Demonkeepers

thought, which suddenly seemed far more real than it had before.

His expression went grim. “Even if the Xibalbans and Banol Kax are defeated and the cycle of time restarts, there are going to be casualties. It’s only natural that we’re going to worry about each other more and more as time passes, and that we’re going to want to see the people we care about stay safe.”

Hope—her own personal demon—stirred to life within her. “Are you saying you’d rather I stay safely back behind the lines?” She didn’t want to have that debate . . . but she thought she wouldn’t mind hearing him make the pitch.

“We’re talking about you and Shandi.”

“Right.” Her heart took a little slide in her chest, though, warning that her emotions were far too close to the surface. In the space of a few days, she’d taken a lover who threatened to become too important to her. She’d been to hell and back, had her worldview shifted, and met her mother, though she hadn’t recognized it at the time. And now she’d found her magic. She supposed it was understandable that her normal defenses would be down. But that didn’t mean she was going to cave to the first hint of pressure. She was through being that woman.

She snagged a piece of French toast off the tray and took a bite, both because she was starving and to buy herself a moment before she said, “You think I should . . . what? Stay in the background because it’ll make her feel more secure? That’d be an illusion and you know it. Furthermore, it’s bullshit.” She didn’t know when or how, but she suddenly realized she’d come back around to the idea of wanting to fight. Or maybe she did know. Maybe it was the moment she’d accidentally leveled a showroom’s worth of furniture with ice magic. If that wasn’t a fighter’s talent, she didn’t know what was.

An image flashed in her mind’s eye: that of a dark-haired baby with clenched fists and a scowl on her face.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Lucius paused, considering. Finally, he said, “There were a last few lines in the journal, at the very bottom, that I haven’t told anyone about. I felt like they were a private message between the journalist and the next Prophet, so I kept them to myself. Now that we know who the journalist was, I think maybe they were a message, but not for me. I think she may have meant it for you.”

The air trickled out of Jade’s lungs. Oh, Vennie. “What did it say?”

“I may be flubbing a word or two here, but the gist was: ‘Magic isn’t what’s going to save the world. Love is. So find someone to love, and tell them so. Better yet, show them your love by making them happy rather than miserable. Don’t be an idiot like I was.’ ” Jade’s eyes filled. “She was talking about Joshua.”

“And you.”

“Maybe. Probably. And I’m sure she meant it at the time.” But an aching hollow opened up beneath her diaphragm.

Lucius tilted his head as he looked at her. She halfway expected him to hug her, soothe her. And a large part of her would’ve welcomed it, for too many reasons. He didn’t touch her, though, beyond the hand he still held. Instead, he said, “It wasn’t your fault the gods chose Shandi . . . and it wasn’t your mother’s fault she was seventeen.”

“I know that. Of course I know that. It’s just . . .” She paused, trying to sort through her thoughts.

Finally, she said, “It’s like there are two versions of her inside my head now, two different thought chains pertaining to her. On one hand, I pity her. I picture this spoiled, ego-driven kid who wasn’t much different from half the teenagers I’ve ever met. My heart hurts at the thought of her being so alone, isolated from both her own family and her in- laws, convinced that she’d been chosen as the next Prophet but the others couldn’t see it. How can I blame her for that? We’re doing the same thing now, trying to interpret the will of the gods from old prophecies and and a few scattered clues. When I think of her going through the library spell alone, it makes me so sad for her. And then, when she came back out and tried to go home . . .” She trailed off as the hollowness inside her turned to an ache.

“I want to weep for that child. I want to thank her for her sacrifice, and promise her that we won’t let her down. But at the same time, I’m so damned angry at her. I hate knowing that she took on adult responsibilities—a husband, a baby—and bailed when things stopped being fun. I saw too much of that in the outside world.” Exhaling, she stared at her free hand, which had formed a fist. “And I hate that I’m seeing my father as a victim. I don’t know him, but I know the type.” She had counseled people like him over and over again, albeit mostly women. “I don’t . . . Shit, I don’t know. I hate being inconsistent when it comes to her, but I can’t seem to stop myself from pitying the girl I think of as Vennie while resenting the person who was my mother, when her only sin, really, is not matching up to the image in my head.” She glanced at Lucius, expecting him to look baffled—or worse, concerned for her mental health.

Instead, he nodded. “I get that, I think. It’s Nightkeeper versus human. On one hand, she was following the writs, putting the greater good ahead of her family, and you know you should respect her, maybe even celebrate her, for that sacrifice. But on the other hand, you’re the family she left behind, which has to hurt. What’s more, everything you’re being told now suggests that this wasn’t a onetime thing; it was another in a long line of grandstanding stunts, which devalues the whole family thing even further. But you know what?”

She met his eyes, feeling somehow chastised yet relieved. “None of it matters worth a damn, because knowing about the past doesn’t change who I am. I’m not my mother or father, and I’m not Shandi. I’m me.”

“That’s right. And you’re a strong, wonderful woman anyone should be proud to have as a daughter.

. . .”

If she hadn’t known him so well, she would’ve assumed he’d finished his thought. Because she did know him, though, she tipped her head. “And?” Say it. Tell me you’re proud to be with me, that there’s more here than just the sex magic.

But instead, he rose to his feet. “And I’m proud of you for the iceball stunt, regardless of the property damage.” He lifted a shoulder. “It looks like we both got what we wanted, doesn’t it?”

She tried to see past his guarded expression, but couldn’t. Or maybe there wasn’t anything more to see? For a moment, she was tempted to ask him point-blank where he saw the two of them going, whether it was more for him than magic and fringe benefits. But she didn’t dare. If he’d been the same man as before, she might have, but he was different now, more independent and far harder to read.

And what if he didn’t share her feelings? Skywatch was a small place, and her running to the university wasn’t an option anymore. Not with her talent starting to show itself. So instead of pushing him, or revealing herself, she nodded and found a faint smile. “Yeah. We got what we wanted.”

Something flashed across his expression, there and gone too quickly for her to parse. He said only, “Maybe I’ll see you later?”

Recognizing that “later” had become their shorthand for “are we still on for sex?” she nodded.

“Yeah. See you later.” But her throat tightened on the words. And when he was gone, she burrowed back into bed . . . and pulled the covers over her head.

Lucius stalked back to his cottage, telling himself he’d done the right thing. He’d wanted to prod her into reconciling—or at least trying to reconcile—with her winikin. What was more, he’d managed to keep the conversation away from their relationship, which had become a suddenly thorny problem, and in a way he never would’ve anticipated.

He’d sensed the shift in her the previous morning, had known when things had gone from lust-only to tenderness, from “that feels good” to “what are you feeling?” A year ago, maybe even a few months ago, that would’ve had him doing cartwheels through the busted-up great room. Now, though, he didn’t know what to do with it. Did he care about her? Absolutely. But the more time he spent around the mated mage pairs, and the more recent events had forced him to think about family ties, the more he realized that in the past he’d done crushes and affection, occasionally even loyalty, but not love.

He had loved his family growing up, he supposed, in a love-but-not-like sort of way. Or had that been coexistence rather than love? His older brothers had tormented him, his father had cheered them on, his older sisters had put bows in his hair, and his mother had pitted them all against one another in a subtle battle of passive aggression he hadn’t recognized as such until he was well away from the whole mess. He’d escaped to UT, floundered a bit, then eventually found his place with Anna. He’d leaned on her, idolized her, and thought for a time that he loved her. But his feelings for her, like the brief flashes of affection from his few lovers, which he’d