Dawnkeepers

Leaning against the doorframe to ground herself when the reflection in the mirror threatened to waver and show her things she didn’t want to see, she said, “It’s done.”

Strike nodded. “He’ll help?” But what he was really asking was, Have you bound him as your slave?

“Yes.” She hated the necessity, hated the decision, but hadn’t been able to argue either. In saving Lucius from Red-Boar’s knife she’d taken responsibility for him. The binding ritual had simply been a formal extension of that duty. Or so she was trying to tell herself.

“And the other?”

“That’s why I’m here. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t reconsidered.”

His lips twitched. “Wanted to see if I’d come to my senses, you mean.”

“Something like that.”

“Consider your objections noted.”

Fat lot of good that would do in the long run, Anna thought, but inclined her head. “I’ll make the call.”

Feeling as though she were escaping from the room, if not the duty, she headed for her own suite, which was the same one she and Strike had shared as children. Jox had overseen the renovations, yielding a pleasantly neutral space with a few personal touches in the jaguar motifs of the art prints and small trinkets on the bamboo furniture. They’d all been placed by the winikin, not her, but they did serve to warm the suite, making it fairly comfortable for the short stints she was in residence, during the cardinal days and a few other ceremonial occasions.

Now she let herself sink into the soft, earth-toned sofa and dug out her cell phone. Dialing the main university switchboard from memory, she punched in an extension and waited through two rings, then three.

Just when she was wondering how much to say on voice mail, the line went live. “Desiree Soo speaking.”

“I have Lucius,” Anna said without preamble.

There was a startled pause before Desiree said, “You can keep him. He’s served his purpose.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. We’d like to invite Iago to the compound for a parley.”

Desiree’s surprise was palpable, but she snorted. “Parley? What is this, Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“A meeting, Desiree, between your leader and mine. March thirteenth. And your agreement that the Xibalbans won’t come after us between now and then.”

“The day after Saturn at Opposition? What, you think your ancestors are going to come through and tell you how to get hold of the remaining artifacts? Keep dreaming.”

Anna dug her fingernails into her scarred palms, determined not to let the bitch bait her. “Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Where can I reach you?”

“Leave a yes/no on my office voice mail. I’ll be back in town tomorrow, the day after at the latest.”

“Interesting.” Desiree paused, then said sweetly, “Would you like me to let your husband know of your plans? Apparently he expected you back from your ‘meeting,’ ”—there were obvious finger-

quotes in the words—“the day before yesterday, and couldn’t reach you on your cell.”

“Don’t trouble yourself; I’ll call him,” Anna said through gritted teeth, and cut the connection.

Once they’d figured out that Desiree was Xibalban, and had most likely been sent to the university solely to keep an eye on Anna, it was a logical extension to assume she’d gone after Dick for additional inside information, and probably for leverage. That didn’t make his infidelity any less galling, but it made Desiree’s part in it that much more insidious.

Hating that she’d bought into the bitch’s manipulation, Anna dialed Dick’s cell phone, intending to apologize for not checking in sooner. She couldn’t tell him about Lucius and the Xibalbans, and would have to explain away the ajawlel mark as another on-a-whim tattoo, when he wasn’t too crazy about the ones she already wore. But though there were so many things she couldn’t tell him, so many little lies, she wanted to talk to him, wanted to hear his voice and remember her real life, and the man she’d made that life with.

When the call dumped to voice mail, though, she didn’t know what to say. So she hung up without speaking and just sat there on the sofa, staring at the one personal touch that had found its way into her room, borrowed from the training hall with Rabbit’s permission.

The boar-bloodline death mask might’ve been an impulse buy on Alexis’s part, but Anna was grateful for the impulse, because looking at the mask made her think not of Red-Boar, but of the fact that in some cases, death was only the beginning of the great cycle, the start of the next life.

At this point she was starting to hope she got it right in her next life, because her current one was turning into a train wreck.

In the weeks following the trip to Belize, Nate felt like he was rattling around Skywatch, disjointed and out of step with himself.

He and Alexis had brought the carved fragment back and united it with the main statuette, and watched in awe while the pieces had knit, going molten and then seaming together with a hum of magic and color, creating an entire whole. Then they, along with most everyone else in residence at the compound, had gathered outside later that night. When the starlight had come, the full demon prophecy had been revealed.

Lucius had done the translation, because Anna had returned to her husband. The shaggy-haired grad student, who Jade said seemed to be alternating between fascination at being among the Nightkeepers and deep depression at being a slave, had parsed out the glyphs, copying them down on the kitted-out laptop Anna had sent from the university. Even before the program had confirmed the translation, he’d quietly intoned, “ ‘The first son of Camazotz succeeds unless the Volatile is found.’” Which told them nothing new, really, and sort of made the cave trip seem like a waste.

Jade and Lucius’s research had turned up a couple of references to the Volatile, indicating that he was male and a shape-shifter, which put him firmly on the bad-guy side of life, as far as the Nightkeepers were concerned. A great deal of post-Classical Mayan religious practices were based on the idea that their kings were gods, and capable of turning into sacred creatures, mostly jaguars. That, however, was due to the influence of the Order of Xibalba, which seemed to have worshiped a mimiclike shape-shifter that could take on many forms. The Nightkeepers, in contrast, wanted nothing to do with shifters, who had the rep of being fiercely independent at best, dangerously unstable at worst.

At the same time, the word “volatile” was also associated with the daylight hours and the levels of heaven. Which meant there was no telling whether the Volatile named in the demon prophecy was a Xibalban—maybe even Iago himself?—or something else. They weren’t even sure the Volatile was a shifter; the info was that foggy. It was also perplexing that the demon prophecy discussing the Volatile had been written on the statuette of the rainbow goddess, yet didn’t say jack about what Ixchel was supposed to do.

The facts that the rainbow goddess’s statuette held the prophecy and that she’d formed the Godkeeper bond with Alexis suggested that Ixchel should be instrumental in defeating the first of Camazotz’s sons . . . yet the prophecy directed them to the Volatile. Did that mean they were supposed to hand over Alexis to the Xibalbans? That was so not happening as far as Nate was concerned.

Alexis had become more and more withdrawn as the debate had dragged on. Nate had tried to engage her, tried to have a sit-down, but she’d been distant and had quickly excused herself each time.

He couldn’t blame her, really. And in a way her detachment was a bonus, because it had somehow weakened the crackle of magic between them, blunting the sexual energy. Maybe the statuette was somehow helping her channel the goddess’s powers without his help. Maybe the magic was lessening as the barrier thickened, cycling between the eclipse and the approaching opposition. Or maybe he’d finally managed to gain control over his attraction to her, to the point that he could make a decision for himself, one that wasn’t dictated by politics or power.

That should’ve made him feel better. Thing was, he didn’t, not in the slightest. He was snarly and out of sorts, humming with an edgy energy that he didn’t recognize. Working himself into exhaustion down in the gym didn’t help; if anything that made his mood worse, with the added annoyance of sore hamstrings. Training didn’t help; research didn’t help. Hell, he couldn’t even work on VW6; Hera was still stuck midstory, not sure if she wanted to partner with Nameless or behead him.

And yeah, Nate could see the parallels between the storyboard and his and Alexis’s on-again, off-