Jessica Andersen - Dawnkeepers

His forearm was marked like hers, with two glyphs. One was the same jaguar she wore, only smaller. The other was the k’alaj glyph representing the back of a human hand and a length of rope or sinew: the “was bound” mark, used for slaves and captured enemies . . . and sacrifices.

He took a deep breath. Let it out. Looked at Anna, the woman of his dreams, who was now his mistress, and not in the way he’d wished. “Okay, boss,” he said, doing his best to act like everything was okay when he wasn’t yet sure that was the case, “take me to your library and tell me what I’m looking for.”

“That’s easy,” she said. “We want everything you can find on the Order of Xibalba.”

His heart, so recently knocked off-kilter, took another stutter step. “You’re kidding me.”

“Wish I were.”

“The order’s real too?” It was a little like learning that not only was the Loch Ness monster real, so was Godzilla.

Anna nodded. “Worse, we’re pretty sure Desiree is a member.”

“Desiree is—” He broke off, slamming his eyes shut as an awful gulf of guilt opened up inside him.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Still not.”

“Shit.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“We’re dealing with it.”

“I’m surprised your brother didn’t have me thrown into the Cenote Sagrado,” he said, naming the huge sacrificial well at Chichén Itzá.

“I promised him you’d behave.”

“I will,” he said fervently. “You have my word.”

“I don’t need your word. I have your blood oath.” She bared her forearm, where she too had gained a new mark, a closed fist. His heart shuddered as he recognized ajawlel . . . the slave-master’s mark.

Once Anna had handed Lucius over to Jade in the archive, she went in search of her brother. She found him in his and Leah’s quarters, the expansive royal suite once shared by their parents.

Anna hesitated at the double entry doors, assailed by memory.

She’d been fourteen on the night of the Solstice Massacre, which meant she had fourteen years’ worth of childhood memories from Skywatch. Strike had been only nine, and his mind had blocked off the bulk of his early years as a defense. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been so lucky. Maybe it was because she carried the seer’s mark, maybe because of the five-year difference in age. Whatever the cause, she’d been unable to outrun the memories, her brain choosing to block her power rather than the past.

Ever since her partial return to the Nightkeepers, she’d dealt with the memories by staying at Skywatch as little as possible, and avoiding the spaces with the most ghosts . . . like the royal suite.

Now she forced herself to knock on what she still thought of as her parents’ door, and made herself push through when her brother’s voice invited her in.

“It’s me,” she called, standing just inside the royal suite and trying to concentrate not on the memories but on the differences, the new decor and the way the walls had been painted, the floors stripped and redone, all part of Jox’s efforts to exorcise the ghosts.

“I’m in the altar room,” Strike said, his voice echoing from a door off to her right. “Come on back.”

Although the royal couple’s shrine of private worship was pretty much the last place on earth Anna wanted to be, she forced herself down the short hallway leading to the ceremonial chamber. She couldn’t make herself step inside the tiny room, which was little more than a closet with stone-

veneered walls and a gas-powered torch in each corner, with a chac-mool altar against the back and a highly polished obsidian mirror on the wall.

Strike stood in the center of the small space, on a woven mat marked with bloodred footprints facing the altar. In ancient times the mats had symbolized a position of power or leadership; to stand on the mat was to claim the right to speak and be heard. Since then, among the Nightkeepers those mats had come to represent the king’s right to speak to—and for—the gods.

Just then, though, Strike looked less like a god-king and more like a tired man, a former landscaper with a business degree and teleporting skills, who was in way over his head. He and Leah had made a try for Kulkulkan’s altar stone in Germany, only to find that it wasn’t where it was supposed to have been. Leah had stayed behind, following where the trail led, while Strike had come home alone to deal with the business of securing Skywatch against the Xibalbans. Anna knew that Leah could reach him instantly through the blood-link of their love, knew that he could ’port to her in a flash. He knew it too, but the separation was wearing on him, worrying him. His eyes were tired, his expression drawn.

Anna could relate.

Leaning against the doorframe to ground herself when the reflection in the mirror threatened to waver and show her things she didn’t want to see, she said, “It’s done.”

Strike nodded. “He’ll help?” But what he was really asking was, Have you bound him as your slave?

“Yes.” She hated the necessity, hated the decision, but hadn’t been able to argue either. In saving Lucius from Red-Boar’s knife she’d taken responsibility for him. The binding ritual had simply been a formal extension of that duty. Or so she was trying to tell herself.

“And the other?”

“That’s why I’m here. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t reconsidered.”

His lips twitched. “Wanted to see if I’d come to my senses, you mean.”

“Something like that.”

“Consider your objections noted.”

Fat lot of good that would do in the long run, Anna thought, but inclined her head. “I’ll make the call.”

Feeling as though she were escaping from the room, if not the duty, she headed for her own suite, which was the same one she and Strike had shared as children. Jox had overseen the renovations, yielding a pleasantly neutral space with a few personal touches in the jaguar motifs of the art prints and small trinkets on the bamboo furniture. They’d all been placed by the winikin , not her, but they did serve to warm the suite, making it fairly comfortable for the short stints she was in residence, during the cardinal days and a few other ceremonial occasions.

Now she let herself sink into the soft, earth-toned sofa and dug out her cell phone. Dialing the main university switchboard from memory, she punched in an extension and waited through two rings, then three.

Just when she was wondering how much to say on voice mail, the line went live. “Desiree Soo speaking.”

“I have Lucius,” Anna said without preamble.

There was a startled pause before Desiree said, “You can keep him. He’s served his purpose.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. We’d like to invite Iago to the compound for a parley.”

Desiree’s surprise was palpable, but she snorted. “Parley? What is this, Pirates of the Caribbean ?”

“A meeting, Desiree, between your leader and mine. March thirteenth. And your agreement that the Xibalbans won’t come after us between now and then.”

“The day after Saturn at Opposition? What, you think your ancestors are going to come through and tell you how to get hold of the remaining artifacts? Keep dreaming.”

Anna dug her fingernails into her scarred palms, determined not to let the bitch bait her. “Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Where can I reach you?”

“Leave a yes/no on my office voice mail. I’ll be back in town tomorrow, the day after at the latest.”

“Interesting.” Desiree paused, then said sweetly, “Would you like me to let your husband know of your plans? Apparently he expected you back from your ‘meeting,’ ”—there were obvious finger-