It was far too much for Drake to resist on his own. Mick couldn’t help him at the moment, and my Beneath power, while welling inside me, paled compared to Gabrielle’s and Amy’s, and I was minus a storm.
Nash flung himself in front of the shafts of light, taking the full brunt of them. Both Amy and Gabrielle stepped back, uncertain, as the Beneath magic lifted Nash from his feet.
It turned him around, and then, as Amy and Gabrielle stared in astonishment, Nash’s body began to absorb it. Faster and faster, the white magic poured into Nash, like a deluge down a street grating.
He absorbed it all, his body glowing with it, until the magic broke into fragments and exploded outward. The fragments became sparks of brilliant light, then extinguished altogether, like dying fireworks.
Nash thumped back to the ground, remaining on his feet, and drew a long, but unlabored breath.
“Shit,” Gabrielle said in astonishment. “How’d he do that?” She sent him a smile I’d seen her direct at him before. “Want to do it again?”
“No!” I cried as she lifted her hand. Nash only stared at her, his gray eyes moving as he tried to work out what was happening to his efficient, by-the-book world.
I started running for Nash, praying he wouldn’t shoot me as I charged him. But I’d had an idea. I was under a dream spell, and Nash was a null. Nash’s anti-magic might possibly be able to negate the spell on me and wake me up. I had no idea whether this would work, but it was worth a shot.
Mick was up again but weak and in obvious pain. Pissed off, though. He brought his hands up in front of him, chanting words I didn’t know.
Drake’s palms filled with fire, he ready to throw everything he had at Gabrielle and Amy. Nash spun and met my charge, not shooting, thank the gods, but prepared to tackle me.
I slammed into him. We both went down in a tangle on the grass, and I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
I didn’t snap out of the dream, however. I lay there with Nash on top of me, he struggling to get to his feet and not lose hold of the gun at the same time.
Flames soared overhead, Drake letting loose at Amy and Gabrielle. His fire was met with white light that battled the orange flames with a sound of thunder.
Mick shouted something. He dove for me at the same time I saw Maya’s truck rise from the ground and go straight for him.
How I threw off Nash, I never knew, but I was up, hurtling myself at Mick. Mick grabbed for me as my momentum carried him backward, trying to pull me with him, but he’d never get out of the way in time if he did that.
I pushed again, using all my strength and a burst of Beneath magic. I broke his hold and pushed him to safety just as the truck came down on me. I saw its underside, which had been pristine until the engine had blown a black hole in it. Maya would be upset—she prided herself on her truck.
Then the pile of metal was landing on top of me. I heard Mick’s voice, holding vast grief, Nash snarling swear words.
I felt a lightness, and behind that, pain so great I couldn’t comprehend it. Mick’s hold was slipping, his warmth sliding away.
Nash’s touch was there too, he still growling, but his hand lay on my ankle, the one place that didn’t hurt. Everything else was throbbing.
I heard Mick’s voice saying my name, the rumble so warm and familiar I clung to it.
But it couldn’t save me. I was dying, and I knew it. Darkness took place of the bright morning sunshine, the glint of the truck, erasing even the smell of fuel and burning.
Through the darkness and numbing pain, a sound floated, sweet and low. It was music, the soft but trembling note of a flute, like that of the one my father had carved for himself.
I was transported back to my childhood, when I’d lain in my bed and listened to my father playing on the flat land under the night sky. I’d thought him playing to the moon, but I knew now he’d been playing for my mother.
Not anymore, my thoughts whispered. Pete Begay had sat on the patio of my hotel and played in the darkness for Gina, for her warm smile and the love in her eyes. He’d played for her, and now he played for me.
“Dad,” I croaked. I reached for him. He couldn’t be here—there was danger.
The flute answered me, rising like the wind, ending in what sounded remarkably like the yip of a coyote.
“No,” I said. “Don’t stop.”
I yearned for the music, and relaxed a fraction as the song returned. This time the flute sounded like a bird, fluttering, brightly calling. I was a little girl again, in the rather hard bed in my room at Many Farms, knowing I was safe in the night because my father played outside my window.
The serenity was broken when my grandmother stumped into the room and poked the end of her walking cane at my blankets. A trickle of magic came from it, manifesting into a spark when it touched me.