"We can leave," JT said tightly. "We can blow the tunnel from topside. That might keep it trapped." But he didn't move, except to load his shotguns, eyes fixed on the hell mouth. Because they both knew that whatever was trying to come through, it wasn't a camazotz. And it wasn't going to stay trapped for long.
"I think—" She broke off on a low gasp when a sharp pain stung her upper thigh. She slapped for the spot, afraid she'd been tagged by a claw swipe. But her fingertips encountered a hard lump instead of blood. The skull.
She dug in her pocket, hissing when the stone burned her fingertips, then whispering, "Holy shit," when she pulled it out.
The crystal skull was glowing gold, its hollow eye sockets gleaming red, not the fire of the camazotz, but a deep bloodred crimson that made her heart sing.
JT let out a low, reverent oath. "Magic," he said softly. "You're a magic user. A skull wielder."
But she shook her head. "I don't think so. I think . . . I think I'm just its transportation." She couldn't feel the warm golden glow anymore. All the power was once again collected within the skull itself.
"Chan camazotz," Rez said again, his voice low and urgent.
"I know." JT lifted his shotgun as the fiery orange swirl bowed inward, the barrier stretching membrane-thin and showing hints of a smoky creature with six-clawed hands and a wide slash of a tooth-filled mouth.
Sacrifice hurts. The words whispered deep inside Natalie, though she wasn't sure if they were a memory or something else.
She opened her hand and looked down at the crystal skull, the gleaming stone that was now streaked with blood and ichor.
It was gorgeous. It was powerful. It had belonged to the bloodline her family had served. More, it had called to her, perhaps from the very beginning. And the stories said the magi would wield the skulls in the end-time war.
Yet the magi were gone. And JT had said a terrible sacrifice was needed to open a hell mouth.
Her gut said another would seal it for good.
"Stay or go?" he asked, voice tight.
He was offering to let her make the final call. More, he had led the others into battle, sacrificing what he believed in to save her.
Could she do anything less?
Raising the skull, she balanced it on her palm and stared into its bloodred sockets. For a moment, she felt a stir of warmth, saw a spark of gold. Felt a farewell. Almost a benediction.
Then, as the bulging barrier shuddered and started to give way, she flung the skull into the split.
Red-gold light flashed supernova-bright as the skull disappeared into the hell mouth. And then the world went crazy.
Chapter Seven
The hell mouth solidified in an instant and then shattered , sending oily brown shrapnel spewing through the chamber. JT grabbed Natalie and spun them, putting himself between her and the needle-sharp spray, which peppered his back and arms, burning him.
There was a roar and a flash. Then nothing. Even the pain faded; the shrapnel spray had left no mark, no blood.
And they were alone. Safe. The place where the hell mouth had been was nothing more than a plain section of cave wall, a powerless blank.
JT shifted his grip on Natalie as the chamber echoed with a sudden, unexpected silence. Her arms came around him, and for a moment they just held each other.
Then Rez let out a whoop. The cry was picked up by the others, their cheers echoing off the surrounding stone and heading up to the sky. It was less a victory cry than a battle shout, a clamor of defiance against the demons.
But one held longer than the others, rising up in a wordless howl of grief. still holding on to Natalie, JT turned to see a young man, little more than a teen, kneeling by the hanging corpses.
He had lost his headdress, and his war paint was streaked, turning the slashing stripes to black tears.
"Oh." Natalie breathed the word, tipping her head against his to lean on him, taking comfort. Giving it.
"Hell," JT rasped.
The others fell silent, and then several closed on the grief-stricken boy, while the rest dispersed to check on the too-still bodies scattered around the chamber. Rez pulled the teen to his feet and led him away, keeping an arm wrapped around the young man's shoulders, talking to him in a low voice. A villager crouched down beside one of the bodies, shook his head, and rose, hands coming away painted red with blood.
"Damn it," JT grated. He did a head count, didn't like the number he came up with. But the air was clear, the' zotz gone, the hell mouth sealed.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "If I hadn't . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. "No. This was what had to happen. I just wish they didn't need to be involved. I wish . . ." She glanced over at him, her eyes going wary. "I wish we had real backup, real knowledge, and a plan for the next couple of years."
He understood what she was asking. A week ago, even a day ago, he would have pretended he didn't, doing his best to avoid the fight. Defense, not offense.
Now he turned to face her squarely, meeting her eyes when he said, "The old training compound was located in New Mexico, in a box canyon near the Chacoan ruins. They had— we had a saying:
'What has happened before will happen again . ' If any of the Nightkeepers and winikin survived, they will have rebuilt on the old site."
She went very still. "Are you sure you're ready to go back?"
He leaned in, touched his lips to hers. "I'm not going back. I'm finally moving forward." He didn't know what the future held, knew only that they would face it together . . . and that he couldn't hide anymore.
Her lips curved beneath his; the kiss deepened. And as the sunlight splashed through the opening far overhead, warmth hummed through him, and golden light sparked at the edges of his vision.
"Magic," she whispered.
"Not magic," he corrected. "Love." But maybe in the end they were two sides of the same power. And maybe—hopefully—that power would be enough to see them through the next two years . . . and beyond.
RED ANGEL
DEIDRE KNIGHT
Chapter One
It was a special kind of tacky that greeted you on the postholiday shelves of the Sandfly, Georgia, Piggly Wiggly. Not exactly primo wrapping paper selection, particularly not for a hostess gift for one of the richest and oldest families in Savannah. Somehow, Sunny figured, their swanky bottle of Dom Perignon wouldn't look quite right presented in a tinfoil poinsettia sack.
She cast a wary glance at her best friend, Kate Rabineau. "You should've bought a gift bag downtown, Katydid. The selection would've been much better than here at the Pig."
"Let's just grab something that the bottle will fit in." Kate glanced impatiently at her watch. "We're late as it is."
"Oh, and whose fault would that be?" Sunny reached for a bag covered in lime green elves and frowned.
"Sunny Renfroe, don't you get started on me," Kate said. "You know I had to look just right today."
They were having brunch with the Angel family—Mason, Jamie, and Shay were fifth-generation demon hunters, and although lately two of those siblings had become friends to both Sunny and Kate, Jamie Angel was a bit of a holdout. He didn't much respect Kate's kind; something to do with her being a vampire and his being a hunter and all that. In other words: Jamie was among the uninformed, the kind who naturally sought Kate's blood and life. It had taken a good deal of persuasion by his siblings for him to call off the hunt on the Rabineau family.
But in the end, the fact that Kate was now engaged to Mason Angel's best buddy, Dillon Fox, had won that battle. Since then, Dillon had permanently joined Jamie's paramilitary group of demon hunters, and Jamie had respected the vampiric cease-fire. But it didn't mean Jamie liked Kate any better, and for some reason, his sister, Shay, was determined to change that fact.
Hence, they'd arrived here, at the Piggly Wiggly down the street from the Angels' plantation, surveying nearly week-old wrapping paper and cards.
Sunny planted her hands on both hips. "All that's left are marked-down Christmas leftovers." She retrieved a poinsettia-adorned bag, the kind made specifically for champagne and wine gifts.
"This thing's tackier than my mama's light-up lawn reindeer."
Kate snorted impatiently. "I'm not the one who wants to impress Jamie Angel."
"Which is why you took an extra thirty minutes fixin' your hair?"
"This is your cockeyed plan, not mine," Kate disagreed.
"And Shay's. Don't forget, this get-together was her idea, too."
Kate retrieved the bag covered in neon lime elves. "Let's make her laugh . . . and snub Jamie at the same time. We can tell him this was closest thing we could find to the Grinch."
Sunny wasn't so sure; maybe it was her Southern manners, but she wanted something pretty.
"Give me another second," she told her friend. "I'm gonna look down in the wine section."
Kate glanced at her watch again. "Dillon's waiting for us out in the car. I don't like leaving him so long."
Sunny smiled at her friend. "Honey, Dillon's fine! He hunts demons and you never fret for a minute. Why should you worry if he's sitting out in the parking lot?"
Kate glanced away, saying nothing, but Sunny understood. Dillon had been blinded by a mortar round while serving with his unit in Iraq, and although his guide dog, Lulu, was with him nearly everywhere, and he was fully independent and part of the Shades, Kate's love for him ran deep.
So every now and then she became a bit too protective—usually when Dillon wasn't around to catch her doing so.
Kate released a tight breath. "Okay, sure, and I'll keep looking in this aisle."
Sunny strolled toward the shelves filled with wine and beer. Bingo—at the very end of the row, she saw an absolutely lovely bag with sequins and tassels. She was about to grab it when a horrific stench reached her nostrils. The hair on her nape prickled, her body tensed, and her otherworldly senses kicked into high gear.