Skykeepers

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.

PART IV THE GEMINID METEOR SHOWER

The peak of this meteor shower is associated with moderate barrier activity, but it can fluctuate wildly, much as the Hero Twins could be tricky and unpredictable.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN December 14 Peak of the Geminid meteor shower Three years and seven days to the zero date Skywatch

As the battle-clad Nightkeepers gathered in the main room in preparation for the temple raid, Sasha perched on one of the big couches and tossed her mother’s knife from hand to hand, sending the blade spinning in a glitter of polished obsidian. It was a habit that seemed to have come with her warrior’s mark, along with the ability to nail a moving target with the queen’s blade at fifty feet, sometimes more. Not that she intended to throw the heirloom if she could help it—she wore machine pistols on her hips, and had developed fireball magic of better than average strength and accuracy.

In the eleven days since her bloodline ceremony, she’d proven deft in all of her magic lessons, as though Strike and Nate were reminding her of the spells instead of teaching her anew. The winikin—

especially Jox—had nodded as if to say, Of course, she’s a ch’ulel ,