‘‘Fuck that,’’ he muttered under his breath, determined not to let it go down that way. But he also knew that Jox and Red-Boar would be on the side of tradition— and, damn it, logic—no matter what arguments he made.
So he went in search of his sister.
He found her in the suite they’d shared as children— two bedrooms and a main room they’d divided with a strip of masking tape. She stood in the middle of the bedroom that had once been hers, wearing the same jeans and sneakers as the night before, along with a borrowed shirt of pale blue cotton. Her dark chestnut-highlighted hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, and her eyes were the same cobalt blue he saw in the mirror every morning.
Strike knocked on the door frame. ‘‘It’s me.’’ Then he stalled.
There hadn’t been time for an emotional reunion in the grad student’s apartment, and he hadn’t made time for one the night before. Now, in the light of day, it seemed like it was too late, like they’d already settled into the uneasy coexistence that had plagued their growing-up years. He’d been the patrilineal heir to a dead culture; she’d been an itza’at seer whose powers had just begun to awaken right before the massacre. And boy had that been shitty timing. While he’d dreamed for years of the boluntiku attack and the deaths of all their playmates and winikin, she’d been forced to relive the attack at the intersection itself, her seer’s powers showing her the deaths of their parents, the slaughter of the other magi.
Among the survivors, only Red-Boar had seen the same things, forming a bond between them. When the older Nightkeeper had disappeared into the Yucatán rain forest a few years after the massacre, he’d left Anna behind, alone with the memories. At first she’d withdrawn into herself. Then, when Jox had enrolled both of the children in public school, she’d flourished into a normal high schooler, turning her back almost gratefully on the world they’d lost.
Strike had understood even back then. But that hadn’t made it any easier when she’d left for college and they’d all known she wasn’t coming back. Only now she was back, and this time it was up to him to make sure she stayed.
She hadn’t answered his hail, just stood there in the middle of the room, staring out the double windows that showed the ball court, and far beyond that the canyon wall, with its darkened pueblo shadows. Her blue eyes were dark with memory and sorrow, and Strike wanted to go to her and tell her everything was going to be okay, that he wanted to protect her now the way he hadn’t been able to when they’d been younger.
But though he would do his damnedest to protect her—protect all of them—there was no way he could promise anything more. Not with the equinox just over a week away, and so much left to figure out. So instead of making promises he couldn’t be sure to keep, he crossed the room and stood next to her to look out the window.
And, because there really wasn’t much else to say, he said, ‘‘Welcome home, Anna.’’
A watery laugh burst out of her, and she sucked it back in as a sob. Still not looking at him, she said, ‘‘God, I hate this place. Nothing here but bad memories.’’
‘‘We’re making new ones now. We have no choice.’’
Now she did turn to him, her blue eyes wet with tears and hard with accusation. ‘‘There’s always a choice. This is America. Land of the free and home of the brave, et cetera.’’
‘‘You know better than that,’’ he said, hurting for her but at the same time feeling the kick of too-ready anger. ‘‘We are, as we have always been, a culture living within another. We live alongside America but we’re not part of it.’’ They couldn’t follow human laws while doing the things they would need to do over the next few years.
‘‘I’m part of it,’’ she said, but her voice was wistful. ‘‘I have a husband, a job I love, friends who care about me. The perfect normal life.’’ There was an edge to her voice that suggested it wasn’t as simple as that, but she continued, ‘‘I don’t want to be here. I can’t help you.’’
‘‘Yes, you can. The question is, will you? Like you said, it’s a free country. You know where the garage is. Keys are on the pegboard.’’ The prickles of anger had him aiming low. ‘‘I’m sure Jox wouldn’t begrudge you his jeep. Gods know you took more than that the last time you ran.’’
She turned to face him, glaring. ‘‘I didn’t take a damn thing that wasn’t mine to take.’’
‘‘You took yourself. I didn’t have that option.’’ He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even known he was feeling it, but once the words were out there, they gained weight and truth. He’d wanted to run like she had, wanted to break away from Jox and Red-Boar and the calendar that ruled their lives, the waiting.
‘‘Immaterial now, isn’t it?’’ she said. ‘‘We’re right back where we started.’’
He let out a long breath. ‘‘Yeah. Sometimes that whole history-repeating-itself thing really blows, doesn’t it?’’
That startled a laugh out of her, and for some reason, maybe because of the familiar push-pull that hadn’t changed since they’d butted heads over the masking-tape line as children, or maybe because the situation with Leah was teaching him that sometimes the circumstances were what complicated the emotions, it was suddenly easy for him to drape an arm over his sister’s shoulders and hug her against his side.
She leaned into him, looping an arm around his waist. ‘‘I missed you.’’
‘‘Back atcha.’’
And for a moment, a few precious heartbeats, it was enough to stand there with his sister and watch a high cloud scud across the blue sky above the canyon wall and feel, if not complete, at least like some small piece of his life had come to rest where it belonged. For now, anyway.
Too soon, though, he had to break the short peace. ‘‘I hate to push, but we don’t have much time. There’s an ajaw-makol out there. I need to find him, need to kill him before the equinox.’’ It wouldn’t solve the Godkeeper problem, but it would be a major step in the right direction.
But Anna was already shaking her head. ‘‘I can’t control the visions,’’ she said. ‘‘Hell, I can barely see anything. A few times, like when I saw Lucius in trouble, it’s blasted me out of nowhere. But when I try to see . . . I get nothing.’’ She shrugged, the motion transmitting where they leaned against each other, comfortable together despite so long apart. ‘‘I think I’m blocking subconsciously. ’’
Strike was disappointed but not surprised. Gods knew her powers had brought her nothing but pain so far. Why wouldn’t she want to stop them?
He shifted to face her, dipping into the pocket of his jeans and withdrawing the yellow quartz effigy carved in the shape of a skull. He held it out to her. ‘‘This will probably help.’’
Something moved in her expression—a complicated mix of pain, regret, and reserve, along with reluctant eagerness. She took the pendant, let the chain trickle through her fingers while the skull rested on her palm. Then she closed her fingers around the effigy and nodded, accepting the responsibility that went with it. ‘‘Thank you.’’
Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘‘There’s something else. I need your help going up against Jox and Red-Boar, and it’s probably going to get ugly.’’
She nodded. ‘‘Of course.’’ There was no question, no discussion, just ‘‘of course.’’
Something loosened a little inside him. ‘‘Okay, here’s the deal.’’ He gave her the five-minute rundown, starting with the dreams he and Leah had both experienced prior to the summer solstice, and going up through the nahwal ’s answers to the three-question ritual. When he got to the part about needing to either free Kulkulkan or bring him through the barrier, he saw something kindle in Anna’s expression. He broke off. ‘‘What is it?’’