Skykeepers

Nightkeeper and Xibalban magic. tzomplanti —A ceremonial pile formed of stacked human skulls, used as a beacon or a warning sign. Although sometimes associated with the Maya, it is Aztec in origin. writs—Written by the First Father, these rules delineate the duties and codes of the Nightkeepers.

Not all of them translate well into present day.

What has come before . . .

At least, that is what some believe the ancient Maya intended to signal when they set their five-

thousand-year calendar to zero out on that day, at the exact moment the sun, moon, and earth will align at the center of the Milky Way in a cosmic dark spot the Maya believed was the mouth of the underworld, Xibalba.

Modern scientific support for the 2012 doomsday theory comes from astronomers and physicists, who predict that this Great Conjunction, which occurs only once every twenty-six thousand years, will trigger magnetic reversals, terrible sunspots, and potentially cataclysmic planetary events. This has caused historians and spiritualists alike to credit the ancient Maya with a level of astronomy not seen again through history until modern times. However, their knowledge of the Great Conjunction—and the havoc it will bring—came from a far older people: the Nightkeepers.

Descended from the only survivors of an incredibly advanced civilization wiped out in 24,000 B.C. during the last Great Conjunction, the Nightkeepers are mortal magic users sworn to pass their skills from generation to generation until the 2012 conjunction, when they will be the only ones capable of defeating the Banol Kax , a group of powerful demons who were bound in Xibalba by the Nightkeepers’ ancestors, and will be released on December 21, 2012. On that day, the demons will break through the barrier separating the earth and underworld. They will destroy mankind and rule the earth . . . unless the Nightkeepers stop them.

Ancient prophecy says that there should be hundreds of Nightkeepers at the end of the age. But in the final four years before the zero date, when the demons begin their assault on the barrier, the Nightkeepers number less than a dozen scattered and untrained magi. Their last king, Striking-Jaguar, reunites the surviving Nightkeepers in time to block the Banol Kax from attacking the earth. In the process, however, he claims a god-bound human woman as his mate rather than sacrificing her. His love for Detective Leah Ann Daniels defies an ancient prophecy and triggers the next stage in the countdown to the end-time.

This stage is ruled by the demon prophecies, which are supposed to guide the Nightkeepers in battle as the end-time approaches. The magi race to recover the Mayan antiquities that bear the seven demon prophecies, but they are not the only ones hunting for the missing artifacts. The Order of Xibalba, thought to have perished during the conquistadors’ bloodbath, has risen again, led by the redheaded mage Iago. During the spring solstice, Iago invokes all seven of the demon spells at once and uses the power to open a hellmouth connecting the earth and underworld, while sealing the skyroad and separating the Nightkeepers from their gods. Only the power of the love match between Godkeeper Alexis Gray and her destined mate, Nate Blackhawk, allows the Nightkeepers to defeat Iago and prevent the Banol Kax from coming to earth . . . for the moment.

In the aftermath of the battle, the Nightkeepers’ powers falter without a connection to the gods, while Iago and his followers draw strength from the hellmouth. The Nightkeepers’ best hope is finding the lost library of their ancestors, which they believe holds the key to exponentially increasing their fighting magic. The problem? Sasha Ledbetter, the one woman who might be able to lead them to the library her father hid many years ago, is Iago’s prisoner. . . .

PART I LEONID METEOR SHOWER

This fiery display of shooting stars seems to emanate from the constellation of Leo, which the modern Nightkeepers associate with their revered jaguar kings.

It is thought to symbolize a time of great change.

CHAPTER ONE One year ago Somewhere in the Yucatan

Sasha Ledbetter paused, bracing her hands on her knees as she sucked in moist air, trying to catch the breath she’d lost somewhere around the time she’d ditched the dinged-up Jeep to hike the rest of the way to the ruin. “Shit.” She wheezed. “I forgot how much I hate rain forests.”

They were fine in theory, she supposed as she straightened and readjusted the heavy pack on her shoulders, then used her machete to nudge a thorny vine out of her way. On TV, from the safety of her apartment in Boston, she’d paused occasionally on Travel Channel specials about the low country, though she’d still take the Food Network any day. And she’d babied the half dozen tropical plants she’d grown in brightly colored pots, enjoying them for their sweet scents and lush flowers. But that didn’t mean she’d had any desire to return to her childhood haunts. Especially when those haunts came with bloodsucking bugs like the one that kept whining in her left ear no matter how many times she slapped at it. “Get the hint, will you?” She waved at the thing again; it buzzed reproachfully.

“God. I forgot about the bugs, too.”

She didn’t get a response to her complaints, but then again, she was talking to herself.

Traveling alone in the rain forest might not be the smartest strategy for a brunette twentysomething with elfin features and a dented chin—i.e., someone who might be close to six feet tall and fairly muscular, but couldn’t look threatening no matter how hard she tried. But she’d spent a chunk of her childhood bushwhacking south of the border and knew how to take care of herself in the hostile, if verdant, environment.

Then again, so had her father, Ambrose Ledbetter, and he’d disappeared into this same rain forest more than five months ago.

Ambrose was missing, presumed dead, according to both the nearest consulate and the university where he’d held court as one of the world’s foremost Maya nists. Granted, it wasn’t unusual for Ambrose to lose track of a week or two when he was in the field, but five months was too much. He wouldn’t have stayed out in the field that long, even if he was hot on the trail of his own personal obsession, a mythical group of warrior-priests called the Nightkeepers, who were supposed to protect mankind from ancient demons in the last few years before the end of the Mayan calendar on December 21, 2012.

Some people—mostly movie producers and nut jobs, as far as Sasha could tell—believed that the zero date signaled the end of time itself. But Ambrose hadn’t just believed in the end-time; he’d believed that the legends of the Nightkeepers were real. For the most part, he’d kept the psychosis under wraps in his outside life, playing the part of a sane man, and playing it well. At home, though, he’d let it rip. Which was why Sasha had eventually stopped going home. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her father in more than eight years, save for a single brief encounter over the summer. The day after that he’d disappeared into the rain forest.

Missing, presumed dead. The words banged around inside her head as she wormed her way along the narrow trail she’d found partly from childhood memories, partly from a crude map Ambrose’s grad student had drawn for her. She paused at the circular clearing that she thought was where they