Jessica Andersen - Nightkeepers

For the first time she thought she really understood what the massacre had meant, not just to the Nightkeepers but to the future of the world. And in understanding it, she thought she understood Jox a little bit better, too.

It wasn’t personal for him. It was all about the balance of power, and Strike would be far stronger paired with a true Godkeeper than with her.

‘‘Hey!’’ Alexis called, catching sight of her. ‘‘Leah’s here.’’

Where before her entrance would’ve earned her a perfunctory wave or two and some sidelong looks, now the others stopped what they were doing and headed in her direction.

Forcing herself not to back away, Leah said, ‘‘You’re all here. You’re practicing.’’ Which was obvious, but this normally would’ve been their break time, when they would’ve scattered to do their own things.

‘‘Strike wasn’t the only one who got a kick in the ass last night,’’ Nate said. ‘‘Jox got the other winikin in on it, too, and they let us have it.’’

‘‘Really?’’ Leah wouldn’t have guessed he’d been that far on board with the idea of rallying the troops. Then again, agreeing with her openly would’ve meant admitting he’d fallen down on the job.

‘‘They were right,’’ Patience said, her soft voice preceding her appearance as she shimmered back to visibility beside her husband. ‘‘Most of us were coming around to the realization that we’re running out of time and there’s way too much left to learn . . . but we needed the push.’’

Alexis nodded. ‘‘Which means we owe you one.’’

There was a chorus of agreement and even Michael, who pretty much defined inscrutable, shot her a grin and dipped his head in acknowledgment.

It was the first time Leah had been the focus of all their attention at once, and to her surprise it was a formidable charisma hit, like she’d been noticed by the gods themselves. She also wasn’t prepared for the clutch of nerves, the feeling of, Oh, shit. What did I get myself into?

They weren’t just looking at her like she’d helped them out by throwing a barbecue. They were looking at her like they expected her to tell them what was going to happen next.

She’d told Strike they needed a leader, but there was no way in hell she’d intended for it to be her.

Taking a big step back, toward the door, she said, ‘‘I’m glad I could help. Strike’s on his way for a huddle, and—’’

‘‘He’s already here,’’ his voice said from behind her.

Leah spun, her heart kicking because she hadn’t heard him come in, and jolting again at the sight of him, big and male, wearing a set of older, worn combat clothes, the black gone gray at the seams.

Their eyes locked, and her breath went thin on a surge of lust when she saw herself reflected in him, saw the heat of their kiss and the edge of frustration that rode him as much as it did her. In that instant she would’ve given anything for things to be simple between them.

Because they weren’t, she broke eye contact and took a big step away from him, angling around him toward the door. ‘‘Ah. Have a good meeting.’’

She wanted to sit in on the meeting, to be a part of the strategizing. The Nightkeepers needed to think, not just about the talent ceremony a few days away, but about the equinox on September twenty-first, when they’d teleport en masse to the Yucatán, to defend the intersection their parents had died trying to destroy. But at the same time she selfishly didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to watch Strike settle into a role that took him that much farther out of her reach.

‘‘Stay,’’ he said quietly, as though he knew exactly where her mind had gone. ‘‘Sit with me.’’

‘‘I can’t,’’ she said, taking another step away. ‘‘I don’t belong here.’’

‘‘You could.’’

She snorted. ‘‘Right.’’

‘‘Take this.’’ He dipped into his pocket and came up with a thin chain threaded through a highly polished black figurine the size of her thumb.

Made of a milky green stone, it was intricately knapped in the shape of a man’s profile in the Mayan style, with a long, flattened forehead, a prominent nose, and wide lips. Antlers protruded from the man’s temples.

‘‘What is it?’’ she asked without reaching for it, part of her afraid it meant something in terms of their nonrelationship, part of her afraid that it didn’t.

‘‘It’s called an eccentric, which basically means it’s a small ceremonial item.’’ He crossed to her and draped the chain over her head himself, his fingers brushing lightly against the sides of her neck, bringing shivers of too-ready awareness. ‘‘It’s the deer god. He represents wisdom.’’

‘‘And?’’ she pressed, knowing nothing in Skywatch was ever that simple.

‘‘And it’s the symbol of . . . of an important adviser.’’

He’d almost said, ‘‘the king’s adviser,’’ she knew. A glance at the trainees showed they knew it, too. And for the first time, she saw consideration rather than outright rejection of the concept. Or maybe those considering looks were strictly for her.

She touched the eccentric, feeling nothing more than warm stone and a prickle of disappointment that she didn’t feel more. It should’ve been a powerful charm, she knew. On her, it was nothing more than a pretty necklace. ‘‘I shouldn’t,’’ she said.

‘‘You’re our outside perspective,’’ Strike said. ‘‘Stay.’’ It wasn’t quite a request, wasn’t quite an order, but she felt the power behind the word, and the need.

She nodded before she was really aware of having made the decision. ‘‘Okay. I’m in.’’

And, boy, was Jox going to be pissed. Then again, she thought as light dawned, maybe he already knew. It was a good bet that his attitude earlier had something to do with the eccentric. He must’ve known what Strike was planning.

‘‘Good,’’ Strike said, and stepped away from her. Turning to the others, he said, ‘‘Thanks for being out here practicing. Obviously, we all figured out a few things last night. I’ll start by saying I’m sorry for checking out on you over the past bunch of weeks. I thought I was doing the right thing, but Leah convinced me otherwise.’’

‘‘You weren’t the only one half-assing it,’’ Nate admitted, stepping up and taking the spokesman’s role. ‘‘We talked about it last night. We’re ready to buckle down if you are.’’

It wasn’t exactly a promise of undying fealty, Leah knew, but it was a start.

‘‘Deal.’’ Strike stuck out a hand and Nate stepped up to shake on it, and the others formed a rough line behind him.

To Leah’s surprise, Nate moved to her next and held out a hand. ‘‘Thanks for the wake-up call.’’

‘‘You’re . . . you’re welcome.’’ She shook his hand, and he moved off so she could press palms with Alexis next, followed by each of the others in turn. As Leah shook each of their hands, the sense of unreality grew, not because of their acceptance but because the setup was suddenly seeming far too much like a receiving line.

She started edging away from Strike. ‘‘I should—’’

He caught her arm. ‘‘Stay.’’ He looked at the group and frowned. ‘‘Where’s Jade?’’

‘‘I’m here,’’ she called from the open doorway. ‘‘Sorry I’m late.’’

Quiet and studious, with brilliant green eyes and long, dark hair caught up in a messy bun atop her head, carrying an armload of books and wearing jeans and a T-SHIRT rather than combat clothes, she looked far more like a harried librarian than a mage as she hurried across the cavernous space toward the others.

She stopped in front of Strike, seeming oblivious to having just interrupted a moment. ‘‘I think I’ve got something useful.’’