Sven didn’t know what to make of that. Hell, he didn’t know what to make of any of it. If this was his subconscious telling him to move on, it was going to have to work harder than that, because he was staying put, damn it.
Gritting his teeth, he refocused on Cara.
She seemed to be wrapping things up. “We can’t pretend the Nightkeepers don’t exist, or that we can do this without them. That’s just dumb. We need to work with them, and yes, we need to support them while they do the things we can’t. But we have what they lack, what they need, and that’s the strength of numbers. So I’ll ask you now to work with me and Sven, and with the Nightkeepers, while we all do our absolute damnedest to pull this plane through the end-time and into a new cosmic cycle.”
Pausing, she looked around, then pointed to the chair JT was sitting in. “From there to the window is the center line. If you agree to follow Sven and me, stand on that side.” She indicated the traditionalists’ side of the room. “If you refuse, take the other side.” She waved to where the rebels sat. “I’ll give you a ten-count. When I hit ten, that’s the vote.”
She started with “one” and there was a generalized shuffle. By “three” the pattern was clear: The middle of the room was drifting to the “yes” side, the outskirts to the “no.” On “five” it looked like a fifty-fifty split, and Sven’s gut knotted with a rising tide of frustrated anger.
“Six,” Cara said, her face starting to go grim. “Sev—”
“Hold it,” Sven snapped. “Just hold it right there.” She stopped the count and turned to him with a warning head shake, but he wasn’t having it, wasn’t having any of it. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ve got something to say.”
He halfway expected the winikin to shout him down or tell him he was out of line. It was a tribute to Cara’s impassioned speech, he supposed, that they didn’t. Or maybe they were waiting to see what she did. A test of allegiance.
She gave him a long look, as if trying to decide whether he was going to help or hurt her case, but then nodded. “You’re out of order, but I’ll allow it. You’re just as much a part of this as I am.” And with that he thought she might have lost some ground, which meant he damn well better make it up, and then some.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the risers with Mac right behind him, conscious of the way all eyes had to zoom up to keep him in range, seeming to halo him with a big old neon sign that said, He’s not one of us.
No, he wasn’t. But he thought he could help them if they would just give him a chance. Man up, he told himself. Get this right. She deserves better than your usual best. Starting now.
Problem was, he saw only one way to tip the scales. And it was going to be a hell of a risk.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I know some of you are pretty pissed at me right now, at least a couple of you with good reason.” He sent a nod toward the two guys who’d been hurt in the fight; one looked startled, the other thoughtful. “And what I’m about to say probably isn’t going to win me any points from the rest of you… but are you out of your fucking minds?”
That got him a stirring of the crowd, a few scowls, and Cara’s low warning of, “Bad idea.”
Maybe it was. But it was the only one he had. “Look, I know you’re probably saying, ‘Who the hell does he think he is, talking to us like that?’ But that’s the thing—I don’t see winikin or magi; I never did. I see people. And as one person to a bunch of others, I’m asking whether you’re out of your fucking minds. We have a chance to do something good here, something special. Fuck, we’ve got the opportunity—hell, the mandate—to save the godsdamned world here, and you’re dicking around over semantics?”
“Semantics to you,” Sebastian called from the “no” side of the room, “freedom to us.”
“Newsflash: The winikin don’t have a monopoly on that one. Do you think I volunteered to be one of the last dozen or so survivors of a dying race, or to get slapped with a big old, ‘Hey, howdy, the world is going to end if you guys don’t pull off the impossible’?” He shook his head. “You want to think I had it easier than you, go ahead; at least some of you are probably right. But keep in mind that I’m just as bound by the magic as you are, probably more. And if you think about it, any one of you probably has a better chance of living past the end date than I do, because sure as shit the demons are going to come gunning for me first.”
An ache started in his chest as the adrenaline drained, and he notched the volume down to say, “Look, here’s the deal: The brain trust has found a resurrection spell they think will work, but it’s going to be big magic and a serious power drain. Which means two things: One, the second they start the spell, the Banol Kax are pretty much guaranteed to be coming after the spellcasters; and two, they’re not going to be able to spare more than a couple of magi for defense… the rest is going to be up to us.” He jabbed a thumb at his own chest, then to Cara, and then waved a hand to indicate the whole damn room.
There was a restless shift in the crowd, and somebody muttered, “Cannon fodder.”
“Not the way you mean,” he said. “It won’t be like it was during the massacre. First off, you’re not being forced to fight—this will be strictly voluntary. And second, you’ll have weapons of your own. Jade and Lucius hit on a spell they think they can tailor for you guys to use. It’s part shield, part weapon, and way cool. And you’ll get one if you vote to fight.”
“It’s not about fighting,” Sebastian countered. “We’re willing to fight, just not for a Nightkeeper and his girlfriend.”
Mac’s growl echoed the spike of Sven’s temper. “This is entirely about fighting, dumb ass. In three days, we need to be in Guatemala defending the hell out of Che’en Yaaxil, and as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter whether there’s a winikin, a Nightkeeper, a human, or, hell, a wombat in charge, as long as I have reason to believe they’re competent. Defending the barrier is what matters. That’s my duty. It’s your duty.” He pointed at Sebastian, then started pointing at the other winikin. “And yours, yours, and yours.” He ended with Carlos, said softly, “It’s your duty to fight. You can defend your charge, your family, your future… whatever it takes. We’re all in this together.”
He fell silent, glaring at them in challenge.
Cara stepped up beside him and took his hand. Said softly, “Seven.”
Nobody moved.
“Eight.”
Still nothing. Sven’s chest had a rock on it, making it hard to breathe.
“Nine.”
Carlos looked up to the ceiling, to the sky, and said softly, “Is this what you want? Truly?” Then, as if he’d gotten an answer from the slow thump of the overhead fan, he headed from “no” to “yes.”
And damned if the others didn’t follow him, trad and rebel alike. Cara’s fingers tightened on Sven’s hand, and he could feel her shaking as she whispered, “Ten.”
The “no” side was empty. Even Sebastian had gone over, and looked resigned to have done it. They had won the vote, and to a winikin a vote was tantamount to sacred. There was no turning back from here.
“Thank you,” Cara said, her voice cracking. She started to say something else, but then pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t have the words, except to say that I’ve never in my life been prouder to be a winikin.”
Sven gave that a moment to settle in, then said, “I know it’s going to take some time for all this to sink in, but I’m afraid time is exactly what we don’t have. Lucius is going to meet us out at the ball court in twenty minutes with one of the new weapons, and we’ll start from there.”
With that, he drew Cara down off the riser and out the back door, not just because he was suddenly itching for open air but because he had a feeling she could use it too. She was pale and drawn, and rather than triumphant at her victory, she looked like she’d just been given a terminal diagnosis.
He had a feeling he’d looked something like that when he found out that the whole Nightkeepe
r thing was more than a bedtime story. It hit you like that when you suddenly had the weight of the world riding on your shoulders.
Once they were outside and away from the training hall, he angled them back around toward the cacao grove, where the leafy greens provided some privacy, albeit with the smell of the southlands, and the memories that provoked. He wasn’t worried about memories right now, though. He was worried about Cara.
“Come here.” He drew her into his arms, and his concern notched up when she latched on and clung, shuddering. “Hey,” he said into her hair. “You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll be right here every step of the way.” His stomach jittered as he said it, but he ignored the discomfort, knowing there would be worse to come. “We can do this. You’re not alone, okay? I’ve got your back.”
“I know.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I know. It’s just…” Pulling away, she looked up at him. “What if I’m fooling myself? What if all this is just as much a lie as Zane’s reality?”
“It’s not,” he said firmly, because she needed him to be firm right then.
“But what if it is?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
His mock-stern growl got a ghost of a smile and another deep breath. Then she nodded. “Okay, you’re right. I know you’re right. It’s too late to turn back now.” She hesitated. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Hang on to this for me.” She pulled a folded card out of her jacket pocket and handed it over.
He unfolded it, read it, and whistled. “The aj winikin spell? You sure you don’t want to burn it?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Keep it close, just in case Carlos is right and I’m wrong.” She shook her head and went back into his arms, this time burrowing softly against him and letting her breathing slow to match his.
He curled his arms around her and rocked them both, needing the contact as much as she did, maybe more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
September 21
Equinox
In the dark blue of early predawn, Cara could just make out Sven’s silhouette at the window. She didn’t know what had awakened her—maybe him getting out of bed, maybe her sleeping self feeling the empty spot beside her—but she knew the tense line of his body as he stood alone, and how the sight brought a clutch inside her.
“Sorry.” His voice came out of the darkness as he turned toward her. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I don’t know how you do that.” And it wasn’t just that he knew when she was awake, either. Over the past few days, as they had worked nearly around the clock to get the winikin ready to defend Che’en Yaaxil—teaching them to use the shield stones and fire-tipped projectiles that together gave them almost warrior-class armaments—he had seemed wholly attuned to her moods and fears too. He knew instinctively when to soothe, growl, or give her room. She couldn’t say the same, though; there were times with him when he got quiet and faraway, and she didn’t know what to do to help, or even whether she should try.
Like now.
Logic said he was a grown man and would ask for help if he needed it. More, for a man who had spent most of his life alone, she imagined it was a shock to suddenly find himself in charge of a small army, with all the demands that went with it. So she was trying to give him room. But at the same time, something—maybe her instincts, maybe the bond between them—kept telling her that he needed her when he got like this, quiet and withdrawn.
“It’s magic,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. But there was strain there too, and as he stepped toward her and his face came clear in the faint illumination from the bathroom night-light, she saw a silent plea for her to believe the smile and ignore the other.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was wrong, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer, not today of all days, when their partnership needed to be its strongest.
Instead, she smiled back and, when he got into bed beside her, she let the dip and pull of the mattress draw her into him, so bare skin slid and heated. “No,” she murmured, “this is the magic.”
“Ah, Cara,” he whispered into her hair, but said nothing more.
Instead of asking, she tipped her face up to his for a kiss, and drew her hand down his body in a long, slow caress that made him tense and groan. This was what he needed right now. It was what they both needed.
Seeming to agree, he wrapped himself around her and took her under with a kiss that wiped everything else from her mind. Gone were her doubts and fears—about him, the winikin, the coming battle—leaving only sensation behind.
Her perceptions coalesced to the press of his lips on hers and to the good, solid strength of his body. She caught her breath when he skimmed his lips down along her throat and across the upswell of one breast to capture her nipple in his mouth and suck, hot and wet and mimicking the act of love.
Moaning, she clasped him tightly, urged him on. They kissed and clung, touched and teased, until the blood sang in her veins and her heartbeat trip-hammered with a rhythm of: more-more, more-more, more-more.
She might have said it aloud, must have, because he rasped her name, along with hot praise and dark promises as he rolled atop her, poised to enter her. She dug her fingers into his hips and arched against him, waiting, waiting, wait— Ah! She cried out as he thrust home, filling and stretching her, and making her see starbursts behind her closed lids.
Then he was moving, setting a hard, urgent rhythm that slapped her body from zero to sixty in no time flat, and from there to overdrive. She held on to him, bowed beneath him, and buried her face in his sweat-slicked neck, where she whispered his name, a moan, a litany of, Yes-yes-there-more-oh-there, as her body tightened around him.
Her breath stilled as her senses rushed inward and then pushed her up, up toward a huge-seeming goal, and then over. The orgasm flared through her, locking her muscles and leaving her helpless to do more than cling and cry Sven’s name as he thrust into her again and again, prolonging her pleasure and wringing out his own until, with a rattling groan, he plunged into her and held tight, body jerking as he came.
Then he held tight a few minutes longer, as they both shuddered in the aftermath and breathed each other in.
“Sweet Cara.” He kissed her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, then rolled to his side, parting from her body but taking her with him, so they were curled together. “Sweet, sweet Cara.” His words were drowsy, his breathing soft.
“Sleep,” she said, kissing him. “Turn it off for a while.”
He said something more, but it was lost in a sigh as, with a final nuzzle, he complied and let himself go lax. Within moments his breathing deepened and he was out. But although she badly wished she had the same option, her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She kept coming back to his silhouette at the window, as he stared out toward the open mesas and the world beyond.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. Not today. She would talk to him about things after the equinox… or maybe not. He was giving her everything he had promised her, after all—he was protecting her, helping her, being there for her. How fair was it, really, to push him for more than that when he’d been honest from the start? She knew what she was getting into. And maybe—probably—she needed to find a way to let this be enough.
Somehow.
You must not let her destroy the gateway!
Rabbit lunged awake with his heart pounding, his ears ringing with his mother’s voice, and the power of the equinox coursing through him.
He was disoriented for a few seconds, but then the spins turned into panic, because not only was Myrinne’s side of the bed empty and cool, but there was another void, this one inside him.
Understanding stabbed like the sharpest knife. The eccentrics!
In an instant, he flashed back on last night, when Myrinne had met him at the door wearing nothing but a strand of obsidian beads. She had kissed him and led him to the bedroom, and they’d made love like t
hey hadn’t done in months. In the aftermath, all loose limbed, stupid, and so damned tired of being inside his own head, he’d asked her where she went at night, and had somehow wound up telling her everything—about the eccentrics, his mother, and even her suspicions. It had all come gushing out, a vomit of emotions and self-pity that had damn near wrung him dry. And through it all, Myrinne had kissed him, held him, told him that she loved him and it was all going to be okay, and he’d believed her, believed in her.
Only now she and the stones were gone.
“No!” He threw on clothes, left his armband on the table, and raced out the door, sticking his old man’s knife in his belt as he hauled ass. He could just barely sense the stones, but it would be enough to track them. And her.
Traitor. Seducer. Betrayer. He wasn’t sure if the whisper was his own or not, but it fit all too well with the evidence. His chest hurt and his head was spinning.
There were Jeeps by the training hall, keys tucked neatly into the visors. He launched himself into one, fired it up, and sped across the compound in a spray of dirt and gravel. He said the quick spell to drop the blood-ward, used telekinesis to open the wrought-iron gates, and then restored both once he was through. His magic was running high, his temper and sense of betrayal higher as he figured out where she had taken the stones.
“Son of a bitch.” Nausea surged. He hadn’t been able to escape the dream after all. She was in the coyote cave, where he’d last envisioned her death. “Is this what you want?” he asked the gods that didn’t seem to be in the sky or the underworld anymore, but rather inside him. He tasted salt and for a second thought he was bleeding, but then realized it was tears.
Jesus Christ. Was this really happening?
The trip passed in a blur of kicked-up dirt and spinning tires. He didn’t bother with stealth, couldn’t think beyond the rage and grief that pounded through him along with the pain in his head and the soul-deep whisper of, You have to get them back, become the crossover, and save all mankind.
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