I didn’t know if that meant kill on sight, or never hire again. Could’ve been both.
But none of the entries were as important as one little name: Ziva. The valley nymph—oread, if you prefer—who had tipped over the first domino in this chaotic cascade by stealing the Journal of Annihilation and essence gauge from me. And the dog’s blood.
I’d vowed that the valley nymph would get what was coming to her. But I hadn’t made this trip for vengeance. Ziva was the oldest creature I’d ever encountered—older than the Ragnarök. Hell, she’d triggered the first Ice Age through sheer carelessness. Ziva had seen more cycles of destruction and rebirth than anyone alive.
Which meant, just maybe, she could help solve this twisted enigma.
Or answer a smaller, more specific question—which was why I’d really come. Following leads from a diary more than twenty years old rarely panned out. Ziva could have easily moved during that period, same as me.
But it was the addition of new marks, made by a fresh pen, that spurred my curiosity. An updated phone number to replace the one without an area code. Javier had revisited this entry recently.
And I needed to know why.
Too bad my demonic half was focused on developing other, unhelpful plans. Most of them centered around hurling her from El Capitan’s peak.
“After you get your answers,” I reminded myself, pushing down the bloodlust as best I could.
I stepped out from the SUV, thankful for the shower I’d grabbed at Lux. Judging from the vehicle’s GPS, I was about a mile removed from the coordinates in the diary. The cool, high-altitude air was a little thinner than normal Texas fare. I double-checked the .45, shoved the diary into the back of my jeans and set off down the trail.
A vulture cawed in the distance, and I about shit my pants. Sweat streamed down my temples, despite the morning chill and my bare arms, my thirst for revenge battling a sense of dread.
The flatlands ahead dipped into a gentle ravine—the kind of blip in the landscape that, from afar, would be impossible to spot. It ruined the illusion that the desert simply continued until the end of the world. Some river or tributary had rushed through here long ago, fighting its own war against the rocks.
At the bottom of the gentle ravine I saw the glimmer of an Airstream trailer. My emotions grew more mixed: Ziva was here. The bitch who had lied to me, punched my dog’s death warrant—she was here. But the woman of ten thousand lifetimes who might hold the answers to saving the world was here, too.
With careful steps, I made my way down. Multiple options floated through my head. The voice yelling that I needed answers from Ziva—anything to gain an edge against this onslaught of problems—was heavily drowned out by the need to melt the trailer into scrap metal.
Its smooth aluminum exterior dared me to do it.
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, and then I took the .45 and punched straight through the fucking window. In the empty flats, it sounded like the world caving in on itself. But the sound within was even better: the pure, scrambling fear of an enemy realizing their life was about to change.
I tried the handle, found it locked, and blew the door straight off its hinges with two shots.
The cozy interior, trimmed in stainless steel and subtle wood, invited me inside. I stepped right into the kitchen-living room, quickly glancing both ways to find my quarry. A pan swung out from the shadows, and I ducked. Wood splintered as it collided with the bottom part of the cabinet.
“Statueus holdus,” I said, ripping part of Ziva’s soul away and blending it with the rageful remnants of mine. She stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, her ambush attempt thwarted. The pan wobbled, her arm locked at the end of a swing. Her entire body tensed from the strain of involuntarily holding the awkward position.
With a curt nod, I removed the skillet from her fingers and set it down next to the sink. She looked visibly relieved, even if her shallow, halting breaths continued.
A holding spell isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.
I stared at her with contempt. It was strange, seeing her locked in place. Her energy and life were her distinguishing traits, powerful enough to be contagious. The short, sweeping hair over her eye had grown out into something longer, the red dye from before gone except for the very fringes.
The intense latticework of tattoos running up her arms remained the same, and her thick and layered aura seemed to take up most of the trailer. Which didn’t mean it was powerful—nymphs weren’t known for their aggressive, disciplined pursuit of goals. But she had proved a formidable secret adversary.
I wouldn’t underestimate her a second time.
Resisting the urge to put the .45 up to her head and pull the trigger, I jammed the gun into my waistband.
“Happy to see me?”
Ziva gurgled. I realized that the spell was dialed up a little bit too high. Closing my eyes, I adjusted the intensity, trying to find a sweet-spot between communication and incapacitation. I knew I had it when I heard fragments of words dribble from her numb lips.
“It was…it was…”
“What?”
“Just business, dude.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” My eyes flashed hot enough for her to visibly recoil, holding spell or not. Her legs quivered, straining desperately against the spell’s hold.
She had witnessed death.
And its name was Kalos.
Some distant part of my mind reminded me not to be a complete asshole. Refraining from a response for a couple moments, I walked over to the dining table and pulled out a chair. I positioned it beneath her and then released the hold just enough for her to sit.
Arms crossed in righteous indignation, I said, “The Sol Council pay for this place? Fancy.”
“What’d you come here for, Kalos?”
“To catch up. Like old times.”
“I’ll tell you anything.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” I said. “But there’s a slight problem.”
“None that I can see, dude.”
“I can’t trust a goddamn thing you say.” I reached into the back of my jeans, which got her attention. Her eyelids fluttered, creasing at the edges. Fear is a strange thing to behold when it’s so exaggerated.
It didn’t make me feel good.
The scarier part, though, was that it didn’t make me feel nearly bad enough.
“Recognize this?”
“Did you start keeping a diary?”
“Don’t be smart with me.” I growled the words.
“I don’t recognize it.” The chair legs squeaked.
“It’s a list of contractors.” I let that sink in. “The Sol Council’s go-to mercs.”
She had no reply—no words of defense. Not even a lie. My anger flowed over, and I drew the .45, shaking it at her.
“I never should’ve taken a job with a demon.” Ziva glared—or the best approximation she could muster, given the spell’s effects. I flipped open to the page bearing Javier’s recent edits and shoved it in front of her nose.
“Fine.” Ziva bore the begrudging demeanor of someone consigned to defeat. “But I can’t read at that angle, so you’re gonna have to adjust it a little.”
I stepped forward, adjusting the distance of the page. Distracted for just a moment. But it was enough for her to carve out an opening. For me to hear something that was damn well unwelcome: the beginning of a pre-verbal chant. Rhythms that had, in fact, helped me in the druid forest by my old apartment when I’d been attacked by Isabella Kronos.
But this chant didn’t bear the sound of a healing spell.
No.
Instead, I felt my own feet grow rooted to the trailer’s floor. Looking down, I watched as actual branches wormed through the lacquered wood, latching themselves to my feet.
A foot away from Ziva—she s
itting, me standing—we stared at one another.
Then she said, “Well, you know what they call this situation.”
“Your execution?”
“A Mexican standoff.” The faint hint of a confident smile tugged at her lips.
And all I could think was goddamn, today hasn’t even started and everything’s gotten a hundred times worse.
13
You know what they say about underestimating people, right? Well, clearly I couldn’t even remember my own damn advice longer than twenty-four hours. Make that about twenty-four seconds. Probably what I got for being a dick. Then again, Ziva had decided to put the fate of the world—and my dog—into the hands of a bunch of loons.
Who were then robbed and murdered by a group of even bigger loons.
Not that I was particularly unbiased, but her crimes seemed to warrant a full-scale immolation, rather than my comparatively restrained and dignified methods of interrogation.
I would’ve patted myself on the back, but the branches had ventured up my legs and were now grappling for control of my lower torso. Thus, my arms were desperately needed to defend against the further spread of the persistent roots.
“There’s a way to end this, Kalos.”
“I can think of a couple.” I beat back one of the twigs and tried to reach for the knife in my boot sheath. My hamstrings weren’t ready for the sudden stretch, however, almost giving way from the effort.
Stifling a groan, I bounced back upright and contented myself with swatting away the pesky branches.
With my gun hand, I aimed at Ziva’s heart.
“Turn this off.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ziva said. “You should have prepared better.”
The old heuristic fool me once indeed applied here, but no measure of shame was going to help me break my earthly shackles. My lack of magical acumen had gotten me into plenty of previous binds. Although none quite so literal.
I ran down the list of the half-dozen spells I knew, searching for one that would help.
“Firus ignitus.” I growled the words. My soul was getting mighty small. Which was what this turned out to be—the tiny puff of flame winked out almost as soon as it hit the branch.
Fireproof. Goddamnit.
“Come on dude,” Ziva said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t think I’d be ready for that?”
“Well don’t you just know everything.”
“I was sent to spy on you, man. I have the whole damn book on you.”
“I’ll just blow this place to ash.”
“I don’t think so.” Ziva called my bluff way too coolly. The fear had vanished, replaced by annoying certainty.
I leveled the .45 between her eyes and cocked the hammer. “Recant the fucking spell.”
“There’s only one way this ends.”
“Recant, or your brains redecorate the door.”
“Whole lotta answers they’ll give you there, dude.”
A sapling tried to worm its way beneath my t-shirt. I slammed the .45 against my own torso, snapping the branch and knocking the wind out of myself in the process. Goddamn magic. I’d never been a fan.
The current situation was not changing that opinion.
My eyes swiveled about the cramped space, searching for a way to escape the inevitable. All the knives in the carving block on the counter were too far away. The wire-frame spice rack was useless—and out of arm’s reach, besides.
Behind Ziva, through the open door to her bedroom, I saw the sheets in a jumble on the floor. Clearly my little blitzkrieg of an entrance had woken her.
None of this information, however, helped me fend off the growing tree branches from hell. Never had it been so completely infuriating to be in a place so utterly domesticated and devoid of dangerous weapons.
I returned my gaze to Ziva. Her divebombing hair had swooped over to cover one eye, strands reaching down to her chin. It gave her a mysterious air of all-knowingness.
Or, in this case, the smug look of victory.
“Answer one question and I’ll leave,” I said.
“Trust is a gentle bird, Kalos.”
“Aren’t we all.” I glared and curled my lip. “If you know as much as you claim, then you’ll understand the nature of my code.”
“But your aura has changed.” The implicit undertone was and not for the better.
“The code is ironclad.”
“So the wolf says before he opens his jaws.”
“Goddamnit, I promise not to kill you.” I don’t think I would’ve done it, anyway. But no need to tip her off to that. I’d gotten my fill of bloodthirsty vengeance in the years after 979 A.D., when I’d made quite the jaunt of rolling through Isabella’s associates.
The joy of revenge quickly sours.
“And to free me.” She looked at me expectantly, with her one visible eye.
As the best show of good faith I could muster, I tamped down the spell enough for her to move her head properly.
A broad smile burst across her face as she whipped her hair back. “I feel more trusting already.”
“Glad we’re both happy,” I said with a forced grin.
“I want to be free first.”
“I’d rather burn us both.” A rather hasty response, but the sentiment wasn’t about to change. Fool me once, remember? Three times was a bit much, really.
“Had to try.” Her casual nonchalance rubbed me the wrong way, but there wasn’t much I could do. Promises were promises.
The two I’d broken most recently had gotten me in a shitload of trouble. Isabella and Nadia both.
Maybe it was something about lying to women.
I’d have to ask Gunnar about that if I survived the week.
“Tell me what Javier wanted.”
“Who says he wanted anything?”
“So you just shoot the shit with wizards?”
“That’ll take all day, dude.” She smirked. “And you’re looking tired, man.”
“I appreciate the concern.”
“You got darkness running all around you.” Ziva nodded her head in a circle. “Dark shit.”
“Give me the Cliff’s Notes, then,” I said, growing tired of the armchair psychologist routine.
“The wizard called me. Wanted to know if the Sol Council had any interest in turning his daughter. I put out feelers, got a response. Hell yes. The rest is history.”
“Why didn’t he do it himself with his own contacts?”
“Man, you think they listen to drug addict bums?”
“Good point,” I said, reaching for a thick branch. My forearms shook as I snapped it in two. It barely took the edge off my anger. I had my answer about how Nadia had become supernatural. That road leading back to Ziva had me on the verge of breaking my promise.
Ziva seemed to sense that, because she said, “Your code.”
“You’re old,” I said, the words filtered through my teeth, “tell me this isn’t the worst it’s gotten.”
“Could be another Ragnarök situation, man. Who knows?”
“Gods?”
“No gods left. You know that.”
“Then what?”
“Apocalypse.” The slightest undercurrent of fear rode through her voice.
“Anything else you can tell me about Nadia?”
“That’s been like three questions, dude.” She tossed her sharp hair and glared.
“I failed math,” I said.
“This is a slippery slope.”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“But then you might leave me.” She batted her eyelashes, and I momentarily felt the pull of the valley nymph’s seductive tendencies. It was quickly shattered by the reminder of who Ziva was and what she’d done.
“Goddamnit, don’t you care the world is going to bu
rn?” I fired two shots over her head into the bedroom. Down exploded from the pillows, showering the doorway. Ziva, for her part, no longer looked cool and collected.
Her eyes were wide, mouth trembling. “The girl stole the wendigo. Ingi. Bought her way into the Sol Council with her own stockpile of essence. Not that she needed to.”
One mystery solved. Too bad it made me like Nadia even less. “Explain.”
“The Sol Council would’ve taken her for free. They had big plans for her and the Journal. Were watching her before I even stole your shit, man.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“Do I look like a Council member? She was just a girl, far as I could tell.”
“What else?”
I waited for Ziva to be fresh again, talk about going over my question limit, but she said, “That’s all I know. I swear.”
“What’d Nadia turn into?”
“An elf.” Ziva looked up at me, her eyes fully sincere. “But…I don’t know. A dark one.”
That was enough to work with. “We’re done here.”
Ziva muttered the ancient sounds without protest. I watched the branches recede, leaving behind splintered holes in the wood. With deliberate steps, I walked past the valley nymph and toward the Airstream’s half-broken door.
“You promised.”
I wanted to scream I lied to the empty plains, so loud the words would reach the flat-iron peak of El Capitan. But that had gotten me in too much damn trouble before, even when breaking my promises had been the honorable thing to do.
I didn’t want to discover the consequences when it was the opposite.
Wordlessly, without a goodbye, I walked into the night air, silently releasing the holding spell. The weight of the dark magic lifted from my mind, and for the briefest of moments, I felt a fleeting clarity in the morning light.
But as I walked, it ceded into the blurred jumble, Ziva’s words echoing in my mind.
Dark shit indeed.
14
Ziva’s trailer roared away before I’d even made it fifty paces. Must’ve been nice, being able to up and leave after shitting all over the floor and walls. Then again, if what Ziva had said about the apocalypse proved true, there was nowhere on this planet where she’d be safe.
Moon Burn (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 3) Page 7