Demonkeepers

needed . . . Hell, she didn’t know what she’d needed. Space, maybe. Perspective. A cooling-off period, and some new skills that didn’t rely on magic.

Now, though, she was being called back to Skywatch. Back to duty. And back to a man who . . . Shit.

Jade took a deep breath. “Sure, I could back out.” As she turned her palms up, her forearm marks flashed a stark reminder of duty. “But then what? We need access to the library; Lucius isn’t getting it done on his own, and the others haven’t managed to trigger his powers using rituals and blood.

Besides, we’ve got plenty of proof that sex magic trumps blood sacrifice. Strike and Leah used it to drive the Banol Kax back to the underworld; Nate and Alexis used it to repair a breach in the barrier; and Michael and Sasha used it to defeat Iago and his Xibalbans.” Although that last point was somewhat debatable.

Sure, the Nightkeepers’ earthly enemies, the members of the Order of Xibalba, had been quiet since the winter solstice, but the last time the Nightkeepers had laid eyes on the Xibalbans’ leader, Iago, he had been in the process of summoning the soul of the long-dead—and seriously bloodthirsty—Aztec god-king, Moctezuma. Iago had been trying to create an ajaw-makol: a powerful human-demon hybrid that retained its human characteristics in direct proportion to the degree of evil in the host’s soul. But the transition spell had been interrupted when the Nightkeepers had breached Iago’s mountain lair, making the outcome far less clear. The few hints Jade had found in the Nightkeepers’ archive suggested that an interrupted makol transition could go one of two ways. Most often, the human host-

to-be slid into a comalike stasis for weeks or months while the demon spirit fought to integrate itself —or not—with the host’s brain. Which was what the Nightkeepers suspected was happening with Iago. Less often, both the demon and human consciousnesses could coexist while the host remained conscious, with the two souls fighting for dominance . . . which was what had happened to Lucius. The Nightkeepers had eventually managed to rescue him and banish the makol, but that hadn’t actually been their goal. What they’d really done was offer his soul to the in-between in an effort to turn him into the Prophet: an incarnate conduit capable of channeling badly needed intel from the metaphysical plane. Lucius’s exorcism and survival had been a side benefit, which galled Jade at the same time that it forced her gratitude.

Now she tried not to notice how Anna was just sitting there looking at her, the way she did with her Intro to Mayan Studies students. Keep going, the look said. You’ll see where you went wrong in a minute. “Three times now,” Jade continued doggedly, “sex magic has turned out to be the key to unlocking the larger powers necessary for successful high- level magic: Godkeeper magic in Leah’s and Alexis’s cases, the Volatile’s shape-shifting ability for Nate, and the balanced matter and antimatter of Michael’s and Sasha’s talents. So it seems logical that sex magic could be the key that triggers the Prophet’s power in Lucius.”

Granted, he wasn’t a Nightkeeper. But despite the ongoing debate among the Nightkeepers, particularly the members of the royal council, Jade didn’t think the problem was his humanity, his former demonic connection, or the fact that he’d retained his soul when the library spell had called for its sacrifice. Her instincts said he just needed a jump start, with an emphasis on the “jump” part—as in, he needed to get himself jumped. And if that was bound to make things complicated between them, so be it. She’d made herself scarce for the past five-plus months since his return to Skywatch; she could leave again afterward if she had to. It wasn’t like anyone was begging her to come back. And didn’t that just suck?

“There’s one big difference between your situation and the other cases you’re talking about.” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Unless there isn’t?”

And there was the crux of another major debate. Was it the sex magic itself that unlocked the bigger powers, or was the emotional pair- bonding of a mated couple the key, with sex magic as a collateral bonus? Hello, chicken and egg. Of the three couples Jade had named, in the aftermath of the big battles they’d been instrumental in winning, two had gained the jun tan marks signifying them as mated, soul-bound pairs. And although Michael’s connection to death magic prevented him from forming the jun tan, he and Sasha had gotten engaged human-style, diamond ring and all. Which suggested it wasn’t just the sex magic that was important; it was the emotions too.

Jade had heard the argument before—ad nauseam— but it pinched harder coming from Anna, who had become a good friend in the months since Jade had fled from Skywatch to the university for a crash course in Mayan epigraphy and some breathing room . . . And Anna’s relationship with Lucius went a good six years farther back than that—she’d been his boss, his mentor, and briefly his bond-

master under Nightkeeper law.

“I don’t think it’s a question of love,” Jade said, glancing past Anna’s shoulder to the shelf beyond, where a crudely faked statuette of Flower Quetzal, the Aztec goddess of love and female sexuality, seemed to be smirking at her. Doggedly, she continued: “I think in each of the prior cases, the couples were struggling with identity issues, trying not to lose their senses of self to the magic or their feelings for each other. That won’t be a problem for Lucius and me. I don’t have much in the way of magic, and we’re not . . . Well, we had sex once; that was it.” And oh, holy shit, had that been a disaster. Not the sex, but the way she’d flubbed the aftermath. “We’re just friends now,” she finished.

Sort of.

“The jun tan the others earned through sex magic doesn’t symbolize friendship . . . and neither does what Strike wants you to do.”

“It’s just sex.” Jade glanced at her friend as a new reason for the cross-examination occurred.

“Unless you think he’s still too fragile?” Even with his grisly wounds on the mend, thanks to Sasha’s healing magic, Lucius had been badly depleted in the weeks following his return to the Nightkeepers.

He’d been disconnected and clumsy, as though, even with the makol gone from his head, he wasn’t at home inside his own body. More, he’d been deeply ashamed of the weakness, thanks to a childhood spent as the weakling nerd in a family of hard-core jocks. Had his condition deteriorated?

“Fragile is not the word that comes to mind.” There was an odd note in Anna’s voice.

“Then what’s with the ‘don’t do it’ vibes?”

“I think . . .” Anna trailed off, then shook her head. “You know? Forget I said anything. It’s not fair for me to say on one hand that I want Strike to deal me out of the hierarchy, then on the other go running around trying to subvert the royal council’s plan.”

Jade winced at learning the should-Jade-jump-Lucius discussion hadn’t just been a three- way of her, Strike, and Anna, as she’d thought, but had also included the other members of the royal council: Leah, Jox, Nate, and Alexis. Michael had probably been involved too, as he was practically a council member; and if he knew what was going on, then so did Sasha. Shandi had also likely been in on the conversation, though the winikin probably hadn’t added much beyond, “Whatever you think is best, sire.” Jade was determined not to let any of that matter, though. For once, she was the one taking action while the others hung back and played supporting roles. The harvester bloodline might have traditionally produced shield bearers rather than fighters, and she might be the only living Nightkeeper aside from Anna who didn’t wear the warrior ’s talent mark, but this time she was on the front lines, ready to take one for the team.

So to speak.

Anna touched her chain again. Though Jade couldn’t see the heavy pendant it held, she could easily picture the yellow crystal skull. Handed down through the maternal lineage, the quartz effigy was the focus of an itza’at seer’s visionary gift. Normally Anna blocked her talent, which was glitchy at best, but Jade thought she caught a faint hum of power in the air as Anna said, “I’m not sure. . . .” She trailed off, eyes dark and distant.

Jade straightened. “Are you seeing something?”

“Gods, no.” Anna self-consciously dropped her hand from her throat, pressing her palm to the solid wood of the desk. “It’s just a feeling, probably coming from the fact that I care deeply about both of you, and hate that I can’t be there for Lucius without breaking promises that I’ve made to people here.”

Jade didn’t bother pointing out that vows made to humans were pretty far down in the writs when it came to the list of a mage’s priorities. Anna was forging her own path, which wasn’t necessarily the same one set down by the First Father and the generations of magi since. “Will it help if I promise to be gentle?”