“You can ship the sperm,” the first girl announced.
“Excuse me?”
“For the right whales. You said the populations here and off California were dying from inbreeding, but there was no way to ship whales across the country to mix things up.”
“I did,” Cara said faintly. It was part of her “how the whaling practices of the seventeen and eighteen hundreds are still screwing us up today” spiel. This was the first time it had sparked a convo about sperm, though.
“My mom raises horses, and she just has the semen shipped.” Smarty Pants—it was confirmed now—lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Make sure you call FedEx and let them know it’s coming, though. It’s only good for a few days.”
Choking back a snort, Cara nodded. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” No way she was going into the midocean-orgy factor of whale mating behavior or the unlikelihood of getting a diver in there to collect sperm, never mind what the heck they would do with it on the other end. Nope, not going there. But she was grinning as she stood by the gangplank and said her good-byes to Stern Teacher and the rest.
“You look happy,” Cap’n Jack said from behind her as the last of the Juvies filtered through.
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. “We need you, Cara.”
A warm, heavy body pressed against her leg. She looked down to find the coyote leaning against her, looking up with pleading eyes. “Nice try,” she said, figuring Sven had told the animal to ham it up. But when she looked back at him, she found him staring at the coyote with a faint wrinkle between his eyes.
She told herself that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter, at least not any more than the others. But that was a lie. You’ve told me what everyone else back there wants. What do you want? But asking that would imply that he had the right to an opinion, which he didn’t. She didn’t wear his bloodline mark anymore, wouldn’t ever have worn it in the first place if her father had given her a choice. She had a choice now, though. “I’m not doing it,” she said finally, even though her stomach was churning, her bones aching. “I’m staying here. I like what I’m doing. I’m good at it.”
“You’d be good at this, too.”
She almost laughed. “You must be desperate.”
“I want you to come back willingly.”
“That’s not going to happen.” But a chill shivered through her at the implied threat. “And for the record, if any of you are thinking of knocking me out and dragging me back, be advised that Jox isn’t the only one capable of leaving sealed letters with friends. If I disappear, you guys are going to get some unexpected—and official—visitors.” The Nightkeepers weren’t a strictly secret organization, but they definitely preferred to stay far off the government’s radar.
His eyes narrowed. A low growl vibrated in the coyote’s throat. “You’re bluffing,” Sven said quietly.
“Try me.” She stared him down until he looked away. Satisfied, she nodded. “Sorry,” she said, completely unapologetic. “I’ve got to go. Like I said, I’ve got a date.”
Spinning on her heel, she marched to the staircase that led up to the parking area. She didn’t need him, she reminded herself, refusing to look back. Right now all she needed was to drown herself in friendship and lasagna, though the thought of eating anything made her want to hurl. Then, when she got home, she would figure out how to stash a letter to Jack and Beth, telling them that if she disappeared without warning they should start the search in a small box canyon near Chaco, New Mex. She probably should have done that a while ago, but until she came to work on the Disco, there hadn’t been anyone who would have noticed that she was gone.
Now, though, she had a life. And it didn’t have anything to do with a dozen magic users and their servant-slaves.
Mac chuffed anxiously as Cara hit the top of the staircase and strode out of sight without looking back, leaving Sven with the impression of her dark and mysterious eyes, exotic face, and the startling streak of white in her hair. Along with those images, though, came the sinking sensation of failure.
He had known it wouldn’t be easy to see her again, even harder to convince her to come back with him. He didn’t know what else he had expected—the awkwardness they had parted with, maybe, or even the air-clearing fight they probably should have had years ago. But whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been for her to be coolly indifferent and turn him down flat. He looked down at Mac. “Now what?”
The coyote whined a little, still staring after her, projecting: friend-friend-friend.
Apparently his familiar was already a fan. Poor sod. Sven shook his head. “I’m not so sure she would agree with that one.” Problem was, he didn’t have a choice in the matter, because Dez’s order had been crystal: Do whatever it takes to get her back here. He had taken command a few hours ago, and while the transfer of the fealty oaths actually hadn’t turned out to be that big a deal—Sven didn’t feel a difference, at any rate—the new commander ’s first order had made some serious waves. Long overdue waves, maybe, but waves nonetheless, because he had told the winikin to “crack the fucking envelope and put Jox’s replacement in charge already.”
So, despite JT’s blustering, the deed had been done, and a name had raced through the room: Cara Liu.
That had been a hell of a shock for most of them—Carlos had seemed like the obvious choice—but once Sven got past his initial “no fucking way” and a whole lot of other emotions he was ignoring, he had seen the logic. She wasn’t part of the system, wasn’t really outside it. She would have as good a chance as anyone—except maybe Rabbit—to convince JT to cough up the resistance’s old contact protocol, bring in the rest of the unbound winikin, and find a way to integrate them into the hierarchy—or build a new one. More, she didn’t want to do it. She hated Skywatch, despised the idea of being anybody’s servant, resented her father, and wasn’t overly fond of the Nightkeepers. Which, again, made Jox’s choice a damned good one under the circumstances.
For maybe ten seconds, he debated following her and taking another crack at convincing her to come willingly with the added bonus of scaring off her date. But then he shook his head and tapped his armband instead, hitting up Strike for a ride home. Rabbit had shored up the king’s ’port talent once more, and Strike swore he was fine to ’port himself and one or two others. Besides, it wasn’t like they had another option—with thirty-some hours to go, there was no time to waste on traveling.
Once Strike was on his way, Sven stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out over the harbor, feeling only a small tug at the sight of the wide-open sea. He figured that he would give Cara a day or two to think it over and set up her fail-safe letters—or even disappear entirely, if that was what she wanted to do. Dez would be pissed, but he would deal with that if it happened, because as far as he was concerned, some things were better left in the past. And not everything that had happened before would—or should—happen again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
December 21
Solstice day
Skywatch
In the hours after Dez took over the Nightkeepers’ fealty oaths, things broke loose in a big way, to the point that he started getting sidelong looks that were more speculative than hostile. Reese didn’t know whether the breakthroughs were a sign of the gods’ approval or just a case of timing working in their favor for a change, but suddenly she had information to work with.
It started with the charm that Sven had taken off the dying villager, which they were assuming was how Iago was turning innocents into makol. The leather pouch
had turned out to contain black cohosh, sage, and a couple of other ingredients shared with the antidote Reese had cooked up for Dez, along with a small, crudely carved stone that was slippery with dark magic. It all seemed to corroborate that Iago was descended from the serpent bloodline, which had gotten Reese and the others talking, throwing ideas around the library’s main stone table.
With Dez closeted in the royal quarters hashing over the plan for tomorrow, and no real private time in sight, she had geared up for an all-nighter. Lucius was dividing his time, brainstorming with Reese, working on whittling down the sites where Iago could be hiding and trying to find a cure for Strike. Jade and Natalie were in and out, helping when they weren’t needed elsewhere. And by the time the sky was lightening with the first pink smudges of dawn, Reese had a working theory that she felt was spot on.
Lucius had made the connection that the serpents had left the Mayan territories and established their northern outposts right around the same time the Xibalban sect had split off from the Nightkeepers. It was Reese, though, who had figured it out. “The codex you found said the serpents were sent to settle the outposts because the jaguars considered them particularly loyal, but what if that was spin control? What if the jaguars were getting rid of them? And what if that was related to the Xibalban split?”
“You’re thinking about a failed coup?” Lucius had said, surprised . . . but then nodded. “Yeah, I see it. A group of serpents lose sight of their balance and start getting in deep with the dark magic . . . and the next step, given their makeup, would be the throne. Maybe there was already a legend about a serpent king, maybe it started there, who knows? Either way, they got their asses kicked, the jaguars kept the throne, and the bad serpents became the Xibalbans.”
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