Breathing got even more difficult when they got close enough to the corpse to catch the stink of blood, entrails, and fear. The funk made Rabbit’s skin itch. Flies had found the corpse; the rattle of their wings sounded like— Shit.
“Stay back,” he snapped. “The body is covered with dark magic.”
Strike, who had been reaching out to close the elder’s half-mast eyes in a gesture of respect, yanked his hand back, then scowled. “I don’t feel anything.”
For that matter, Rabbit hadn’t caught on until he was practically on top of the corpse. Concentrating on the faint rattle, he stretched out his hand to probe the spell. “It’s not the same as the stuff Iago uses,” he said after a moment. “It’s . . . I don’t know. Softer, maybe. More passive.”
“I thought Lucius said the thing on your head was supposed to block hellmagic.”
Startled by the reminder, Rabbit touched the circlet Lucius had given him just before they all left Skywatch. He’d forgotten he was wearing it, largely because the moment he’d put it on, light magic had flared and the stone had gone fluid and soft. When the magic faded, the crown had become a thin, flexible strand that was shaped perfectly for his skull and lay almost invisibly along his buzzed-down hairline.
“He said the circlet blocks mind-bending at a distance,” he said. “I can use my other talents, but Iago can’t get through to me as long as I’m wearing it.”
“We hope.”
“Yeah.” Rabbit stared down at the corpse. I’m so fucking sorry, he thought. I didn’t mean . . . Shit, this was no time for excuses. It was time to respect the dead. And, gods willing, avenge them.
The elder’s face was slack, his skin gray. But there was something strange about the body’s waxy stillness. Who had he been, really? He had denied using dark magic, but he had put himself inside Rabbit’s mind despite the protective wards around Skywatch, and now his corpse was enshrouded in power.
A quiver ran through Rabbit. Had the elder somehow left him a message using the dark magic?
“I need to take a closer look at the spell,” he said into the strained silence that surrounded the grisly scene.
He halfway expected the king to no-fucking-way him. But Strike just looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Go ahead. But be careful, and pull the hell out if it feels wrong.”
“Will do.” He glanced at Myrinne. “You’ll keep an eye on me?”
She smiled crookedly. “Always.”
But Rabbit didn’t tap into the strange-feeling dark magic right away. Instead, he took a deep breath and faced Strike squarely. “We were wrong to go behind your back, and we’re going to have to live with the consequences of that. But you’re wrong to put the rest of it on us. Iago sent the soldiers. He’s the enemy. Not Myrinne and me.”
A muscle pulsed at the corner of Strike’s jaw, but he said only, “You went looking for Xibalban magic in the highlands. You found it. Now fucking do something useful with it.”
Raw, hurting anger flared deep in Rabbit’s gut, but instead of lashing out, he tamped it down, nodded stiffly. “If that’s the way you want it.”
Taking a deep breath, he centered himself, making sure his magic was turned inward rather than outward, and he wouldn’t accidentally open the hell-link. Then he stretched out his hand and laid it flat on the outer edge of the dark magic that surrounded the elder.
Power, brownish and faintly greasy, prickled along his skin and rattled through his body . . . but it didn’t invade him, didn’t force its way inside and try to take over. It was just . . . magic.
Letting his mind sink into the spell, he followed the power flow as it encircled Saamal’s body and swirled down into the open chest cavity, where it pooled, pulsing in an asynchronous rhythm.
Rabbit let his hand follow the path his mind had taken, skimming along the old man’s outstretched limbs, over his face, and finally to the place where his heart had been. When he touched the pulsing, discordant knot of power, it shuddered. And so did the body.
More, for a second he could’ve sworn he saw the ghostly image of Saamal, alive and well, standing beside it.
“Fuck me. It moved!” Strike jerked Myrinne back a step and brought up his shield. The Nightkeeper magic sparked red-gold where it intersected with the dark-magic spell.
Saamal’s body went limp as the dark magic drained away from the chest cavity, attracted by its opposite, dark to light, negative to positive.
“Back off,” Rabbit snapped. “You’re messing with the balance, and I can handle the dark stuff.”
What was more, he thought he knew what he was looking at, though not how the elder had managed it.
He was a little surprised when the king complied without argument, falling back and taking Myrinne with him. “Be careful,” Strike said in quiet warning. “Iago knows you inside and out, literally. This could be the trap.”
Rabbit shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think the old man used the magic to tether his soul to his body after death.” If he concentrated, he could almost make out the ghost standing beside the corpse.
“I think he sent the nightmare to summon me here, knowing I wear the hellmark but have no allegiance to Iago.”
“If he had the chops for that level of magic, why didn’t he reveal himself when you were here before?” Strike pressed.
“Beats the hell out of me.” He had a few suspicions, though, none of them good.
With Strike out of range, the dark magic flowed back into its original pattern, and the power bundle in the old man’s chest cavity began pulsing again. But it was far weaker than it had been before, as if the encounter with the Nightkeeper magic had nullified part of the spell. This time when Rabbit touched the knotted dark magic, the corpse didn’t move.
“There’s something going on here.” He described the power flow to Strike, the way it kept pulsing in Saamal’s chest, unfocused and losing steam. “I think he died before he could finish the spell. If I could just—”
“No fucking way,” Strike interrupted. “So far all I’ve heard here is a bunch of wishful thinking.”
“You saw the body move.”
“I need more than that before I let you use dark magic.”
Trust me, Rabbit wanted to say, but didn’t, because he had a feeling he and Strike might’ve passed the point of no return on that front. But while he had betrayed Strike’s trust by not telling him about the visit to Oc Ajal, he’d done way worse to Saamal and the villagers.
“You want proof? Fine. Keep your eyes on the left side of the body.” Fixing his attention on the barely perceptible ghost image, he sent what little dark magic he had left into the wavering shape.
Nothing happened. Then, slowly, Saamal’s ghost became visible as a translucent shadow standing beside the open-chested corpse.
“Holy. Shit.” Strike stared, jaw working. Then he nodded stiffly. “Okay. What do you need? You want an uplink?”
“Not with you guys. I want Michael.” At the king’s sharp look, Rabbit turned up his palms in a
“What the hell else can I do?” gesture. “I need dark magic, not light, and he’s the only one who comes close. Lucius said the old rituals used to split the muk into its dark and light halves, right? Well, I’ve got both bloodlines in me, and I wear both marks. I might be able to take Michael’s magic, divide it into light and dark, and funnel the dark half into Saamal.”
“Might be,” Strike repeated ominously.