Shadow Visions: Shadow Warriors, Book 2 (12 page)

A sob caught in her throat at the thought of losing him, whether to Galante or to some crazy moon god.

She had to get to him before her vision played out for real. Manuel was right. Her visions came with responsibility, the responsibility to act. As her fingers deftly braided her hair, she acknowledged her culpability. She’d taken the coward’s way out and had hidden her head in the sand. She could have made an effort, truly stopped and analyzed each vision and taken them on. She was a cop, she had promised to protect and serve. Instead she had been caught up in her own denial, seeing her abilities as a curse and not the gift they were.

So many things she had done wrong. She needed to make them right.

No phone and no cell reception, she had no way to contact Boyle or the station to let them know where Galante was located. She had to hope Manuel got there first, but if he thought he was going to take on Galante alone, he was dead wrong. Whether he wanted her around now or not, they were partners—lying in his arms last night, she’d felt that truth deep in her bones. He had called her his spirit mate, and when this was all over she would prove to him she was, but first she needed to stop the madman that had stolen her family and her abuelo from her. Galante was going down and this time there would be no jail time. She was going to see him straight to hell, even if that meant taking him there herself.

She shoved her feet into her shoes and rushed to the cabin door. Halfway across the room, a rattling sound made her stop. Slowly she turned, only to gasp. Her abuelo’s walking stick rolled back and forth on the floor. No drafts. No breeze. She knew she wasn’t causing it to move. The stick popped up into a vertical position and tapped its way across the wooden floor.

Ixa stared, mesmerized by the sight. A few feet from her the stick paused, still tapping up and down, seemingly waiting for something. Even from this short distance, she could sense the energy emanating from it. How was it she had never noticed it before?

She held out her hand and the stick flew right into it. Her fingers closed tightly around the shaft, power thrummed through her and around her.

Ixa closed and locked the cabin and then gazed with dismay upon the car buried under piles of sand. Unless she could get the vehicle free, she’d be without transportation. She’d never be able to do it. Her powers were erratic, unpredictable, but she had to try if she was going to save her abuelo.

She put the stick down and stepped closer to the car. She tried to think of the pointers Manuel had given her. She brought her palms up in front of her face and blew on them. A light breeze rolled off, nowhere near the amount of wind needed to unbury the car. She took another breath and blew with the same result.

Despair washed over her and panic threatened to choke her. She dropped to her knees and picked up the stick, cradling it to her chest. “Why won’t you help me?” she shouted up at the skies. Manuel and his talk of gods. They were never there when she needed them.

“If I ever needed you, it is now.”

Warmth flowed through her. Her tattoo heated beneath her shirt. She raised her head and glanced warily around the surrounding desert. She was alone.

Energy pulsed against her. The walking stick in her hands radiated power, power that seemed to jump from the stick to her.

She felt stronger, more grounded. She got to her feet and faced the car once more. She could do this. She had to do this. Focus. Concentrate. She gathered the storm of emotions whirling inside her, one palm flat, her fingers pointed to the vehicle. The other hand gripped the stick. She built the image in her head, felt the energy grow within her, and then aimed for her target with a powerful breath. The air rolled off her hand, gathering, intensifying until it spun around the car, clearing sand in every direction.

She threw up her hand to protect her face. About to drop to the ground, she realized there had to be a way to control the direction of the wind.

Squeezing her eyes shut to keep the grains from getting in, she held the stick up in the air and, using her concentration, focused the wind in the direction she wished it to blow the sand. Immediately, the wind shifted.

Carefully, Ixa opened her eyes. She’d done it. She’d actually done it and she hadn’t wiped out the whole neighborhood either. Okay, so she was in the desert with nothing around for miles, but still. The car was free of sand and she could leave.

Ixa climbed in, putting the walking stick on the front seat beside her. She didn’t know if the stick was the cause of her success or not, but she wasn’t taking any chances with it. She’d do anything to get her abuelo back, from using her wind powers to sacrificing herself.

If Manuel was right and her abuelo was the wind god, then the world needed him much more than it needed her.

Chapter Nine

Time was running out—it was only a half hour before sunrise. It had taken her about ninety minutes with her foot to the pedal and no traffic. She didn’t think she was that far behind Manuel.

Ixa gunned the motor and tore down the dilapidated street, pulling up to the place she once called home. Above the half-burned structure, angry storm clouds gathered in a swirling vortex. She grabbed Abuelo’s walking stick and headed into the house.

Inside, the only light came from two garbage cans whose contents were on fire. The strong odor of gasoline rose up from red plastic canisters, some of which lay empty and tossed aside—cans like the one used to burn her childhood home down all those years ago. Outside the perimeter of the flames, blackness gripped the area. The sound of chanting and drumbeats echoed in the gutted-out interior. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sent the hairs on her neck and arms prickling. Her tattoo burned fiercely.

Galante threw up his arms, warding off the attack of the eagle that swooped down over him, its outstretched talons tearing at the man’s skin and bones. The eagle’s screech filled the air.
Manuel
. Ixa breathed in his name, letting it center her as she faced her worst fear. In the center of the room was a slab of broken concrete erected into a makeshift altar, and on top of the slab lay the limp and chained body of her abuelo.

Metztli, covered in bones and a mask with bits of a rabbit’s carcass stuck to it, raised an obsidian blade and swung it at the air, his shadow rising up behind him in an obscene parody of himself. He stepped forward and hovered over Abuelo. Her emotions threatened to choke her. Her grip tightened on the walking stick.

“Get away from him, pendejo!” Ixa cried.

Metztli raised his head, his beady eyes spearing her in place from behind the bony mask. “Nice of you to join the party. Now I can kill both of you at the same time.”

Shadows that danced along the wall broke off and elongated into half-human, half-skeletal creations. Ixa took a step backwards out of their reach, but the demons were too fast. Bony claws clutched both her wrists. She tried wrenching free, but the dead-eyed creatures held her firm. She aimed a good kick at one of them and sent the creature’s head flying across the room.

“The only one who is going to die today is you.” Inside, her emotions swirled. The wind shifted.

Metztli lifted his mask to the sky and sniffed the air. “Such bravado, but I can smell your fear. And well you should be scared, little warrior. You have come too late.” The air crackled with electricity. Lightning splintered overhead. A bolt shot upward from Metztli’s outstretched bony arm, blowing a hole through the roof.

The decrepit walls of the house crumbled, letting in the first hints of dawn breaking on the horizon. The sunlight crept up over the slab and touched the bare skin of her abuelo.

Ixa struggled to break away. Sunrise meant death for her abuelo.

“Let this be a new dawn. All will be remade in my image,” screamed the moon god to the heavens. “With the essence of the wind god I shall rule the earth, blow hatred across the land and into the hearts of men. Battles will rage, brother against brother. The land will flow with blood once more and humans will bow to me, their god and master.”

Ixa fought against her soulless captors. She watched in horror as Metztli raised the obsidian blade and brought it down, plunging it directly into her abuelo’s chest. “No!” The primal cry tore from her lips.

Every drop of anger, despair and grief welled up inside her and flowed through her veins into her fingertips. She thrust out her hand and let loose a stream of wind, blowing the creatures into a million tiny fragments. Their bones rained down around the room.

Ixa felt her control slipping, but she didn’t care. If her abuelo was dead, nothing mattered. She had nothing left to lose. Wind and debris rushed around the room. She tried to aim it at the moon god, but pain and despair, while useful for feeding her power, made it impossible to focus.

Metztli appeared unfazed by the attack. He raised both fists into the air and roared, “This is not the wind god!” He glanced at the body on the slab and then back at her. His eyes bored through her. “You!” He pointed at her with one bony finger coated in blood. “The scepter of Ehecatl. Give it to me!”

Ixa tightened her hold on the stick. “Never!”

Metztli leaped over the altar to land directly in front of her. Before she could move he was on top of her, his skeletal hands around her throat, cutting off her air. She brought one hand up to break his hold and with the other hit him with the stick. She kicked out with her legs. Pinpricks of blackness dotted her vision. She felt herself weakening, her strength seeping out of her.

She had to remain strong if she was going to avenge Abuelo and her family.

She had to help Manuel finish this fight.

She had to tell him…

The eagle tore a chunk of flesh from Galante’s neck. Black blood squirted out. Using powerful strokes, the eagle rose up, swallowing the tasty morsel in one bite. Power surged through the beast with just that small taste. Galante squealed with pain, his head swiveling from side to side. His hands covered his neck as he tried to staunch the flow of blood. The eagle dove in, reversing at the last moment, talons outstretched for the attack. Galante stepped back and tripped over a rusted pipe, falling flat on his back. The man lay motionless.

Just as the eagle went for the kill, Manuel yanked hard on his beast. From the periphery of the eagle’s sight, he caught the image of Metztli leaping on Ixa, strangling her as she went down. The eagle fought him, wanting to return to the demon. Buried deep inside, Manuel applied every ounce of power he had and forced the eagle to cross the room. A few feet away, he shifted right before landing, letting the momentum carry him into tackling the moon god. The two rolled over and over the filthy, hard floor, the stick between them. The sight of Ixa’s limp body fueled him with rage and he struck hard at Metztli, cracking his mask. A hiss of displeasure flowed from the god’s lips. Energy built around them until Manuel was blown off Metztli with a loud explosion. He smashed into the concrete slab. His fingers reached up to grip the edge of the slab as he forced himself back to his feet. He was certain a few of his ribs were broken. His gaze lowered and despair filled him at the bloody site of Ixa’s abuelo. The old man’s breath came out labored. He was clearly near death.

Manuel had failed his family in the past and now he had failed his spirit mate.

Ixa and her abuelo were lost to him. His chance at humanity no longer existed. But if he was going to succumb to his beast, he would go out in a final battle. He would prevent Metztli from stealing the essence of the wind god. It would be his last act before submitting to his eagle spirit.

Metztli had clearly dismissed him as no threat, his attention focused entirely on the wind stick. Manuel had his chance. He called forth his atlatl, and with deadly accuracy, threw the dart into the center of the moon god’s heart.

She blinked her eyes open. Everything was fuzzy. Her head throbbed and her neck hurt. She groaned and slowly rolled halfway onto her side and leaned up on her elbow. In an immense, swirling vortex above her, Manuel and Metztli were locked in epic battle. With his horrid rabbit mask gone, the moon god appeared nothing more than a twisted face of bones and a large, gaping jaw. Manuel raised his weapon and shot a dart through the god’s abdomen. She spied another one sticking out of the god’s chest.

Praying the two would be engaged for a while, Ixa got up and ran to Abuelo’s side. He was barely alive.

Fear coursed through her body as she took in the blood covering him. She had to get him out of here and to a hospital. She put her hands under his arms and tried to lift him. Clouded gray eyes focused on her. “Mi brisita.”

Ixa cradled him to her, happy he was alive. “Yes, it’s me. I need to get you out of here.”

“No,” he wheezed out. “You need to stay and fight. That is your purpose.” Blood gurgled in his throat, but he pressed on. “The gods have chosen you to be a warrior. You must defeat Metztli. You must.” He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know how. Please, Abuelo, I need you!” She held him close, afraid he was slipping away. She felt her powers swirling inside her, a massive storm of emotions. The air crackled and snapped with electrical charges.

He opened his eyes once more. His hand shaky and weak, he reached up and touched her heart. “Everything you need is right in here. All you need to do is look within to find the answers.”

He coughed up blood and struggled to breathe. His body trembled in her arms and he exhaled in a short spurt. She held him tighter. He felt cold, so very cold.