Free Spellfire by Jessica Andersen Page A

of Skywatch.
    He hesitated in the doorway, becoming the sudden focus of way too many eyes as a couple of dozen team members—Nightkeeper,
winikin
and human alike—all looked at him as if to say “Hey, asshole, remember what happened the last time you were here?”
    Myrinne stood at the edge of the crowd. She had one foot out the far door and looked as trapped as he felt, but she was there. He wasn’t sure what that meant, didn’t know what he wanted it to mean.
    He nodded to her as he stepped into the open center of the room. The gesture was for all of them, though, including Red-Boar, who stood front and center before the
chac-mool
altar. Carved of red-tinged limestone and mortared in place with the ashes of generations past, the statue was a human figure, reclining with its body forming a zigzag shape and its blank-eyed face turned toward him, like it, too, was saying, “
Hey, asshole . . .”
    Yeah, he remembered what he’d done here, in this room. How the fuck could any of them think he would forget?
    The glass ceiling had been replaced, and the floor, walls and altar all looked pristine. Still, though, he saw the scene as it had been, with blood everywhere and Myrinne’s torn body folded up against the foot of the
chac-mool
. He hadn’t struck the blow that had hurt her—that had been the demons—but he might as well have, because she had taken a blow meant for him. After everything he’d done to her, she’d saved his ass.
    Christ, Myr, I’m sorry
. He tried to send the words to her, but she was blocking the one-way magical link that had connected them the day before. Which left him standing there, wishing to hell he could warp time and go back to knock the shit out of himself before he fucked up things between them, before he fucked
her
up.
    Only she didn’t look fucked up. She looked fierce and competent in dark jeans and a black tee, and at his glance, she stepped all the way in the room and glared at him, as if to say “I’m not afraid of you.”
    “You come here freely to take the Boar Oath?” Red-Boar asked, eyes glittering as he put himself in Rabbit’s line of sight. He was wearing a worn brown robe, tied with a rope. It probably should’ve made him look like Obi Wan, but instead brought memories of him spending most days stoned and pissed off, and not much use to anyone, especially himself. Now, though, his voice was clear and strong as he added, “Once you’ve taken the oath, you’ll be bound to obey three orders given by the eldest of the boar bloodline. Me.”
    “They’ll be my orders,” Dez said with a warning look at Red-Boar.
    The brown-robed mage tipped his head. “Of course.”
    Rabbit swallowed hard, though, because even if the content originated with Dez, he’d still be bound to his old man. But it had to be done. He crossed to the altar, squared off opposite his father, and said, “I’m in.”
    “We’ll see.” Red-Boar pulled a stone knife from where it had been tucked into a twisted knot in the rope belt. Rabbit recognized the blade—he’d inherited it from his father and carried it into battle for years before leaving it behind at Skywatch when Phee took him. The sight of the knife back in his old man’s fist dug at him, but he supposed it was fitting.
    Sunlight glinted on the blade as the old man lifted it to the sky, where the sun shone through the glass ceiling. Then, in a move so quick it felt like that of a predator snatching up its prey, killing it before it even knew it was in trouble, Red-Boar grabbed Rabbit’s wrist and yanked his hand palm up. The knife flashed down and cut deep.
    Rabbit hissed, but the feeling of being palm-cut was familiar, almost cleansing after so damn long. He was more aware of his old man’s hard, hot grip than the pain as blood pooled in his cupped palms, then spilled over and splashed on the stones of the sacred chamber.
    Magic gathered around them, sparking red and gold, and filling the air with an expectant hum as Red-Boar