Part 25 (2/2)

”We're not getting anywhere,” Strike reported as Dez came up beside him. The king was deathly pale, but he had fought with the others, grim-faced and determined, and the blood on him wasn't his own.

He was running on magic and b.a.l.l.s, Dez thought, and hoped it would be enough to see them all through the day intact. ”Let me try,” he said, waving Michael back. ”This is serpent magic.”

Leah said something, but her voice was drowned out by the coaxing whisper in Dez's mind: Kill your rival and take what is rightfully yours. Kill your rival . . . your rival . . . your rival. And he got it. He freaking got it. Reese had been right when she said this solstice was all about the serpents.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h,” he grated. ”The prophecy wasn't about a serpent killing a jaguar king . . . it was about two serpents fighting each other, one-on-one, one wielding light magic, one dark.” But when Leah's eyes sparked with hope, he shook his head in warning. ”It also says that the usurper who kills his rival will take the throne.”

Strike reached out and gripped his upper arm, right where the hunab ku would go. ”Kill him, Mendez. No matter what happens after that, I want you involved, not him.” His eyes were bright cobalt chips in a pasty face.

Dez nodded. ”I'll kill him. But I'm not taking your job.”

”Let's blow that s.h.i.+t up when we get there.”

”Deal.” Acting on instinct and the way the whispers kept focusing on his knife, Dez stripped off his armband, .44, autopistols, belt and clips, and tossed them aside, then looked down the Nightkeeper line. His team was holding back the makol with a combination of s.h.i.+eld magic, fireb.a.l.l.s, and jade-tipped ammo, fighting fiercely as warriors. As teammates and saviors. ”Stay alive,” he ordered, then pointed to Strike. ”And keep him alive.”

He didn't know how the thirteenth prophecy fit in, but he knew the voices had gotten one thing right: This was his fight. It always had been. Blood pumping, he faced the glistening s.h.i.+eld for a moment, then used his knife-his only remaining weapon-to slice his palms. The magic amped as he pressed his palms to the surface, which was gla.s.sy and smooth, and cool to the touch. Ready or not, here I come, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

On the other side of the s.h.i.+eld, Iago knelt before the altar with his head bowed in prayer. He, too, was wearing only a knife. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to the world beyond the temple-either he was too deep in the magic to notice that the Nightkeepers had made it through the makol defenses or he wasn't concerned with them.

That's what you get for sacrificing all your teammates, Dez thought. There's n.o.body left to watch your back. But then he winced when the concept hit too close. He hadn't been letting thoughts of Reese distract him to this point, at least not that much. But as he summoned his magic now, her image formed in his mind-soft-eyed and drowsy as she had been the few precious mornings they had woken up in each other's arms. As she came clear in his mind, the magic of love flowed through him. Because he did love her-maybe always had, on some level. But she didn't trust him. He really had waited too long this time. He still needed to prove himself, though-to her, to himself, to the magi who had entrusted him with their oaths. So he focused, drawing on the magic of the Triad and the fealty oaths, and deep down inside to the core of his serpent self.

And then, holding her image fixed firmly in his mind, he let the magic flow out of him as he had done earlier with Strike, when he had inadvertently brought the temple out of hiding. Power crackled as it flowed into the s.h.i.+eld, sending sparks arcing across its surface and warming it beneath his hands.

Yes! the whispers rejoiced, come! But nothing else happened.

He dug deeper, poured more magic into the s.h.i.+eld.

Warmth. Electricity. The glimmer of an image. Reese. He focused on her, saw her, felt her in his heart. And as he did, the s.h.i.+eld magic softened and gave, letting him through. Because light magic burned brightest when it came from love, he realized.

As he pa.s.sed into the s.h.i.+eld, his magic went dead, utterly nullified by the spell-he felt it cut out, and had the strange sensation of his skull echoing as the background hums of power cut out. Not for long, though, because the moment he was through, he felt the power of the statuette, heard her voice, so much louder than the others. I've always been yours. I've never turned away from you, never left you, never let you down. With the words, a terrible urgency slammed into him-the need to touch the statue once more, hold her, have her. Before, he hadn't been able to use her magic. Now, though- No! He tried to sweep away the temptation, but he'd never been good at clearing his mind, and now was no exception. So instead, he filled it with an image of Reese, sporting black leather and a .38, and ready to kick some a.s.s.

Iago roared and exploded to his feet, crimson robe flowing around him as he put himself between Dez and the artifacts, whipped out a wickedly curved stone knife, and dropped into a fighter's crouch. There was no hint of dark magic, save for the eerie green glow of his eyes. That was just fine with Dez, because he knew how to handle a knife.

Iago charged and Dez met the rush, dodged the knife swipe by dropping to his knees, and then surged up, leading with his skull and driving his head into his rival's solar plexus. It was like headb.u.t.ting granite, but the makol flew backward to slam into a pillar and slide down it, leaving a streak of blood that was very red on the white limestone. The makol twisted, watched the wound regenerate, and hissed in satisfaction.

Which so wasn't fair. How come he got to keep some of his magic?

Cursing at the disadvantage, Dez reversed his grip and charged as Iago hurtled toward him. He ducked a chest-high stab and slashed upward. He felt the knife bite, heard Iago howl English curses mixed with ancient Aztec as fabric tore and the blade skidded across his abdomen. Dez yanked back, narrowly avoiding the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's backswing. Blood splattered from Iago's wound and he staggered. Seeing the opening, Dez lashed out a kick that connected with the Xibalban's knife hand, sending the weapon flying.

Iago screeched and spun, not toward the knife, but toward the throne. The whispers gained sudden volume in Dez's head-Yesyesyes!-as he lunged in pursuit, but Iago got there ahead of him, grabbed the serpent staff, and swung the three-foot-long snakes-haped stone artifact at his head like a f.u.c.king Louisville Slugger. Dez lunged forward, took the blow on his shoulder, and got inside Iago's guard for another stab. The collision drove them back against the throne, and the second he made contact, the whispers became shouts. He blocked them out, but the split-second hesitation cost him as Iago rammed an elbow into the side of his head, dazing him.

Fog. Urgency. The sight of Iago rearing back to jam the gape-jawed end of the serpent staff into his face. s.h.i.+t! He skidded off the throne bare seconds before the blow landed with a crack of stone-on-stone. He hit hard, rolled . . . and came up holding the black star demon. He didn't remember grabbing the statuette, but the familiar shape was suddenly there. Confidence flared through him. Arrogance. The utter conviction that he was doing what he was meant to do, what he was born to do. The spinning in his head didn't matter; nothing mattered except the feel of the stone warming in his blood-streaked palm.

But those were lies, he knew, because he had nothing to be confident about. He was bleeding from cuts on his face and shoulder, and his f.u.c.king head hurt. He was holding his own for now, but there was no way he could win. He and Iago were evenly matched as fighters, and the b.a.s.t.a.r.d regenerated.

Take me. Use me. I am yours, have always been yours.

He blocked the whisper, thought of Reese. Saw her, eyes wide and worried for him. And that more than anything told him he was in deep s.h.i.+t.

Iago came at him hard and fast, swinging the staff. Dez feinted a second too slow, and the makol caught him in the head again. The world grayed and Dez went down, Iago following him with a roar, his green-on-green eyes glowing with murderous rage as he twisted Dez's knife out of his hand, reversed it, and reared back for a killing blow.

Despair hammered through Dez. Inevitability. ”I'm so f.u.c.king sorry,” he whispered to the Reese in his mind. But to save his teammates and the war, he had to d.a.m.n himself. And so he let go of the tight reins of his control, opening himself to the black star demon's magic. Power hammered through him. Greed. l.u.s.t. Violence. He stopped being himself and became something else. And that thing he became bared its teeth and went for Iago with a single thought in its mind: Kill!

Skywatch ”The serpent is unbalanced. He seeks the darkness. He must take the others, must take them all, or the dark lord will come, the end will begin.” Anna heard the words, knew she was saying the same thing over and over, but couldn't stop. She could see the world around her, but she couldn't control the words that were coming out of her mouth.

Open your eyes, the spirit-figment?-had said, but her eyes were open. She was channeling visions without seeing them, not sure she could reconnect with that part of herself when she'd spent so long trying to block it off. Or even if she really wanted to.

It would be easier to close her eyes and let go.

”Come on, Lucius!” snapped a dark-haired woman with scared eyes. ”You transported the whole d.a.m.n team out of the underworld.”

”But once I got the library to earth, the conduit magic stopped working,” the man opposite her said. ”I can't do it. Period, end of sentence.” His familiar face was etched with pain and stress. Lucius, Anna thought, the name almost latching onto memories. She ached to talk to him. To connect.

”I've got to get to Dez.” The woman's voice shook as she took Anna's hand, leaned close to her. ”Please,” she whispered. ”I can't warn him about the balance if I can't get to him. I need you to tell me how.”

The raw longing in her voice touched something deep inside Anna, making her consciousness quiver like a plucked guitar string, and bringing a single humming note.

Magic.

She almost didn't recognize it. Had the magic ever been this pure and sweet for her? She didn't think so, just as she didn't remember it being so strong and sure, flowing through her, suddenly flooding her with memories-like the good, solid feel of her brother 's arms around her, holding her tightly and making her feel like everything was going to be okay. Strike, she thought, putting a name to him at last. But how could it feel as though he were right there, holding her, when he wasn't? How did she know that he was far away, that he was very sick, yet still using his magic to fight? She could almost picture him there, with Leah on one side of him, Rabbit on the other.

As she concentrated on the image, it grew clearer. And, unexpectedly, the humming note inside her found an anchor inside him, and the strange, searching magic ratcheted higher. The power coalesced and the spirit whispers of her ancestors floated around her like the ghosts she had seen in her dreams since she was a little girl, the ones she had fought so hard to block out. Now, though, she reached for them, because after all these months she would take ghosts over the emptiness. She stroked her mind along one wisp and felt visions stir, touched another and felt the fierce focus of the warrior she had never been. And then she touched the third, and a golden thread s.h.i.+mmered to life in her mind, beginning with her and stretching into infinity.

It was a travel thread, she knew. In life, the ghost had been a teleporter. Or was it a ghost at all? Because suddenly it felt as though the Triad magic had captured a piece of Strike inside her, too. Which should have been impossible.

Link with me, the magic whispered.

”What?” Reese said, leaning in closer.

Had she actually said that aloud?

”Link. With. Me.” That time she was sure of it, had actually made her mouth say the words she wanted. ”Need. You. Both.” And her senses sharpened, bringing the real world more into focus, connecting her to herself, to her power. And, dimly, she saw the glimmering outline of a vision: two cobras, hissing and striking at each other inside a glowing dome. Get her there, something whispered. Now.

”Link up,” Lucius said. He pulled a combat knife and used the tip to score his palm along the scar line. ”She must need a boost, and we're the only ones here. She'll have to make do with human blood.” He clasped Anna's hand, over the cut that she, too, had made over old scars.

Power surged and the golden thread solidified inside her.

”Hand it over.” Reese took the knife, fumbling with the cut and then gripping Anna's other hand.

More power. More solidity. The golden thread glowed, thrumming with the magic and calling to her. Take it. It will get you where you need to be if you want it enough. Remembering how Strike had described teleport magic, she reached out with her mind and touched the yellow thread. Grabbed on to it. And pulled.

Magic lurched, sending all three of them sideways in a stomach-jolting roller coaster. Then the familiar gray-green nothingness was whipping past them, a blur of incalculable motion that went on. And on. Too long, she realized. Panicking, she clutched the thread, only to have it dissolve suddenly. She screamed as the whip of motion curved in on itself, arcing in a tightening spiral, a whirlpool drawing them down into the formless gray that wasn't quite the barrier, wasn't anywhere else.

”Help me!” she screamed as the maelstrom sucked her down, taking the other two with her into the nothingness.

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