Storm Kissed (31 page)

His image fractured abruptly, turning into honey-colored shards that spun away from her and disappeared.

She blinked awake to find her body stiff, her heart racing, her stomach knotted with stress and heartache. The afternoon shadows said she’d lost half a day, and her pulse thudded in her ears as she tried to process the new information:

The mountain they were looking for was called Coatepec.

The threat from Lord Vulture was real.

Anntah was an arrogant, opinionated bastard.

And she and Dez weren’t destined mates.

That last part shouldn’t have bothered her the most, but it did, making her realize that on some level she had wanted to believe the gods were rooting for them to get together, maybe even helping. That would explain how she’d been brought back into his life, and why she sensed the magic, especially his, even though she was only human. But if she believed Anntah—and in this case she unfortunately did—then coincidences really did exist, and it was an accident that they were back in each other′s orbits. If they weren’t destined mates, then there was no grand plan for them, no cosmic interference, no hope of her ever wearing his
jun tan
. And, she realized with an embarrassed start, she had wanted that too. Somewhere deep down inside, she had let herself imagine them belonging to each other permanently, at long last.

How could she still want that, even knowing that he had hidden the truth from her, over and over again? How could—

“Enough,” she said, closing her eyes and digging her fingers into her aching scalp. “You’re not nineteen anymore, and the world doesn’t begin and end with Mendez.” Or, rather, their relationship wasn’t central to the end of the world. Mendez himself could very well be, and the Nightkeepers needed to hear what Anntah had told her. Shoving the personal stuff behind a mental tape line that said “do not cross,” she got herself up and headed down the trail to the library. Swinging open the door, she called, “I know what mountain we′re . . .
”
She trailed off when she found the cavernous space deserted.

That put a shimmy in her stomach. Not that Jade, Lucius, and Natalie were chained to the place, but under the circumstances they should’ve been there working . . . Which suggested that something else had happened that took priority.

Oh, God.
Suddenly aware that she’d been out of the loop for hours, she reached for her armband, only to realize she wasn’t wearing it. How had she forgotten it?
Stupid.
For a second she thought they might be off looking for her, then remembered that Strike could instantly lock on to her with his ’port talent. Or did the pueblo walls mess with that the same way rock and certain forms of magic did? Either way, she needed to get her ass back to the main mansion and see what was up.

She got lucky; there was a Jeep in the parking area, keys in the ignition. She dumped the vehicle near the mansion’s front door, noting that Keban’s body and pickup were gone. But she was far more concerned with what she was going to find when she pounded along the covered walkway and blew through the main door, her instincts shrilling a warning when she realized that the normal background energy of the place had dimmed. The magi were gone. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone?”

“In here.”

She followed Lucius’s voice, found him sitting alone at the breakfast bar, crutches leaning nearby. One look at him told Reese that her instincts had been right, as usual—he was waiting for news. “What happened?”

“The monitors caught a huge magic spike at a highland village called Xik. The team zapped down to pick up Rabbit, Myrinne, and Sven and then bounce to Xik, hoping to get there before the
makol
finish harvesting the village.”

“Harvesting.” Reese shivered at the hideous accuracy of the word. “Did Dez go with them?” she asked, but they both knew she was really asking where he stood with Strike and the others.
Please don’t say he’s locked in the basement.
She could see the logic, but didn’t think she could stand to see him locked up again. The first time, it had been for the best. This time . . . hell, she didn’t know what was right anymore.

“He took off right after you did. He said he was going to take care of Keban’s body, drove off in the pickup.” Lucius’s tone was carefully neutral, but she heard the question in it.

“If that was what he said, then that’s what he’s doing. He’s not a liar.” Which was true. He omitted. He talked around issues and was occasionally guilty of some whoppers in the flawed-logic department. But he rarely lied outright.

“Without an armband, driving a vehicle that isn’t hooked into the Skywatch system?”

“I didn’t say he always plays by the rules. Just that he’s not a liar.” But her heart sank as she saw Lucius’s mistrust. Softening her voice, she said, “Look, I’m not saying that his motives are always a hundred percent pure, but I believe him when he says he doesn’t want the throne.”

“Despite his history?”

“He’s not the guy he used to be.” It wasn’t until she said it aloud that she realized she really believed it, deep down inside. She didn’t know whether the change had come from maturity, breaking his bond with the star demon, the Triad magic, or a combination of all those things, but he was truly a different person now. A better man. “He took the fealty oath and swore on his honor.” Which in his own way, he held sacred. “I think you should give him a chance.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“Honestly? I don’t know what I’m going to do. This is all so complicated.” She paused. “And there’s more. I had a vision, just now.” His eyes fired as she described the spirit guide and repeated his warnings. Halfway through, Lucius grabbed a napkin and started taking notes; she could see the wheels turning in his brain. Although she was tempted to leave out the parts about her and Dez not being a destined pairing, she told him.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she was finished. “That sucks.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t change anything.” But they both knew it did. “How about Coatepec Mountain ? Do you know where it is?”

“Not offhand, but the name is sure as hell familiar.” He pushed away from the breakfast bar and grabbed his crutches. “I’m going to collect Natalie and hit the books. You want to come with? We could use you.”

“Later.”

His eyes sharpened on hers. “You’re going after Dez?”

She blew out a breath, then nodded. “He needs to know what Anntah said . . . and that I’m not running away this time. I don’t know exactly what’s between us at this point, but whatever it is, I’m going to fight for it.”

But first, she stopped in her room for her armband and more firepower. As she headed back to the Jeep, her armband staticked and Jade’s voice said, “We’ve got the others and are headed to Xik now. Wish us luck.”

Luck
, Reese thought. But so far, luck had been painfully short for the magi. And time was running out.

 

 

As Strike triggered the ’port, Sven hung on tightly to Mac’s ruff with one hand, the joined hands of Jade and Patience with the other, awkwardly touch-linking himself and the coyote into the circle. Mac whined, quivering. He knew what was coming, and wasn’t a big fan:’port magic freaked him out.

Calm
, Sven sent to the big canine using the simple glyphlike command images that Carlos had been teaching him, and got a surge of deep suspicion in return. He was still getting used to communicating with his familiar, a process that hadn’t exactly been easy, given that Mac was opinionated, quick-tempered, and a little on the flighty side. Their partnership was turning out to be less about Sven giving orders and more a constant state of negotiation, which was exhausting. Carlos had assured him that things would get better, but right now, it was all he could do not to lose track of his familiar. He’d learned his lesson, though—the last time Mac took off, it had taken Sven hours to track him down the rain forest based on oh-so-helpful thought-images like:
Leaves, leaves, leaves. Jaguar poop. More leaves.

“Hang on,” Strike said, and then triggered the ’port. Sven braced himself against the familiar sideways lurch, the whip of gray-green barrier magic flying past, and then the universe reassembled itself around him.

Tightening his grip on Mac’s ruff as the big coyote quivered and strained, sending a sudden flow of
Enemy! Run! Bite! Runbiterun!
Sven checked out the scene. And saw that they were too damn late. Again.

The magi had materialized in an open courtyard surrounded by twenty or so thatched-roof huts, several damaged, most untouched. Cooking fires still hissed and popped, one burning a pan of corn to shit, mute testimony that the place had very recently been inhabited. A radio played somewhere, Madonna crooning about being a virgin. And that was it. There was no other sound, no signs of life. The village was empty.

Rabbit cursed, yanked away from the circle, and strode away, boots ringing on the travel-packed ground. Myrinne followed him, but he waved her off with a sharp motion, then disappeared into the nearest hut. She stood for a moment, undecided, then unholstered her autopistol with a smoothly practiced move and headed into the next dwelling down. But she sent a long look back at the hut Rabbit had gone into, and it didn’t take a mind-bender to sense her confusion.

Sven was staying out of it—being relationship-defective and all—but he had found himself way more aware of those nuances than he normally would be. Then again, he didn’t used to wake up in a cold sweat, hard and aching, with his heart racing in the face of an overwhelming conviction that he was supposed to be looking for something, doing something, only he didn’t know what. Carlos said that, too, would go away eventually. But he’d avoided Sven’s eyes when he said it.

“Split up and search,” Strike ordered, though there seemed little hope of survivors.

“I’ll take the perimeter,” Sven offered, and got a nod, which was a good thing. He needed to move, and he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold the coyote back in the face of all the run-kill-bite-enemy stuff going through his furry head. “They’re gone,” he said in an undertone. “We’re too late.”

Mac growled deep in his chest.

“Yeah,” Sven agreed as he headed out of the village, keeping a tight mental leash. “I feel the same way.” The Nightkeepers couldn’t continue chasing Iago’s tail like this. Something needed to change . . . but it needed to be the right something. Strike had given him, Rabbit, and Myrinne a clipped report of what sounded—reading between the lines, anyway—like a major shitstorm of Mendez proportions going down at Skywatch. But as far as Sven was concerned, prophecy or no prophecy, he and the others could—and would—take Mendez if it went that far. Strike was their king. Period and no discussion.

He let Mac range a little farther once they got a distance from the village and started making a wide loop around it. Their passage flushed out countless bright, flashy birds and sent squadrons of butterflies into the air. Ignoring them, Sven kept his eyes on the ground, searching for tracks while staying attuned to the coyote’s thought stream, which had gone from warnings about the enemy to a growing sense of edgy frustration.

Or was that coming from him? Gods knew he’d been hair-trigger lately. Carlos said the new restlessness and aggression—like the dreams and the hormone surges—came from his magic getting used to the impulses of his familiar, that he would level off soon and go back to being the guy he was. But Sven had a feeling it was the other way around, that he was finally coming into his true self and would stay that way. It felt like he had been sleepwalking for so long, and was just now waking up, just now—

Mac yowled and exploded, diving into a cluster of bushes nearby.
Enemy!

Adrenaline hammered through Sven. Yanking his knife and calling up a shield, he hollered and plunged after the big canine. Branches whipped at him, deflecting off the shield as he burst out of the middle growth and into a small, sun-dappled clearing.

There, Mac stood over a villager. For a second, Sven’s heart leaped at the thought that they had found a survivor, but then he got closer and saw otherwise. The man’s body was twisted unnaturally, unmoving, but his face was animated and his eyes shone luminous green as he hissed at Sven, face alight with bloodlust.

“Nice job, Mac,” Sven said, reaching for his knife and prepping himself for the head-and-heart spell. But he paused when something nagged at him. It took him a second, but then he got it: The
makol
wasn’t regenerating. Something was wrong with it.

He started to crouch down for a closer look, but Mac pivoted over the
makol
and stood with his legs braced, head lowered, and teeth bared. A bloodcurdling growl rumbled in the coyote’s throat.

Sven froze. “Mac? What the hell?”

The coyote sent a stream of glyph images that spelled out
friend-enemy-friend
, which didn’t make any more sense than him protecting the
makol
. But Carlos had impressed on Sven that he needed to trust his familiar, and experience had shown that Mac would get in a snit if ignored. And a hundred-pound coyote having a temper tantrum was not a pleasant experience.
So think it through,
Sven told himself. Analysis had never really been his thing before, but he’d been getting better at it lately. The coyote had saved Reese’s life by attacking a
makol
back at Skywatch, but he wouldn’t let Sven near this one, and was even acting protective of it. So what was different? Did it have something to do with how this one wasn’t regenerating?

Friend-enemy-friend
came again, this time along with a sharp, mossy smell.

Moving slowly, Sven crouched down again, sending peaceful, nonlethal thoughts. Mac’s growls subsided and he gave way.

The
makol’
s human host had been a young man, maybe early twenties. He was wearing jeans and a grayed-out wife beater, and had a small, new-looking leather pouch hanging around his neck. The mossy smell Mac had noted was coming from the pouch. With a mental flick that would have been ten times more difficult before his familiar had come into his life, Sven translocated the pouch into his outstretched palm. But the second it vanished from around the
makol
′s neck, the creature shuddered and arched, and a terrible, screaming keen ripped from the host’s throat.