Phantom Wolf. Bonnie Vanak

took a look at her fake passport, glanced at the gray-haired woman with the sour face, and nodded her through. No Mages stalked her. The flight was uneventful, aside from the landing. Years of travel to Honduras had conditioned her to the wild corkscrew landings the skilled pilots executed to avoid the rugged mountains ringing Tegucigalpa.

      After getting her luggage from the crowded carousel, she headed for the restroom and used magick to change back her appearance.

      Kelly inserted the international SIM card she’d bought into her cell phone and made a call to the Council of Mages. A bored man answered.

      “This is Kelly Denning. I’m in Honduras. Tell those stuffed shirts if they want me, they’ll have to get off their fat butts and find me.”

      Envisioning his stunned look, she laughed and thumbed off the connection.

      When Sam’s team arrived, she’d convince them to find the missing children. The SEALs stood as the only neutral force able to stop a full-scale war between Elementals and Arcanes.

      Risking her life was worth it to save those of her people, and Sam’s.

      Weighing the cell in her palm, she considered the gamble. What if they simply chose to haul her back to the States? Brought her into Mage custody, where she’d suffer an “accident?” Oops, didn’t mean to discharge enough power to fry a city block.

      Sam wouldn’t allow it. Another gamble.

      Nausea boiled in her throat. Once he’d been insouciant and spontaneous. Now he’d turned into a man she no longer recognized.

      A blast of humid air encased her as she went outside. The warm breeze ruffled her turquoise silk shirt and teased tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail. Kelly flagged down a cab and gave precise directions in Spanish.

      The black-haired driver looked at her. “Señorita? You sure you want that house, that neighborhood?”

      “Positive.”

      As he pulled into traffic, he glanced in the mirror, his dark gaze somber. “It is dangerous there. Even for one filled with magick.”

      Kelly went still. The driver pulled down his shirt collar. His skin had been branded with a dark red circle with a slash through it.

      The mark of an Arcane branded for subversion.

      “You’re one of us,” the driver whispered. “I sensed it when you asked to visit that neighborhood. Many Arcanes live there.”

      Not letting down her guard, she shrugged. “I know someone there. A friend.”

      “You are one of us.”

      At a red light, he turned. “You need not be afraid. Are you here to find refuge? Many of our people have moved here to hide.”

      “I’m here to visit a friend,” she repeated.

      The man’s mouth flattened. “Elementals have pushed our people into dark and dangerous corners. No place is safe from their influence. One day we will be free from their kind, and they will know the same suffering they forced upon us.”

      Seditious talk, the type that landed Arcanes in prison. She hesitated.

      “It’s misguided to judge an entire race by the actions of a few and ignore the ones who are kind, good and courageous.”

      The driver snorted. “All Elementals are bloodsucking scum who think themselves superior. They demean us because we have no power. But they are fools, for some of us are more powerful than they realize.”

      True. Kelly fingered the triskele, feeling the metal warm beneath her touch.

      Buildings passed by in a blur as her heart pounded hard against her chest. Headed into heartache again. She knew what she’d find. Rubbing a spot on the window, she stared outside, seeing nothing.

      The taxi jerked to a halt midway down a steep hill. Kelly started. Gray water gushed down a gutter before an aging brick building.

      “I can wait for you,” the cabbie said.

      “No need.” She wanted out of the cab quickly. Something about the driver raised her suspicions.

      When she stepped out, rucksack slung over one shoulder, he drove off slowly. Kelly shivered in the light rain.

      The hallway was long, dark and eerie. Water dripped from a leaky roof. Once the hall had been white, but now paint flaked off like confetti. A woman opened her door, peered out and slammed it shut. Kelly shouldered her pack and stepped into a square courtyard. On each side were two doors leading to apartments. Rain fell steadily onto the stained concrete courtyard. Sagging plants in cracked flowerpots were scattered about the ground in an attempt to provide color. Clothing hung on a wire strung between the two buildings, someone’s laundry forgotten in the rainstorm.

      She went to the turquoise door on the left and knocked softly. Two solid raps, then a succession of three.

      Hilda opened the door.

      Kelly gave the small, dark-haired woman a tight hug. “How is he?”

      Moisture gathered in the woman’s brown eyes. “Holding his own,” she whispered in English. “But you know what will happen…”

      The home was small, with peeling yellow paint. Rain dripped in a steady patter on the tin roof and into a pot near the door as Kelly stepped inside. On a double bed crammed against one faded wall was a man hooked up to a catheter. He was thin and pale, his eyes closed as he rested on a worn pillow.

      She could not heal him. No one could. The knife in her heart twisted with a vicious yank.

      But when Kelly approached the bed, the man opened his eyes. Life flared there, bright and angry and resilient.

      “Fernando,” she said softly, setting down her pack and sitting on the chair by the bedside. She gently took his hand. So thin, the knuckles cracked, the once-strong fingers now weakened from disuse.

      “You came back. I knew you would. Everyone else has forgotten us.”

      “Not forgotten. They’re in hiding. I broke free of the watchdogs.” She gave a little smile, her heart breaking at his pale face, the wasted limbs. “You and Hilda must move to a safer house, a better house.”

      Hilda shook her head. “We cannot risk moving him. And this is our home. Fernando wants to stay here, he wants to…”

      Bleak resignation on her face told her the rest.

      “Enough talk of me.” The man tapped the piece of paper he held in his lap. “Memorize the map. The village is in the south. They mobilized and moved the children and have taken over. My contact said the rogue Arcanes are waiting to siphon the children’s powers.”

      “Waiting for their leader to arrive?”

      “Yes, but Something else, as well. They are planning something bigger, Kelly. Something far more sinister.”

      She didn’t want to imagine the possibilities. “Where is your contact now? Can I meet with him?”

      Shaking his head, he pointed to a newspaper on the bed. The headline blared news about a body found by locals near the capital. Drugs were suspected.

      “They got to Carlos, too,” he said.

      Fernando shifted his legs on the quilt and winced.

      Eight bullets. He’d been taken down by eight bullets, pumped into him by gang members in a “war act.” But it wasn’t a turf war or drugs. The gang had operated under dark enchantment. Fernando had been shot deliberately after he’d located the children. He belonged to her team of Arcane Enchanter Mages operating out of Honduras.

      Kelly squeezed his hand, took the map and committed it to memory. Using the matches Hilda provided, she burned it on the rusty stove that no longer worked. “Go, rescue the children, Kelly. I do not know how much time they have left,” Fernando said, and his voice was strong.

      Tears