Skykeepers

The winikin scowled, but there was a gleam in his eye. “For one or two?”

“Two,” Michael said firmly. “Definitely two.” Now he had a feeling the gleam was in his own eyes, coming to life when he looked down at Sasha and found a heat in her expression to match his own.

“We’ll be in her suite. I like the way the herbs make the air smell.”

Laughing, Sasha rolled her eyes. “Bull. You’re just angling for more hot chocolate.”

“Depends on whether by ‘hot chocolate’ you mean something else.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Tomas groan.

“You’re never going to change, are you?” the winikin demanded.

But it was Sasha who answered: “He’s changed as much as he needs to. Anything more and he wouldn’t be the man I love.”

And that, Michael realized as the warmth unfurled beside his heart and surrounded his bruised, battered soul, was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR December 26 Two years, three hundred and sixty days until the end

The five days after the solstice passed in a blur for Sasha, as the magi pitched in to prepare for the wayeb days, the five days between the end of the solar calendar of one year and the beginning of the next. Those days, which weren’t even named in the calendar of the Maya, were considered supremely unlucky . . . or days of great change, depending on who was doing the proselytizing.

Because of that, and because of the jaguar bloodline’s propensity to play with the rules, Strike had declared that those five days would be one big par-tay. The celebration would begin with Ambrose’s funeral, which seemed fitting. Sasha and Jox had put their heads together and come up with a hell of a menu for the five-day festival. For the purpose, Jox had flown in the necessary ingredients. Since the Nightkeepers’ overall desire for pulque was at a definite low point, the winikin had also brought in several other types of alcoholic ceremonial drinks. In addition, Sasha had fermented the last of her cacao seeds, and was processing the slimy mess into the hot chocolate she’d experimented on before .

. . and continued to experiment on, using Michael as her eminently willing guinea pig for the various sauces and sweets.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon on the first wayeb day, the magi donned their ceremonial robes and knives and gathered together in the ash-shadow court-yard beneath the ceiba tree as Rabbit moved around, lighting the ceremonial torches using his pyro talent. Sasha leaned into the steady warmth of Michael, who stood at her side as the magi and winikin formed parallel lines through which the king and queen would formally march to begin the wayeb festival.

“I’m glad you made it back in time,” she said in a totally nonsubtle probe.

His lips curved as he looked down at her. He squeezed her fingers where he’d tucked them in the crook of his arm, as though he’d needed the contact as much as she needed to touch him. “Wouldn’t have missed it.” But he didn’t explain where he’d gone the night before, leaving the compound with little more than a kiss and a passable Terminator impression of “I’ll be back.”

She told herself the absence wouldn’t have bothered her in the slightest if it hadn’t been for the slightly off vibes she’d been getting from him the past couple of days. Their vibe in the bedroom wasn’t in question—he was an ardent and inspired lover, and she took full advantage of his practiced skills, while polishing her own. Better yet was when she drove him beyond practice to the point of action-reaction, when he lost himself in the moment and let himself go, dragging her along with him into the abyss that was sensation and heat, and nothing of reality. And if, in those moments, some of the darkness seeped from him into her, that was as it should be. She helped him stay balanced; he kept her from becoming too settled, made things exciting. As Ada had told her so long ago, she’d found a man who challenged her, kept her guessing.

Most of the time he was loving and attentive, dark and edgy, showing her glimpses of the different men he’d been, all combining into the man she’d fallen for. Yet now and then there was something else, something that tempted her to worry. It was in his brief hesitation when she spoke of the future.

He’d told her he loved her, and she had no reason to disbelieve, but she remained wary, guided by that part of her that had yearned before, been wrong before. And then he’d disappeared. He’d come back, yes, but still. It was tough not to fall right back into old patterns, hard as she tried to avoid them.

She told herself it didn’t matter, that she’d decided to take him, to love him, even knowing that he wasn’t able to commit to the long term. More, she lectured herself, it wasn’t fair to make that decision and then blame him for being who she’d known he was.

Deliberately shoving aside the worry, she looked down the double line. The winikin stood together on one side, except for Jox, who was at the head of the whole pattern, with his back to the big tree. The other magi stood on the other side, along with Myrinne and a badly debilitated Lucius, who’d been heard joking that pretty soon the humans were going to outnumber the magi at Skywatch. At least, Sasha thought it was a joke.

Lucius was recovering from his ordeal, though slowly. He’d been deeply scarred by his captivity, more so than Sasha, because he had no healing magic of his own, and the Prophet’s bond didn’t allow Rabbit to get in there and help. More, he’d so far proven unable to form the conduit that was supposed to allow the Prophet access to the library. The theory was that there was a magical logjam going on, since the spell called for an empty body, and his was still inhabited by, well, him. Jade and Anna were convinced he could learn to call the conduit himself, but first he needed to recover fully.

He mostly kept to himself, sitting atop the walls of the ball court, staring into the distance. But the few times Sasha had arranged to bump into him, she’d felt health in his ch’ul song, and the beginnings of acceptance.

That was all she could feel these days—her healing powers seemed to have burned out with the effort of bringing Lucius back from the brink. Similarly, Rabbit’s mental powers had become seriously blunted. He could perform traditional mind-bends, but he couldn’t read as deeply as he could before. Otherwise, the younger mage seemed to be doing okay; he and Myrinne were in the middle of a nauseating honeymoon period the rest were tolerating solely because it’d been generally agreed that they’d rather have Rabbit acting besotted than sulking and burning stuff down.

The magi seemed to have similarly leveled off after the chaos of the past couple of months. Brandt and Patience acted fine in public, though there was no telling what was going on behind the scenes.

Nate and Alexis were solid, and Sven was . . . Sven. Jade was keeping to herself, as was Anna, who hadn’t returned to Austin immediately after the solstice, which, according to Jox, was very unusual indeed. Not that the winikin was gossiping, he’d assured Sasha as they’d put the calendar cakes into the ovens. He was simply remarking. But she’d gotten the impression he was hoping she would talk to Anna about it. Maybe she would, too. It might take them time to decide what sort of relationship they would have—sisters? friends? something else?—but Sasha wasn’t leaving Skywatch anytime soon.

They had time. Some, anyway.

“Here they come,” Michael said, breaking into her thoughts.

Then there was a stir of movement at the edge of the pool patio, and Strike and Leah appeared, walking together in their bloodred ceremonial robes, hands linked.

Strike was wearing his king face, but beneath that capable shell, Sasha saw love. Simply love, the beginning and ending of their magic, their lives. And the sight of it, the knowledge of it, smoothed the edges of her soul and had her leaning into Michael, the man she loved.

He brushed a kiss across her temple as the king and queen passed and took their places facing each other, while Jox presented them with the first sacrificial offering of the wayeb days: a bowl of maize seeds, several from each of the ears that had been passed through the blood-smoke of the magi during Sasha’s bloodline ceremony. When Strike accepted the bowl, Sasha felt a small pinch beneath her heart, knowing that the seeds would be burned, symbolically returning the blood and flesh of the magi to the gods.