Текст книги "Tatterdemalion "

Автор книги: Anah Crow

Соавторы: Dianne Fox
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Lindsay, pinning him to the bed with warm weight, and pushed his nose into the hair behind Lindsay’s ear.

Whatever he smelled there elicited a low growl and a soft bite on Lindsay’s neck.

It made Lindsay shiver all over. He tilted his head forward, baring his neck. The chill from having

been torn open and thrown back together was slowly wearing off. Dane’s presence, his protectiveness and

his warmth and his laughter, were enough to penetrate Lindsay’s misery and wash it back to memories

where it belonged.

Dane licked where he’d bitten, tongue rasping slightly behind Lindsay’s ear. He growled again, an

angry noise, but he kissed Lindsay as though to reassure that Lindsay wasn’t the target. Shifting, he pulled Lindsay closer to him, sheltering him under the solid warmth of his body. Lindsay whispered Dane’s name,

feeling soothed and aroused at once.

Dane tugged the blankets up over both of them and gave a contented sigh. “Sleep now, eat later.”

Lindsay made a sound of agreement, tucking himself up in Dane’s arms and closing his eyes. That

sounded like a perfect plan. Maybe more things later than food. Maybe. He pressed a kiss to Dane’s bare

chest. It was new to have something so sweet to hope for.

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Chapter Eight

Dane woke before Lindsay, finding his little bunny curled up in a tight knot of anxiety against his

chest. He stroked Lindsay’s hair and cuddled him until the fearfulness subsided and all Dane could smell

was contentment. Outside, the sky was paling with dawn. No one needed to tell him Ezqel wanted to speak

to him. He could feel it. The house knew.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, kissing the snowy curve of Lindsay’s shoulder.

“Dane?” In spite of Dane’s caution, Lindsay startled awake, and Dane pulled him close, cursing

silently.

“I’m here.”

Lindsay twisted and flailed and wouldn’t be content until he’d worked himself around to press half-

sleeping kisses to Dane’s mouth. He was so young, so small, the little bunny. Dane sorted the blankets out

once Lindsay was done disarranging them, and petted him until he relaxed.

“I’m going to talk to Ezqel,” Dane told him, trying again. It was easy to forget how thin the line

between sleeping and waking was for Lindsay, given how still he was when he slept. “Someone will bring

you breakfast. You make sure to eat.”

Lindsay made an unhappy noise and shoved his face against Dane’s throat, his slender arms wrapping

around Dane’s neck like white vines. It should have irritated Dane, yet it didn’t—it was unnatural how it

didn’t. He felt like laughing, but he didn’t want to wake Lindsay further.

“If you don’t eat,” he whispered in Lindsay’s ear, “you won’t have any energy to get on with living,

little bunny.”

With another grump, Lindsay pulled his arms away and sighed forlornly. He peeped at Dane from

under his white-gold lashes, his gray eyes hazy with sleep. “I’ll eat,” he mumbled discontentedly.

“Thank you.” Dane kissed him on the head and slid away, tucking the blankets in behind him to keep

in the warmth. Lindsay rolled into the hollow Dane’s weight had made in the mattress and wrapped his

arms around the pillow Dane had used. Dane hoped he stayed sleeping.

Of course, none of their clothes were up here. Who needed Outside things in Ezqel’s house? Dane

tugged on the jeans and the long-sleeved shirt Izia had brought him yesterday—no, Dane didn’t want a

robe, thank you, he looked ridiculous in them, like a walking sofa—and went to eat before attending to his

old teacher. Ezqel could wait.

Anah Crow and Dianne Fox

“I could wait, but why should I?” Ezqel caught Dane halfway through a rabbit he’d found in the

fridge, dressed and quartered and waiting to be cooked. Dane hadn’t bothered with that last part. He was

starving for flesh.

“Because I’m hungry.” Dane bit through a leg bone with a satisfying crunch.

“Your little bunny better watch that you keep your stomach full.” Ezqel closed the back door behind

him and brought in the pail of milk he’d been out getting, as he did many mornings.

“This is rabbit,” Dane clarified, taking another bite. It would have been better fresh and hot.

“Why are you so contrary?” Ezqel put the pail on the back of the counter to settle. “Have you learned

nothing?”

“I’ve learned not to waste my time.” Dane shoved the last of the rabbit leg into his mouth and got a tin

cup from the same hook it had been hung on for longer than Dane had known Ezqel. The enamel was worn

away where the handle met the hook, and the handle and the hook were growing thin. He ignored Ezqel’s

glare and pulled the linen off the pail so he could dip the cup into the warm milk, careful not to get his

fingers in it.

“I never disagreed with that. Simply with your definition of waste.” Ezqel took the kettle from the bar

over the stove and put it on the heat.

Dane washed the rabbit down with warm milk. “Do you like having this conversation?”

“I like it when my students learn something. I keep trying until they do.” Ezqel busied himself with

finding the right jar of tea, shaking his dark red hair back in a way that made Dane briefly, disconcertingly, nostalgic.

“What if you’re wrong?” Dane picked up a front quarter of rabbit. His teeth sheared through ribs and

muscle alike as he took a bite. Hunting was forbidden in Ezqel’s forest, but the dues the forest owed its

keeper were another matter altogether. He met Ezqel’s arch expression with one of his own.

“That rarely happens.” Ezqel found the jar he wanted, full of dark, shriveled blossoms. He reached in

with a beautiful, spidery hand and drew out a dead bouquet for the pot.

“And surviving is the litmus test?” Dane snorted and took another bite. “Funny,” he said, when Ezqel

didn’t answer, ostensibly because the kettle was boiling. “Anyone would think that was my argument.”

“You don’t seem to have much taste for survival.”

“It’s harder than it used to be.” Dane shrugged. There was no need to point out why. “Don’t mind it if

it comes, don’t mind it if it doesn’t.”

“You seemed eager enough to live two days past. You know that what I do for him, I could do for

you.” Ezqel crossed his arms over his chest, scowling outright.

“I had things still undone,” Dane said through a mouthful of rabbit. “I’ll do them as I am. I’ve lived

with it this long. Besides.” He flashed Ezqel a sharp smile full of the twist in his chest. “What’s a

punishment without a little inconvenience?”

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“I shouldn’t have bothered.” Ezqel pushed away from the counter as Taniel wandered in, too lost in a

book to be wary of the tension in the air. “I could have sent the dog to Cyrus to do your job instead of

sending him wandering out in the world. Bring the tea when you come up.” He left so quickly that he

almost knocked the little librarian into the table. Dane stifled the growl that rose at the idea of anyone taking his place, much less Jonas. Ezqel didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Taniel stumbled and clutched his book to his chest, casting about wide-eyed. “I…me?” His question

fell on Ezqel’s absence and he turned to Dane instead.

“Me.” Dane took another bite of rabbit.

“Oh.” Taniel seemed relieved, but he wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t want that cooked?”

“I didn’t even want it skinned.” Dane crunched the backbone loudly, enjoying Taniel’s flinch as much

as the taste. “But we can’t always have what we want, can we?” He didn’t bother to raise his voice,

knowing the house would carry it to Ezqel’s ears.

“You shouldn’t…” Taniel started to say in a small voice, then fell quiet under Dane’s glare.

“Shouldn’t what?” Izia came clumping in, her purple clogs loud on the stone floor. She took one look

at Dane’s face and answered her own question. “Ah. At it again. At least you’re entertained.”

“He started it,” Dane pointed out.

“I know.” Izia stepped around Taniel and arranged the tea tray with quick, irritated gestures. “Do you

ever wonder why?”

“I know.” Dane finished off the last bite of rabbit, drained the cup of milk, and went to wash his hands

at the old granite sink. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“Will anything?” Izia held out the tray.

“No.” Dane took the tray from her, meeting her sad expression without sympathy. Any pain he felt

was so much a part of him, like his brokenness, he felt no desire to let Ezqel take it from him, nor to

relinquish it without taking a piece of flesh in trade.

“Not even time?” She let go of the tray and stepped back.

“It’s been long enough.” Long enough and it was all still the same.

“True.” Dane left the room, but he could hear her as well as Ezqel could hear him. “None of us is

immortal. Time will change something, some day.”

Dane didn’t think about things like that. He let the animal fixation on the present wash away the

twinge in his chest. The smell of the world crept in through the cracks in the house, the smell of Lindsay

sleeping slipped downstairs to soothe him further. All he had to do was get the bunny well again, help

Lindsay outgrow him, and the world would settle back into its round.

His mind tried to return to the bed where Lindsay lay sleeping, but his feet carried him on to Ezqel’s

study in the tower. It was as he had left it last except for the lingering taste of Lindsay’s distress on the air

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that raised his hackles. Lindsay hadn’t even been born when Dane had last crossed the threshold into this

room.

“Do you know what they did to him?” Time to get down to business. The taste of Lindsay’s pain

reminded Dane to keep his mind on the present, kept him from going back to dig up old bones.

“The Shackles of Tehut, or a replica thereof,” Ezqel said, not looking up from his work. Dane put the

tray on the desk and stepped back. “Not going to sit?”

Dane snorted. There was no chair in the room other than the one on which Ezqel sat, making his usual

refusal to settle irrelevant. “Old River magic. I thought it was long gone.”

“My guess is that they were a replica of the broken set found at Bam several floods ago. You

remember the ones. The pharaohs used them to control their mages, like bridling a horse.” Now Ezqel did

look up, watching Dane pace over to the mirror; Dane could see him in the reflection. “It would have been

possible to reproduce that set—the magic was still heavy on it.”

“You have that set,” Dane pointed out, trying not to snap and let Ezqel have the satisfaction of it. “I

don’t need a lecture on it. It’s supposed to be the last set.”

“I’ve only had it for a few hundred years. Someone had it before me.” Ezqel poured himself a cup of

tea, meeting Dane’s eyes in the mirror. “If I could decipher the bindings back when I was young and

foolish, who’s to say someone older and wiser did not do that and more?”

“There could be more?” Dane ran a hand over the worn place on one side of the mirror frame. He

could smell Lindsay’s misery strongly here, soaked into the wood, his vomit soaked into the stone in spite

of a good scrubbing. Adrenaline raked Dane’s nerves and he felt his claws lengthen, his spine curving

before he could stop it.

Ezqel said nothing about it, drinking his tea instead. Dane could smell the flowers, remembered their

fragrance over his head and the crushed grass under his back one hot day. “All things are possible, but I

could not find them. I searched, as did Cyrus. Their pattern is gone.”

“They could be sleeping in lead.” Dane forced himself to change to as human as he could go, even as

his skin prickled with growing hairs and his teeth nicked twin marks in his lower lip.

“I can see beyond it,” Ezqel said simply. “Cyrus has been listening, as well. We know Moore does not

have another.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how it works.” Dane pulled his hand away from the mirror

before he clenched the wood and broke it in frustration.

“That’s not my concern. I only needed to know what happened to him. The shackles use magic

against itself to keep it from the mage. The more powerful the magic, the more power is given over to the

binding runes, and so it goes. He overloaded the binding and something in him broke from the force of his

magic returning to him. Like the body, the mind can be too strong for its own materials.” Ezqel tapped an

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uneven rhythm on his cup with his ivory fingernails. “I cannot heal the paths of his magic while his magic

runs in them.”

“You’ll kill him if you take it out of him,” Dane warned. It would be like Ezqel to forget that killing

Lindsay made the entire exercise a moot point. “If that magic didn’t work on him, why will yours?”

“His magic found a failing in the artifacts. The world has changed since they were made. Nothing

escapes the passage of time. Old knowledge is dangerous for that very reason. Clinging to the past will only wound the future.” Ezqel waited until Dane looked at him before taking a drink of tea. “I will bypass his

magic. Have you forgotten your lessons?”

“If you put him in a soul jar, I will eat your liver.” That thought cheered Dane up immensely. The

opportunity only needed to arise.

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a heksiphage.” Ezqel leaned back in his chair, still tapping his fingers. Dane had threatened to break them once, to get some quiet. “They’re becoming more

and more common in urban centers.” He put his cup down and pointed at a map of the world hanging on

the far wall. “Go get that. Mind, you’ll have to kill the thing and bring me its heart.”

Dane was halfway across the room before he could think to be irritated at being ordered around. He

didn’t care enough anymore. He wanted this over with. “I’m fine with killing things.”

“The most likely form we’ll find on short notice is a guul. They’re bigger than you are.”

“Never stopped me before.” Dane lifted the map off of its brackets to bring it to the center of the

room. It was heavy with precious metals and gems, and it was different than the last time he’d seen it. Then again, the world had changed over that many years.

“This isn’t the time for debating your testicular fortitude.” Ezqel met Dane in the center of the room,

inside the ring of white marble set in the floor. “Put it down.” Dane set the map on air and it hovered at

waist height. “Go to the artifact room and bring out one of the jarthalfyr boxes, the black and silver one.

And get the ring case while you’re in there.”

“I don’t need your help,” Dane said, trudging to the wall behind Ezqel’s desk. He found a place that

felt right and shoved at it, putting his will behind the push, and a door that hadn’t been there before opened up.

Beyond the door that wasn’t, there was a museum of sorts. Dane knew that finding the jarthalfyr

artifacts wouldn’t be difficult. They were used for guuls and trolls and minor demons—they stank. The ring

case was probably shoved somewhere random and he’d have to hunt it down. He tried not to scratch at his

scalp and skin. The magic in here pricked his senses and caught on the broken places in him, making him

burn and itch.

The black and silver jarthalfyr box was on a shelf with several others of different colors. This one had

a rune-chased silver dagger set in the lid. Dane liked it immediately for the way it sang like a tooth thirsty

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for blood. For convenience, Dane found the null bags—shielded against magic and mundane drips and

spills like blood—and took a likely looking black velvet one.

The ring case was, surprisingly, at the back with the other jewelry cases. Dane slipped between a pair

of tall, thin alabaster urns with jackal heads, swallowing hard against the way their aura made his instincts scream at him to flee, and pulled the ring case from its place. The power surging from the wall of

adornments was so intense it made his head swim. By the time he stepped back out, his shirt was damp

with sweat under his hair and his pace was hurried in spite of his pride.

Ezqel didn’t move as the door disappeared behind Dane. He was bent over the map, squinting at the

detailed jade continent of North America. Dane forced himself to breathe slowly as he put the things he’d

brought out on Ezqel’s desk and came over to see what was so damn interesting. He could smell blood.

Tiny ruby spheres—Ezqel’s blood—were rolling about the world, every one rambling on about its

business without leaving a stain behind. Dane watched from the other side of the map as each of them

found its way to a different spot in the world and settled. Ezqel murmured and gestured with his right hand and they began to glow.

“That one, I think.” Ezqel pointed at a droplet shining brightly in what Dane figured must be Mexico.

Ezqel brought his finger to it and it clung to his skin a moment before being absorbed. “There is a guul in Cholula, young and strong and foolish, like the mages it hunts.” He passed his hand over the rest of the map and his blood came flying toward him like iron filings to a magnet, to be drawn into his skin. “It should be hungry by the time you get there—I can feel it. Take the boy and find it. It will likely think him as

toothsome as you do.”

Dane growled at that, low and warning, and Ezqel laughed.

“What?” Ezqel pointed at the map. “Put that back. It’s not as if it isn’t so. I’d think he had some spell

over you if he weren’t so crippled.”

In a way, it was a relief to hear that, and Dane was ashamed. He picked up the map and returned it to

its place. He was a suspicious old beast, wary of the world because he knew his own evil. “And when we

kill the thing?” Killing was something he could do well enough, better than keeping something like Lindsay

alive.

“Bring back its heart, nothing more. You know how to butcher an animal.” Ezqel was inspecting the

jarthalfyr box, making it bright with his magic as he tested for flaws. “I can use the heart to hold his magic while I heal the broken parts of him.”

“Fair enough.” Dane put the world where it belonged and collected the box and bag.

“Take this.” Ezqel opened the ring box and pulled out the one he wanted, almost without looking.

Dane didn’t need to see it to know what it was, either. Yzumrud. A heavy, gold thing with a green stone in it, green with hints of blood, like it lived. It fit his finger.

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“I don’t want it. These will do.” Dane folded up the bag and tucked it in the box. He knew how much

demonic things stank and didn’t want the smell clinging to him more than necessary. “I’ll get the thing and bring it back.”

“You’re not immortal.” Ezqel turned on him with the ring held out in a clenched fist. “Did you not

illustrate that only a day past?”

“I’ll make sure to get the heart before I die, so as not to inconvenience anyone.” Dane crossed his

arms over his chest, the box in one hand. “Have I let Cyrus down yet?”

“The same illustration applies,” Ezqel ground out. Color came to his pale face, staining his lips red

and his cheeks rosy. “Let no one accuse you of being wasteful.”

“I owe you for keeping my service intact.” Dane wanted to hit Ezqel—not that it was a rare feeling,

nor would it have been satisfying—and held himself back from doing it so as not to fail Cyrus further. “He

said I would fail him, I did, and I won’t do it again.” He turned on his heel and walked away. Ezqel’s fury was like a small sun at his back.

“Not for some days.” Ezqel’s voice struck off the arches and the high ceiling and bounced around the

room, echoing over and over again. “Not for some days, Dane. Are you still counting them as men do?

Those days are not past. Do you think a little thing like your moment of death would catch his attention?”

Dane stopped at the door, trying to breathe. “No.” No, he didn’t. He wasn’t that arrogant. Dane dying

in some stupid scuffle with Jonas was hardly a failure. Ezqel had been there to stop Lindsay from being

harmed. Dane had made it that far.

“Let me do this for you.”

Dane knew Ezqel wasn’t talking about the ring alone, but about what came after. “Why, when you

would not, before?” He turned slowly.

“That’s my affair.” Ezqel held out the ring again. His heavy hair was out of place, his robes slipped

off one shoulder farther than the other, his jaw was tight. “Take it.” Every little crack in his facade felt like a war trophy.

“It’s my life.” Dane came back to snatch the ring from Ezqel’s hand. “My life is not your affair. Not anymore.” He held the ring up. “Not because you asked. Not for Cyrus. For my own reasons.” He shoved

the ring in his pocket. “I am still allowed one or two of those, no matter what I am, no matter what you

think of me.”

“Dane…”

Dane turned his back on the mage. No worse could be done to him than had been done already, not

without damaging Ezqel’s own machinations. Dane wasn’t fool enough to think anything else mattered, not

after all these years. “I’ll see you when I’ve finished what needs doing.”

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Leaving Ezqel’s house was far easier for Lindsay than coming to it had been. Taniel led them out

through the gardens in the back and under an archway overgrown with ivy, through a gate. “This path will

take you to the nearest town. You must stay on it, though. If you step away from it, you may not find your

way again, and I cannot say where you will find yourself.” He looked up at Dane. “You might find your way, but I don’t recommend it. You know his sense of humor.”

Dane snorted and hitched up his pack. “I do. We won’t stray. I’m not in the habit of chasing white

stags.”

Taniel stifled a laugh. “No, that’s wise. Good luck.” He turned to Lindsay and gave him a warm

smile. “And good luck to you, also. We will see you again.”

Lindsay nodded back at Taniel, giving him an uncertain smile before following Dane away, along the

path. “What’s…” Lindsay tromped along beside Dane for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “What does

Ezqel do?” He’d been too terrified to even think about what it was that Ezqel was good at. He’d been too busy being trampled by his own memories.

“You mean the basic magic he was born with? A strange kind of sight, like what they call ‘second

sight’. He doesn’t see things like other people—matter, time, magic. His sight makes him a master of the

art of magic. Spells and artifacts and the like.” Lindsay didn’t know. He hadn’t grown up with magic

around him, ubiquitous the way it seemed to be now. “It’s hard to find him because so many people would

simply kill him if they could—he’s that dangerous.”

Lindsay tried to turn the information over in his mind, tried to process. “Did he save you? Is that how

you survived?”

“Partly. The body can live on magic for a little while if it must, and it needs magic to live. That’s one

reason we have long lives. They gave me enough magic to force what was left of me to keep working. My

body and Izia’s healing took over.” Dane rubbed at the back of his neck and his shoulders drew up

defensively.

Lindsay glanced away. Dane was so rarely discomfited about things that watching it made Lindsay

feel like he was trespassing. Dane grumbled deep in his chest and Lindsay felt a bit better, because that was the Dane he knew. He kept hoping he’d work out how to take care of Dane the way Dane took care of him.

It felt like their relationship had changed since they’d first set foot in the Black Forest. Dane’s death had changed everything for Lindsay, but it wasn’t that alone.

The kisses. Dane had kissed Lindsay, had kissed him like he meant it. Lindsay could hardly stop

thinking about it, no matter how he tried to put it aside. Some part of him that he hadn’t known existed was still flying high, replaying each kiss whenever his mind wandered.

Maybe they were only kisses, like treats for when Lindsay was good or brave. But it seemed like it

should mean something that Dane had kissed Lindsay, was attracted to him, but hadn’t simply sated

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himself and fallen asleep like he had with Kristan, even if Lindsay would have given Dane anything.

Maybe that meant something good.

Dane let him have so much, let him take so many liberties. Lindsay didn’t understand how his own

magic worked, much less anyone else’s. He was certain that it would have been rude to ask someone else,

but the way it was between them, it felt like he could ask. “Your magic? What…what is that, exactly? I

mean, I know about your claws, but…how does that help you heal?”

“Awful curious about magic for someone who just spent all this time saying he didn’t want his,” Dane

teased. He reached out and petted Lindsay’s hair, though.

Lindsay leaned into the touch, his eyes slipping half-shut with the pleasure of it. Maybe Dane was

only indulging him, but it still felt good. “I don’t…I don’t know. I want to understand.”

“Was a time I would have made short work of Jonas,” Dane said quietly. “I used to be a shapeshifter,

of a kind. Now, I have a little of it left. Not much.”

“What happened?” Lindsay asked, before he could think better of it.

“I hurt someone.” Dane’s voice was neutral. “They hurt me back.”

“Oh.” Lindsay was silent for a long time, as they trudged along the path. The walk was far easier,

leaving.

How Dane had lost his magic nagged at Lindsay along the way, though. Lindsay tried not to

remember the pain and torment that he’d suffered when he’d lost his magic, and before that. Maybe Dane

had suffered like that, too. The idea made Lindsay ache inside. It made sense, the way Dane seemed used to

pain, how he’d never made anything but that small sound when Jonas had gutted him.

“And Jonas? Was he a shapeshifter too? He’s the one Cyrus was talking about when he said the dog

would be looking for us. I figured that out. Is that why he kept coming, why he didn’t die?”

“He always looks the same. He heals. And he hunts. He’s nearly impossible to kill.” Dane shook his

head and glanced over at Lindsay, his expression dark. “Nearly. We call him the dog because that’s what he

is. He hangs around on the outskirts of being human, but he’ll never be one. He eats what scraps they throw him. Takes their work.”

Lindsay was quiet, remembering. “I think I almost killed him. I think…if I wasn’t broken, if Ezqel

hadn’t come…”

“Next time.” Dane slung his arm around Lindsay’s shoulders. “He’ll never see it coming.”

Lindsay leaned into it, basking in being included, somehow, in Dane’s future, and in the way Dane

had faith in him. “Will Ezqel really be able to fix me?”

“If he says he can, he will.” Dane turned to Lindsay. “Do you want to be fixed, now?”

Lindsay met Dane’s eyes. “I don’t want to be standing there, wishing I could push a little more,

wishing I could do something. I want to be able to do it. I don’t want to be broken.”

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He understood it, now, what they’d been saying before. That his magic could be the difference

between life and death. That he would need it. That being broken wouldn’t save him, it would make him an

easy target. There was never going to be another time when Lindsay went through watching someone die

because of him, unable to stop it, not if there was anything on earth Lindsay could do to keep that from

happening. Not even if it meant putting himself in Ezqel’s hands again.

Dane stopped walking and pulled Lindsay into him with the arm around Lindsay’s shoulders. His

other hand slid into Lindsay’s hair, tilting Lindsay’s head back to the perfect angle for a fierce kiss. The kiss felt like pride and praise and want all in one hot moment of lips and teeth and tongue, and it warmed

Lindsay through to feel it.

“Now you get it,” Dane said, when he pulled away from the kiss. His expression was intensely

predatory. It sent another rush of heat through Lindsay, all the way to his belly. “You understand. It’s good.”

Lindsay nodded, trying to catch his breath. “I didn’t, before. I didn’t know why you kept telling me

I’d want something that’s been nothing but pain and trouble.” He kept his eyes on Dane’s. “I do now.”

“Good.” Dane let go of Lindsay’s hair and smoothed it back into place. “It needs to be this way.

Come on. Guess where we’re going next.” He turned them to keep walking.

“Out of the woods, I hope,” Lindsay said, obediently following Dane’s lead.

“Mexico.” Dane grinned at him. “We’re going demon hunting.” He was like a kid anticipating a

birthday party—a very large, scary kid.

“As long as it’s warm.” Lindsay backtracked through the conversation a moment and asked, “Demon

hunting?”

Dane laughed at his expression. “Ezqel needs its heart. It’ll be good for you to get out and do

something. Can’t wait, myself.”

Dane had nearly gotten killed, and there he was, reveling in the anticipation of hunting a demon.

Lindsay hadn’t even known demons existed. He wasn’t sure whether he was frustrated with Dane or

impressed by his indifference to his recent trauma. “How do we find it?”

“It eats magic,” Dane said cheerfully. “And, by association, mages. Should be a snap.”

It ate mages. Perfect. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

The hotel in Cholula was spectacular, a shimmering white tower with two gleaming turquoise pools

and lush gardens inside and out. Dane and Lindsay had a room halfway up, two beds and a lounge, a wide

balcony, and a bathroom the size of Lindsay’s bedroom back in New York. Vivian, who had made their

reservations, had great taste. The tiled floors were cool underfoot, the carpets were soft and plush, the

artwork was relaxing, and a mellow breeze blew through, stirring the streaming white curtains. It was too

bad they weren’t going to spend much time here.

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Tatterdemalion

“We should get ready to go.” Dane nodded toward the windows that had a view of the setting sun, as

soon as the bellhop left them their bags. “Need to get hunting before it’s too long past dark. It’ll be after food soon, by Ezqel’s reckoning. Don’t want it to get someone, get sated, and leave us sitting for a week.”

“All right. What do you need me to do?” The thing hunted mages, Dane had said, but Lindsay didn’t

know what that meant for him.