Jessica Andersen - Nightkeepers

He was right, she realized as she tried to sever the Godkeeper bond and Kulkulkan resisted, taking her with him as he morphed to an insubstantial form and raced through dirt and rock, headed toward the Night-keepers’ sacred chamber, and the intersection beyond, which glowed golden on one side and shimmered with lightless black on the other. She could feel the god’s joy in dragging the struggling demon toward the dark side, and his thrill in being free of the skyroad. His longing to return to the sky, bringing her power with him.

‘‘No!’’ Leah cried, and with an effort of will she wrenched away from the god, breaking the connection and yanking her soul back, fighting for the life she’d just found, the love she’d never expected to have. ‘‘Let me go!’’

A detonation rocked the earth beneath her feet as she slammed back wholly into herself. She fell, but she didn’t hit the ground, as strong arms swept her up and held her hard. Recognizing the arms, the man, she returned his embrace, burrowing in and trembling hard as reaction set in.

But she wasn’t the only one trembling, she realized. The earth was heaving beneath her, surging and groaning as though Zipacna were fighting the barrier’s hold, struggling to break free. Moments later, the cave mouth leading to the hidden tunnels collapsed with a roar, belching dirt and debris in the moonlight.

Then everything went still. The earth quit moving and the buzz of power drained.

The Nightkeepers stood staring dumbly, some at the cave-in, some at the sky. But there were no winged crocodiles, no feathered serpents. Just the Yucatán night. The world had gone utterly normal.

‘‘Holy crap,’’ Strike said.

Leah levered away from him, beamed up at him, and started laughing, and her laughter became a whoop, a victory cry. ‘‘We did it!’’

She was elated to be alive, to be victorious. To be in love.

‘‘Thank you,’’ she said, kissing him until neither of them could breathe. ‘‘I love you.’’

‘‘Goes both ways,’’ he said between kisses, holding on to her and squeezing so hard she thought she might break, though she never wanted him to let go. ‘‘You save me; I save you. That’s the way it works from now on.’’

Then they were being mobbed by a sudden surge of cheering bodies, young and weary, but battle tested now, and victorious. Leah laughed with joy as she was variously hugged and backslapped, and returned the favor, aware of the sting in her palms and the aches everywhere else and the fact that none of that mattered just then. They’d won—for now. They could take a breath. Step back. Regroup. And figure out what came next. Most important, they’d do it together, as a team. As the Nightkeepers.

She bounced off Strike in the scrum, laughed, and latched onto him as an anchor. As she did so, she saw a flash of black where there hadn’t been any before. She froze.

Flipped her wrist. Stared.

‘‘Holy shit,’’ someone said. She didn’t think it was her.

There were three marks on her forearm where the scar had been. One she recognized from her research: jun tan. Beloved. The mark of a mated Nightkeeper. The other she recognized from Strike’s arm: the royal ju . The third was unfamiliar, but there was no mistaking the flying serpent.

Strike, when he flipped his arm, was wearing the beloved mark too.

He smiled, his eyes for her alone. He touched her marks one by one and whispered, ‘‘Godkeeper.’’ The flying serpent. ‘‘Queen.’’ The royal mark. And when he got to the third mark, the beloved, he said simply,

‘‘Mine.’’

EPILOGUE

Twenty-four hours later

Exhausted from a restless night plagued with half-remembered dreams of dragons or some such shit—like he hadn’t outgrown D&D years ago—Lucius mainlined about a gallon of instant coffee and dragged his ass onto campus and up the stairs of the art history building. Halfway down the hall to his office, he stopped dead when he saw that Anna’s door was open.

His heart picked up a beat, as hope that she’d come back warred with the fear that admin was clearing out her desk, making it final. Holding his breath, he stepped into the doorway . . . and exhaled on a slap of relief when he saw her sitting at her desk.

She looked up, and her lips curved in greeting. ‘‘Lucius.’’

‘‘Welcome back,’’ he said, grinning with a kick of pleasure as his world realigned itself.

‘‘It’s good to see you.’’ The words seemed a little too careful, but he could only figure she was trying to discourage him from asking how she was, where she’d been, where she was living—with the Dick or somewhere else?—and whether she was staying. Talk to me, he wanted to say. Tell me what’s going on and how I can help . But he’d left a dozen voice-mail messages to that effect on her cell, and her lack of response had been answer enough.

‘‘So . . .’’ she said into the sudden quiet. ‘‘Did I miss anything important? Any good university gossip going around? Aside, of course, from the rumors about me having a nervous breakdown and checking into a mental ward.’’

‘‘Actually,’’ he deadpanned, ‘‘you’re a closet meth-head and you went for rehab. Sheesh. Keep up, will you?’’

‘‘Great.’’ She rolled her eyes, but the tension between them relaxed a notch.

‘‘There was something a little weird you missed,’’ he said. He’d only half paid attention to the buzz because he’d been worried about her, but he didn’t think she needed— or wanted—to hear that. ‘‘Seems like Ambrose Ledbetter’s dropped off the face of the earth.’’

‘‘Really?’’

Again with the too-careful tone, but he didn’t have a clue what it meant. Since she seemed interested, though, he continued, ‘‘Yeah, really. Granted, he goes off the reservation for months at a time, but it turns out there’s a daughter—maybe a goddaughter? I’m not sure, exactly. Anyway, she says he’s supposed to check in with her once a week, and he missed his last two calls. Sure enough, when she went down to look for him, no Ledbetter.’’

‘‘Who—’’ She broke off. ‘‘Never mind.’’ She flipped through some papers on her desk, and as she did so, he saw a flash of yellow at her throat, where an unfamiliar skull-shaped pendant hung on a delicate chain. ‘‘I’ve got to get out from underneath some of this backlog, but let’s do lunch. Sissy Burgers?’’

He grinned, and more of the tension uncoiled. ‘‘Yeah, that’d be good.’’ He lifted a hand and sketched a wave. ‘‘Catch you then.’’

Twenty minutes later he was on his way out the door when the lab phone rang. Figuring Anna would get it, or Neenie, he kept going, but it rang again. Grumbling, he detoured to the closest handset and answered. ‘‘Mayan Studies.’’

There was a pause; then a soft voice said, ‘‘Is Anna Catori there? This is Sasha Ledbetter returning her call.’’

Lucius should’ve said he was sorry about Ambrose. He should’ve said no, Anna had stepped out, but he could take a message. Something. Anything. But he didn’t. He just stood there, vapor-locked by the sound of her voice, which was weird, because it was just a voice, and there was no reason for it to reach inside him and squeeze a hard fist around his heart.

‘‘Hello? Are you there?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ he squeaked, going soprano. ‘‘Yeah, sorry. Bad connection. Um, Anna’s not here.’’ At least, she hadn’t answered the phone. ‘‘Can I tell her you called? Is there a number where she can reach you, like a cell or something?’’

Okay, that was even borderline slick, he thought as she rattled off a number and he jotted it down on his palm. ‘‘I’ll give her the message.’’