‘‘He’s already here,’’ his voice said from behind her.
Leah spun, her heart kicking because she hadn’t heard him come in, and jolting again at the sight of him, big and male, wearing a set of older, worn combat clothes, the black gone gray at the seams.
Their eyes locked, and her breath went thin on a surge of lust when she saw herself reflected in him, saw the heat of their kiss and the edge of frustration that rode him as much as it did her. In that instant she would’ve given anything for things to be simple between them.
Because they weren’t, she broke eye contact and took a big step away from him, angling around him toward the door. ‘‘Ah. Have a good meeting.’’
She wanted to sit in on the meeting, to be a part of the strategizing. The Nightkeepers needed to think, not just about the talent ceremony a few days away, but about the equinox on September twenty-first, when they’d teleport en masse to the Yucatán, to defend the intersection their parents had died trying to destroy. But at the same time she selfishly didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to watch Strike settle into a role that took him that much farther out of her reach.
‘‘Stay,’’ he said quietly, as though he knew exactly where her mind had gone. ‘‘Sit with me.’’
‘‘I can’t,’’ she said, taking another step away. ‘‘I don’t belong here.’’
‘‘You could.’’
She snorted. ‘‘Right.’’
‘‘Take this.’’ He dipped into his pocket and came up with a thin chain threaded through a highly polished black figurine the size of her thumb.
Made of a milky green stone, it was intricately knapped in the shape of a man’s profile in the Mayan style, with a long, flattened forehead, a prominent nose, and wide lips. Antlers protruded from the man’s temples.
‘‘What is it?’’ she asked without reaching for it, part of her afraid it meant something in terms of their nonrelationship, part of her afraid that it didn’t.
‘‘It’s called an eccentric, which basically means it’s a small ceremonial item.’’ He crossed to her and draped the chain over her head himself, his fingers brushing lightly against the sides of her neck, bringing shivers of too-ready awareness. ‘‘It’s the deer god. He represents wisdom.’’
‘‘And?’’ she pressed, knowing nothing in Skywatch was ever that simple.
‘‘And it’s the symbol of . . . of an important adviser.’’
He’d almost said, ‘‘the king’s adviser,’’ she knew. A glance at the trainees showed they knew it, too. And for the first time, she saw consideration rather than outright rejection of the concept. Or maybe those considering looks were strictly for her.
She touched the eccentric, feeling nothing more than warm stone and a prickle of disappointment that she didn’t feel more. It should’ve been a powerful charm, she knew. On her, it was nothing more than a pretty necklace. ‘‘I shouldn’t,’’ she said.
‘‘You’re our outside perspective,’’ Strike said. ‘‘Stay.’’ It wasn’t quite a request, wasn’t quite an order, but she felt the power behind the word, and the need.
She nodded before she was really aware of having made the decision. ‘‘Okay. I’m in.’’
And, boy, was Jox going to be pissed. Then again, she thought as light dawned, maybe he already knew. It was a good bet that his attitude earlier had something to do with the eccentric. He must’ve known what Strike was planning.
‘‘Good,’’ Strike said, and stepped away from her. Turning to the others, he said, ‘‘Thanks for being out here practicing. Obviously, we all figured out a few things last night. I’ll start by saying I’m sorry for checking out on you over the past bunch of weeks. I thought I was doing the right thing, but Leah convinced me otherwise.’’
‘‘You weren’t the only one half-assing it,’’ Nate admitted, stepping up and taking the spokesman’s role. ‘‘We talked about it last night. We’re ready to buckle down if you are.’’
It wasn’t exactly a promise of undying fealty, Leah knew, but it was a start.
‘‘Deal.’’ Strike stuck out a hand and Nate stepped up to shake on it, and the others formed a rough line behind him.
To Leah’s surprise, Nate moved to her next and held out a hand. ‘‘Thanks for the wake-up call.’’
‘‘You’re . . . you’re welcome.’’ She shook his hand, and he moved off so she could press palms with Alexis next, followed by each of the others in turn. As Leah shook each of their hands, the sense of unreality grew, not because of their acceptance but because the setup was suddenly seeming far too much like a receiving line.
She started edging away from Strike. ‘‘I should—’’
He caught her arm. ‘‘Stay.’’ He looked at the group and frowned. ‘‘Where’s Jade?’’
‘‘I’m here,’’ she called from the open doorway. ‘‘Sorry I’m late.’’
Quiet and studious, with brilliant green eyes and long, dark hair caught up in a messy bun atop her head, carrying an armload of books and wearing jeans and a T-SHIRT rather than combat clothes, she looked far more like a harried librarian than a mage as she hurried across the cavernous space toward the others.
She stopped in front of Strike, seeming oblivious to having just interrupted a moment. ‘‘I think I’ve got something useful.’’
Leah tensed on a jolt of hope. Had she found a way to track the ajaw-makol?
‘‘Go ahead,’’ Strike said, his voice inflectionless, as if he were afraid to hope.
Jade started to open the top book on her stack, but then the others slid. ‘‘Hold these.’’ She shoved the books unceremoniously into Strike’s arms and took back the volume she wanted, cracking it to a marked page so she could show him what looked like a woodcutting of a male figure with Nightkeepers’ marks on his arm, facing off opposite a naked, human-shaped figure with no nipples or genitalia, and eyes that held no whites or irises, just flat blackness.
‘‘It’s a nahwal,’’ Strike said as the others clustered around to get a look. ‘‘The in-barrier embodiment of each bloodline’s accumulated knowledge, without any of the individual personalities of the dead.’’
‘‘Not exactly,’’ Jade corrected. ‘‘It’s a special kind of nahwal, one that doesn’t connect to any specific bloodline, and isn’t fixed with past and present knowledge.’’
Strike fixed her with a look. ‘‘It’s a precog?’’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘‘I’m not totally clear on that. But there’s a spell called the three-question spell. Once per lifetime, a Nightkeeper can summon this nahwal and ask it three questions that it’s bound to answer truthfully. ’’ She glanced at Leah. ‘‘I don’t know if it’d work for a human, but it might be worth a try, given that you’ve shown Nightkeeper-level magic during prior cardinal days.’’
Leah’s breath backed up in her lungs at the thought, at the spear of hope it brought. If they could get some answers about what’d happened to her, and what was supposed to happen next, they’d be able to make a better plan. Hell, they might even be able to lock her into whatever powers she’d somehow acquired during the aphelion.
She wouldn’t be a Nightkeeper, but she wouldn’t be powerless either. She’d have something to use when she went up against Zipacna, something to bring to war with the others.
Almost afraid to ask for anything more, she glanced over at Strike. Their eyes locked and she felt the punch of heat, of connection. And though she was no mind reader, she sensed the same wish in him, the same seemingly impossible hope.
Maybe, just maybe, they could use the spell to figure out how to circumvent the thirteenth prophecy . . . or use it to their advantage.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lucius didn’t mean to eavesdrop on Anna’s conversation . . . it just sort of happened.