Visions of Skyfire

Chapter 35

Parnell sat in the shadows, watching his “allies” down shot after shot of tequila. The ramshackle tavern they waited in was hardly more than a hut, but nothing more was needed, anyway. This was just a stop on a long, well-laid-out road. Lifting his beer, Parnell took a sip and set the glass down as his gaze traveled the smoky interior.

Lights were dim, as they were in most bars. There was a fire roaring in a stone hearth on the far wall, dispelling the October chill in the desert night. Hard-bitten men with murder in their eyes gathered around the tables, playing cards and drinking incessantly. They were celebrating the slaughter of the village, he told himself. Proud of having shot down unarmed civilians and telling war stories as if they’d faced down a demon horde.

Idiots.

He had had them kill everyone in the village for expediency’s sake. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. But he hadn’t wanted to risk word getting out about the witch and her immortal bodyguard.

Now he watched the men who worked for him. He knew there wasn’t one of them who wouldn’t sell him out for the right amount of cash. But knowing that, he paid them well. He hated what they were. Brutality for its own sake served no one. A man without loyalties couldn’t be trusted and these men had no fealty to anyone but the person paying them. There was no discipline here. No belief system. No driving ambition beyond the visceral one to maim and destroy.

He reined in his disgust with effort. For now, he needed these men. For now, they were a means to an end that he was determined to reach. For too long he and his brothers had languished in obscurity. Pushed aside and banished without another thought by the very god who had created them. All for the sake of them.

The Eternals.

Immortal bastards, all of them. Self-righteous, arrogant a*sholes who thought that they and they alone were the keepers of the magic. Well, he and the others had a surprise for all of them. After centuries of exile, it was time to show themselves. To reclaim what had been taken. To step up and announce themselves not only to the Eternals but to the world.

And to the witches.

“Any word yet?”

A voice interrupted his thoughts and Parnell flicked a glance at the obnoxious human who had had the nerve to plunk himself down at Parnell’s table. With short black hair, whiskered jaws and dark brown eyes, Miguel was probably thought to be a handsome man. Unless one took the time to look deeply into eyes that were as empty as the desert he hailed from.

Parnell could have appreciated the man’s dedication to violence if there’d been a reason for it. Instead, this smiling, murderous creature was simply soulless. And the man appeared to be under the mistaken impression that he and Parnell were partners. Equals. When the truth of the matter was that Parnell would have liked nothing better than to see him dead this instant for his treatment of the witch, Teresa.

Instead of following orders and romancing the woman, this boil on the ass of humanity hadn’t been able or willing to hide his own abusive nature from her. And so Teresa, being a sensible witch, had tossed him out of her life. Luckily for the bastard sitting opposite him, Parnell had plans for the witch. Personal plans beyond the scope of the strategy that had been laid in place over the last centuries. So if the human male had actually harmed Teresa in any way, Parnell would have ripped his lungs out of his chest and left him gasping for air that would never have come.

Parnell watched the man and felt an inferno rage inside him. Flames leaped to life on his fingertips, flaring blue and yellow and red.

Miguel looked at them, grinned and observed, “Man, if I could do that, I wouldn’t be wasting my time in this shithole of a bar.” Shrugging, he asked again, “Any word?”

Parnell took a breath and allowed the flames to fade away. He took another slow sip of his beer before trusting himself to speak. “We’ve heard nothing yet.”

Those handsome features twisted into a disappointed pout. “Then how will we know where to go next?”

Parnell’s irritation grew by leaps and bounds. To be questioned by anyone went against everything inside him. For those questions to come from a human that he would love nothing more than to execute was even more insulting. But he would play the game as he had laid it out.

“Everything’s in place,” he said, promising himself the pleasure of killing this particular human as soon as possible. “Our eyes and ears will keep us informed.”

“I still say we should just go to Chiapas,” the man whined impatiently. “If you had listened to me, we wouldn’t be sitting here in this crappy bar waiting for word that will only tell us what I already said.” He leaned back until the rickety wooden chair beneath him rested solely on its back legs. “I know Teresa. She’ll go to her grandmother. She was always talking about the old witch. Abuela this, abuela that. Made me sick. So I know all about the old woman. We could be there right now, waiting. Then we could grab Teresa the minute she shows up.” He smiled to himself. “I can’t wait to see her again, you understand. I’ve got some unfinished business with her. And once she’s no good to you guys, she’s mine. Right?”

“Idiot.” Parnell kicked out, sent the chair toppling over and the man in it sprawling. Before he could leap to his feet, Parnell had one foot on his sternum, holding him down.

The bar went suddenly silent, as if even these apelike men understood that a line had been crossed. Parnell took a moment to allow his fire-dazzled gaze to sweep over each and every man in the room until all of them shivered and turned their heads away. Only then did he focus that glare on the man beneath his boot.

“Listen very carefully, you mongrel dog,” he said. His voice was low, but the strength of it carried across the room nevertheless. “You get what I say you get and nothing more. If you touch the witch …” He called on the flames, watched them race across his palms and fingers, then flicked a stream of living fire down onto the horrified man. Flames licked greedily at the edges of his down jacket and smoke twisted and danced like a basketful of snakes. “You’ll die more painfully than your pitiful brain can even imagine. Do you understand?”

Miguel nodded in a jerky movement, hands flailing as he tried desperately to extinguish the fire currently trying to devour him. “I get it. I get it, okay? Put it out!”

Parnell sneered at him, waited an extra moment or two for pure drama’s sake, then waved one hand at the flames. Instantly the fire was gone, leaving only the scent of charred polyester dirtying the air.

Once released, Miguel scrambled away, joining the other men and keeping as far from Parnell as possible. Point made, Parnell resumed his seat in the shadows.

Inside him an inferno raged, but he allowed none of it to show on his features. These humans were nothing. Just cannon fodder in a war that had been building for eons. The Eternals were the true enemy—the target of justifiable fury Parnell and his brothers had been harboring since what felt like the beginning of time.

The mere thought of the Eternals was enough to make Parnell want to howl and rage. But cold, clear thinking was better, he reminded himself. His plans for the future were vast and all-consuming and would turn the Eternals’ campaign to dust. That knowledge alone was what kept him going. What filled his heart and mind and soul with a black joy.

The Eternals would pay for turning their backs on Parnell and the others. They’d be forced to finally remember all of their history. And when it was too late, they would see that they were going to lose. Tradition said that an Eternal and his witch would go alone to find their share of the Artifact.

And tradition would be what finally killed them all.