Nightkeepers

‘‘No.’’ He projected everything he could into the word, wanting—needing—her to believe him. To believe in him. ‘‘Our magic is mostly autosacrifice. Self-bloodletting. It’s very rare for one Nightkeeper to blood another.’’ He leaned in so their faces were very close together when he said, ‘‘We’re the good guys, Leah. My father sacrificed almost our entire race to close the barrier. We were waiting for the end date to pass so we could finally live our lives. No way any of us did what you’re describing.’’

‘‘Then who did?’’

‘‘Zipacna,’’ Strike said, and there was no doubt in his mind. ‘‘Either the barrier thinned enough that one of the Banol Kax reached through to him, or he found one of the lost spells and made contact from this side.’’

‘‘You said Vince was a makol, too,’’ Leah said, ‘‘but he hated Survivor2012. He was convinced they killed Matty—heck, it was his idea to crash that party. And you said before that the makol ritual only works on evil-minded people, or someone who accepts evil in exchange for power. So how could he be—’’ She broke off. Then she scrubbed both hands across her face and halfway screamed, ‘‘Aah!’’

‘‘What?’’

She dropped her hands and looked at him, shaking her head, eyes bleak. ‘‘This is . . . ridiculous. I can’t even believe I’m treating this discussion like it’s real. Do you ever listen to yourself and think that what you’re saying sounds completely insane? Like you should be waiting for the mother ship?’’

‘‘This is religion, not an alien abduction.’’

‘‘Depending on who you talk to, there’s not much difference.’’

‘‘Then why are you still here?’’

‘‘Because of the dreams,’’ she said, avoiding his eyes a little, her color riding high, making him very aware of the curve of her jaw, the long line of her neck. ‘‘And because Matty . . .’’ She faltered. ‘‘I need to know why he picked Matty.’’

But the ajaw-makol hadn’t just picked her brother, Strike realized suddenly. Zipacna had brought her to the sacred chamber at the solstice. Vince had drawn her back into the Survivor2012 compound when Red-Boar’s mind-bending had told her to leave it alone. Itchy had held her prisoner in her own house, no doubt under his master’s orders.

When he put those things together, it started to look like her brother hadn’t been the main target of any of this. She was.

But why?

As Strike had done the first time they met, he took her right hand and turned it palm up. He traced his thumb across a small square of puckered, roughened skin on her inner forearm. ‘‘Tell me about this scar.’’

She looked away. ‘‘It’s nothing. I don’t even remember getting it.’’

‘‘Leah,’’ he said quietly.

That brought her eyes back to him, but she shook her head. ‘‘Please. Tell me about Zipacna.’’

He knew he should push. Instead, he said, ‘‘In the Nightkeepers’ pantheon, he’s a vicious, vindictive piece of work with a taste for blood and the ability to appear as a winged crocodile. His father is one of the rulers of Xibalba, which gives him a power boost.’’

‘‘I meant the guy in Miami.’’

‘‘I know.’’ Carter’s report on the leader of Survivor 2012 had included a few grainy, overenlarged photos and a sketchy history that went a whopping six years back. ‘‘You probably know way more about him than I do.’’

‘‘In other words, almost nothing,’’ Leah said grimly. ‘‘What I want to know is whether he killed my brother and Nick. Whether Vince died because of what Zipacna made him.’’

Strike nodded slowly. ‘‘My gut says yes to all three.’’

‘‘I hear a ‘but’ in your voice.’’

‘‘That would be the part where I say, ‘but I can’t let you go after him.’ ’’

She pulled her hands away, eyes going hard. ‘‘Sorry, Ace. You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do.’’

Yeah, but I have a couple of overflow storage lockers in the basement that’d keep you out of trouble, he thought. He didn’t say that, though, because for one, he didn’t want to turn this into a battle . . . and for another, he figured he should probably hold the lockup idea in reserve, just in case. So instead he said, ‘‘This is bigger than both of us, and I think you know it, or at least suspect that it might be.’’

‘‘You really, truly think the world is going to end,’’ she said softly. It wasn’t a question.

‘‘I believe that the next few months are going to determine exactly that,’’ he said, going with a half-truth. Then he added, ‘‘The Nightkeepers believe the world exists in a series of repeating cycles, both spiritual and cosmic, all of which are going to intersect on the end date. The Great Conjunction is coming no matter what we do— that’s an astrological fact. It’s up to us to block the spiritual side of things. It’s what our ancestors lived for. What our parents died for.’’ He took a deep breath. Let it out. ‘‘I’m the king’s son, which means I have a responsibility to my people and what we’re bound to do over the next four-plus years. If I were just a man . . .’’

He leaned in and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, and his blood heated when she trembled at his touch.

‘‘Yeah, well . . .’’ She pulled away from him and stood, moving away a few feet so she could stare out across the compound, past the cottages and ball court to the pueblo-dotted canyon walls beyond, all of which were going purple-red with the approach of dusk. ‘‘Don’t think I’m staying away from Zipacna just because you’re hot.’’

His lips twitched. ‘‘Not even if I offer to be your sex slave?’’

‘‘Are you offering?’’