Skykeepers (36 page)

“But if the Xibalbans are an offshoot of the Nightkeepers,” Sasha said, thinking aloud, “then how did they come up with a different zero date? Is there a conjunction on the earlier date, too?”

Anna shook her head. “If you ask me, it’s an artificial date, one designed to preempt the Nightkeepers’ end-time.”

“It might work, too,” Michael said grimly. “If Iago’s magic is stronger than we think, and he’s truly managed to trap the
Banol Kax
in Xibalba, we could be in serious trouble here.”

“I think it’s more likely that it suits the lords of darkness to remain below for now,” Anna said. “But you’re right that we could be in trouble, either way. Which is why I think we need to plan a raid on the haunted temple as soon as possible. Hopefully, we can get past the demi-
nahwal
now that we have Sasha with us.” She paused, then looked at Sasha. “We need the library now more than ever. Please tell me you’ve got an idea of what we should do.”

Sasha nodded. “Maybe.”
Hopefully
. “The
ch’ulel
talent didn’t work on Rabbit, but as Strike pointed out, those of you who’ve found your talents outside of a formal talent ceremony have done so in the process of saving someone you love. I think we can make that work for us here.”

Strike raised an eyebrow and looked from her to Michael and back. “How?”

She smiled, well aware that the expression carried an edge. “This doesn’t involve Michael. I’m talking about Ambrose. We had a . . . difficult relationship, but I did love him.” She paused. “If I can use that love, or what’s left of it, to trigger the
ch’ulel
talent and heal his spirit, I might be able to bring him back to his version of sanity. At a minimum, I may be able to prevent him from attacking us. Who knows? I might even get him to lead us to the scroll, or answer some questions.” Gods knew she had plenty of those.

There was a moment of speculative silence before Strike nodded, a smile curving his lips. “Yeah. That could work. Let’s do it.”

“The hell,” Michael growled. “No way she’s going in there. Or have you all forgotten what the demi-
nahwal
did to Anna?” He rounded on Sasha. “He made her slash her wrists and she damn near bled out. Sound familiar?”

Her stomach knotted, but she forced a sharp-edged smile. “I’m an old pro, thanks. And I don’t remember asking your permission for any of this.”

His eyes snapped to her. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized he’d been deliberately not looking at her through most of the meeting. He’d touched her just twice, once playing footsie, and again during her formal acceptance into the group. He’d been banking his magic those two times, she realized, because now, when he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, his touch all but seared her with red-gold power tainted with that strange, compelling power she’d sensed in him the previous night.

In a flash, the hormones were there inside her, wanting him.
Damn them.

She nearly jerked back, but forced herself not to. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t touch me. Or if you’re going to touch me, then
touch me
, for chrissake. Make up your mind—do you want me or not?” In that moment she didn’t care that they had an audience of nearly two dozen, and that she’d be living with all of them for the foreseeable future. All she cared about was getting through Michael’s thick-assed skull that he couldn’t push her away with one hand while touching her with the other. It was making her crazy, and she didn’t do crazy.

For a moment she thought he was actually going to answer her, that he might finally let rip with what was really going on inside his head. Instead he shoved to his feet. “Shit.” To Strike, he said, “I’ll catch up with you later on the planning. Just keep one thing in mind: If she goes into the haunted temple, I’m going in with her. That’s not negotiable.” He followed up that declaration by stalking off along the path that bifurcated out of sight, one branch leading to the firing range, the other to the ball court. He didn’t look back.

“And there he goes,” Sasha murmured, too annoyed to be embarrassed, too tired of his inconsistency to be truly surprised, or even all that hurt, though she suspected that would hit her later, in private. “Pain in my ass.”

A muffled snort from Jade made her feel better, though it probably shouldn’t have. For a second, she was tempted to ask the others about the strange silver magic. But she didn’t.

Muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath, Strike turned away from watching Michael’s strategic retreat, and returned to the matter at hand. “We’ll start at the campsite and exhume Ambrose’s body. Maybe that will attract his spirit outside of its normal boundaries, allowing you to talk to it where it’s not necessarily at its strongest. We need to recover the corpse regardless.”

Sasha nodded gratefully. “I promised him a proper burial.” She flashed back on that last time she’d seen him, when he’d asked for the old promise once again. Working the time line, she’d realized that had been right after the summer solstice, when the barrier had reawakened. He must’ve sensed it somehow, despite having been severed from the barrier. He’d known, and he’d gone south to the temple. Maybe he’d intended to reconnect himself somehow, and bring her proof of the magic. Who knew?

“He’ll get his funerary rites,” Strike promised.

“Red-Boar . . .” Anna’s voice caught a little on the name, then steadied as she continued, “Red-Boar and I buried the remains near the cenote clearing. I didn’t have any trouble with the mad—um, with the demi-
nahwal
until we got closer.” She paused, then asked Sasha, “Do you have any thoughts on the dogs you saw in your vision?”

She’d thought about them numerous times, thank you very much. Big, gaping jaws tended to make an impression. But in all honesty she had to say, “Michael didn’t have much trouble neutralizing them, so I don’t think they’re an actual threat to us in this context. More bark than bite, and all that. Besides, it was a vision. I’m not sure why, but my instincts say they weren’t really part of the scene, that they were in the vision to tell me something else. Question is, what?”

Anna pursed her lips. “Dogs play any number of parts in Mayan, Aztec, and Nightkeeper mythology, but if we stick with the big one that seems the most relevant at the moment, we’re looking at the sky. More specifically, the sun.”

A chill ran across Sasha’s skin. She wasn’t the only one who looked upward at the pale, orange-tinted ball hanging midsky.

On the other side of the table, Jox frowned. “You think the dogs Sasha saw were the companions?”

“Companions?” Sasha queried.

“According to legend, the Mayan sun god, Kinich Ahau, starts at one horizon and travels across the sky each day, shedding light so mankind and his crops can flourish, et cetera, et cetera. When he reaches the other horizon, he enters the underworld and Night Jaguar takes over the sky. During the night, Kinich Ahau has to sneak through Xibalba without getting caught; he has two companions to help him get through the challenges of the underworld—a couple of black dogs. They help guide the sun god beneath the plane of mankind, until he comes out on the opposite horizon each morning as the sunrise.”

Sasha looked up into the strange orange sky. “So why would I see these companions in my vision?”

Anna turned her palms up. “If we’re lucky, the answer to that one too will be in the haunted temple.”

Sasha nodded. Forcing herself not to look in the direction of the ball court, she said to Strike and the others, “Okay. Let’s pick a day.”

Strike glanced at the sky. “The next conjunction of any real power is going to be the Geminid meteor shower.”

“Which is when?” Sasha asked.

“It peaks on the fourteenth.”

Sasha grimaced. That was eleven days away, and just seven days prior to the winter solstice. “There’s nothing sooner?”

“Sorry, that’s the best we’ve got. Besides, there’s the connection between Gemini and twins. Could give us a bit more of a boost than otherwise.”

“Then that’ll be the day.” Suddenly realizing she’d taken over a meeting—and a decision—that wasn’t hers to take or make, she spread her hands in the king’s direction. “Sorry. Habit. I always got in trouble with the head chefs for overstepping.”

“It’s your plan, your temple, your foster father, and your talent,” he said reasonably. “I’d say you’ve got the right.”

For a few heartbeats, the statement of support made her feel very alone, as though he’d just stuck her out in front of their tiny army. Which made her wonder whether this was how their father had felt, leading the Nightkeepers into battle when so many of his advisers had argued against the move. And that brought a nasty parallel to mind. The jaguars didn’t just have the reputation for being stubborn and rule benders, she knew. They also had a habit of being led into trouble by their dreams and visions, believing in portents that others didn’t see. Strike had defied the thirteenth prophecy to take Leah as his queen, based on his visions, and had nearly paid the ultimate price. Their father had led the Nightkeepers to slaughter on the weight of his dreams.

“What if . . .” She trailed off, then forced herself to say it. “Do you think I could be misinterpreting the vision? What if the scroll isn’t in the temple, after all?”

Strike turned his scarred palms to the sky. “We do our best. It’s all the gods can ask of us these days.”

Late that night, exhausted enough that he thought he might finally be able to sleep, Michael dragged his ass into the mansion through the garage, doing his damnedest to avoid anyone seeing him. He didn’t want the looks, or the questions.

When he’d first arrived at Skywatch, he’d been a hundred percent into his salesman persona—a little too slick and pretty, a lot insubstantial. That had been the Nightkeepers’ first impression of him, and he’d only reinforced it in the weeks and months after the talent ceremony, when he’d been so fucked-up inside his own head, he’d clung to the familiar, easy role, one that had seemed so much safer than the thing he’d rediscovered within himself. And now, even though he’d been evolving over the past six months, he could tell that he was backsliding in their eyes.
That’s just the way he is
, he could see them thinking, and wished to hell it could be different, wished he could make them understand. But he couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

He was doing what he had to in order to keep Sasha safe, to keep her whole. And if he was the only one who could ever know it, then he’d have to be satisfied with that. He
would
be satisfied with that, he told himself, as long as it meant she was safe. He hated the idea of her going into the temple after Ambrose, but if she was determined to do it, then he’d be right behind her. And if the demi-
nahwal
went after her, it would have to get through him first.

On that thought, he turned the back corner leading to the residential wing. And stopped dead, then ducked back behind a concealing corner pillar at the sight of Sasha lingering in the doorway to her suite with Sven standing too near her, an arm braced above her on the door frame. Sven leaned in and said something, then smiled when she laughed.

Sick, dark anger sluiced through Michael in an instant, curdling his blood and making him want to kill. And for a split second, even the rational side of him actually considered it, wanting in that instant nothing more than to remove Sven from Sasha’s presence. Permanently. Michael tasted blood, and for a heartbeat thought it was the Other sending him more death images, almost welcomed them. Except he knew damn well that the sluice gates were closed, the dam secure. He’d meditated long and hard on his defenses, sharpening the skills until he shook with the effort. No, the blood didn’t come from the Other; it came from him. He’d bitten his own tongue until it bled, bringing power and madness, bringing danger—not to himself, but to the man who stood no more than thirty feet away, being his usual careless, charming self.

Michael wanted to charge down the hall and yank Sven away from her, wanted to sweep Sasha up in his arms and take her, brand her as his own. But she’d been right to call him on his bullshit earlier in the day. It wasn’t fair to her—to either of them—for him to play around the edges of the attraction, going as far as he could without summoning the darkness, without it seeing her and drawing her in. Then, when he went too far, pulling back and shutting her down. If there was a male version of a cock tease, the split inside him had him in danger of being that guy, at least when it came to her. He wanted her, but couldn’t have her. Which meant he should stay the fuck away from her already.

The hallway noncuddle broke up, with Sven sketching a wave and heading back to the main mansion, undoubtedly to hit the rec room for some
Grand Theft Auto
or some such shit, not having a clue how close he’d come to nonexistence. Sasha angled to disappear into her suite, but then paused, turned, and fixed Michael with a look. “Well?” she said, her voice sharp with challenge.

He froze for a second, then straightened and stepped out from behind the column to stand, unspeaking. Not because he didn’t want to talk to her, but because he’d already said everything he was physically able to say to her, and it wasn’t enough. They both knew it wasn’t enough.

She stared at him for nearly a minute, as though waiting to see if he would finally explain what the hell was going on. When he didn’t move, didn’t say a word, she turned away, stepped past the door, and shut it firmly at her back. After a moment, he let himself into his own suite three doors down and slept a few hours, alone, exhausted, and plagued by dreams of love and death, and the blurred line between the two.