Dawnkeepers

by Jessica Andersen

  At Nate’s entrance he turned and clicked the phone shut without saying anything to the caller, and moved to block the kitchen pass-through with his big body. He said simply, “Let’s not do this here.”

  “Too late.” Nate slammed the door behind him and advanced across the sitting room, barely taking in the sparse furnishings, which were chrome and glass, and expensive. “And for the record, I don’t give a shit what you’ve got going on in the outside world, or what you’re hiding from, as long as you don’t bring it back here.”

  Michael seemed to consider that for a moment, then tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Fair enough. I assume you’re here about me and Alexis.”

  “There is no you and Alexis.”

  One dark eyebrow raised in speculation. “Is she aware of this fact?”

  Nate barely hesitated. “She will be.”

  But Michael had caught the quick pause. His dark eyes narrowed. “As soon as you figure it out for yourself, right? Wrong. You’ve already done the hot-cold thing too many times, and she deserves better.”

  Hands balled into fists, rage riding him hard, Nate advanced on his fellow Nightkeeper. “And what, exactly, do you consider ‘better’? You?”

  “In some ways, yes.” Michael unfolded from the doorway and advanced so the two of them were squared off.

  They were similar in height, and both dark haired, but as far as Nate was concerned that was where the similarities stopped. Back in Denver he’d worn Armani suits and good silk ties, got his hair cut every month in the same damn style by the same damn stylist, and ran a business that half a dozen other people depended on for their livelihoods. Michael, on the other hand, kept his hair long and flowing, his jaw artfully stubbled, and wore his trendiness like a badge. He also, as far as Nate knew, had never held down a tax-paying job in his life. He was a playboy at best, a gigolo at worst, probably somewhere in between, and Nate’s gut-check said the guy owed money to someone big and mean. The mob, maybe, or Vegas—which pretty much amounted to the same thing, depending on the circumstances.

  The two men probably weighed about the same, but whereas Nate’s bulk was mostly gained from a series of increasingly frustrated workout regimes, he rarely saw Michael in the gym downstairs, and had a feeling the other man’s muscles might look good enough, but they were as soft as his pretty hair. Which probably meant it’d be a quick fight, but he could deal with that, as long as he got a few good licks in before his opponent went down.

  Because there was sure as hell going to be a fight. He could see it in Michael’s eyes and feel it in the tension that snapped in the air between them.

  Still, though, fairness had him saying, “Look, I’m trying to work it out, okay? I’d appreciate it if you give me some room while I’m doing that.”

  “I’m sure you would.” Michael paused. “Not gonna happen. She’s asked me to help her, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Nate gritted his teeth so hard he was pretty sure he heard a molar give way. “Over my dead body.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Michael grinned, his eyes lighting with a sort of unholy glory. Then he was gone. He just freaking disappeared from the spot where he’d been standing.

  Nate stood for a second, gaping. Then, catching a hint of motion out of his peripheral vision, he spun and brought up his fists, but he was already way too late. Michael was already in midair, performing some sort of flying spin-kick that caught Nate in the temple and sent him sprawling. Nate landed, cursing, on the glass-topped coffee table. The glass didn’t break, but one of the table’s metal legs buckled, dumping him to the neutral-toned carpet. He took a burn across his cheek from the rug’s nap, and that just pissed him off worse.

  “No teleporting!” he shouted, and lunged for Michael in a flying tackle aimed square at the other man’s midsection.

  Only Michael wasn’t there when Nate arrived, meaning that Nate crashed into the wall instead, then took a brutal chop across the back of his exposed neck.

  “I can’t teleport, asshole. It’s martial arts,” Michael said derisively from somewhere behind Nate, who sagged to his hands and knees as his opponent jeered, “I’d suggest you try it, but there’s a certain requirement for rhythm, balance, and tact, and you seem to prefer the Viking throwdown.”

  Nate didn’t know if his opponent had mentioned Vikings on purpose or not, but the reference kicked his rage higher. The world clicked over to slow motion. Nate stood and saw Michael standing there, saw his mouth flapping as he danced on the balls of his feet, readying for another judo chop or some such crap. Then Nate had the satisfaction of seeing Michael’s eyes go wide when he threw a punch straight from the shoulder, right into his pretty-ass face.

  The punch connected, the impact singing up Nate’s arm. Michael’s head snapped back and he went down on the coffee table, and this time the sucker buckled completely, its legs sticking out to the sides, making it look like a squashed chrome-and-glass spider.

  Michael lunged back up with a roar, his fancy moves forgotten somewhere in a haze of testosterone, and the two men got into it for real, grappling and punching, staggering around the suite in an inelegant tangle as they fought for balance, for leverage.

  Nate was aware of someone opening the door, taking a look at what was going on, then shutting the panel again in a hurry. He was pretty sure it was one of the winikin, but his glance at the door was nearly his undoing, because Michael got in beneath his shaky guard and connected with Nate’s jaw, snapping his head back and making him see a rainbow of pain.

  “Son of a bitch!” Nate dug in and landed a decent three-punch combination he’d learned in prison, as part of the this is my ass, not yours battles he’d been forced to fight every few months. Michael grunted in pain but gave as good as he got, and they both went down in the middle of the sitting room, rolling atop the flattened tabletop.

  A chrome leg dug into Nate’s kidney, and he roared and reversed their positions. His mouth was full of blood, bringing power singing through him, but he didn’t touch the magic. He wanted the blood and pain, wanted to pound out his frustrations.

  Michael, it seemed, had a few of his own frustrations to get out. They hammered at each other for a few more minutes, grunting and cursing, bodies slicked with sweat and spittle and blood.

  Then, as though they’d planned it all along, they broke apart and flopped onto their backs, side by side, ribs heaving as they gasped like dying fish.

  “Fuck,” Michael said after a moment, “I needed that.”

  Nate laughed, then groaned when laughing hurt. “Shit. Me too.” He paused. “You’re not going to the temple with Alexis, right?”

  “Never planned on it.”

  “Okay.” Nate stared at the ceiling. “What?”

  Michael’s chuckle was a split-lipped rasp. “I’ve crossed enough people in this lifetime already; I’m not about to start thumbing my nose at the gods. They picked you for her, and I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

  “Okay,” Nate said again, hating that the whole destiny thing was actually helping him out this time. What mattered, though, was that he and Michael had an agreement, that he was going to have some room to figure out what the hell to do about Alexis. He probably ought to feel victorious or something, but instead he just felt hollow and sore. And hungry.

  At the thought of food, his stomach gave a huge growl that got them both laughing again.

  “I think that’s your cue.” Michael dragged himself to his feet, kicking a piece of chrome out of the way, then leaned down and offered Nate his hand. “Come on. Let’s see whose winikin freaks out worse when he sees the state we’re in. Five bucks says it’s yours.”

  Michael’s shirtfront was stained dark with blood, his lip split and puffy, and he was going to have a matching pair of shiners the next day. Then again, Nate figured the way his face was feeling—all swollen and strange—he probably looked about the same. He shook his head, though, as he let Michael haul him off the ground. “I’ll take tha
t bet. Carlos doesn’t freak. He lectures.”

  “Only because he’s worried about you.”

  “Don’t start unless you want another beating.”

  “Bring it on.” But Michael headed for his bedroom instead, pulling off his shirt as he went. He ducked into the bedroom and grabbed a clean button-down, then reappeared, waving a shirt in Nate’s direction. “You want?”

  “Is it as girlie as the rest of the shit you wear most of the time, or are we going landscaper for a reason today?”

  “Fuck you.” But Michael was grinning as he tossed the shirt, and as they headed out of the suite and down to the main mansion’s big, fully-stocked kitchen together, Nate was feeling about as relaxed as he had since Strike showed up at his office and hung him off the side of the building to get his attention.

  They didn’t see anybody on the way through the mansion to the kitchen, which Nate figured was probably a good thing. But when, by the time they’d killed a gallon of OJ between them, they still hadn’t seen anybody, they shared a look.

  “I don’t like this,” Michael said.

  “Me neither.” Nate headed across the sunken main room for the sliders that led to the pool and the remainder of the compound out back. If the mansion was empty, then the courtyard or the training halls were their next best bets.

  Sure enough, he could see in the distance that the Nightkeepers and winikin were gathered at the picnic tables underneath the ceiba tree.

  “Nice of them to come get us,” Michael muttered.

  Remembering the winikin head-pop he’d seen in the middle of the fight, Nate said, “I think someone tried. We scared them off.”

  “Oops.”

  Taking a couple of bagels to go, Nate and Michael headed out to join the group. When they got into range, Strike waved them to a couple of empty places. He didn’t mention anything about their bruises, just said, “Good. Now that we’re all here, we’ll get started. Anna?”

  As the king’s sister stood and moved to the front of the tables, Nate glanced around, making sure he knew where Alexis was, checking that she looked okay.

  She looked better than okay, sitting at the far end of the table in a soft sweater that made him want to touch her. The sight of her kicked his body from tune-down to overdrive, and it only got worse when he realized she wasn’t meeting his eyes, was looking everywhere but at him.

  But although he might not like it, he couldn’t blame her for having decided she was better off done with him. More, he didn’t know what he was going to do about it. He had, however, just bought himself some time to think it through. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d managed to rationalize their relationship in the months they’d been together or apart. Why did he think he’d have any better luck now? If anything, adding the Godkeeper issue into the mix just made things worse. Alexis was the sort who would want—and deserve—a commitment. She would want to be mated, want all the marks and ceremonies that went with it. All the promises . . . and the constraints. And Nate didn’t do constraints.

  “Okay, people,” Anna said, interrupting his mental log-jam. “Here’s the deal. Last night my grad student, Lucius, showed up here, having followed starscript directions left by Ambrose Ledbetter in the haunted temple where I was attacked by the nahwal last year. Lucius had followed Ledbetter’s daughter—or possibly goddaughter—to the temple, where he found a great deal of blood, along with Ledbetter’s skull. He followed the directions, hoping to find her here, and found me instead. Based on his description of the tracks in the dust near where he found the skull, and our inability to track down Sasha, it seems reasonable to think that Iago and a female accomplice snatched her from the tunnel. Strike has been unable to lock onto her for a teleport, so we have to assume she’s either being held underground . . . or she’s dead.” Anna’s rapid-fire delivery was clipped and flat, but Nate could hear pain beneath it, and guilt.

  Jade said, “Did he see any other starscript while he was there?”

  But Anna held up a hand. “Let’s wait on the questions, please. There’s more.” She paused, grimacing. “Lucius’s search was being funded, unbeknownst to me, by a woman named Desiree Soo, who is also my immediate boss . . . and my husband’s ex-mistress.”

  A collective wince went around the group at that one, and Alexis made a soft sound of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” Anna said, but her eyes were dull when she continued, “Anyway, the upshot is that Lucius checked in with Desiree before he came here. He told her about the temple, about the signs of a struggle he’d found there, and about the starscript directions he was convinced had something to do with the Nightkeepers.” Anna looked from Strike to Jox and back. “I don’t know what, if anything, Desiree will do with the information, but she knows how to find Skywatch if she wants to.”

  Surprisingly, because he sure as hell never said anything during group meetings under normal circumstances, Rabbit said, “Why does she care about the Nightkeepers?”

  “Lucius is pretty sure he saw the quatrefoil mark on her wrist,” Anna answered. “She always wears a silver cuff, so I never noticed it. But he described the Xibalbans’ mark without knowing what he really saw.”

  There was silence after that one, broken only by Rabbit’s low, “Oh, shit.”

  Nate cursed under his breath as things suddenly got a whole lot more complicated. Oh, shit, indeed.

  Anna nodded, expression grim. “She’s been at the university for five or six years now, having come over from a top Egyptology position at another school. It was a bit of a shocker, actually; she took a demotion to come to UT and head up our section of the art history department. In retrospect, and with no false modesty, I can only assume that the Xibalbans somehow learned that I wear the jaguar glyph, and Desiree put herself into a position where she could watch me closely and see if there were other survivors. She must’ve tapped into my e-mail. That would explain how Iago knew to start searching for the missing artifacts—Jade and I have exchanged a few messages. We kept the conversation general, but it could’ve tipped him off, told him what to look for and where to start.” She paused. “I’d apologize, but what would be the point? We didn’t even know we had an enemy besides the Banol Kax until a few days ago. All we can do is go forward from here.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, and Nate found himself nodding along with the others. But at the same time his mind was racing, trying to use his gamer’s strategies to figure out what the Xibalbans’ next move would be. Iago now knew where to find them. Question was, what would he do with the information?

  Rabbit sat on the outskirts of the group, practically vibrating with impatience. He wanted to get going, to get moving, to do something, anything. He was pissed that while Strike was busy worrying about what Myrinne might do if he brought her to Skywatch, Anna had screwed the pooch with her own human contacts.

  Yeah. That was fair.

  Continuing the meeting, Strike moved up the plans to send Alexis and Michael to Belize, and fast-tracked the timetable for the group heading to Boston. “Leah and I are going to ’port to Germany. Carter thinks he has a lead on the artifact linked to the seventh demon prophecy, and we’re going to go check it out.”

  On the other side of the picnic table, Nate frowned. “All due respect, but are you sure that’s a good idea? None of us is expandable, but we sure as shit can’t do without you two.” Nate looked like hell: His knuckles were scraped and swollen, and his face looked like it’d run into someone’s foot a few times. From the look of Michael, sitting next to him, Rabbit could guess whose foot. He could also guess what they’d been fighting over.

  Strike’s glance at Alexis and Jox suggested that the royal council had already had a similar debate about the advisability of his going after the seventh prophecy.

  After a moment, though, Strike answered, “The seventh demon prophecy involves Camazotz himself coming to earth, and there’s some suggestion that it trumps the other six. If we can get our hands on the altar stone that bears the pro
phecy, we might be able to figure out how to block all seven of the prophecies at once, rather than screwing around dealing with them for the next seven cardinal days in a row.” He paused, but held up a hand when Nate moved to speak. “And you’re right, that doesn’t mean it needs to be me and Leah going after the seventh prophecy. In fact, given that there’s a pretty good curse associated with possession of the altar stone, logic might suggest that someone else should go after it. Except for two things. One, I’m damn well not sending one of you on an assignment because I consider it too dangerous to do myself. If I’m not willing to take the risk, then we find another way, period. And two, the altar stone is dedicated to Kulkulkan.”

  There was a beat of silence after that, before Nate said, “Okay. Even I’m willing to admit that the god connection trumps logic.”

  “Glad you approve,” Strike said, his tone making it clear that he didn’t really give a shit whether Blackhawk liked the plan. “Moving on, I wanted to let you all know that we’ve decided to send the twins away for the next few months, until we have a better handle on Iago’s power and how much of a threat he poses to Skywatch.” The king nodded to a pair of winikin at the end of the table. “Hannah and Woody are going to take them someplace safe.”

  Rabbit straightened at the news and sent a quick look over at Patience and Brandt. But they weren’t reacting, which meant they knew already. Hell, it might’ve been their idea. Brandt hadn’t wanted the kids raised in the compound in the first place. Acid gathered in Rabbit’s stomach, both because the rug rats were leaving and because nobody had told him to his face. Up until a month or so ago, Patience and Brandt had treated him like part of their family. The more the two of them had argued, though, the less they’d seemed to want him around. Now the twins were being sent away. What the hell was going on? Were Patience and Brandt breaking up for real?