Anna.
Strike’s heart pounded up into his throat as he dropped down beside his sister. She was deathly pale, unmoving, and blood had soaked through a pair of makeshift bandages at her wrists.
‘‘Gods damn it!’’ Rage spiking through the fear, he spun on Red-Boar. ‘‘How could you let— Never mind.’’ He cut himself off. ‘‘We’ll deal with that later. Right now she needs a hospital.’’
He closed his eyes and thought of white walls and the smell of disinfectant, and a bathroom, generic and empty, safe for them to zap into. Then he thought of Albuquerque, though he’d been there only once. He hoped like hell the two threads would combine into a single address.
‘‘You can’t make the jump blind,’’ Red-Boar said quickly. ‘‘Let’s take her to the compound. We can—’’
‘‘We can what?’’ Strike interrupted. ‘‘Call for an ambulance? Screw that. Even a helicopter would take too long.’’ He held out his hand, which still leaked blood. ‘‘Either grab on and boost me, or stay here. Your choice.’’
Red-Boar cursed, but he grabbed on and sent power to Strike. The boost clarified the yellow travel thread, though it still wasn’t as strong as he would’ve liked. No choice, though. He wasn’t even sure she was still breathing.
‘‘Gods help us all,’’ he muttered, grabbed on, and yanked.
Silence echoed deafeningly in the great room at Skywatch.
Jox glared at Leah as if all this were somehow her fault. Patience held on to Rabbit’s hand. Alexis had slipped out soon after Strike disappeared, probably to warn the others what was going down, and Leah stood there, waiting for the puff of displaced air that would signal their return. As she waited, she prayed.
God, she thought, or gods—whatever—please let them make it back. Please let Anna be okay. And though she knew it was small and self-serving, Please let them figure out how to save me.
‘‘Come on,’’ Jox muttered under his breath. ‘‘Come on!’’
There was no zap of displaced air. But the phone rang.
Jox hesitated, and then hit the speakerphone. ‘‘Hello?’’
‘‘We’re in Albuquerque. At a hospital. I’m not sure which one.’’
At the sound of Strike’s voice, Leah exhaled a long, shuddering breath of relief. They’d made it back to the U.S., at any rate. She didn’t want to think about how they’d gotten to the hospital, though, or she knew she’d get the shakes. He’d flipping jumped blind.
‘‘How’s Anna?’’ Jox’s voice broke.
‘‘They’re working on her now.’’ Strike’s voice dropped. ‘‘She sliced her wrists, nearly bled out before Red-Boar found her. He says she saw a nahwal, followed it into a temple, and cut herself.’’
Jox’s eyes flicked to Leah. ‘‘What about Ledbetter?’’ ‘‘Dead. And apparently a Nightkeeper. I’ll explain when I get back.’’
In the shocked silence that followed, Leah cleared her throat. ‘‘Do you want me to drive out?’’
‘‘No, stay put. Red-Boar’s already going to have to do some serious mind-scrubbing on our way out, and I don’t want to add any more brains to his list. Besides, it’s probably not a good idea for you to be out in the open right now.’’
Because it was in the best interests of the ajaw-makol and the Banol Kax to keep her alive through the equinox, thus destroying both Kulkulkan and the skyroad.
‘‘Of course.’’ She paused, wanting to say something, but not sure what. So in the end, she went with a lame, ‘‘Take care.’’
‘‘You, too.’’ He paused. ‘‘Jox?’’
‘‘Still here.’’
‘‘Put Carter on Ambrose Ledbetter. I want to know who he was, where he came from, who he hung with. Everything.’’
Jox stilled. ‘‘You think there are more survivors out there?’’
‘‘If we’re damn lucky.’’
In the hospital, Anna survived and stabilized. But she didn’t wake up.
Twelve hours passed, twenty-four. Seventy-two. The equinox approached and Strike didn’t leave her side. He sat in the private room he’d put on the Nightkeeper Fund’s credit card, registering her as Alexis Gray because Alexis didn’t have any family to notify and Anna did.
Maybe—probably . . . okay, definitely—it was wrong to keep Anna’s husband out of the loop, but he’d be a complication they absolutely couldn’t afford. So it was just Strike watching over her, along with Red-Boar, who stayed nearby in case they needed his talent for damage control.
The doctors came and went and shook their heads when all the tox screens came back negative, indicating that she hadn’t OD’d in addition to cutting her wrists, but not able to explain why she was still in a coma. They sent Strike sidelong glances and assured him that sometimes suicides fooled even their closest family members, that he shouldn’t blame himself. But they didn’t know the half of it.
He’d sent her to find Ledbetter, knowing she wasn’t fully trained or in control of her own powers. He’d been so damned sure he was making the right call sending Red-Boar as backup, but the bastard had left her unprotected and she’d nearly died. Might still die, if they couldn’t figure out how to reach her. Each hour, he could feel her slipping farther into the mist. And each hour, he could feel the stars and planets aligning, moving closer to the equinox.
In less than a day they would meet the ajaw-makol at the intersection. Jox assured him that the team would be ready. The question was, would their leader?
Strike knew he had too many priorities, all of them vying for the top spot. Who was he, king or man? Lover or brother? Leader, savior, or just a guy with a business degree and some landscaping experience?
Fuck, he didn’t know anymore. And he wasn’t figuring it out sitting here.
He stood and crossed the room. Stuck his head out and snapped, ‘‘Get in here.’’
Red-Boar obeyed without a word. His eyes were down, his expression set, and he wore a brown button-down shirt and matching ball cap he’d gotten from somewhere, making a nod at the penitent’s robes he’d hidden behind for so long.
Strike was having none of it. Rage spiked through him at the realization that so much of what had gone wrong since the barrier reactivated—from the burning of Jox’s garden center to Anna’s condition now—were thanks to Red-Boar and his fucking indifference. Anger burned, hot and hard, and for a second, he wanted to grab the bastard, yank him into the barrier, and leave him there. Let the nahwal have him.
Deep breath, he counseled himself, fighting the god’s anger alongside his own. Unfortunately, barriering Red-Boar wasn’t an option. Despite his questionable loyalties, the older Nightkeeper still had the best boosting skills among them.
That didn’t mean Strike had to put up with the other shit, though.
So when the door closed behind the older man, he said, low and controlled, ‘‘Enough. I’ve had enough of the martyr shit, enough of the Yoda routine, and especially enough of the ‘watch out for Red-Boar, he’s got PTSD and doesn’t always react normally’ crap.’’
The other man’s head came up. His dark eyes locked onto Strike’s, and in their depths he saw something he never expected to see. He saw anger. Hatred. Rage. ‘‘Watch your step, boy.’’
Strike almost retreated, but knew he couldn’t afford to, knew this had been coming for a long time. He kept his voice level. ‘‘I am my father’s son.’’
Red-Boar bared his teeth. ‘‘That doesn’t make you king.’’
‘‘What, you think you should be in charge because you’ve got seniority?’’ Following Red-Boar’s glance, he said, ‘‘Or Anna?’’ He locked eyes with his onetime mentor, still fighting the urge to flatten the bastard, to cow him, to make him admit—