Red-Boar’s expression went dark, and he hissed, ‘‘Mimic,’’ like it was the lowest form of life imaginable.
‘‘No shape-shifting necessary,’’ the ajaw-makol said in Vince’s voice. ‘‘She was perfectly willing to believe a wig and colored contacts, even when I was only human. Never even thought to check with his coworkers that Vince Rincon was a real person, just glommed on when I said I’d known her brother, and thought the wicked cult members had killed him.’’
Leah nearly broke at the realization he’d played her all along. She’d been so pitifully willing to go along with the illusion, so grateful for some sort of support that she hadn’t looked hard enough at the source. ‘‘Why?’’ she said, her voice a broken whisper. ‘‘Why me?’’
‘‘Because twenty-four years ago the gods marked you and your brother as their own,’’ he said, leaning so close that his hot breath feathered against her cheek. ‘‘Matthew’s blood started the process. Yours will finish it.’’
‘‘No,’’ Leah cried as something broke within her, bleeding rage and pain. ‘‘No!’’
Strike took a step forward, his face tight. ‘‘Let. Her. Go.’’
‘‘Why, so you can kill her and free the serpent to fight another day? I think not. Better she comes with me and joins the other devoted followers I’ve assembled for my use, for blood or as makol.’’ The ajaw-makol took a step back, dragging her with him, and power started rattling through him, revving up, feeling black and twisted rather than the gold-red hum of the Nightkeepers.
‘‘No!’’ Strike shouted, and lunged forward to grab her as purple mist rose up to haze her vision. The moment he touched her, power arced, red against purple-black, teleport against teleport, as Zipacna fought to take her and Strike fought to keep her.
Sobbing, not caring about the blade at her throat, Leah twisted in the ajaw-makol’s arms and jammed the heel of her hand into the knife still stuck in his chest, driving it deeper and feeling the spurt of hot blood.
Zipacna shouted in pain. And disappeared.
Leah fell to the ground half cradled in Strike’s arms. He caught her against him, breathing hard. ‘‘You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.’’
Except she wasn’t sure whether he was trying to reassure himself or her, because if it was the latter, he shouldn’t have bothered. It wasn’t okay. It probably never would be again.
Feeling numb, like she was already dead, she pulled away from him, lifted her right arm, and stared at the scarred patch. Twenty-four years ago, the ajaw-makol had said. And yeah, she knew exactly what he was talking about.
‘‘I killed him,’’ she said, her voice a broken whisper. ‘‘I killed us both.’’
As she realized the truth, a roaring whirl of purple-black rose up to claim her mind, and she was almost grateful to let it, to let the world slip away.
Until there was nothing. Until she was nothing.
‘‘Leah.’’ Terrified by her sudden immobility and fixed stare, Strike gripped her shoulders and shook her. ‘‘Leah!’’ When she didn’t respond, he turned to Red-Boar. ‘‘I’m taking her back.’’
‘‘Leave her,’’ the older Nightkeeper snapped. ‘‘We deal with this first.’’
He stood aside to reveal the ajaw-makol’s victim. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, shaggy-haired, tall and lanky, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and worn hiking boots. The ruined remains of the codex fragment were crumpled nearby, bloodstained and blackened with flame. A total loss. But Red-Boar was right: They had a more immediate problem in the form of the young man, whose eyes flickered from normal to luminous green and back. If and when they set green, he wouldn’t just be a second-generation makol created by Zipacna’s magic. He’d be a new ajaw-makol, created through the parent spell and the magic of the Banol Kax.
‘‘We have to kill it.’’ There was far more practicality in Red-Boar’s voice than regret. ‘‘Give me your knife.’’
‘‘He’s a person,’’ Strike protested. ‘‘Not an ‘it.’ ’’
‘‘It was a person,’’ Red-Boar corrected. ‘‘Now it’s a liability.’’ He held out his hand. ‘‘Give me the damn knife.’’
‘‘Don’t.’’ But it wasn’t Strike who said that. It was a woman’s voice.
Anna’s voice.
Strike turned and saw her in the apartment doorway, and even through his worry for Leah, everything inside him went still. She was older than she had been—they all were—but he saw his sister in the woman who stood before him, saw the same blue eyes that met his in the mirror each day.
‘‘Anna.’’ The word hurt.
‘‘Hey, little brother.’’ But her attention was fixed on Red-Boar. ‘‘Don’t kill him.’’
Sudden tension crackled in the air between them. ‘‘It is my right and duty,’’ the older Nightkeeper said. ‘‘He is makol.’’
‘‘Lucius is my student, my responsibility.’’ She fixed him with a look. ‘‘And you gave him the codex.’’
Strike rounded on Red-Boar. ‘‘You what?’’ Red-Boar dismissed the accusation. ‘‘Two months ago, and I told him to give it straight to Anna, who then mailed it back to you. I can only assume you returned it, and this idiot’’—he nudged the young man with his toe—‘‘snagged it once he realized what it was.’’
‘‘He had no idea what it was,’’ she hissed. ‘‘Fix him.’’
‘‘Why should I?’’ Red-Boar snapped, looking as much at Strike as Anna, as if he were accusing them both of having seriously skewed priorities.
‘‘Because we need Anna, and that’s the trade,’’ Strike said. ‘‘The student for her power added to ours during the equinox.’’
She nodded as though she’d known from the start that would be the deal. ‘‘I’ll come with you, but I’m not promising to stay.’’
‘‘We’ll discuss that later.’’ Strike reached down and gathered Leah’s limp form to his chest. He turned to Red-Boar. ‘‘Can you save him?’’
The mind-bender touched Lucius’s shoulder and frowned in concentration. Then he grimaced and nodded. ‘‘He didn’t finish reciting the spell, so the demon doesn’t have a full grasp on him yet. I should be able to push it back beyond the barrier and blank his memories.’’
Strike nodded. ‘‘Do it. I’ll be back for you in ten minutes. ’’ Then he held out his hand to Anna. ‘‘Let’s go.’’
And he brought his sister home.
Anna might’ve left the Nightkeeper way of life without fanfare, but she returned with a bang when Strike materialized them a few feet above a tiled floor. They hovered for a second, like Road Runner going off a cliff, then dropped in the middle of a group twenty-somethings wearing the blue robes of Nightkeeper trainees.
She hit hard, saw stars, and bit her tongue, and the blood added to the power humming in her veins. When she shifted, she saw a new mark on her arm, the itza’at seer’s mark. She’d gotten it on the pass through the barrier, whether she wanted it or not. But it wasn’t the mark, the pain, the power, or the trainees that grabbed her full attention. It was the nausea of teleport sickness. She’d never been a good traveler.
‘‘Oh, God.’’ She curled up on her side. ‘‘I think I’m going to be sick.’’
‘‘I’ve got you.’’ One of the blue robes—a strikingly tall blonde with blue eyes and a no-nonsense air—helped Anna up and steered her out the door. ‘‘Bathroom’s this way,’’ she said. ‘‘But you probably know that.’’
That wasn’t nearly enough warning for Anna, because the moment she stepped outside the ceremonial chamber and got a good look at the hallway, she recognized the training compound from her childhood. From her nightmares.