Magic Unchained

by Jessica Andersen

  For a second nothing happened. And then, just barely, he felt the thinnest thread of a connection, a faint trickle of warmth.

  Come on, come on! He held nothing back, but still it was more a stream than a torrent. Why was he so weak? He had come back to make amends. He knew what the visions were now. Yet still his magic didn’t return. Had he damaged things with Cara so irreparably that even his power had turned away?

  “Give her your magic,” JT urged. He was crouched down on the other side of Cara now, though Sven hadn’t sensed his presence. The winikin’s expression was urgent. “It’s the only way to burn off the poison.” And although he didn’t say it, they both knew the winikin were down to the dregs of their energy, and probably the Nightkeepers as well. They needed a boost and they needed it now.

  A few days ago—hell, even a few hours ago—he and Cara together could have put some serious power into the mix. Add in Mac and the sable coyote, who was crouched near Cara’s head, watching her with worried eyes, and they might even have been able to turn things around.

  Now, though, he shook his head. “I’m trying. It’s not enough.”

  Worse, she was fading, getting weaker, letting go. He could feel it, but couldn’t stop it. And for the first time in his life he felt truly helpless, truly at the mercy of the universe.

  A ragged sob tore at his throat. “Don’t you dare give up on me. Not now. Not—” He broke off at a tap on his shoulder, jerked his head up with a growl. And saw Sebastian standing there, offering his bleeding palm.

  Twenty more winikin stood behind him, a mix of the factions. Beyond them, a skeleton crew was doing their best to hold the shield around the magi, who were bleeding from their hands and tongues as they called on the First Father to return. Worse, the camazotz were massing once more, their blazing eyes fixed on the shield with hungry intensity.

  “Take it,” Sebastian said, turning up his bloody palm to the light. “She’s ours too.” There was a quiver of magic in that, as well, as if the winikin had already made a new promise to their leader.

  Nodding, Sven clasped Sebastian’s hand in his.

  The punch of power that rocketed through him nearly blew his damn head off his shoulders.

  “Holy shit,” he managed to gasp as the united might of the winikin roared inside him, immense and powerful and seeming to be searching for something. Searching, searching…“Holy, holy shit.”

  “Can you do it?” Sebastian grated, his voice seeming to come from very far away.

  Sven nodded. “We’ll get her back. I promise.” The vow made a bigger ripple, augmented this time by the power of the winikin and everything that was inside his heart as the blood-link wove together, gaining strength and becoming something real and whole. And, riding the wave, Sven opened himself to the winikin, to the magic… and to Cara.

  The response wasn’t anything he expected.

  A sudden wind whipped up inside the cavern and lightning lashed down and hit the domed shield, scattering along it like a science museum exhibit gone badly wrong. The camazotz screeched and charged, hammering into the shield and making it groan beneath the force of their attack. But suddenly it didn’t look like they were trying to break the shield so much as get inside it. Their eyes were wild, their wing beats frantic.

  “Shit!” Sven tried to pull the power back in, rein it tight, but it was out of control, whiplashing through him and up into the storm.

  Overhead, near where the fallen-through spot let in the light, a huge cloud gathered, overlapping the rocky ceiling of the cavern, somehow existing both on this plane and another. Lightning struck the dome again, frying a bat demon with a huge and meaty bug-zapper noise. It shrieked, fell to the ground, and lay smoking.

  Thunder rolled in the air, making the ground tremble.

  “Sven, no!” Dez shouted, lunging up and breaking the blood-link to wave him down. “Stop! You’re calling the hellhound!”

  “I can’t stop it!” Whatever chain reaction was happening had reached critical mass. Magic flowed from the winikin into him, from him to Cara, and then back up again in a feedback loop that filled him up, made him invincible, and terrified him all at once.

  Searching, searching… He didn’t know what the magic was looking for, only that it was very near. It had two legs, four, wings, fins, a crocodilian tail.… Searching… The sable coyote’s head whipped up and she gave a joyous bark. Found!

  The magic snapped out of him, cut dead, and if he hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have fallen. He sagged.

  Cara shuddered in his arms and her eyes flew open and locked on his.

  Relief hammered through him, though there was fear too. Fear that she wouldn’t be willing to give him one final chance. “I’m sorry.” He caught her against him, held her tight. “Jesus, gods, I’m sorry.”

  She avoided his eyes. “What’s happening?”

  Stomach sinking, he answered, “I don’t know anymore. I thought I did, but—”

  Thunder barked and lightning speared from the storm cloud, arrowing through a ragged hole in the sagging shield-stone spell and whipping toward them.

  “Move!” Sven called a quick shield that flared to life strong and sure, shocking him even as he hooked an arm around Cara’s waist and dragged her aside. Mac lunged after them, leaving the sable coyote behind. She froze there, splay legged and wide-eyed.

  And the lightning hit her squarely, as if she had been the target all along.

  “No!” he shouted, heart shuddering at the horrible howl and the smell of burning hair. But when the flash cleared, she stood there unscathed, eyes bright and alert, and locked on Cara. The female didn’t even look like she’d been singed; she seemed totally unharmed.

  “What is she?” Cara asked, voice hushed.

  “I thought… Oh, shit!” The female’s body blurred and stretched without warning, expanding, enlarging, growing until the sable coyote—or demon?—was the size of a horse, stiff ruffed and vicious-looking, with coal red eyes that fixed immediately on Cara, suddenly all too familiar.

  The hellhound had arrived in the flesh. And this time it wasn’t letting her get away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Come on,” Sven yelled, dragging at Cara’s arm. “Fall back. I can shield us!”

  Heart pounding, she turned to run. “Go!”

  No! The nahwal’s voice cut through her panic and confusion. Join now or all is lost!

  And she stopped dead. “Oh, gods.”

  Sven spun back. “Here? Now?”

  But Cara got it. She freaking got it.

  They had been right about some things, wrong about others. And they’d been very wrong about the two of them. “It’s not talking about us joining,” she said softly. “The signs have been pointing toward this guy all along.” She indicated the hellhound, which was crouched with its head low, its hackles raised, and its huge teeth bared. “He’s not the enemy. He’s tried to reach me whenever I’ve been deeply linked to the magic through you.”

  Sven shook his head, but there was a look of dawning wonder on his face. “He’s a she, and she’s the one who’s been sending me the visions. She’s been looking for you.” His voice quieted. “I thought she was your familiar.”

  Cara caught her breath. My familiar. Gods. And in that instant, she yearned… and then she let it go, because the creature facing her was nobody’s familiar. “No. I think she’s the key to the resurrection spell. Her and the winikin together.”

  That was what the signs had meant. Not that she and Sven were destined.

  He took a step toward her. “Cara—”

  Shouts interrupted, coming from the shield. The Nightkeepers were breaking the spell and rallying with the winikin as more camazotz poured from the tunnel. They were going to need help, though.

  Cara held out her hand to Sven. “I need to borrow your magic. It’s working now, isn’t it?”

  He avoided her eyes. “Yeah. Good as new.”

  That shouldn’t have pinched, but did. She accep
ted the pain, though, just as she accepted the terror that took root and grew as they approached the hellhound. Mac stalked at her side, bristling, though she didn’t know whether that was coming from his instincts or Sven’s thoughts. Maybe both, because the creature was monstrous up close, fierce and fanged, and smelled faintly of burned hair and ozone.

  The storm had gone quiet, but the clouds remained. Now, as the hellhound’s growl notched up, thunder grumbled beneath their boots.

  “Don’t be rude,” Cara said in a reproving voice. “You came looking for me, remember?”

  Lightning flickered and the air grew heavy and storm-charged.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dez say something to Strike, who shook his head. When Anna did the same, her stomach clenched. The Nightkeepers were exhausted, the shield failing, the teleporters possibly too spent to evacuate.

  So when the beast shifted, looking ready to charge, she pulled her combat knife, opened the slashes on both her palms, and held out a hand to Sven. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  He hesitated. “Cara, I—”

  “Not now,” she interrupted. Because if he gave her one more empty apology right now, she was afraid she would be the one to block him, not the other way around. “Tell me after.”

  He said nothing more, but nodded and took her hand, and when the blood-link formed, it carried with it a huge upwelling of warmth and support. She nearly staggered from the impact of it, the aching sweetness of feeling magic coming through the bond once more when she had thought it lost forever, and from how much she wanted to send the same back to him. But the difference was that while she would mean it wholeheartedly, his would last only as long as it was convenient.

  So, saying nothing, she accepted the warmth along with the magic, and crossed the last few feet that brought her into the hellhound’s range. Coal red eyes watched her approach, but the huge beast didn’t move.

  Lightning flickered, though, followed by a growl of thunder.

  “You came looking for me,” she reminded the beast. “Well… I’m here. I don’t know what you want from me. But whatever it is, you can have it.”

  “Cara…”

  She ignored Sven’s warning growl and, with his magic inside her and his blood-link making her feel like she could do anything, be anything, she held out her hand and opened her fingers to let the blood trickle free.

  The beast moved like a striking snake, snapping its jaws to trap her hand in its massive teeth. She screamed in shock, but when Sven and Mac both surged forward, she said, “No! It’s okay. It’s…” She trailed off as the huge animal’s tongue swiped her palm and new heat seared through her, new magic.

  “Holy shit,” Sven said, and looped an arm around her waist to support her when she sagged. “What is this? What the fuck is this?”

  She didn’t know, couldn’t have told him if she did, because suddenly the creature reared back on its haunches and let out an earsplitting howl that drove her back and into his arms. She didn’t want to cling, but she could only watch in terrified awe as fresh lightning split the sky, thunder pealed, and the clouds erupted, fragmenting into a dozen vapor trails. Twenty. Forty.

  The cloudy shadows spun momentarily and then plummeted straight for the dome and then through, not deterred by the shield or the Nightkeepers’ spells.

  “Incoming!” Sebastian bellowed, and raised his machine gun.

  “No!” Cara shouted, surging toward him even knowing she would be too late to stop it. “Hold your fire!” For a nanosecond his decision hung in the balance as a vapor trail beelined straight for him. He glanced at her. Didn’t fire.

  And the mist slammed into him and disappeared.

  Sebastian yelled and staggered back, clutching his chest, then his forearm. “Son of a—” was all he got out before the fog erupted once more, streaming from where his fingers covered his bloodline mark. But it wasn’t the same fog that had gone into him: As it emerged, it stretched and lengthened, growing wings and a body, gaining dark substance and form and a set of razor-sharp claws and a wickedly hooked beak.

  The shadow creature—it was still a shadow, translucent despite the visible detail—flapped up and hovered above him while his face blanked with shock. “What? Who?”

  “Whoo!” The huge owl was more streamlined than its real-world counterparts, with long, powerful legs and wings that cut through the air like scythe blades.

  “Jesus, gods,” Cara whispered, flashing back on the day of the funeral, when Sebastian had been nearly suicidal over having been marked by the magic. “It’s his bloodline totem. The owl is his totem.”

  “The others too,” Sven said, voice hushed.

  She started to push away from him, but then her eyes went past Sebastian. And she froze at the sight of shadow creatures everywhere—felines, foxes, monkeys, reptiles, peccaries, and more. There was a totem shadow for each of the winikin, all bigger, stronger, and meaner-looking than their native cousins. The winikin themselves looked stronger and meaner too, as if they had been lit by a new inner power. And as they connected with their creatures, their shadow-familiars, their faces lit with fierce joy.

  Magic, she thought, awestruck.

  Shaking now, she turned back to the hellhound—so much bigger than the sleek coyote it had masqueraded as. The beast wasn’t crouched down anymore; she was standing, her attention going from Cara to the outer perimeter and back again. Her body was quivering too, though with eagerness rather than shock, and a low whine sounded at the back of her throat.

  Cara knew that sound from Mac. It meant, Let me at ’em!

  Her pulse notched up. “Can you fight the camazotz?”

  Enemy! Fight! Fightkillfight! The thought-glyphs came rapid-fire, almost unintelligible.

  “Did you get that?” Sven asked.

  “I got it,” she said softly. She kept hold of his hand even though she didn’t need the blood-link anymore—she could feel the magic inside her—but she let herself cling, just that tiny bit, as she approached the huge creature, reached up a hand, and stroked a massive shoulder. The female’s fur was thick and coarse, and smelled of open skies and mossy hollows.

  You’re mine, she thought, and her throat closed when she got a wash of love, support, and acceptance in return.

  “Cara!” It was Dez, his voice ragged. “Can they help?”

  The winikin had gathered at the center of the dome, each with a huge shadow-animal nearby. Some lay prone or stood at attention; others flew in tight circles near the top of the shield, screeching battle cries.

  At the sight, Sven hissed out a breath. “The cave painting.”

  She nodded, heart going thudda-thudda in her chest. “The coyote is their leader. That’s what the painting means. She’s in charge.”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “You are.”

  Pitching her voice to carry, she called to the others, “What do you think? Can we fight the camazotz now?”

  There was a ragged chorus of assent, one that strengthened at its tail end.

  “I can’t hear you. Can we fight now?”

  The chorus got deeper, stronger. “Yes.”

  “Can we kick ass now?”

  “Yes!”

  Her pulse was drumming, her palms going sweaty. Don’t overreach, she told herself. Don’t sacrifice anyone to make a point. But her instincts said this was it; this was right. This was what she’d been brought here to do. “Our king has asked us to defend this place. Will you do it?”

  It was a risk, but a calculated one, and it was rewarded with a resounding, “Yes!”

  Grinning, Cara stripped off Natalie’s wristband and tossed it to her. Then she pulled her combat knife, held it in the air, and shouted, “Then let’s drop the shield and clear out the vermin!”

  A huge shout rose up, coming from winikin and magi alike. Then the shield came down, and all hell broke loose.

  Cara’s hound bolted away from her, roaring a challenge, and the shadow-animals leaped to follow.

  The camazotz scr
eeched their unearthly cries and took to the air as the horde descended, leaving the lower-slung animals to howl in protest. Soon, though, they had work to do, as the airborne totems went to work shredding wing sails and sending the demons crashing to the ground. Or, like Cara’s beast, leaping high in the air and snatching a bat demon midflight, then crunching and dropping it before lunging after another. Mac was right in the middle of the melee too, slashing at hamstrings and leaving the demons crippled and howling.

  They would regenerate, though.

  “Come on!” Sven tugged at Cara’s hand, but she was already in motion, knife at the ready. She reached for her wristband, but he waved her off.

  “I’ve got us covered.” A shield spell—sleek and flexible, and like nothing she’d ever seen before—appeared in the air around her, molding to her body and creating lightweight, nearly invisible armor.

  “Impressive.” She hid the pinch of sadness. “I guess when your magic came back, it came all the way and then some.”

  He nodded. “I just needed to figure out my real priorities.”

  It hurt to know she wasn’t one of those priorities, but she lunged into the fray, puffing one camazotz and then another to dust. The others had fanned out and were doing the same, working in twos and threes, often with winikin and magi mixed without issue, all watching one another’s backs while the shadow-familiars knocked down their enemies.

  “Look out!” Sven yanked her out of the way as a quick healer leaped up and made a grab for her. He launched a fireball that was so bright she had to close her eyes, then dispatched the thing with grim efficiency. When it was gone, he shot her a look she couldn’t interpret.

  “Sorry,” she said. “And thanks.”

  There were other live ones, other close calls, but they worked their way through the slaughter, which was made far less macabre by the fact that the ichor vanished when the camazotz did. And all the while, she was aware of her creature—lithe and beautiful, violent and deadly—staying connected to her as the enemy ranks thinned, and—