Stormwalker (27 page)

You are my key. Open the vortex, Janet.

“Screw you,” I screamed out loud.

Mick bellowed in reply, though I don’t know if he heard or understood me. My mother threw all the swirling hail, wind, and lightning at Mick.

Open it, or I kill the dragon.

Damn it. I believed wholeheartedly that she’d kill him, but if I opened the vortex and let her fully manifest, he’d die anyway, and so would Maya and Fremont and Jamison and Naomi and the rest of the friends I’d made since arriving in Magellan. This was my place now, and I wanted to protect it.

I thought I now understood why, the night I’d stood near this vortex when we’d fought the skinwalkers, my mother hadn’t simply possessed me, thrust me into the keyhole, and turned me. That night I hadn’t had a storm. Now this intense storm and the Beneath magic made a perfect mixture—my mother drawing on the mystical energy of Beneath, me drawing on the wild magic of the earth. That was why she’d sent the Nightwalker to drag me to her on a stormy night, why she’d sent the skinwalker to waylay me during another storm.

It took both magics to open the vortex. My mother needed me, Janet, and my unique heritage. She couldn’t open the vortex by herself, nor could I open it without her. She needed a child with Beneath magic that she could tap, but also one with strong earth magic. In this moment, above and Beneath tied together and could rip a hole in the fabric of the universe.

The vortex flared, and a crack spread from it to follow the little arroyo that snaked from it. Twists of electricity swallowed Mick’s body, and his dragon voice echoed across the plateau as he faltered. He plummeted downward.

Jump,
my mother screamed in my head.

Right. We were at least a hundred feet up.

Mick rolled, one wing folding up under him. He was weakening, tail lashing as he fell down and down. His right wing swept out and uprooted a line of trees, branches and roots crashing into me as I huddled inside his dragon claw against his chest.

At the last minute, my mother took charge and pushed me free of Mick. We plummeted through the gnarled body of a juniper hugging the side of the arroyo, then fell to hard ground. I rolled as soon as I hit, doing everything to survive the fall.

Mick wouldn’t survive it. His wings dragged uselessly against the ground, legs limp as he fell. A fork of lightning hit the crack in the ground and it widened with a groaning sound. Mick fell inside the widening wash and disappeared into the light.

“Mick!” I screamed. Torrents of rain beat on my face. My hair and clothes were plastered to my body and the wind threatened to lift me from my feet.

A big coyote bounded toward me, snarling. I took off running toward the hole that had swallowed up the man I loved. My mother had vanished, leaving me alone, weak, and wanting to vomit. I was screaming and crying, unaware of doing either.

Debris swirled around Coyote and he became a tall, naked man. His snide, good-humored self was gone, and Coyote the warrior god stood in his place.

“No!” he shouted.

“Get out of my way!”

He lifted his hand. He’d kill me, and Mick would die, falling through the cracks to whatever lay Beneath. I knew my mother would tear him apart.

“Let him go, Janet,” Coyote said sternly.

“Screw you!”

I gathered the storm magic and shot it at him. Coyote leapt out of the way faster than I could contact him, and the tree I’d fallen through exploded with light.

The crow burst from it in a flutter of black feathers, cawing in rage. The bird circled me once, fighting the wind.

As it flapped frantically for safety, a line of winged creatures appeared against the sky. The next lightning flash glinted off the scales of five huge dragons, wings beating as they flew toward me.

Dragons coming to do what Mick couldn’t and what Coyote didn’t want to. They were going to kill me. I saw Nash struggling toward me, gun in hand—to stop me or help me, I couldn’t be sure.

One of the dragons swooped, and unbelievably, the crow flung herself between it and me. The dragon sent a fire stream straight at the crow, but Coyote threw a nimbus of blue light around the crow’s body, deflecting the flame harmlessly into the night.

I used the distraction to sprint for the edge of the wash. Water spilled through it, the torrents of rain making the dry creeks flow. In the desert, water didn’t sink into the hard ground—it ran along the path of least resistance to collect in rivulets and washes, canyons and rivers. Anything in its path, the water simply took with it.

Like me. My boot heel slipped on the muddy bank, and I slid on my backside into the deep arroyo. I scrambled to my feet and ran through the water toward the glowing vortex.

Fire rained around me, and I heard Coyote shout, “Janet, no!”

I took a running leap and jumped feet first into the crack. I was falling, falling, I heard a resounding
snick
, and then all was silent.

Primeval, that was a good adjective. If a dinosaur had come blundering through, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

The trees stretched in all directions, no paths, no break, no sign of a clearing anywhere I looked. It made me claustrophobic—I’d grown up under soaring skies, with visibility for many miles, nothing blocking the view. The air under the trees didn’t move. It was heavy, wet, and warm. Suffocating.

I shivered, despite the heat, and put my hands into my pockets. I yanked them out again with a grimace, my jeans still soaked from the rainstorm.

The land of Beneath was dull, hot monotony, and all was silent. Very silent. No birds or insects. A faint breeze moved the trees far, far above me, but other than that, nothing.

Logic told me that this landscape was wrong—plants depended on insects and birds to spread pollen so they could propagate. Didn’t they? But then, this was Beneath. The rules might be different.

Somewhere in the dense clouds high above was the slit that led to the world I had left. The
snick
I’d heard was likely the vortex snapping shut behind me. I had no clue whether I could reach it again, or whether I could open the vortex from this side or not.

I closed my eyes against a cold wash of panic. I couldn’t lose my nerve, not now. I’d come down here to find Mick. I had the magic of Beneath in me as well as that of the earth above. I wouldn’t be helpless here.

I pretended to believe that as I started walking. I had no clue where to go. All directions looked the same. I moved around clumps of dirt and fallen branches, discovering the hard way that there was, in fact, some undergrowth hidden by the dead foliage. Fungi spread everywhere, a white variety that seemed to glow. Trailing ivy also carpeted the ground, threatening to trip me at every step.

After fifteen minutes of walking, everything still looked the same. I didn’t think I was going in circles; there was just so much of this forest flowing toward every point of the compass, on and on in endless tedium.

I knew from school science classes that the desert where I’d grown up had once been primeval forest, a very wet place until geologic events had drained lakes and changed the weather. Somehow, I preferred the new, drier look. I was panting in the heavy air, nauseated by the smell of rotting vegetation.

I’d lost track of how long I walked—more trees, more vines, more decaying leaves and flowers, more mushrooms—when I saw something out of place. Ahead of me, partially hidden by a tree trunk, a pale shape moved against the monotone of the woods.

I hurried toward it, not caring whether I’d found a demon or one of the nastier gods of Beneath. Even if it tried to kill me, at least I’d have someone to talk to.

I rounded the tree. A naked man sat with his back against the trunk, his legs folded to his chest, brawny arms around his knees. His head was tilted back against the tree, his eyes closed, black curly hair hanging in torrents. Something seemed wrong about him, and it struck me after a few heart-pounding moments that his arms were now bare of tattoos.

“Mick?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. Dark brows drew together over very blue eyes as he regarded me without fear but without recognition either.

“Mick, it’s Janet.” My heart sank as I crouched next to him. “Are you all right?”

“I seem to be whole,” he said, still not recognizing me. “But I don’t know where I am.”

His familiar voice made me want to fling my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder. I’d grown used to Mick protecting me, even when I didn’t like it. Even when he drove me insane, I’d felt cared for, safe. The way he looked at me now, I realized that, in this place, it was my job to protect
him
.

“This is Beneath,” I said. “You fell down here during the storm.” I started to touch him, then curled my fingers into my palm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. She made me.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember me?” I asked.

Mick looked me up and down again. “I don’t know.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “Do I remember having sex with you? Or do I just want to remember that?”

I exhaled and let myself put my hand on his bare knee. “You do remember that. It was fantastic, every time.”

“Good.” He slanted me a smile through his hanging hair. “I’d like to remember more.”

Even here, he could make my skin heat. “I’m not sure how to get us out of here, but I’ll try. I have some magic tied to this place, but I have a feeling that you don’t.”

I ran my fingers down Mick’s arms where his dragon tattoos used to be. His skin bore no sign he’d ever had them, the flesh smooth, whole, unmarked.

His eyes darkened. “You keep that up, and I’ll be happy to create new memories with you right now.”

I smiled, trying to bolster my spirits. “I’d rather do it back home, with you being
you
again. You’re a creature of the earth; you don’t belong here.”

“I didn’t think I did.” Mick glanced at the surrounding trees. “I hope not. Gods, this place is boring.”

I agreed. “No wonder the ones who got left Beneath are trying to get out.”

We looked around some more, neither of us voicing the thought
How do
we
get out?
I had an idea, but I wasn’t certain it would work. At least, I thought it might work on me, but Mick would be trapped if I left him behind.

He lied to you,
a voice whispered in my brain. It wasn’t my mother’s voice—this time it was my own.
He hid the truth from you for years. What loyalty do you have to him?

I willed the words to silence. I cared about Mick enough to not leave him here, no matter what was between us.

Mick tensed as he gazed into the distance. “There’s something alive over there.”

I followed his line of sight. I saw nothing at first, but after a few moments I spotted a shadow flitting from tree to tree, never stilling long enough to be identified.

Mick unfolded to his feet, the harmony of his raw-muscled body a joy to look at. He might have lost his dragonness, he might be confused and without his memories, but Mick was still a beautiful man. I’d have had to be dead not to notice him, and even then I might come back as a ghost just to watch him.

Mick reached for a fallen branch and tested its weight. Without having to tell me to stay behind him, he started softly toward the creature.

With no storm handy, I felt powerless, uncertain of what kind of magic I could wield in this place. Storms were of the earth, like Mick was—I knew in my gut I couldn’t use that magic here. But I had the Beneath power in me as well, the power I’d used to open the vortex. What I didn’t know was whether my Beneath magic was strong here, or whether I wouldn’t have enough to crush a gnat.

The shadow resolved into a huge creature that bellowed at Mick and charged. Mick met it with his makeshift club, grunting as branch connected with flesh.

The thing reminded me of a skinwalker—tall and broad, hard-muscled and fast, giant hands with claws, yellow eyes. However, skinwalkers had hideous faces and equally hideous BO, and this one bore the face of an angel with no odor I could detect.

Mick fought hard, but he was limited to his human strength, his fire magic gone. I swore I heard Mick’s rapid heartbeat thudding in my own ears, felt his anger and growing worry. I picked up a sturdy branch and sailed in to help him.

The creature lunged at Mick, picked him up by the throat, and squeezed. Mick thrashed, dropping his club to dig at the fingers cutting into his windpipe.

I screamed and beat on the thing with my branch, but I might as well have hit an alligator with a twig. Mick’s face turned purple, his eyes bulging as he fought to breathe.

“Leave him alone.” I whacked the creature’s back with my stick. “Drop him and die, asshole.”

The monster let go of Mick. Mick fell to the ground and folded up, coughing.

The creature swung around, and I backed up a step. The thing was twice my size, and my only weapon was a dead branch.

Then, before my astonished eyes, the monster crumpled to the ground. He exhaled with a little sigh, his eyes fixed, and he lay still. Mick and I stared, dumbfounded, as the dead body dissipated into dust.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

“What did you do?” Mick raked his hair back from his face, his voice harsh with fear and anger.

“Nothing.” I flung away the branch as though it burned me. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You said ‘drop him and die,’ and it dropped me and died.”

“Did I?” I’d yelled words, not too worried about being coherent.

“Say something else.”

“Like what?”

He pointed. “Tell that vine to move out of your way.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I looked at the vine in question, a scraggly tangle on the forest floor. I felt like an idiot giving orders to a plant, but I said, “Move aside, you.”

A gust of wind swirled around the vine, uprooted it, and tossed it away. I gaped, heart pounding.

“Looks like you have magic here,” Mick said. “Amazing magic. If we get into an argument, please don’t accuse me of having a small penis.”

I couldn’t laugh. “I don’t know how I did that. I shouldn’t have been able to.”

“Maybe it’s this place. It took all my powers but gave you more.”

I reached for him, and my chest felt hollow as Mick flinched from me. “I’m scared,” I said.

“I am too.”

Mick was never afraid. He laughed at danger—literally; I’d seen him do it.

I folded my arms and didn’t try to touch him again. I was afraid to say anything as well. What if my words accidentally magicked Mick somewhere or made his arms fall off or something?

By the look on Mick’s face, similar thoughts were occurring to him. “Have you ever seen a being like that?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “He looked like a skinwalker, but a clean, pretty one.”

“Skinwalkers should be foul, smell of death.”

“In our world,” I said. “But here? Maybe this is what they really look like, and what we see above are shadows of what they used to be. Coyote appears to us as a coyote and a man, but who knows what he looked like when he lived down here?”

“Coyote.” Mick grasped the word. “I’ve heard of him. I know him. I remember what his magic feels like.”

“Is that good?”

Mick’s muscles rippled as he shrugged. “How can I know?”

I wanted to touch him. More than that, I wanted to hold him. I wanted to make love to him, right here in the mud, to feel his warmth around me, to hear him tell me how much he loved me.

“Mick, I wish—”

He clapped his hand over my mouth. “Don’t. Don’t wish, don’t command, don’t say anything until we figure out what kind of damage you can do.”

Damage. He meant to him. Gods, he was afraid of me.

His eyes were pure blue, his hand firm across my lips. I touched my tongue to his palm, liking the warm sensation that started in my breasts and between my legs. His skin prickled with goose bumps, as though need pulsed through him too.

“Janet,” he murmured. “I don’t think . . .”

“I don’t want to think at all.” I rose on tiptoes and kissed his lips.

Mick’s arms came around me, the adrenaline rush of the fight transferring to his kiss. He held me hard against him, mouth opening mine, hand sliding to my breast. I curled my fingers around his neck, trying to draw his warmth into me. I needed him, wanted him, craved him.

“Mick, please, let’s . . .”

Mick abruptly broke the kiss. I looked up at him, worried that I’d hurt him, but he wasn’t looking at me.

He jerked his hands from me, and I spun around to face whatever he’d seen behind me.

A woman stepped from the shadow of the trees, a woman I’d never seen before. And yet I knew her.

She had blond hair, shimmering gold, even though little sunlight penetrated the leafy canopy to touch anything. Her hair tumbled all the way to her delicate, bare feet. She had milk white skin—pasty white, in fact—eyes disproportionately large for her face. I couldn’t tell what color they were at this distance. Her iridescent gown shimmered like her hair. She was the shimmer queen.

I realized now why my mother liked to inhabit blond women. Both Amy and Sherry Beaumont looked a little like her, as had the woman I’d met at the diner. Same coloring, same slender build, same softness. She’d been trying for a woman with looks as close to hers as possible.

As she neared me, I saw that her eyes were a dark, intense green like that of the leaves on the trees around us.

“Janet.” Her voice was a whisper of silk, a strain of music too beautiful to be understood. “My daughter. At last, you have come to me.”

She closed the final measure of space between us and brushed my face with her fingertips. Her touch nearly froze my blood. She was ice-cold, no warmth anywhere.