Blood Spells

Harry cross-

legged on the picnic bench near her feet, watching his father and brother debate the placement of the three ceremonial sticks of ceiba, cacao, and rubber-tree wood.

Moving to sit on Harry’s other side, Patience propped her elbows on the table and nodded. “You know what? I think so.”

In another lifetime, when she’d been young and so caught up in being in love that she hadn’t remembered to be herself, she would have been adamant about it, would’ve made sweeping statements about love at first sight and forever. Now she was far more cautious. But at the same time, now she knew what it took to make love at first sight last forever . . . and she had a partner who knew he had to meet her halfway.

As if he’d caught a hint of her thoughts through their vibrant jun tan connection, he looked for her again, sent her a “hey, babe” smile . . . and went back to consulting with his junior contractor.

Seeing the exchange, Hannah nodded firmly. “I know so.”

Patience smiled, because she knew so too, and also because Harry gave them a disgusted look, muttered something about girl talk, and headed over to join the engineering debate.

“How about you?” Patience asked the winikin once Harry was out of earshot. “Are you going to be okay?”

They both knew she was really asking, How upset are you over Woody? Did you lose a friend, a lover, or the one and only?

Hannah’s lips curved softly. Wearing a deep purple bandanna over her missing eye, along with a black, puffy-sleeved blouse, she looked particularly piratical, though Patience suspected she’d been trying to tone down her usual peacock hues to human-style mourning colors.

After a moment, the other woman said, “Woody and I worked together better as winikin than we did as lovers. We synced amazingly well when it came to raising the boys and making family decisions. In that regard, it was a perfect match. In the other”—she lifted a shoulder—“we kept each other warm sometimes, but he wasn’t my one and only and I wasn’t his, and that was okay with both of us.” Her eye drifted in the direction of the mansion. “I’m sad about Woody, and I’ll miss the heck out of him.

He was a part of my life, and I’ll remember him until the gods call me up to the sky . . . but my heart isn’t broken.”

“Are you going to be okay working with Carlos?” It had been decided that the ex-wrangler would go with Hannah and the twins, in order to share the workload that came with raising a couple of bright, active boys, and —unstated but understood—to provide redundancy in case something happened to her. He had raised Sven and his own daughter, Cara, and had helped Nate through his rough transition into the Nightkeepers. He was a good choice.

But perhaps, Patience thought, not the absolute best choice.

“Carlos is a good man,” Hannah said. “A good winikin.” Which wasn’t really an answer. But before Patience could press her on it, the funeral procession emerged from the rear of the mansion and started heading in their direction.

Leah led the way, followed by most of the winikin. They carried the litter that bore Woody’s body, which had been intricately wrapped with cloth and tied into a mortuary bundle.

Hannah frowned. “Strike and Rabbit aren’t there.”

“Jox either,” Patience put in, though she suspected Hannah had noticed that first, then looked for Strike. She stood and started toward the procession. “Something’s up.” Please, gods, not something bad.

But Leah sent her an “It’s okay. Stay where you are” wave, and when she got out to the pyre, she said, “Strike and Jox will be out in a minute. They said for us to set up without them, that they’d be here for noon.”

As the winikin carefully placed the mortuary bundle atop the pyre, though, Patience noticed that Leah kept glancing back toward the mansion. When Patience caught herself doing the same thing, she made herself stop it, and focus on the ceremony.

Brandt, who had moved up to stand beside her in the loose ring of Nightkeepers, winikin, and humans surrounding the pyre, whispered, “Woody wouldn’t mind. He’d be dying to—” He faltered, then swallowed and continued. “He’d want to know what’s going on too.”

“We’ll find out when the time’s right. This is for Woody.” More, it was a way for the rest of them to say good-bye.

As they waited, Patience kept close tabs on Harry and Braden. Although they were far more aware of death than the average human, they were still five-year-old boys who had lost the man who had stood in for their father over the past two years. So far they seemed okay; Harry was watching the funerary bundle intently, as if trying to convince himself that Woody was actually inside. Braden was off near the steps leading to the training hall, fencing against an invisible enemy with a leftover piece of wood, but he kept darting glances at Hannah, his parents, and the pyre, keeping his own tabs on the members of his family.

The adults hadn’t yet told the boys that they would be leaving after the funeral, but Patience suspected that on some level they knew. Hannah and Woody had always been very up front with them about why they couldn’t live at Skywatch with their parents, and although the boys seemed to have bounced back remarkably well from their brief captivity, the experience—and watching their parents fighting to save them—had made a major impression. Patience ached that she wouldn’t be there to talk them through the inevitable nightmares, and that they would all have to readjust to the separation.

But the twins would have Hannah and Carlos. And each other.

Brandt took her hand, threaded their fingers together, and squeezed. I’m here, the gesture said. I’m not going anywhere.

And she believed him.

Hearing footsteps, she turned to find Strike coming up the pathway alone. Aware that he was instantly the center of attention, he said without preamble, “Anna regained consciousness earlier this morning.” When an excited murmur started, he held up a hand. “Unfortunately, there seems to be . . . she’s . . .” He cleared his throat. “The doctors don’t know if the damage is permanent or if she’ll improve with time. She’s going to need time, rehab . . .” He trailed off, then said softly, “. . . prayers.”

Leah crossed to him and leaned her cheek against his arm, just above his hunab ku. “She’s a jaguar.

She’s too stubborn to give up.”

He nodded. Voice strengthening with disgust, he said, “Her husband called to tell me he wanted to sign her over—those were the words he used, too, the fucktard—to me as her closest blood relative.

He wants out.”

“Gods,” Brandt muttered. “He really is a dick.”

“Give him what he wants,” Lucius said flatly. His face was dull with anger and a disgust that mirrored Strike’s own. “He doesn’t want her. We do. It’s as simple as that.” Except they all knew that it wasn’t that simple, because she didn’t want them. Or she hadn’t before.

But Strike nodded. “That’s the plan. We’ll move her to a rehab facility in Albuquerque and go from there.”

“I want to see her,” Sasha said, voice thick with tears. “I might be able to help her now that she’s conscious.”

“I’ll take you after the funeral.” Strike paused, then looked over at Patience and Brandt, then beyond them to Hannah. “There’s something else.”

Patience’s stomach clenched. What else could there be?

“What?” It was Brandt who asked, his grip tightening on her hand.

“Mendez is also awake. From the looks of it, he came around at almost the exact same time as Anna.” He paused a moment to let the ripple of response die down. “Now, here’s the thing. . . . He seems to have come back with not only the Triad magic but with a whole new perspective on life.

According to him, when his ancestors got a look inside his head and saw what his winikin taught him —most of which was lies and twisted versions of the truth—they kept him under long enough to straighten out some major misapprehensions. I’ve got Rabbit confirming his story right