‘‘We’re making new ones now. We have no choice.’’
Now she did turn to him, her blue eyes wet with tears and hard with accusation. ‘‘There’s always a choice. This is America. Land of the free and home of the brave, et cetera.’’
‘‘You know better than that,’’ he said, hurting for her but at the same time feeling the kick of too-ready anger. ‘‘We are, as we have always been, a culture living within another. We live alongside America but we’re not part of it.’’ They couldn’t follow human laws while doing the things they would need to do over the next few years.
‘‘I’m part of it,’’ she said, but her voice was wistful. ‘‘I have a husband, a job I love, friends who care about me. The perfect normal life.’’ There was an edge to her voice that suggested it wasn’t as simple as that, but she continued, ‘‘I don’t want to be here. I can’t help you.’’
‘‘Yes, you can. The question is, will you? Like you said, it’s a free country. You know where the garage is. Keys are on the pegboard.’’ The prickles of anger had him aiming low. ‘‘I’m sure Jox wouldn’t begrudge you his jeep. Gods know you took more than that the last time you ran.’’
She turned to face him, glaring. ‘‘I didn’t take a damn thing that wasn’t mine to take.’’
‘‘You took yourself. I didn’t have that option.’’ He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even known he was feeling it, but once the words were out there, they gained weight and truth. He’d wanted to run like she had, wanted to break away from Jox and Red-Boar and the calendar that ruled their lives, the waiting.
‘‘Immaterial now, isn’t it?’’ she said. ‘‘We’re right back where we started.’’
He let out a long breath. ‘‘Yeah. Sometimes that whole history-repeating-itself thing really blows, doesn’t it?’’
That startled a laugh out of her, and for some reason, maybe because of the familiar push-pull that hadn’t changed since they’d butted heads over the masking-tape line as children, or maybe because the situation with Leah was teaching him that sometimes the circumstances were what complicated the emotions, it was suddenly easy for him to drape an arm over his sister’s shoulders and hug her against his side.
She leaned into him, looping an arm around his waist. ‘‘I missed you.’’
‘‘Back atcha.’’
And for a moment, a few precious heartbeats, it was enough to stand there with his sister and watch a high cloud scud across the blue sky above the canyon wall and feel, if not complete, at least like some small piece of his life had come to rest where it belonged. For now, anyway.
Too soon, though, he had to break the short peace. ‘‘I hate to push, but we don’t have much time. There’s an ajaw-makol out there. I need to find him, need to kill him before the equinox.’’ It wouldn’t solve the Godkeeper problem, but it would be a major step in the right direction.
But Anna was already shaking her head. ‘‘I can’t control the visions,’’ she said. ‘‘Hell, I can barely see anything. A few times, like when I saw Lucius in trouble, it’s blasted me out of nowhere. But when I try to see . . . I get nothing.’’ She shrugged, the motion transmitting where they leaned against each other, comfortable together despite so long apart. ‘‘I think I’m blocking subconsciously. ’’
Strike was disappointed but not surprised. Gods knew her powers had brought her nothing but pain so far. Why wouldn’t she want to stop them?
He shifted to face her, dipping into the pocket of his jeans and withdrawing the yellow quartz effigy carved in the shape of a skull. He held it out to her. ‘‘This will probably help.’’
Something moved in her expression—a complicated mix of pain, regret, and reserve, along with reluctant eagerness. She took the pendant, let the chain trickle through her fingers while the skull rested on her palm. Then she closed her fingers around the effigy and nodded, accepting the responsibility that went with it. ‘‘Thank you.’’
Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘‘There’s something else. I need your help going up against Jox and Red-Boar, and it’s probably going to get ugly.’’
She nodded. ‘‘Of course.’’ There was no question, no discussion, just ‘‘of course.’’
Something loosened a little inside him. ‘‘Okay, here’s the deal.’’ He gave her the five-minute rundown, starting with the dreams he and Leah had both experienced prior to the summer solstice, and going up through the nahwal ’s answers to the three-question ritual. When he got to the part about needing to either free Kulkulkan or bring him through the barrier, he saw something kindle in Anna’s expression. He broke off. ‘‘What is it?’’
‘‘I think I know someone who might be able to help.’’
Strike called a council of war that afternoon, beneath the ceiba tree that symbolized life and community. By the time Leah got out there, the others were already seated on either side of the long picnic table, with Strike at its head. He pointed to the empty space on his right and said simply, ‘‘Yours.’’
She was no expert in the hierarchy department, but the dark looks that one word earned her from Red-Boar and Jox suggested it was a position of power, probably the queen’s spot. She might’ve argued, might’ve sat at the far end of the table in a vain effort to make a point she wasn’t even sure of anymore, but the look Strike shot her said, Don’t even think it, Blondie.
So she sat.
On either side of her ranged the other Nightkeepers, with the winikin beyond them. Nate and Alexis were sitting as far away from each other as possible, suggesting that their relationship hadn’t survived the talent ceremony and subsequent drop in the mating urge. Sven was staring off into space, Rabbit was hiding beneath a pulled-down hoodie and a sneer, and the other four— Patience, Brandt, Jade, and Michael—looked like they’d shown up ready for anything.
Leah, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what she was ready for. The midmorning sex—and subsequent fight— had left her feeling shaky and out of sorts. She didn’t really know where things stood with Strike, and when she caught his eye all she got was a hard, no-nonsense look she wasn’t at all used to from him.
‘‘Okay,’’ he said when everyone was settled. ‘‘Here’s the deal.’’ To her surprise, he brought them all up to speed on the ‘‘situation,’’ even though he’d indicated earlier that he was limiting the confab to Jox and Red-Boar.
Even more surprising, from the looks on their faces, this was the first the two senior members of the group were hearing about the Kulkulkan connection. While the trainees and other winikin were wincing and glancing at Leah with expressions of Dude, major bad luck, Jox and Red-Boar just looked pissed.
The elder Nightkeeper’s face flushed and his eyes went steely, but when he would’ve interrupted, Strike held up a hand. ‘‘Let’s wait on the questions—and the insults—until I’m done. What we’re looking for now is a way to either bring Kulkulkan through the barrier in one piece or cut him loose so he can return to the sky— without endangering Leah, the god, or the skyroad.’’
‘‘Our entire system is based on sacrifice,’’ Red-Boar snapped. ‘‘Yet you want to work perhaps the biggest spell there is without anybody getting hurt?’’
Strike glared at him. ‘‘What I want is for us to think outside the box. Anna knows a guy who might be able to help.’’ He waved for his sister to take over.
‘‘His name is Ambrose Ledbetter.’’ Anna passed around a Web site printout that showed an unremarkable-looking guy with remarkably bad posture and a scowl not unlike the one Red-Boar was wearing. ‘‘He’s prickly as hell and regularly disappears into the rain forest for months at a time, but he’s one of the best Mayanists on the planet.’’
‘‘I read a few of his articles when I was researching Survivor2012,’’ Leah said. She glanced at Anna, whom she’d met briefly in the kitchen earlier in the day. ‘‘Read a few of yours, too. You guys didn’t seem to agree on much of anything.’’
‘‘True,’’ Anna agreed. ‘‘But my theorie
s were based in part on knowing the barrier was sealed, and believing it was going to stay that way. His were . . . well, I’m not sure where he got some of his information, but now it looks like he was right.’’
‘‘What makes you think he knows anything relevant about the human’s problem?’’ Red-Boar asked, still refusing to call Leah by name.
‘‘Every now and then,’’ Anna replied, ‘‘he publishes something on the Web or in one of the smaller journals that makes me think he knows more about Nightkeeper magic than he ought to.’’
Now Red-Boar looked at her. ‘‘Meaning?’’
‘‘I think he knows the location of at least one of the lost temples.’’ Seeing a few frowns of confusion from the trainees, she said, ‘‘During Mayan times, the Nightkeepers maintained a separate temple for each of the major gods. When the conquistadors burned our libraries and scholars, the temple locations went up in flames with them.’’
‘‘The Pyramid of Kulkulkan is the focal point of Chichén Itzá,’’ Jade said in her soft, barely-above-a-whisper voice. ‘‘Wouldn’t that have been the center of his worship?’’
‘‘For the Maya, yes,’’ Anna agreed. ‘‘But there was another center for the Nightkeepers’ worship. If we can find it, maybe the inscriptions will give us a hint how to help Kulkulkan escape from the skyroad.’’
‘‘And maybe not,’’ Red-Boar said. ‘‘Probably not.’’
‘‘From what Ledbetter’s written over the years, I think he has some of the lost spells,’’ Anna countered. ‘‘It doesn’t matter what you think of Leah, or even what you think of Strike. If we can get our hands on those spells, wouldn’t it be worth the trip?’’
She held his eyes until he gave a curt, dismissive nod. ‘‘Good,’’ Strike said. ‘‘Get your stuff together. I’ll zap you and Anna down south as soon as you’re ready. Oh, and bring a weapon.’’
Red-Boar’s eyes blanked. ‘‘I thought Ledbetter was a professor.’’
‘‘Apparently he’s done one of his solo disappearing acts into the field. The Guatemalan highlands, to be exact.’’ Strike fixed the senior Nightkeeper with a look. ‘‘Go pack.’’
And, to Leah’s surprise, Red-Boar did exactly that.
The meeting broke up soon after, once Strike had run through the training schedule for the next few days leading up to the equinox, and Jox had added some housekeeping complaints. When the trainees and winikin dispersed to their tasks, it seemed to Leah that they looked more resolute and, in a way, relieved.
It was Strike, she realized, sliding him a look.
He was deep in discussion with Anna, his head cocked at an angle as he considered something she was saying. Even standing at ease with his sister, he projected an aura of command he’d been missing before, a sense that it was his way or get-the-fuck-out.
He’d lost weight, she realized suddenly, as though what little excess he’d had before had been burned away by the events of the past few weeks. His high cheekbones stood out sharper, and his eyes were a little more sunken beneath his dark brows, a little more intense in their gleam. And beneath yet another black T-shirt, she could practically count his ribs and the ripped six-pack of his abdomen.
Lust kindled in her belly. They’d had each other only hours earlier, but she wanted him again, now, wanted to get her hands on him, and her mouth.
As if she’d said the words aloud, his head came up and his eyes fixed on hers. The desire flared hotter, tempered with an edge of nerves. The man she’d ass-slapped ten days earlier over issues of leadership was gone. In his place was the ruler she’d wanted him to become.
And damned if he wasn’t intimidating as hell. In a totally hot, sexy way, yes, but still, Leah found herself backing up a few steps as he crossed to her, staring into her eyes, making her feel stalked. He stopped a few feet away, yet she could feel his body heat on her skin, feel his energy slide against hers, dark against light.
She licked her lips in an effort to wet her suddenly dry mouth. ‘‘Nice job. With the meeting, I mean.’’ Inwardly she thought, Man up and be a cop. You know this guy. You can handle him. Nothing’s changed.
But something had very definitely changed. It was like he’d come to some sort of inner decision, one he hadn’t yet shared with her—if he even intended to.
He leaned in and dropped his voice to an intimate rumble, even though there was nobody within earshot. ‘‘I had Jox move my things into the royal suite. It’s time.’’
A shimmer of awareness touched her skin, a quiver of nerves. ‘‘Am I . . . where am I staying?’’
‘‘Your call.’’ He didn’t ask her to stay, didn’t tell her he’d like it if she did. Just left it up to her. Her choice. Her commitment. Damn it.
She should put some distance between them now, before he figured out what she was planning and made it impossible. It was the smart thing to do, the right thing. But she heard herself say, ‘‘I’m staying.’’
He nodded once, then turned and strode back toward the mansion, looking every inch the king in a black T-shirt and jeans. And damned if she didn’t want to chase after him.
Instead, she headed in the opposite direction, back out to the shooting range, where she unloaded clip after clip of jade-tips into the shredded practice dummies, imagining that every single one of them was wearing Zipacna’s face.
The section of rain forest where Anna, Strike, and Red-Boar zapped in was moist and fecund and smelled disconcertingly like antibacterial Febreze. Once Strike zapped back out, Anna checked her handheld GPS and set off in the direction Ledbetter’s grad student had indicated.
It couldn’t have been someone easy to find, like Harts-horn or Cortes at the Institute of the Yucatán, or even Foohey up in Ottawa. They all had home bases and scheduled lectures, conferences, and tours. No, it had to be Ledbetter, who had all of those things and blithely ignored them to disappear into the highlands for months at a time, but got away with it because he was deranged enough—and brilliant enough—that everyone called him eccentric rather than unreliable. That had worked in her favor, though. She’d been able to bribe his senior grad student to give her Ledbetter’s approximate coordinates by dangling the promise of a job at UT.
It wasn’t so much that the program in Austin was better, but the head epigrapher at UT—namely Anna— had less of a rep for flaking out.
Between magic and GPS, she figured they were maybe two miles from Ledbetter’s camp. Within a half hour of hard hiking, her calves were burning, reminding her that the stair stepper was her friend, not just a place to hang dry cleaning. But she didn’t complain, because what would be the point? Red-Boar didn’t care if her feet hurt. He didn’t care about anything but the past. Never had.
But when she sighed, he paused, looked back, and said, ‘‘Need a break?’’
‘‘Several, but not of the kind you’re thinking,’’ she said drily, then motioned for him to keep going. ‘‘We don’t have time for a sit-down. I’m fine.’’ More or less.
He looked at her for a long moment, then turned away without comment.
Anna followed him, her eyes glued to his wide shoulders, trying not to envision the scars she knew crisscrossed his back beneath the long-sleeved shirt he wore tucked into camo pants and hitched with a stocked weapons belt. She wore the same, though her belt wasn’t loaded with nearly as much firepower. Her aim was notorious, and not in a good way.
Shrugging beneath her light pack, she tried to resettle the load, which suddenly seemed off-kilter. Faint nausea stirred, though she wasn’t sure if it was hunger or teleport sickness. Thinking to drown whatever it was, she reached for her bottle of purified water.
She had the bottle halfway to her lips when she realized it wasn’t nerves or hunger. It was power. Not the kind she was used to, but a deeper, darker kind that grabbed her by the gut and squeezed, making her want to run and hide.
Ahead of her, Red-Boar stepped through a curtain of hanging vines into the sunlight.
‘‘Wait!’’ she cried,
but he’d already stopped dead.
He turned back, expression grim. ‘‘Stay here.’’
‘‘What is it?’’ Ignoring his order, she stepped up beside him.
They stood on the edge of a small clearing. Or not a clearing, she realized. At some time in the past, a sinkhole had broken through, allowing access to one of the subterranean rivers that formed the only source of freshwater in the Yucatán. Over time, the sinkhole—called a cenote—had filled with leaves and organics that eventually became soil, capping off the cenote and creating new ground within a perfectly circular depression.
The Maya had believed the cenotes were entrances to the underworld; they had probably thrown sacred offerings into the sinkhole. The magic of those now-buried sacrifices would have accounted for a normal power surge. But there was nothing normal about the darkness Anna sensed. Power hummed through her hiking boots, feeling purple and black and discordant. Drawn by the magic, simultaneously fascinated and repelled, she approached the cenote, testing each step before she put her weight down.
‘‘Don’t.’’ Red-Boar’s single word was less of a command than a plea, as though he already knew what she would find.
Then again, so did she. The air stank of death.
It wasn’t until she reached the center of the depression that she sank into the dirt beneath her feet, not because the cap sealing off access to the subterranean river was giving way, but because the ground itself had been disturbed. She didn’t need to see the churned-up earth beneath a scattering of leafy camouflage to know that she was standing atop a human grave. She could tell by the smell of death, of violence.
Her heart ached for a man she’d barely known.
‘‘It might not be Ledbetter,’’ she said, knowing it probably was. The makol had beaten them there, taking away a valuable resource.
Red-Boar didn’t argue, simply made a wide berth around her, knelt, and used the flat of his machete to scrape away the soft covering at one end. He didn’t have to go far. Only a few inches down, he uncovered fairly fresh human remains that started at the neck, with dark, raw flesh and a severed vertebral column.
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