He hadn’t felt these things when he’d used the dark magic before, when the rage had already been at the surface of his soul, ready for the darkness to tap into it. Now, though, he could feel the old frustrations hissing and seething inside him, heard them whispering, They never believed you, never believed in you. You can show them all just how powerful you really are.
Sudden images crammed his mind’s eye, and anger surged through him, pure and powerful. Screw them. They never liked him, never understood him, had always been afraid of him. They were small-minded, shortsighted, jealous, and—
Rabbit shuddered as he recognized all the things he’d told himself when he’d been under Phee’s spell. But those weren’t his words; they weren’t his thoughts. And that meant he could ignore them, block them off.
You can do this. You can handle it. He needed to prove it to himself, to the others, especially to Myrinne. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, and he sure as hell didn’t want her to see him fail. More, he didn’t have a fucking choice, not if he wanted—needed—to harness the crossover’s powers. So, imagining a fierce, cleansing wind blowing through his mind, he swept up the voices, the memories, the taunts and the righteous-feeling anger that wasn’t righteous at all, corralling them and stuffing them back into the vault. Then, with a mental heave, he slammed the lid on all of it, leaving the dark magic outside but shutting his own weaknesses away.
The hinges creaked; the door bulged. But it held. It fucking held.
For now, at least. And with the whispers and emotions gone, only the power of the dark magic remained, deep and surging, pulsing an urgent demand through him. Use me, it seemed to say. I’m yours.
Exhaling, but not daring to glance back at Myr to see how much of that inner battle she had comprehended, he reopened the slashes across his palms and cast a spray of blood into the flames. Then he steeled himself, and said, “Cha’ik ten nohoch taat.” Bring me the grandfather.
Fire burst skyward, turning the day red-orange, scorching his skin and sending the monkeys overhead screeching to higher branches as the noise of the dark magic cycled up to a chain-saw buzz, whipping around him and making his jaw ache.
He felt the spell hesitate, teetering between success and failure, felt the vault door shudder as the other part of the dark magic struggled to break free.
Strengthening his mental hold on his inner garbage, he repeated the incantation. “Cha’ik ten nohoch taat.”
Pain streaked along the scars that striped his back, turning them raw and new as the smoke swirled and churned, becoming something. A strangled sound tore from Rabbit’s throat, but he held in the rest as the smoke twined together, and then, bam, whipped into the shape of a gimlet-eyed old man who wore the long robe of a Xibalban priest and had the hellmark on his wrist.
And even though Rabbit had come for this, prepared for it, sick and ugly anger awoke at the sight of the old shaman. His fucking grandfather.
The smoke-ghost looked around, seeming unsurprised at the summons. His eyes lingered on Myrinne, but then moved on. “Greetings, young Rabbit.”
“Greetings . . . Grandfather.” You cocksucker.
The see-through bastard had the gall to smile. “Ah. So you know the truth now.”
“I know you bred me. I want to know the rest. I want to understand your purpose for me.” He heard Myr’s smothered gasp, felt her mistrust, and hoped to hell she would go with it. More, he hoped he wasn’t making a big fucking mistake. Because if anything happened to him, he wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to take Anntah on her own. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could do it, and he’d summoned the bastard. If she got hurt because of him . . .
Over my dead body, he thought, and the mental promise had the force of a blood vow.
Anntah spread his ghostly arms. “Ask your questions.”
Rabbit was all too aware that the smoke-ghost had his own agenda, that he would lie . . . but he was also the only one left who knew the truth. “How do I become the crossover?”
“You already are. You are the son of a Xibalban princess and the last surviving Nightkeeper mage. You are the child of prophecy.”
A shiver tried to work its way down Rabbit’s spine, but he ignored it. “Okay, let’s try it this way. How can I access the powers of the crossover? Is there a spell, an artifact, what?”
“There is nothing. Only you.”
“Bullshit. Tell me the fucking truth.”
“This is the truth. There is no spell or artifact, no need for you to become anything other than what you already are. You are the crossover, Rabbie. The power is inside you.”
Rabbie. The name echoed in his head, in his heart, rattled at the vault. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s what your mother and I called you, the name your father and the Nightkeepers took from you. Just like they told you that you weren’t good enough for them, that your mistakes were too costly, your self-control too weak.” The ghost leaned in, eyes lighting. “They were wrong, you know. You’re stronger than they are—stronger than any of us. And I can make you stronger still.”
“Fuck you.” But the whispers urged him on. And he had a feeling the bastard knew it.
“You are the last Xibalban, Rabbie. Swear yourself to the dark gods and all our powers will be yours.”
“Swear . . .” He trailed off as shock rattled through him, sounding like the magic. He was suddenly aware that the elder wasn’t alone in the mist anymore. There were others behind him, around him, vague shadows that shifted, yearning toward Rabbit like he was their hope, like he was the hero he’d always wanted to be. More, there was a new note to the power—a deep thrumming that vibrated at the edge of his magic, limitless and tempting.
Take it. It’s yours. You can show them all, burn them all.
“Rabbit, don’t do it. Don’t listen to him!” Myrinne’s faraway voice was ragged and breathless, like she’d been shouting at him for a while and he hadn’t heard.
Ignoring her, Anntah held out his hand, which bled red-tinged fog from a slashing cut across the palm. “Come, son. Take the oath and you will have more power than you ever imagined. And when the day comes, you’ll rule the war.”
“Rabbit, no!” Myr’s magic surged and a fireball crackled to life in the supercharged air.
“We’ll do it together,” Rabbit said, and reached out and clasped the ghost’s outstretched hand, not just with his body, but with his magic as well. Suddenly, he could feel Anntah’s flesh, his cool skin, and even the slickness of his blood. Gripping tight, he summoned a whiplash of Nightkeeper magic, and shouted, “Kaak!”
Red-gold fire erupted from his hand and laced up Anntah’s arm, and then higher, racing to engulf him. The ghost shrieked and jerked back. “Aiiee!”
Rabbit hung on, body and soul, and poured himself into the flames. “Myr, now!”
A green fireball hit Anntah and detonated, wreathing the spirit with lambent napalm. And then she was there, standing beside him and hammering the ghost with magic.
“No!” Anntah howled. “Noo!” He whipped from side to side as the fire engulfed him, ate at him. “Whyyy?”
“Because I’m choosing my side,” Rabbit grated, “and it’s not yours.” Nightkeeper power sang through him, driving the dark magic back into the vault. Buoyed by that victory—and by the ferocity in Myr’s face as she fought beside him—he cast the banishment spell. “Teech xeen!”
Power detonated with a huge shock wave and a flash of brilliant red-gold light. Rabbit reflexively spun and yanked Myr against him, and then cast a shield around them both. For a second, furious magic roared over them, around them, heating the air and lighting his senses.