as they flew toward the dust-covered sedan. But it wouldn't be enough.
”Grab something!” he snapped, shooting a hand across the cab and pulling her seat belt extra tight as he called on his drug-depleted magic for a half-a.s.sed s.h.i.+eld spell that crackled to misfiring electric life.
They hit with a slewing jolt of impact, a roar of destruction, and the muted gunshots of the airbags that thwumped into them from the front and sides. Dez's head snapped on his neck and he tasted blood. Keban's abandoned vehicle flew off the road and into a shallow ditch on one side, but the Compa.s.s caromed the other way and headed straight for the guardrail that marked off a steep embankment. Beyond was only darkness.
Reese's eyes locked on his for a second; he saw a flash of grief and heard her voice crack when she said, ”It wasn't supposed to go like this.”
”Story of our lives. Hang on.” Spitting blood in sacrifice, he shouted, ”Pasaj och!” A deeper barrier connection slammed through him, lighting him up and pouring out of him in a surge. He did his d.a.m.nedest to fill the vehicle's interior with s.h.i.+eld magic as the Compa.s.s. .h.i.t the guardrail, peeled through it, went airborne for a few seconds . . .
And fell.