Skykeepers

My sister, Sasha thought, her hands going clammy.

“We didn’t know you were alive,” Anna said, tears crowding her eyes. “If we had known we would’ve brought you home. I swear it.”

The scene froze as Sasha realized that with the exception of Myrinne, the people in the room were the ones she should’ve grown up with. Jox would’ve been her guardian, Anna and Strike her older sibs, Rabbit their younger tagalong. She knew she should be full of emotions, but instead found herself strangely empty. In the aftermath of the scene with Michael, which was still sharp and painful in her memory, she was numb to more drama.

“Let’s talk about it later, okay? Tell me what happened, and why you think I can help.” She paused.

“You do know I’m a chef, right?”

Strike said, “Rabbit tried to call a new three-question nahwal and wound up nearly burning his dorm down instead. He walked out of the building under his own power, but collapsed soon after.” He turned a baleful look on the young girl in the corner; she played dead. “Myrinne convinced Rabbit to try a non-Nightkeeper scrying spell, some sort of pseudo-Wiccan shit she must’ve learned from Mistress Truth back at the voodoo tea shop. We’re not sure what sort of magic they tapped into, which is why we’re hoping you can help.”

A chill came out of nowhere to chase down Sasha’s spine. “Why me?”

“Because of this.” Anna reached out and tapped Sasha’s forearm, not the jaguar or the symbol of royalty, or even the warrior’s mark, but her talent mark, which consisted of six small circles that followed a curving, ninety-degree corner, looking somewhat like part of a string of pearls draped over a man’s thumb. “Jox described it to me earlier this evening. I’m pretty sure I know what it means.”

Sasha’s chill turned into a full-on shiver. “Is it something about the sky prophecy?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Anna answered. “Either way, it’s the ch’ul glyph.”

“And that means what, exactly?” Sasha had the sudden sensation of balancing at the edge of a very tall cliff, headed for a very long fall.

“Ch’ul is essentially the essence of all living things. It’s the energy flow that makes up the barrier and gives life and sentience.” She paused. “The creator gods used ch’ul to animate the maize people, creating mankind. Next to the gods, only a special sort of mage called a ch’ulel can directly manipulate ch’ul.”

Sasha pulled her sleeve down over the glyph. “I thought all of the magi could wield the barrier energy.”

“Every mage can use the power of the ch’ul contained within the barrier. But only a ch’ulel can alter the flow of ch’ul within living things, including plants and people.” Anna paused. “There are only a couple of references to the ch’ulel, all Mayan, not Nightkeeper. In one of them, she’s called the daughter of the gods.”

“Oh.” Sasha hugged herself, trying not to shiver.

Anna stepped closer and reached out to rub Sasha’s shoulder gently.

The supportive, almost maternal gesture unaccountably made Sasha want to weep. No time for this, she reminded herself. Rabbit needs help. “That’s what you want me to do? Alter his energy flow?”

“The ch’ulel is a positive force, which means you can give energy, maybe in certain cases siphon it from one place to another, but only when it is freely given. You can’t take life away . . . but you might be able to give it. On the most basic level, you should be able to promote growth and healing . . . which would also be consistent with the whole ‘defying death’ part of the triad prophecy.”

Sasha closed her eyes on a messy wash of guilt and pain. “Ambrose was right about that, too. I was supposed to be a doctor, not a chef. I even screwed that part up.”

“Or else,” Anna said reasonably, “your love of food is integral to your ability with plants, which is part of being a ch’ulel. For all we know, you access your gifts through food sacrifice rather than blood.”

Sasha swallowed hard. “I’m going to need time to practice, time to figure out how to use . . .” She faltered, the concepts of ch’ul and ch’ulel too big for her to even conceive. How, exactly, was she supposed to deal with the idea of controlling the flipping Force? She wasn’t Yoda, for chrissake.

“The other magi found their talents naturally,” Jox assured her. “Strike performed his first ’port blind, the day the barrier reactivated. It eventually brought him to Leah. Patience first blinked invisible to protect the twins. Nate became the Volatile to save Alexis. You’ll do fine.”

“They were all trying to reach or protect the people they love,” Sasha pointed out. “I’ve barely met Rabbit.”

“True, but you and he have shared a mental link twice now,” Jox pointed out. “We’re hoping that’ll help.” The winikin leveled a look at her. “You have to at least try.”

Aware that Myrinne had slitted her eyes and was glaring at her, Sasha glanced down at Rabbit. He had quieted, and now lay still. But not in a good way. Instead of looking peaceful, he looked . . . absent. As if there were nobody home inside his head or body. “Of course.”

“Do you want me to get Michael?” Jox asked quietly. “Strike and Anna should be able to boost you through your shared bloodline, but we already know for certain that you and Michael are compatible.”

Magically, anyway, Sasha thought. But she nodded. “He’s either down by the ball court or on his way back to his suite. I’d bet he’s still out at the court.” She wasn’t going to jeopardize whatever chance she might have to help Rabbit just because she’d rather not be around Michael.

“Anna and I will link with you, too,” Strike said. It was more a statement than an offer, but if Sasha had been inclined to demur, one look at his and Anna’s faces would’ve changed her mind. They were worried as hell about the young man, whether or not his girlfriend saw or believed it.

She nodded. “When Jox gets back with Michael, we’ll uplink.” The words seemed strange coming off her tongue. It took her a moment to realize the oddity came from the utter lack of disconnect within her. She’d bought into the magic, bought into her new life. She wasn’t worried about escaping, denying, or even really understanding what was going on. Her greatest fear at that moment was failing the young man lying too still on the bed, stretched out flat with his arms at his sides, like he’d already gone to corpse.

“What exactly happened?” she asked.

There was a pause while Strike and Anna looked at Myrinne, who played dead. Or maybe she really was dozing; Sasha wasn’t sure. Shaking his head, Strike turned back and said, “He was trying to help us out and things backfired. Literally.” He went on to describe what had happened, presumably as relayed by Myrinne.

“The spell is basic occult,” Sasha said.

Anna nodded. “It shouldn’t have done anything, really. My guess is that he got into his own powers, which he isn’t supposed to be able to touch with the mental filters in place, and now he’s trapped behind the blocks.”

Strike frowned. “But he installed the damn things. And he was up and walking for a while after the spell, so I’m not sure that makes sense.”

Anna faced her palms to the sky in a “who knows?” gesture, then turned expectantly to Sasha. Strike did the same, so they were both looking at her, waiting for a miracle.

Sasha’s heart lumped in her throat. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Just do your best,” Strike said softly. “That’s all any of us can do.”

Nodding and taking a deep breath that did jack shit to settle her nerves, Sasha moved to the side of the bed. Rabbit looked like he could’ve been any of the young guys, more balls than brains, that she’d worked with in a dozen kitchens. Yet according to the stories, he was the most powerful of the magi, an unpredictable half-blood with a good heart and bad luck.

Gods, she thought, for the first time sending her thoughts outward, winging toward the sky, hoping that somehow, somewhere, someone—or some thing—was listening. Help me help this kid. When that didn’t seem like nearly enough, she went a