Blood Spells

ancients. Literally translated, it means ‘darkness, ’ because it was associated with . . .”

He trailed off, then finished, “Eclipses. Okay. That’s relevant.” He looked at Patience. “It means something to you?”

“Akbal is the Abyss card.” She paused. “I told you guys how I almost always pull the Mother card, Imix, when I’m putting myself in the light position of a spread. Well, when the card representing me is in the shadow position, I almost always pull Akbal. Its negative aspects are issues of internalization, poor self-image, depression, and fear of change.” She had to remind herself to breathe, as if her body had suddenly forgotten how. “I guess I was destined to be the third sacrifice all along, huh? And I guess we know when it’s supposed to happen.”

She kept her voice steady, but her thoughts spun with an inner litany. Oh, gods. Why me? Why now?

Why like this? She had thought she was through with the tears, all cried out for the day. She was wrong.

The glyph symbolizing Brandt’s last sacrifice was the one that represented her shadow self.

“Fuck that.” He surged to his feet. Once he was up, though, he didn’t go anywhere. He just glared down at her, eyes hard and wild. “I drew the glyph wrong. It’s something else.”

She shook her head. Swiping at her cheeks and trying to breathe past the churning fear to find her warrior’s strength, she said, “Akbal fits too well. It’s connected to dark caves, obsidian, water, and access to dream worlds and memories, all of which symbolize your visions and what we’ve been through over the past few days. What’s more, pulling the card is a call to step into the unknown . . . or the afterlife.”

“I won’t do it,” he said flatly.

“I don’t want you to. But we can’t let Cabrakan get loose.” She stood and faced him, refusing to let her legs shake. “You saw those pictures. You heard the numbers. Ten thousand people died in the Mexico City earthquake, and that was a year after the massacre sealed the barrier. How much worse will it be with the barrier wide-open? What’s more, the miniquakes haven’t just been confined to Mexico.” She paused, fear tightening her throat. “He could hit anywhere in the world. Anywhere. ”

Anywhere . . . as in where the twins and winikin were hidden. And she wouldn’t even know they were gone.

A muscle pulsed at the side of his jaw. “We’ll go somewhere safe, dig in, and hide. That’s what we should’ve done in the first place.” He cut a steely look at Strike. “Sometimes a man has to put the woman he loves above the writs.”

The king didn’t say anything. But he didn’t order Brandt to retake the oath either.

Heart aching, Patience took his hand, not caring that they were laying things out in public this time, where before they had always tried to keep a layer of privacy intact. “Once upon a time, I would’ve given anything to hear you say that.”

His gold-flecked eyes radiated raw pain. “But not anymore?”

“It still matters. But running away isn’t an option, and you know it. Cabrakan is going to come after the Nightkeepers. Even if we hide, he’ll find us.” She turned their joined hands so their marks faced the sky. “He’ll be able to track us the same way the boluntiku tracked our families.”

He looked away. “I fucking hate this.”

“Finally, something we agree on.”

“Shit.” He let out a long, drawn-out sigh and let his forehead rest on hers. “This sucks.”

They stood there for a moment, leaning into each other while their teammates watched in silence.

Finally, Strike said, “Okay, you two. Go get something to eat, and take a few hours of downtime. If you’re not ready to crash yet, you will be soon.”

She was dully surprised to realize that it had grown dark out.

“Want me to pull something together for you?” Sasha offered. In her previous life out in the human world, she had been a highly trained chef.

Patience grinned humorlessly. “Normally I’d be all over that offer. But it feels a little too last-

mealish right now. Maybe tomorrow, okay? Or, even better, next week. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Come on.” Brandt pulled Patience away from the group. But instead of heading straight for their suite, he detoured them to the main kitchen. At her sidelong look, he said, “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And I’d like some privacy.”

But where for so long when he’d said “privacy,” he’d really meant “time alone,” now he meant

“time alone with you.”

Swallowing against the sudden press of emotion, she nodded. Together, they raided Jox’s supplies for enough food to fix a simple meal of the sort they had cooked together back in Pittsburgh, in the pretty starter house with the chrome toaster and Formica countertops. She was aware that the meeting continued on in their absence, with Strike and Leah discussing contingencies for the solstice-eclipse, while Lucius and Jade conferred with Rabbit about something that lit the younger man’s expression with a wary hope that was mirrored in Myrinne’s face.

But although she was aware of those things, she was also very aware of Brandt, and the way he moved around the kitchen and nearby storeroom and walk-in cooler, juggling the veggies and packaged chicken breasts she’d handed him while cruising the small wine selection and picking a chardonnay.

A small bubble of privacy seemed to separate them from the others, just like it used to out in the outside world, when—especially before they had Harry and Braden—they had often shopped like this, not even really talking about what they were going to make, partly because they were letting it evolve from their choices, and partly because they had been so in tune that they hadn’t needed the words.

They might not have recognized it as magic back then, but it had certainly been magical.

Now that same sense of simpatico bound them together as they finished “shopping” and headed for their suite.

Was it love? She wasn’t sure anymore what that felt like. But for the first time in a long, long time, she didn’t feel a pinch of grief when she opened the door. Instead, there was building anticipation.

As they cooked, they shared a glass of wine a sip at a time. The suite’s kitchen nook was a tiny space, but instead of that being an irritation as they bumped into each other, it increased the sense of intimacy that grew as they traded off the wineglass, or reached around each other for ingredients and utensils. As they built a meal of chicken stir-fry, fresh vegetables, tortillas, and cool garnishes of the guac and sour cream variety, they traded “remember-whens” about the boys, making them seem very near.

When the food was ready, she carried their plates to the dining table, which hadn’t been used for anything but clutter since Harry, Braden, and the winikin had moved away. Brandt had cleared it off and set two places, complete with candles. As she set down the plates, she saw that he’d added an off-

center center-piece: a framed photo he had taken of Harry, Braden, Hannah, and Woody all working on one of the Lego fortresses that had been the boys’ shared passion—Harry’s because of the engineering involved in building them, Braden’s because of the fun in knocking them down.

Her eyes filled as she sat.

Half filling a second wineglass for himself, Brandt handed over the one they’d been sharing, then held his glass out to her, inviting a toast. “To family.”

She blinked back the tears as she clinked her glass to his. “To family.”

They ate largely in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet. It was more that they were both tired of talking about the situation, tired of thinking about it. For the moment, they were both content to just be, and to do it together.

Patience suspected that the soft, intimate sense of calm probably came from a strange, delayed sort of postmagic crash, one that smoothed over the rough spots rather than making them sleepy. Or maybe this was what it felt like to be a true warrior couple, bound together in danger, yet able to compartmentalize and focus on each other when time allowed.

Later, after they had tag-teamed the dishes and showered in comfortable sequence, they met without prearrangement at the foot of the big bed in the master bedroom. He had pulled his jeans back on after his shower, and wore unbuttoned one of his old work shirts, a tailored oxford gone soft with age. She had thought about wearing one of the sexy nightgowns he used to love, but instead had gone with the silky, comfortable robe