Shock seared through him and he took a step toward her. “Myr?” There were a dozen questions in that one word, but he couldn’t articulate a damn one of them, not when she was staring at him the same as he’d stared at his old man, like he had come back from the dead and wasn’t all that welcome. And when a gesture from her had severed his link to the magic.
What was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to say? An apology would be a good place to start, but there was really no way to apologize for what he’d done to her. Still, he wiped his freshly healed palms on his grubby rag-pants and started toward her, holding out his hands in a gesture of no harm, no foul, and hoping to hell that was the truth. He had harmed her, he knew, had fouled their relationship beyond repair. But if he could just—
She flicked the wand up and a shield spell slammed into place an inch from his nose.
He froze as another shock piled up on top of the others. “What the hell?”
The force field was clear, but threaded through with an almost imperceptible gleam of the same green he’d seen in the flames that had killed the camazotz. And suddenly things started lining up, sort of. His magic had come back when he got near her. He had sensed her emotions, felt a connection. Green fire magic—like his own, only not—had taken out the ’zotz. And his magic had cut off with a flick of her magic wand.
Holy shit. Had he somehow transferred his barrier connection when he traded his life for hers, linking their energies and giving her some of his magic?
Impossible.
“Not. One. More. Step.” Her eyes were hard now, implacable. “In fact, how about you just back the fuck off?”
He started to say something—anything—but then she pushed up her right sleeve and the air vacated his lungs with a quick sayonara at the sight of four marks in stark black on her forearm: the warrior, the fire starter, the telekyne and the mind-bender.
They were Nightkeeper marks.
More, they were his marks. All of them, save for the dark-magic trefoil.
“Holy shit, Myr,” he blurted, forgetting himself, forgetting the situation in the sheer impossibility of it all. “You got my magic!”
Myrinne hated how her nickname came out differently in his voice somehow, becoming more important, more intimate than it should’ve been. Hell, everything was too important and intimate all of a sudden, because—damn it—the magic had reached out to him. And now, even though she’d cut the connection, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at him and feeling an unwanted pang.
He was filthy and ragged, his hair grown out from its usual buzzed Mohawk to punkish spikes. The magic had healed him and kept his broad frame covered with a warrior’s muscles, but whip marks formed an X on his bare chest, as if a single arm had wielded the lash in an unvarying pattern. His back was even worse. More, the deep creases beside his mouth and the haunted strain in his pale blue eyes said that he had suffered over the past two months, and badly.
Part of her—dark and vindictive—whispered, Good, I’m glad. But the rest of her knew there was nothing good about any of this.
She wanted to tell him to fuck off, wanted to walk away. Unfortunately, she knew damn well that the magic was going to force her to deal with him. More, she didn’t want the others to see her wimp out. So, keeping her voice level, she steeled herself and said, “After you disappeared, I was unconscious for almost three days. When I woke up, I was wearing the marks and hearing voices in my head, reading minds.” It had been terrifying, yet illuminating, as if a whole new world was opening up in front of her. “The other talents came online soon after. Our best guess is that the gods wanted to keep the crossover’s magic with the Nightkeepers, and somehow managed to shunt the power into me when you went bad.”
The new lines beside his mouth deepened, but whatever pain she’d just caused him wasn’t nearly enough payback. He had accused her of spying for the demons when he was the one being influenced, and he had nearly offered her up to them as a sacrifice. Bastard, she thought grimly, because while he’d believed her in the end, saved her in the end, she’d had to let him into her mind to prove her innocence.
Having him see so deeply inside her had been bad—a tearing, rending invasion by the man she had loved. Worse, the mind-bending had stirred up old, unwanted memories—of watching tourists out on the street or from a small, cold closet adjoining the teashop, listening for details the Witch could use in her “readings,” knowing she would be beaten if she failed. You’re gone, she had told the Witch’s memory, over and over again. You’re nothing to me now. But then again, she’d told herself the same thing about Rabbit, yet here he was. And the painful thud of her heart against her ribs said that whatever he was to her now, it was far from nothing.
“Anyway,” she said, making herself keep going. “After some experimenting, we discovered that I needed to use the accessories of my ‘magic’ to channel the power.” She bracketed the word with finger quotes, because he’d never really taken her Wiccan-style rituals seriously. None of them had, until she’d gone out to meditate in the cacao grove and nearly started a forest fire. After that, things had gotten seriously shaky for a few days, with her trying to adjust to the idea of suddenly being a mage while the others waited to see if she’d inherited Rabbit’s problems along with his magic.
Dez had been the first one to really stand up for her, believe in her. Guilt tugging, she shot a look at the king. “I’m sorry I bolted. I just needed . . . I don’t know. Distance.” Yet the very person she’d needed to escape from was standing a few feet away, looking at her as if she’d just sprouted wings.
Or stolen his magic.
The muscles in Rabbit’s throat worked as he swallowed. Then, voice hoarse, he said, “I haven’t been able to use my powers since I left Skywatch . . . and now they’re gone again.”
Dez’s eyes went from her to Rabbit and back again. She didn’t know how much the others had witnessed, how much they had guessed. Hell, she didn’t want to admit to any of it . . . but with only a few weeks left in the countdown, there was no time for secrets. “The magic reached out to you.” She rubbed her inner wrist, where the marks ached, though that had to be the power of suggestion.
“And now?” It was Dez asking.
“I’m blocking the link. The connection caught me by surprise just now. That won’t happen again.”
With a gesture from her ash wand, she killed the shield spell around Rabbit. It had mostly been a symbol anyway, a sort of in-your-face “look what I can do now.”
Apparently taking that as an invitation, he closed the distance between them with three long strides, in a move that had several of the magi bristling. She shot them an it’s okay look, even though it was far from okay. But if she was going to have to deal with Rabbit, they might as well get this reunion over with. Better to do it in public, too. That way there wouldn’t be any sidelong looks, any pity.
Or less of it, anyway.
As he squared off opposite her, she told herself she was imagining that she could feel his body heat. There was no mistaking the reek of sweat and blood, though. The stink of captivity brought a pang, but she refused to give in to it. She glared at him instead. “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I think the real question is ‘Where the fuck do I start?’”
CHAPTER FOUR
Myr’s chest tightened at Rabbit’s question, because it didn’t have an answer, not really. There was no way he could make up for what he’d done—not in the time they had left. And after that it wouldn’t matter; they’d either all be dead, the earth enslaved by the Banol Kax, or the world would be saved and they would all go their separate ways.