Cara tipped her head back and inhaled a deep lungful of air. “I am. I feel better. No. Not just better. Fabulous.” It wasn’t just that the not-flu was gone, either. Energy coursed through her, making her feel like she could take on the world.
Jack came up beside her, leaned on the gangplank railing. “Any particular reason you’re happy-dancing today?”
“It was a good day. A good group, good sightings, good energy.”
“If you say so. Seemed about average to me.”
She made a face. “Don’t poop on my party.”
“Sorry.” But he was grinning. “We still on for later?”
“Lasagna night? Wouldn’t miss it. Tell Beth I’ll be there at six, brownies in hand.” It felt good to have that connection, too. Jack and Beth made her feel like family.
“You can bring a friend if you like. There’s always plenty of food.”
She laughed. “What friend? You’re my friends.”
But he nodded down at the dock. “Looks like there’s a guy waiting on you. Thought he might have something to do with you feeling better these days.”
“A guy? No way.” She shook her head, glancing over. “There’s no—” Her mouth dried at the sight of a swimmer’s body inside painted-on denim and a tight techno-fabric jacket. Familiar blue eyes looked out from beneath familiar blond hair that was cut in an unfamiliar military brush. Her brain said it’s not him—where’s the ponytail? where’s the surfer gear and perma-tan? But in her heart she knew exactly who it was. “Oh,” she said. As in, oh, shit. As in, oh, that’s why I feel like the world has come back into focus. Damn him. Damn all of them, and the accident of birth that had thrown her in with them. “Sven,” she said, the word coming out more like a wistful breath than a name.
Jack chuckled. “Thought so. No problem if you’re a lasagna no-show—Beth’ll understand. Or like I said, feel free to bring him along. The dog can come, too. If it acts up, Pegleg will just hiss and go hide somewhere until the coast is clear.”
“What—Oh.” How had she missed the big, buff-and-gray creature that sat beside him? That’s no dog, she thought half hysterically. Shaving it down doesn’t make it any less a coyote. Which was another shock—Sven had a familiar. The realization sent a shimmy through her.
“Go on and talk to him.” Jack’s eyes narrowed on her as he caught the vibe. “Unless you don’t want to?”
She really didn’t. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “But don’t expect him for dinner.”
“Whatever works.” He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze before he turned away. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you,” she echoed, hoping it was the truth. Hoping Sven hadn’t come to bring her back to the desert because . . . gods. Had something happened to her father? Sudden fear rocketed through her, sending her racing along the gangplank and down to the lower level, where man and coyote waited unmoving.
“Carlos is fine,” he called the moment her feet hit the dock. “Don’t freak.”
She slowed, blowing out a breath and pressing a hand to her stomach as the quick panic drained. Okay. That was something, anyway. But even as the fear for her father subsided, new disquiet took its place. Because if Sven wasn’t there because of her father, then he was there because of her.
As he watched her approach, his eyes—the muted blue of a sea under hazy skies—were cool and assessing, making her wonder what he saw. She couldn’t tell from the way he was watching her, and that made her nervous. So, too, did the realization that the changes in his clothing and hair, and the addition of the coyote weren’t the only things that were different about him. He was leaner than he had been, his face honed down to its basic Michelangelo perfection, his body big and broad, but spare. More, he stood perfectly still, not jiggling from foot to foot or looking around in search of the next adventure, the next diversion. That change, more than anything, made him seem like a stranger as she stopped, squared off opposite him.
She blew out a breath when her heartbeat picked up again. How had she forgotten the physical punch of a mage? Or had he become even more potent than before, his beauty amped by magic and the power of a familiar? She didn’t know. All she knew was that a part of her wanted to bow, scrape, and worship. And she despised that part of herself. So she tipped her head and shot for casual when she said, “It’s been a while.”
“It has. You look good.”
“Whatever you’ve got to say, say it fast. I’ve got a date.” Which was true. Sort of.
The coyote gave a low whine in the back of its throat. She glanced over, but it was looking past her, to where gulls were squabbling over an unidentifiable something.
“Cancel it.”
She bared her teeth. “Newsflash: I don’t have to follow orders—not from my father and not from you.”
He shook his head quickly, “That wasn’t what I—” He broke off when she shoved the sleeve of her Windbreaker, sweater, and shirt up over her forearm. His eyes widened when he took in the lack of any decoration save for the thin bracelet that curved inward and touched her seasickness pressure points.
“My marks faded. I don’t work for you anymore.”
The coyote stirred, but he dropped a hand to the top of its head and it quieted. “I’ve come to bring you back,” he said simply. “Skywatch needs you.”
She started to answer, but then hesitated, frowning because that really didn’t compute. If anything, she had been a distraction within the training compound—a young half-human winikin who hadn’t been raised in the program and didn’t care for the hierarchy. “How does that work? I didn’t fit in there. I didn’t make any sense there.”
“Things have changed. They need to keep changing.” He dug into a pocket, held out a note. “From Jox. You’ve been promoted.”
Heart racing, she took the note, careful not to let their fingers brush. She didn’t open it right away, though. Instead, she hesitated, looking up at the bulk of the Disco as she rode solidly at the wharf.
He looked up, too, expression going wistful. “I never figured you for the sea.”
“Me neither.” And that was all he was getting.
She hesitated, then opened the letter and read it. Then she reread it. Twice. The words dipped and wheeled like gulls: . . . too stuck in tradition, need to modernize . . . perfect for the job . . . end-time war needs you . . . calling you back to duty. “Jox wants me to lead the winikin,” she said dully. The surf roared in her ears, though the water beyond the marina was glassy.
“I know. And there’s more, something that Jox didn’t know about.” As with the letter, his words ran together: . . . more survivors . . . unbound winikin . . . members of the resistance . . . Mendez wants them brought in . . . JT wants to meet you first . . .
For a moment, she flashed back on the pain and terror of her father calling the magic to mark her with the aj winikin and the coyote glyph, indenturing her to Sven. He hadn’t raised her within the system that to him was the natural order of things—he had focused on Sven, leaving her to her mother, and then had the gall to be surprised when she hadn’t been able to make it work at Skywatch. She had hated the place, the people, and the hierarchy that said she was little more than a glorified servant to the shallow, egotistical golden boy her father had raised.
“. . . and tomorrow’s the solstice,” Sven said in conclusion.
She lifted a shoulder. “First day of winter. Big whoop.”
He looked out over the water as if just noticing there was an ocean there. Or maybe he was stalling. Maybe this was just as awkward for him as it was for her. She had outgrown her long-ago crush on him, had decided to file the rest of it under “things I did when I was young and stupid” and move on. But while that might have worked if he had looked like the guy who had finally sent her away from Skywatch before they killed each other, the man who looked back at her now was a stranger—tough and capable-looking. “Strike and Anna are sick,” he said quietly. “Maybe dying. Red-Boar and Woody are already dead. Jox and Hannah are in hiding with the twins. And tomorrow . . . hell, unless the skies split open and drop a damned miracle on us, it could all be over tomorrow and this whole conversation is pointless. But if we make it to next week, we’re going to need the unbound winikin to have any chance. And to get the survivors, we need you.”
“This JT guy—”
“Isn’t an option to lead the winikin. None of them are. You’re Jox’s choice.” His voice dropped an octave.
