Текст книги "Irregulars "

Автор книги: Astrid Amara

Соавторы: Nicole Kimberling,Ginn Hale,Josh lanyon
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

August cocked his head slightly. He gave him a small smile. “Good choice.”

“Thought you’d like that.”

August grabbed Deven’s hand.

Klakow moaned. “Please stop before I puke.”

Director Alonsa nodded toward the pistols. “Take one. But you follow August and Ortega’s orders and stay out of the way. You open the portal, get them through, and stay under cover until Night Axe is apprehended.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deven said, mimicking Klakow’s words to her the day before.

“And this is for all of you: timing is critical and coordination essential. We have a five-minute window. August drinks the cyanide, the team apprehends the target, and the success is radioed to our doctors at the hospital, who will immediately administer the antidote to the rest of the victims. Dr. Hansing will inject the antidote into August. If we screw up our timing nearly thirty people will be poisoned, and we’ll lose an agent.” Director Alonsa eyed August meaningfully.

“Don’t look at me,” August said. “I’m not letting that syringe out of my sight.”

“Good. This isn’t the time for heroism, Silas. Show us where he is, take the poison, take the antidote. Nothing more.”

“I get it.”

“We’ll watch over him,” Ortega promised. He looked tired from the day before, a black-threaded gash on his forehead showing where the tzimimi had clubbed him. Still, he held a pistol tightly and looked ready to fight. Deven felt better about their chances.

Someone handed him a gun, ozone-like odor gassing out of the thin barrel.

“You ever fire a shard pistol, amigo?” one of the agents asked.

“No.”

“They’re illegal in the US,” August commented. “So don’t try to bring it back with you.”

Deven nodded.

“Hold down the trigger and brace yourself for recoil,” the agent told him. “And don’t fire on any of us, got it?”

Deven wished he had a belt to hook the gun on. He was about to pocket it when August wordlessly snatched it out of his hands, flipped a switch near the trigger, and handed it back.

“Safety,” August said.

“Thanks.”

As the van made its way through the city, Deven kept an eye on August’s artery. It pulled forward, then yanked to the side as the van turned the corner. The connection tightened as they moved to the center of the city.

“We’re close,” Director Alonsa told them. “Glasses on.”

The rest of the agents donned their sunglasses and made final adjustments to the small projectors in the pockets of their overalls.

It was the first time many of the agents had seen the artery emerging from Agent August’s chest, and an enthusiastic debate started about the nature of the blood vessel and the implications of something fleshy existing simultaneously in two realms.

The agents around Deven spoke excitedly and pointed at the artery. August seemed embarrassed by the attention, leaning against the wall of the van and resting his chin on his chest as if sleeping.

When the van stopped, Deven stumbled onto the street after the agents, blinking at the soft dawn light. He glanced up at the ruins of Templo Mayor and felt a moment of wonder that something so old could remain so very beautiful.

Spanish colonial-style buildings of grand stone and columns lined the streets and the entire neighborhood felt regal, important, and vacant at that early hour. Only a pair of police officers were in sight, leaning against their car beside the temple’s tourist entrance. Despite the hour, the smell of the subway wafted over the city and Deven wrinkled his nose.

The NIAD team followed the taut line of artery leading from August’s chest. The neighborhood grew more residential as they moved between the stone blocks of buildings. Deven pulled his pen from behind his ear and drew the cogs of the calendars on his other palm. There were dozens of calendars interlocking here, time gates piled upon each other in a dizzying array of options. It was no surprise that Night Axe had centered himself here.

As they walked, the team concealed their weapons but prominently displayed the props that accompanied their gas company uniforms. Agent Klakow carried an emission monitor and another agent wore a tool belt.

Deven noticed Agent Ortega’s clipboard. He tapped the agent’s shoulder. “Can I borrow that pen?”

Ortega handed it to him. Deven slid the pen behind his ear and pocketed his house power. The ballpoint wouldn’t fool anyone close, but from a distance, he hoped it would serve as a temporary ruse.

If he hadn’t needed the pen to create the gate, he would have left it behind. Watching how August’s artery thickened and pulsed as they drew closer to Night Axe’s lair set Deven’s heart racing faster. He’d brought what he valued the most to his enemy. He began to have doubts about his plan.

As they turned a corner, the artery led from August down into the pavement in front of them. August’s heart rate soared. At first Deven thought it was their proximity to Night Axe. Then he realized August’s heart was just beating fast. His hand rested at his pocket, hovering over the butt of his pistol.

Klakow pointed to where the vessel disappeared beneath them.

“What does that mean?”

“Most of these older neighborhoods were built on top of Aztec ruins,” Agent Ortega said. “And many ruins have never been explored. Perhaps there’s something buried under this neighborhood that Night Axe is using as his lair.”

Deven drew his calendars again. A powerful calendar tied the spot to numerous locations. “This is where we’ll leave.” He dropped to the sidewalk. As he started drawing glyphs, the other agents watched. Someone made some comment too quietly for him to hear, but several laughed until August growled back a response. They stopped laughing.

Dog, arm bone, reed, star, death, lizard...Deven drew symbols that had been ingrained in his memory as deeply as the spelling of his own name. He concentrated on the formation of each figure, knowing any error could create an alternate glyph and change calendars, sending them somewhere unexpected. As each symbol completed, the image sizzled, burning in his nostrils and making his heart race faster with thoughts of home.

The rushed, excited conversations of the agents around him hushed into whispers and silenced altogether as Deven crawled around them, drawing a large circle to enclose a dozen people.

Fatigue coursed through him. The pen grew cold in his hands as it drained of ink. The symbols shot a curtain of light upwards, drawing around them like a circle of fire. Deven finished all but the last symbol and paused, glancing up to ensure everyone was inside the circle and August was safely surrounded by the others.

“Ready?” he asked. August gave him a small nod.

Deven took a second to fully accept that, despite everything, he was returning to Aztaw. He was going home, even if only for seconds. Nervous excitement and fear percolated in his throat.

Before he lost his nerve entirely, he quickly drew the symbol of the jaguar. The last beam of light shot upward from the symbol, blinding him in a blaze of white light. The ground dropped from beneath, his stomach lurched upwards, and the party tumbled down into the eternal darkness of Aztaw.

Chapter Sixteen

Suffocating, vice-like heat pushed against Deven’s body. He gasped to draw the thick, burning air into his lungs. Each breath felt like swallowing fire and he coughed, his lungs protesting.

Around him, the coughing gasps of his companions sounded above the distant roar of a black river. His eyes adjusted to the utter darkness quickly, the enchantment spell bringing contour and depth to their surroundings. The agents huddled, reaching out to touch each other in the dark.

“Deven.” August sounded angry. “I can’t see you.”

“It’s fine. We’ll be leaving shortly,” Deven reassured him. He recognized the glow of approaching bones and suspected a raiding party had sensed the portal opening. In the distance he could make out the old palace of Lord River, a massive stone compound at the raging water’s edge, where a prominent pyramid used to stand. But even from afar Deven saw that the pyramid had been destroyed, its masonry pillaged and broken. Above the fortress wall a banner displayed a bony fist, the symbol of the rebellion, hanging limp in the stagnant, dry air.

Aztaw wasn’t large. For a moment, he entertained the idea of returning to Lord Jaguar’s compound. He needed to reassure himself that Fight Arm hadn’t been lying, that despite all odds, Jaguar’s legacy remained. The need to do so nearly overwhelmed him.

But there were fields nearby, Deven noted, and a settlement of civilian Aztaws. Life continued for the general populace, even if the great temples were gone. The heavy air stank of hot corn and cooking fires instead of heated blood and he heard neither crashing armies or human screams—only the murmur of the river and the pleasant hum of distant Aztaw children chanting rhymes.

Maybe being surrounded by humans altered his perspective, but Deven recalled his first impressions as a child. This is not a place for me, he had thought long ago, and after thirteen years, the sentiment held.

“Hurry,” August hissed. Deven snapped back to the task at hand.

He drew a calendar in the air. It burned brightly against the blackness, flush with the magic of the Aztaw world. Even the agents could see it and someone cried out.

“That’s me drawing,” Deven reassured.

“I can’t breathe!” someone complained.

“Take slow, even breaths,” Dr. Hansing suggested.

“I lived here for thirteen years,” Deven reminded them. “There’s enough oxygen and nitrogen in the atmosphere to survive.”

The glowing bones drew closer.

“Who’s coming toward us?” August asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know. Probably a raiding party.” Deven studied the calendars. He found the one he’d noted near Night Axe’s lair and began his connection. “No one move,” he said. “I’m drawing around you.”

One of the agents pulled out a utility knife that resembled August’s, and a beam of light shot forth from the end, scanning the area.

At once, Deven heard the shout of the Aztaw party. They broke into a run.

“Turn that off!” Deven hissed. “They know humans are here now!” He wrote faster, hand trembling and he scored the pen deep into the hard, burned soil. Heart, pig, mirror, crane...his brain struggled against growing exhaustion to remember the intricate pattern of the smoke symbol, which he’d only drawn a few times in his life. His pen lightened in weight and grew icy to the touch. He worked his way around the clustered bodies of the agents, gasping for breath and praying that he had enough strength to fuel the pen for the journey back to the natural world. Sweat broke across his brow and his hair grew damp and heavy. For a moment, he considered using his knife to bleed one of the agents to give his pen the extra power it needed to finish rewriting the calendars. The old Deven wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But he saw August’s grim expression, heard the way he struggled to breathe in the fetid air, and changed his mind. August would hate Deven for doing such a thing, so Deven continued the spell fueled with his power alone, feeling sick with weariness, the pen dangerously brittle in his hand.

“Who is there?” demanded the tallest of the soldiers.

“Human Jaguar,” Deven said. He didn’t stop drawing.

“You have brought your power to ruin us,” the soldier said.

“Take his pen and string him up!” cried another. His glowing bone face came into focus, eyes dark and rolling. One of the agents swore loudly.

“I am taking these humans and leaving,” Deven told them. He nearly dropped the pen to reach for his knife. But he wasn’t sure he had enough strength to defend himself, let alone the other agents. He kept writing. “We mean you no harm.”

“Strange, since your brothers are already mounting a force,” the large soldier said, coming to a halt beside Deven. His thin skin and skull bones were painted with the blue-green color of the rebellion. He bore no symbols of dynastic allegiance, but deep scars etched ruts in the bones around his eye sockets, showing he’d spent many years serving under one lord or another.

Deven looked at the agents. Many had indeed drawn weapons, but the soldiers weren’t giving them second glances, staring only at him.

“Brothers?” Deven asked.

“The House of Jaguar stirs,” the large soldier said. “A barricade is erected. They have begun an assault.”

“I have nothing to do with it.” Deven’s mind struggled to make sense of the information as he drew. Paper, blackfish, feather…His hand shook as it scored images into the ground. His other hand gripped the hilt of his knife.

But the soldiers didn’t attack.

“Night Axe, the Lord of Hurricanes, is on his way to destroy you,” Deven warned. “I will try and stop him, but you must prepare yourself. You have greater enemies than the House of Jaguar.”

“The Houses of Jaguar and Hurricane are one and the same.”

Deven felt something sick twist in his gut. He finished the symbol for fire and stepped into the circle.

Light burst from glyphs and the ground lurched beneath him. Vomit rose up his throat as they moved through contorted time.

Darkness shattered with a blaze of red light and Deven shielded his eyes, muffling his cry of pain. The air was pulled from his lungs.

The portals were mismatched and they dropped from a height of a few feet. Deven landed hard, falling to his knees. Behind him, someone cursed.

The place they had traveled to was very cold, especially in comparison to the suffocating heat of Aztaw. Faint red light emanated from a tunnel to the side of the chamber, but otherwise it was dark.

Deven felt too weak to do more than kneel, breathing hard. The air was chilly and stale but still felt rich with oxygen and moisture compared to Aztaw. He was back in the natural world.

August hovered over Deven, fumbling with his hands out. “You okay?” He blindly felt Deven’s body as if searching for injuries.

No, Deven wanted to say. A sense of betrayal overwhelmed everything.

“Deven?” August sounded worried.

Deven gripped August’s hand and pulled himself up. “I think I know how Night Axe escaped the realm of light.”

August looked as if he were going to ask a question, but then he squinted as someone turned a flashlight on directly into his face.

As if choreographed, the other agents simultaneously switched on a variety of flashlights and other small illuminating devices.

“Where are we?” Klakow asked.

“Underground.” Deven returned his brittle, nearly white pen to an inside pocket and put on his projector sunglasses.

They were in an old temple, sunken underneath what appeared to be crumbling cement foundations. The air was stagnant but cool; the ancient stone walls of the temple could be glimpsed through centuries of crumbled earth and mud. The old stones oozed rust-colored water that made the walls appear as though they were bleeding tears.

The space was large, perhaps as wide as a football field, but the low, precariously uneven ceiling made the dark space feel cramped. There was a circular stone well in the center of the temple.

“It has a cenote,” Agent Ortega said.

“What’s that?” Deven asked.

“A sacred well, important in Maya and Aztec rituals.”

As Deven’s eyes adjusted to the light, he made out other familiar Aztaw features scattered around the room—a pile of human bones, stacked to show the remains of a meal; a jade statue of the stars to draw power to the location.

Dr. Hansing stepped over the putrefying remains of some small animal, looking like she was going to be sick. She moved to August’s side. “You ready?”

The stench of blood overpowered even the odor of putrefaction coming from somewhere in the corner of the temple. And all around, visible through his glasses, Deven saw thick, braided networks of arteries, throbbing as they pulsed to a great heartbeat, gorged with blood. They were strung through the low cavern like vile party streamers, drooping low and forming tangled knots, all leading directly into a darker corner of the temple.

“Night Axe,” Deven whispered.

“Where?” August’s body tensed beside him.

“Corner, ten o’clock,” Ortega said, swiveling to face the threat.

The Aztaw curse for darkness sank through the air and at once their lights extinguished. The blood vessel emerging from August went suddenly taut and all the arteries strewn about the temple shifted.

“Stay close to me,” Deven whispered to August, drawing his knife. “Dr. Hansing—”

August flew forward as Night Axe yanked the artery connecting them. August’s hands and face slammed against the uneven stone floor and Deven watched in horror as August was dragged toward Night Axe, his fingers raking the stone in an effort to stop.

Night Axe appeared from the shadows, grinning as he reeled August in, hand over hand. He looked directly at Deven.

Then he jumped into the cenote.

“No!” Deven shouted, rushing forward.

August was dragged to the lip of the well. He cried out in surprise as he was yanked into the well after Night Axe. His shout echoed down the stone walls.

Deven jumped into the well after him.

Only once he was in free fall did he realize how stupid that was.

This is going to hurt like hell.

Chapter Seventeen

Deven stretched out his arms to try and slow his descent. His knuckles grazed stone, but the well was too wide to brace himself. A protruding stone snapped his ring and middle fingers and he instinctively jerked them back. A moment later he hit the water hard. The noise of his crash echoed through the vast, cold chamber. The impact sucked the air from his lungs and shocked his senses, and he floated, stunned for several seconds, forcing himself to breathe and assess his injuries. His back ached and nausea welled if he tried to move his left ring or middle finger. His boots filled with water and his feet sank to the sandy bottom of the cenote. But he could stand—the water level was no higher than his ribs.

The water was icy cold. His eyes adjusted to the dark. He heard splashing at one end and focused, hoping to find a sign of August. The chamber was wide underneath the mouth of the well, revealing a cavernous water table with a jagged limestone ceiling. Part of the well tapered to a low-ceilinged passageway where water dribbled from the rock. The remains of some long-ago human sacrifice huddled on the high ridge of the limestone. He searched the dry platform and the surface of the water. He’d lost his sunglasses in the fall so he couldn’t see the connection between Night Axe and his sacrifices.

He felt water churn around him and turned. The hard impact of Night Axe’s fist jarred him and he fell back into the water. Blood filled his mouth. Night Axe lunged again, but Deven sank deeper into the water, darting under the surface to the opposite edge of the pool.

He reemerged and gasped for air. His face ached from Night Axe’s punch.

Night Axe’s body was fat with human blood, his thin skin purple-colored in the cold. His striped black and yellow face paint had smeared in the water, making him appear even more menacing. Deven recognized the shriveled flesh of children’s tongues, forming a necklace around Night Axe’s bony throat. Water droplets pearled on the matted straw surface of his enchanted armor, making it look as though he were sweating.

Even from across the well Deven’s skin burned as Night Axe’s mirrored headpiece reflected back his own sensations, amplifying the ache in his fingers and his face. Blood dripped from Deven’s nose. He still couldn’t see August.

“You want this one?”

Night Axe lifted Agent August out of the water by his hair.

August gasped for air. His face was white with shock. Deven wondered if he too had broken something in the fall.

Before he could speak, Night Axe pushed August’s head back down under the water. August struggled underneath the surface, but Night Axe forced his head down, drowning him.

Fear filled Deven. “Here!” he shouted, grabbing the pen from behind his ear and holding it out with his uninjured left hand. “Take it. Let him go.” He gripped the hilt of the knife in his right pocket.

Night Axe greedily surged forward. He let go of August and grabbed the pen, clenching it tightly.

Night Axe’s face contorted the second he touched the obvious plastic. Deven grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward. He shoved his knife into Night Axe’s left eye, dragging the blade to split the eyeball open.

Night Axe jerked himself free, shrieking. The sound echoed through the cavern, amplifying his fury. Deven dropped beneath the surface of the water and kicked off the wall, aiming for August. He grabbed him by the arm and towed him to the raised limestone ledge, heaving him upward. August was conscious. He scrambled to the middle of the rock, sodden overalls and suit making it hard for him to move. Blood oozed from a wound on the back of August’s head. Deven saw that it formed a steady red stream, even when diluted by the water.

Bony fingers clamped Deven’s ankle. He was yanked under the water with great strength. He clenched shut his mouth and kicked out but hit nothing but armor. Panic seized him as he struggled to breathe.

Night Axe lifted Deven, throwing him hard against the rocky wall.

Pain blossomed across his back and his vision darkened. He fell back into the pool and choked for air.

Agents above them shone their lights into the well, forming circles of illumination in the cold water. They shouted Deven’s and August’s names, but before Deven could even draw a breath to respond, Night Axe was on him again, shoving him against the wall and punching him in the face.

Deven nearly passed out. Pain filled his senses, made it impossible to think. Blood filled his nose and mouth. He writhed as Night Axe tore through his overalls with sharp fingers, searching for the pen.

Tiny whispers of slivery metal shot past Deven and filled Night Axe as an agent from above fired a shard pistol. The slivers pierced Night Axe’s engorged arm and it burst open like ripe fruit, spilling the blood of his victims. The water turned murky red. Deven’s consciousness faltered.

Another round from the shard pistol flung Night Axe back and Deven fell into the water. The lord growled the command to summon his army in Aztawi. Urgency overwhelmed even Deven’s pain. He had to warn the agents above him. They didn’t know what to expect.

Night Axe ripped a bead from his necklace, shattering the string. He threw the obsidian bead upward and growled the Aztawi curse for a dark ward.

The opening of the well sealed shut with an oily pool of dark liquid, blocking the light from the agents and the world above them. Deven’s heart sank. Dark wards took heavy magic to build and dismantle, and Deven’s own abilities weren’t enough to rip a hole in it.

Desperation filled him. Neither he nor August would survive, that was obvious at this point, but he had to stop Night Axe.

He reached for his knife, but Night Axe was stronger and faster. He grasped Deven’s wrist and twisted, breaking the bone with ease. Pain shocked through him. He tried to move away, but Night Axe kept hold of him, jerking his knife free with one hand as he bent Deven’s broken wrist backward.

Deven gasped and shuddered, unable to concentrate on anything but trying to move away. Night Axe tilted the mirror in his headpiece. Deven’s pain reflected back to him and he cried out in agony. Every sensation multiplied, reinforced by the echoing mirror.

Night Axe split open the front of Deven’s overalls with Deven’s own blade. The tip sliced through Deven’s clothes and skin, and the pain magnified, built and repeated, growing until he could no longer contain it.

Night Axe searched through Deven’s inside pockets with bony fingers. He held the pen aloft in triumph. A primal instinct forced Deven to breathe past the blinding pain.

Night Axe let him go. Deven fell back into the water. He forced his aching body to move, using his undamaged hand to push water and distance himself. But to his surprise, Night Axe didn’t follow him.

Instead, Night Axe began to convulse. His uninjured eye rolled. He roared and gripped something invisible at his waist and pulled, twisting furiously. He thrashed in the throes of a seizure.

Deven turned to see August slide down the wall of the well, dropping the empty vial of poison onto the limestone. Blood began to stain August’s overalls.

Deven started swimming toward August, but hesitated as Night Axe thrashed, gurgling water.

This was his one chance to end Night Axe. But he wanted to be beside August. August motioned toward the Aztaw weakly, and Deven didn’t need a second request. He pulled the last of his knives from his back pocket and forced his injured body into movement.

It was difficult, holding his knife in his left hand. Night Axe resisted him, even as his body trembled with affliction. Deven wrenched his pen free of the creature’s grasp, put it back behind his ear, and sawed his blade deeply into Night Axe’s neck. Rage filled him. August couldn’t reach his antidote and would die in this fetid well. Deven chopped inelegantly with his left hand. Blood burst from the engorged Aztaw and stained the water. He cut until Night Axe’s vertebrae were visible. He severed Night Axe’s spine and wrenched the bastard’s head clear off. Only then did he fall back, exhaustion and pain making it impossible to continue.

Deven crawled up the bank of the well. He dropped his blade and climbed over August’s writhing body. “You idiot!” He grabbed August’s sodden lapels with his left hand. “Why would you do that!”

August wheezed in response. Sharp shudders wracked his body as if he were jerked by marionette strings. Blood oozed from his chest.

Deven’s throat tightened. “You said you wanted to die old in your bed!” Tears burned his eyes. “Old in your bed, not here!”

August smiled weakly, his eyes closed. “Don’t always get what we want,” he whispered. “I wanted you to slowly make love to me this morning. That didn’t happen either.”

Deven leaned down and kissed August. It hurt his bruised and bleeding mouth, and August gasped for air as his body shook, but Deven didn’t care. Regret overpowered everything. He’d lost more than his chance with August—he’d ended up killing him with his terrible plan.

Deven broke the kiss and August struggled to intake air, his body convulsing rapidly. His eyes rolled back in his head and Deven realized he had to stop this, at any cost.

To keep the poison from killing August, he had to suspend him in a time trap, just like Lord Jaguar had done to him all those years ago.

He scored the tip of his pen into August’s neck, writing clumsily with his left hand. Time traps were different than locks, and he struggled to remember the subtle differences in the glyphs. He finished the time trap and rolled off. August froze mid-gasp, fingers rigid as claws, back arched mid-spasm. He didn’t move, frozen in the suspended animation of the trap.

Time traps sapped power unlike anything else and Deven lay alongside August’s frozen body, utterly spent. The pen lay limp in his grasp, bone white and ice cold. Only a small amount of inky color remained at the very tip.

Deven weakly tapped August’s frozen side. “Help is coming,” he whispered. He glanced up at the sealed well, wondering how long it would take the agents to defeat Night Axe’s soldiers, find a way out of the sunken temple, locate a ward pruner, and lift them out.

Now that he had a moment to pause, he realized how badly he was injured. His face felt pummeled; his broken wrist and fingers hurt unlike anything he could remember. The cut down his ribs was shallow, but it oozed blood. The only thing staving off the worst of the pain was his numbness, the cold water evaporating off him as he lay, bare chested, on the hard ledge of the well floor.

He closed his eyes. Maybe he could rest a bit until the Irregulars came to rescue them. There was, of course, a part of him that was near panic; the badges had failed him before. What indicated he could trust they’d save him now?

Something trembled in his trouser pocket.

Deven held his breath in the dark, senses coming back to full alert. He moved his left hand slowly, feeling in the remains of his overalls. He pulled out the sodden scrap of jaguar skin.

It writhed in his hand, alive.

No, Deven thought, slowly sitting up. He dropped the jaguar skin on the rocky surface and watched it writhe into the water.

He glanced up, past the floating remains of Night Axe. He saw nothing but the wet contours of the cavern.

A faint glow moved into the cavern from the narrow well passageway. Water lapped against the rock.

Deven carefully replaced the pen behind his ear.

Lord Jaguar entered the cavern. He’d been hiding in the wells for some time—his luxuriant jaguar skin skirt and gold breastplate were drenched with moisture. Lord Jaguar’s black dotted face paint had streaked in the water. His headdress was simplified– instead of the magnificent jaguar skull with obsidian jaws and long tail of human finger bones, he wore a gold and jade feathered crown spiked with jaguar teeth. Carved human knee bones clanked together around his neck.

“My lord!” Deven knelt on instinct, breathing fast. His entire body shook from adrenaline and cold.

“I see you’ve kept my house power safe in your own stupid way.” With his bony fingers Lord Jaguar snatched the pen from behind Deven’s ear. Panic seized Deven as the pen left his possession. Lord Jaguar’s touch sent a shiver of repulsion through Deven’s body.

“I thought you were dead, my lord.” Deven gripped the hilt of the knife beside him. There was only one way Lord Jaguar would be able to refuel his pen and use it.

“No, not dead. I traveled undetected to the realm of light to free the Trickster.”

“But why?” Deven stared at Lord Jaguar, the creature he had been willing to die for, over and over. Nothing but fear filled him now.

“No force left in Aztaw can defeat the rebels. It takes a lord of a different caliber to bring order to such disloyal chaos. The Lord of Hurricanes and I could have easily defeated the rebels. Now you have ruined all of that.”

“You should have confided in me,” Deven cried.

Lord Jaguar reached forward and cradled Deven’s chin in his skeletal fingers. Deven’s flesh crawled. “To make my death appear to be real, you, more than anyone else, had to believe it.”