“At least it’s not heart-shaped. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t vibrate.”
“Color me disappointed.”
I t was a ridiculous bed, all mirrors and black lacquered wood, topped with a scarlet brocade bedspread edged with gold braid, and a huge pile of gold-edged red pillows.
Somehow, though, it didn’t seem ridiculous. Instead, the red-gold of the bedding blended with the hum of magic that touched the air, intensifying as she stretched out on her side near the center of the plush mattress with one hand behind her head, one leg slightly bent, goddesslike in her nudity.
He stretched out opposite her for a kiss, then rolled onto his back and drew her with him, so she was cuddled up against his side with her hand over his heart, the two of them fitting together, puzzlelike.
Their legs twined and he brushed his scarred calf along the softness of her skin.
Then, in unspoken agreement, they looked up into the big mirror that hung suspended over the bed.
As their eyes met in the reflection, they touched the magic that hung thick around them, and together invoked the etznab spell.
The mirror wavered; the world around them went thin. And they slipped into memory together.
El Rey Six years ago Holy hookup, Batman. That was about all Brandt’s brain was capable of managing as he lay beside the underground lagoon, intertwined with Patience while their bodies cooled in the aftermath of some seriously hot sex.
How much of that had been about the two of them, and how much of it had been about his bloodline connection to whatever the hell was going on beneath El Rey? He didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to guess.
According to Wood, sex had been part of the magic on almost every level. In another lifetime, he might have thought the gods had meant for him and Patience to pair up like this. But he was out of that loop now, which meant . . . hell, he didn’t know what it meant, except that something had drawn him to her, and it was no coincidence that they had found the underground cave together, or that they had gotten down and dirty beside the sacred lagoon.
But what did it all mean?
When she stirred and let out a small, satisfied sigh, he tightened his arm around her and cracked his eyelids, trying to come up with an awkward-moment-after line that didn’t sound totally cheesy.
Then he got a good look around them, and all he could come up with was, “Holy crap.”
The fireworks were long gone, but the air still sparkled red-gold.
Magic.
Patience’s body tightened. “Oh. My. God.” Her voice was tinged with the wonder he saw in her face when their eyes met. Then her expression clouded. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t let you see this.”
Reaching out, she cupped his cheek and whispered three words in a language that should have been unfamiliar.
Except it wasn’t unfamiliar at all. It was a fucking sleep spell.
Shock hammered through him. Her expression fell when he didn’t go narcoleptic, and he could almost hear her thinking, Why didn’t it work?
If he could’ve formed a coherent sentence, he would have told her it was because lower-level stuff like the sleep spell didn’t work on magi. But his thoughts were racing too fast for that. The questions bombarded him: Where the hell had she learned the spell? How had she known what the glitter-dust effect meant? She obviously wasn’t Maya, but—
Whoa. He stared at her as the litany ran through his mind: The Nightkeepers had been big, fast, smart, and charismatic. And they were extinct. He was the last of them.
Unless they weren’t extinct.
And he wasn’t the last.
Excitement knotted low in his gut. What if that explained everything? What if he’d been meant to see her, meant to follow her and bring her to El Rey just in time for them to discover the doorway?
Granted, the chances of that were pretty fucking slim given his history. But the gods were low on options. And if the magic was coming back online now, with eight years to go before the zero date . . .
Holy. Shit.
His blood hammered as he held out his hand, cupping it palm up, and whispered the spell to call a foxfire. There was no surge in the magic, no kindling of the blue-white glow he had tried to summon, but in the wan illumination of Patience’s tiny, dying flashlight, he saw her eyes go wide.
She eased away from him. But she didn’t go far.
He sat up, conscious of the way the red-gold sparkles followed the motion, swirling on unseen currents. He held his breath, barely daring to hope, afraid that there was—had to be—some other explanation.
Hell, for all he knew, he’d gotten trashed and this was a really vivid dream. She could easily be his subconscious’s projection of his dream girl, all blond and blue, with a kick-ass, can-do attitude wrapped in a glossy package. And ever since he’d been a kid, he’d pictured himself wielding the magic of his ancestors, and imagined finding someone else like him.
The shock in her expression was giving way to speculation . . . and hope. She moistened her lips.
“You’re not NA, are you?”
NA? Oh, she’d guessed he was Native American from his name. He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Then what are you?”
Her quiet question hung on the air, echoing in the vaulted cave and counterpointed by the slow drip of water falling from stalactites to the water beyond them. The world seemed to hold its breath—or maybe that was him, because he had the sudden sense that what he said next was going to change both of their lives. This was no dream, he knew; it was the real thing.
He said, “I’m the sole mage-born survivor of the Solstice Massacre.” He paused. “At least I thought I was.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “Me too.”
An unfamiliar pressure expanded in his chest. This was real; it was actually happening. Patience was a survivor, just like him. “What’s your bloodline name?”
“Iguana.” The word wasn’t even a whisper, more a shaping of the lips. “My winikin changed it after the massacre, in order to keep us safe.”
His voice rasped when he asked, “Are there others?”
“Hannah thought we might be the only ones. The way the drop box for contact info is set up, she couldn’t tell.”
He nodded. “Woody said the same thing. I wanted him to crack the box and see if there were others, but he refused. Said he was sworn to keep us hidden until he was convinced it was time to reunite the Nightkeepers.”
It was the first time either of them had said the word, and it hung in the darkness, echoing in the sacred space.
Nightkeepers. Their people. Their magic.
He’d been programmed from birth to believe in the unbelievable, to take it on faith that he had
