Spellfire

by Jessica Andersen

  After that, there was a moment of silence in the grove, broken only by the sounds of the rain forest, which didn’t give a crap about a weird-assed phone call coming in the middle of a ghost town.

  Myr turned to Anna. “You gave the xombi doctor your real number?”

  She flushed. “I meant to have JT change it. Guess I forgot.”

  “I guess.” Myr seemed amused. “Well? You going to go?”

  “I . . . damn it. It can wait until we’re done here.”

  But Rabbit shook his head. “Go ahead and go. That’s the guy Dez wants to liaise with right? And it sounded important.”

  “So is this.”

  “Yeah, but—and no offense intended—whatever happens here, either Myr and I will be able to handle it on our own, or else we’re going to need the whole freaking team. Since we’ve got Strike and the others standing by for our Mayday”—he lifted his wrist, where his comm device was primed and ready to transmit—“we’ll be covered. So go. See what the xombi doctor wants.”

  Anna’s gaze went from him to Myr. “That okay with you?”

  Myr hesitated, but then nodded. “We’ll be fine. And if there’s anything you can do to help with the outbreak, you should do it.”

  Rabbit didn’t let himself take that as a sign of faith. It was more a sign of just how close they were getting to D-day, which was forcing the Nightkeepers to split up, spread out and do their best.

  Anna put in a call to Skywatch and got Dez’s okay for the change in plans. She looked a little flustered as she moved away from the fire pit and gave herself a once-over to make sure she was dressed down enough to pass in the human world. Then she fixed her eyes on Rabbit and Myrinne and said, “Behave yourself.”

  Knowing damn well she was talking to him, he nodded. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Right.” To Myr, she said, “Call me the second you think you might need me. Or, better yet, sound the general alarm. These days it’s better to overreact than play hero.” Then she disappeared, leaving behind only a faint handclap as air rushed in to fill the vacuum her bodyprint had left behind.

  When even that noise had faded and the normal rain forest chatter had resumed, Rabbit took a breath and turned to Myr. “Ready to check out what’s left of Anntah’s hut?”

  It was where he’d found the first eccentric, after all. Maybe they’d get lucky and find something else there. He hoped to hell they would, because otherwise they were going to have to go to plan B. And Myr wasn’t going to like plan B. At all.

  * * *

  Chichén Itzá, Mexico

  As Anna slipped into the quarantine zone, shielded from human view by the faint distortion of a chameleon shield, she wasn’t sure which was worse: forgetting to have JT change her cell number, or jumping to answer Dr. Dave’s page.

  Sure, she had sent him what little she’d managed to put together on the virus, along with Sasha’s suggestions on herbal remedies that borderlined on spell territory. Dez had approved it, though, wanting to foster the relationship. Which was all she was doing now, she told herself as she slipped into what looked like a main tent, following right on the heels of a laundry-laden volunteer. But it didn’t take an inner “yeah right” for her to know that was bull. She was here because . . . well, she was here. And she needed to make it snappy before Rabbit and Myrinne got into too much trouble.

  She checked her wrist, but there was no sign of the yellow flasher that would signal an emergency recall. So she took the few minutes to find a supply area and snag the thin, disposable safety gear she’d seen the others wearing, which was consistent with the xombi virus’s tendency to transmit through bites rather than by air. The Nightkeepers weren’t susceptible to the virus—or any other germ they knew of—but she wanted to blend. More, the pause gave her a few seconds to breathe, and remind herself that she was okay. She wasn’t the patient this time, wasn’t coming out of a spell-cast coma to discover that Dick had divorced her and sold the house, Strike had given up the throne, and the others were expecting her to step up as a Triad mage and an itza’at seer, do not pass go, do not pay two hundred bucks.

  That had been another hospital, another time. Practically another lifetime.

  You’re okay, she told herself, then closed her eyes and counted to five, breathing deeply through the full face mask. Then she dropped her shield spell and stepped out into the busy hallway.

  A sea of humanity surrounded her in an instant. Or maybe it just seemed that way because she spent so much time alone. Either way, she found herself adrift in a hustling mass of scrubs, gloves, face masks, sterility, filth, sickness and health. This, she thought, tempted to take a moment to feel the energy, this was what the Nightkeepers were fighting to save. This anthill-scurry of humanity—overcrowded and hurry-hurry-hurry.

  She stepped in front of a clipboard-carrying nurse, summoned an authoritative I-belong-here voice, and said, “Dr. David Curtis, please. He sent for me.”

  “Back there,” the woman said, gesturing over her shoulder. “Just follow the noise.”

  “Thank—” Anna didn’t bother finishing, because the woman had darted around her. Then again, this wasn’t exactly a polite chitchat sort of place. So she followed the high-pitched, babbling howl coming from the hallway the woman had indicated.

  As she got closer, Anna distinguished a single voice, female, speaking Spanish with an edge of hysteria. “She’s a blue-eyed devil, an abomination! She did this. She’ll kill us all!”

  Her breath caught as she edged around the door to find a small room crammed with four beds, all occupied. Three held the restrained, motionless bodies of two men and a woman in the final stages of the xombi virus—at least the final stage when they weren’t allowed to feed on human flesh, and thus starved to death. Their faces were ruddy and dark, the skin sunken over their bones, pulled so tight that their lips had pulled back over their teeth, making them look like mummified corpses.

  Or screaming skulls.

  A shiver rippled down Anna’s spine. Then an unearthly cry yanked her attention to the fourth bed, where three protective-suited figures were struggling to contain a thrashing woman who was early enough in the disease to still be able to screech and fight, and cast curses and threats sprinkled with the words “demon” and “possessed.”

  “Hold her, for the love of God,” said the guy in the middle. “She’s going to hurt herself.” His accent was Australian, his cuffs rolled up to reveal tanned forearms, in defiance of sterile protocol. David.

  “Or one of us,” puffed the beefy guy on his left as he struggled to get a strap on one of her wrists. “Or, more likely, the kid.”

  “Bless her little soul,” said the third—a smaller figure, female but still plenty tough as she wrestled with an ankle strap. “Where are the meds, damn it?”

  “On their way,” said Dr. Dave, followed by, “Got her,” as he pulled the last strap snug across the patient’s chest. Then, flattening his palm on her sternum, he leaned in and switched to Spanish. “You’re sick, Mrs. Espinoza. You’re in the hospital, and we’re going to take care of you.”

  Her eyes flashed suddenly, going the telltale red of a xombi as the demon spirit pushed the human soul further and further toward death. But there was human terror in her expression as she howled, “You can do nothing as long as that thing lives.”

  The doctor straightened. “Christ. I don’t . . . I need the translator.”

  Anna stepped into the doorway. “She’s here . . . I think, anyway.”

  He spun, hazel eyes lighting behind his plastic face shield. “Good. You got my message.” He gave her a quick once-over, checking that she was protected. “No trouble getting in here? I left word with the security guys, but you never know.”

  “It was fine.” Telling herself there was no reason for the low-grade shimmy in her stomach, she added, “I’m not sure why you need me to translate, though. Your Spanish is excellent.”

  Sobering, he glanced back at the patient, who had sunk deeper beneath the virus, unt
il she was barely tugging at her bonds and taking halfhearted snaps at her attendants while muttering disjointed epithets and warnings. “Poor thing. We’ll dose her with our drugs and your herbs, which should slow things down. I didn’t call you to talk to her, though. I need . . . well, it’s probably better if you see for yourself.”

  “We’ve got this,” said the linebacker-looking attendant, waving him off. “I’ll get the meds into her and set her up for the night.”

  The doctor nodded. “If you have a chance, try to find some family. If you can learn anything else about her and the little girl, it might help.”

  Anna was all too familiar with the vague hospital-speak that translated to “don’t alarm the patient, but we don’t know fuck-all about what’s going on here,” but the instinctive kick of irritation it brought was dampened by his obvious frustration. “What little girl?” she prodded.

  “Follow me.” He shucked his gloves and dumped them in an overflowing bin out in the tent-city hallway, then pulled out a fresh pair from the pocket of his lightweight coat, which had an ID badge clipped to the collar and DAVE written on a pocket in faded blue Sharpie. As he led her through the human traffic, dodging laundry carts and gurneys with the ease of long practice, he said over his shoulder, “The cops brought them both in this morning after a neighbor reported hearing screams. They found a man and a woman dead out in the front room—they were infected, but it looked like a murder-suicide. The little girl was locked in the bathroom and the woman you just saw was going at the door with a hammer, screaming that she was going to kill the little devil. The virus must’ve crossed the blood-brain barrier, though that’s not the normal presentation. Anyway, we’re guessing she’s a relative.” He grimaced. “You saw what she was like.”

  “Scary,” Anna said softly. “And very sad.”

  “Yeah.” He stopped outside a closed door near the end of the hallway. There was a hand-drawn biohazard symbol on the door, along with DO NOT ENTER in three languages. Putting a hand on the knob, he said, “This is a rough one. Kids always are.”

  “I’m tougher than I look.” You have no idea.

  He didn’t look convinced, but nodded and pushed through, paused a moment to survey the patient, and then said, “Come on in.”

  Anna stepped through into a smaller room, which was hot and stuffy despite a narrow window vent near the ceiling. The space was maybe ten by ten, and held two beds; one was empty, the other occupied by the heartbreakingly small figure of a child.

  She was curled on her side as much as a set of padded, too-large restraints allowed, and barely made a lump beneath a soft blanket that was decorated with smiling cartoon teddy bears in jarring primary colors. It had no doubt been a donation from some group or another and designed to cheer up younger patients. Here, though, it just emphasized the gloom of the shantytown hospital and the pallor of the little girl’s face, which was a sharp contrast to her dark lashes and the glossy blue-black hair that had escaped from a thick braid.

  The sight of a pink ribbon tied at the end of her braid—and the smear of bloody fingerprints on the crumpled bow—had Anna blowing out a steadying breath and telling herself, You’re here to help, not hurl. The latter was tempting, though, as the antiseptic-laced smell of disease and jammed-together people went suddenly oppressive.

  She’d said she could handle a sick child. Maybe she’d been wrong. Suck it up. You can do this.

  The girl was murmuring something, her lips moving almost soundlessly.

  “Hey there, Rosa,” the doctor said gently, in English. “I’ve brought the lady I told you about. Can you open your eyes and talk to us?”

  “I’m still not sure what you need me for,” Anna said, equally softly. “If the mother speaks Spanish, and the child understands English, what—”

  “Lean in,” he said, waving her to the bed. “Listen.”

  She leaned in . . . and froze as the girl said, in perfect ancient Mayan, “Ilik oolah. Tun k’eex le ka’ano’ tin kaxtik aantah.” Greetings, seer. The sky is changing, and we need your help.

  * * *

  Oc Ajal, Mexico

  Myr and Rabbit didn’t have any big “aha!” moments picking through the overgrown remains of Anntah’s hut, and they didn’t get anything when they spiraled out around the site, searching for a hotspot, a spike in the force, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. Some sort of evidence that they were on the right track.

  There was plenty of dark magic—she could dimly sense it as a greasy shiver down her spine—but that was all. Which left them standing back at the main fire pit, feeling like that was where they’d been heading all along. One look at Rabbit’s face and she knew it wasn’t her imagination. He was tight and withdrawn, his eyes shadowed as he stared down at the spot where his grandfather had died. Or maybe it would be more accurate to call the old bastard his breeder. His creator. Gods.

  She swallowed as sympathy warred with uneasiness. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He hesitated. “You’re not going to like it.”

  Probably not. “Try me.”

  “Phee never really mentioned the crossover, or what she was going to do with my magic once she had it. Which makes me think she didn’t know everything about it . . . and that would mean the Banol Kax don’t, either. If that’s the case, then we can assume that Anntah’s soul never made it to Xibalba, because sure as shit they would’ve pumped him dry.”

  “Okay. So you’re thinking . . . what, that his soul was destroyed?” It sounded logical enough, but didn’t do anything to ease the shimmies in her stomach.

  “Not exactly. He used a seriously powerful dark-magic spell to anchor his soul to his body, so he could talk to me when I got here. So I was thinking . . . what if his soul got stuck?” He gestured to the fire pit. “What if he’s still here?”

  Myr’s mouth went dry. “You want to summon Anntah’s ghost.” It wasn’t a question.

  He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, but there was nothing casual in his expression as he said, “It’s the best theory I’ve got right now. Unless you’ve got another idea?”

  “How about anything that doesn’t involve summoning another one of your relatives from beyond the grave?”

  “It’s not like I want to do it this way, especially not with you here.”

  “Because you knew I would argue?”

  “Look around you.” His gesture encompassed the village. “The whole place reeks of dark magic. I used it to bring Anntah’s soul back the last time, and I’m going to need to use it again.”

  She lifted her chin. “I won’t run away from you this time. I sw—”

  “Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t promise me that, not ever. In fact, promise me that you’ll run if you need to, call for help, whatever it takes. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  Suddenly, it didn’t feel like he was talking about just here and now. She remembered what he’d said back in the cave, about not wanting her beside him during the final battle. She hadn’t really thought about it at the time—too many other things had been going on. Now, though, as he faced off against her wearing combat black and bristling with weapons, with his eyes fierce and his jaw set in a stubborn line, she could picture him standing alone in the final battle, so damn determined to make things right that he wasn’t thinking of anything else. Even himself. “Rabbit . . .” she began.

  “Promise me.” He looked away, voice roughening. “I’m not kidding, Myr. I’ve kept the dark magic under control so far, but it hasn’t been testing me. It is now, though. It wants out. And once it’s out, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle it.”

  Oily brown magic surging in the air, pulsing and writhing as if something was trying to be born from the other side of the barrier. Rabbit looming over her with his ceremonial knife at her throat and dark-magic madness in his eyes. The images came straight from her nightmares.

  She shoved them aside. “Stop trying to scare me.”

  “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m
trying to protect you, damn it.”

  “Well, knock it off.” She called her magic and cast a crackling green shield around her body. “I can take care of myself. What’s more, I can keep an eye on you and make sure things don’t go very wrong . . . or I can deal with it if they do.” She tapped her armband, indicating the dead man’s switch she’d had JT install. “One way or another.”

  He stilled. “You knew.”

  “I guessed it would come to something like this. Why would you come to Oc Ajal otherwise? And I figured I was the best one to stand guard, both over you and against you.” She paused. “Besides, I think I need to do this. It’s one thing to say I can handle myself and another to actually prove it.”

  Phee’s ghost had nearly killed both of them. Anntah’s wouldn’t get the same chance. Not if she had anything to say about it.

  He hesitated, then blew out a breath. “Shit, Myr.”

  “You can do this,” she said, and heard the words echo back to her old self, the one who’d had his back no matter what. “Just remember whose side you’re on, okay?”

  For the first time in days, she caught a flash of his grin. “Okay.” Then he sobered. “Okay. Let’s do this.” Turning to face the fire pit once more, he pulled his combat knife from his belt and used it to cut his palms.

  Red blood welled and flowed, the air stirred around them, and Myr’s heart stuttered. Oh, hell. They were really doing this. Reminding herself that she had asked for it, argued for it, she held her ground as a faint rattle hissed to life, as if a giant snake had been disturbed. Her heart thudded, but where the other day the syncopated beat had sounded like I’m-alive, I’m-alive, now it sounded like oh-shit, oh-shit, oh-shit.

  She stayed put, though. Not because there wasn’t anywhere to run to, but because she wasn’t going to leave Rabbit behind.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Chichén Itzá, Mexico

  Anna’s mind raced as she stared at the child and tried not to let Dr. Dave see how thoroughly freaked out she was, or how sudden sharp hope flared through her, making it hard to breathe. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered in the ancient language.