Jessica Andersen - Storm Kissed

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.

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.”

“Which left the jaguars with the question of what to do with the rest of the serpents. So they sent them north as a ‘reward’”—Reese finger-quoted the word—“for their loyalty.” It fit. It played. And she wished it didn’t, because she could seriously use a break from thinking about the serpents and their ambitions.

Over the next couple of hours, they used the new info to narrow down the list of possible sites for Iago’s mountain temple. With Strike’s ability to teleport severely limited, the magi would be able to check out only five or six of the most likely sites. But even selecting for mountains with Mayan or Aztec connections plus a snake legend left them with fifty-two possibles and nothing more to go on, really. Reese’s temper sharpened as her rumbling stomach escalated from twinges to a bad-tempered mutter.

“There’s bread in the bowl over there.” Without looking up from the codex he was translating, which had a slim chance of being able to help Strike, Lucius made a vague gesture behind him. There, a carved stone jaguar fountained water from its mouth to gather in a bowl between its paws, while a second bowl held maize cakes. Both were always fresh and fully replenished.

“The magical bread-and-water deal is cool, but I was thinking more along the lines of a decent doughnut.” She hadn’t had a really great doughnut—plain, with just a little crunch around the edges—since arriving at Skywatch.

“Would Belgian waffles count?”

She jumped at the sound of Dez’s voice, and her edginess smoothed out some when she saw him standing in the doorway with a picnic cooler. “With whipped cream?”

“Freshly made, plus strawberries. Not to bring down the room, but apparently, Sasha cooks up a storm when she’s upset.”

Reese sobered. “I wish we had something that would help.”

“That wasn’t a complaint.” He crossed to her and kissed her cheek.

She leaned into him, closing her eyes for a second, then realizing that was a bad idea when fatigue washed through her. He was warm and solid, and smelled like breakfast and the outdoor air. In another lifetime, they would have woken up together and made leisurely love, then made breakfast together, sneaking kisses and copping feels in the process. But it wasn’t reality, she knew—she was pretty sure neither of them could cook. Not to mention that they had a world to save, and she was stuck. Sighing, she straightened away from him. “Let’s eat.”

They cleared a section of the stone table and laid out the feast he had brought—not just the waffles, but fluffy eggs, toast, and a thermos of coffee for Lucius and one of tea for her, along with a two-liter of Diet Mountain Dew and a plate of brownies that he left in the cooler with a mock-stern glare. “Those are for later. Or at least wait until I’m out the door before you dig in.”