Demonkeepers (2 page)

“No kidding, huh?” Not that Jade thought Anna’s brother was an “ew”—far from it. Strike was massive, raven haired, and seriously drool-worthy, but he was also thoroughly mated, and the fact that he was the Nightkeepers’ king had added to the squick factor, taking the uncomfortable phone call from
“gee
, it’d be nice if you and Lucius hooked back up” into royal-decree territory. Granted, Jade had volunteered for booty duty, and the sexual mores of a mage were way more liberal than human norm, but still.

Propping her feet on a cracked, knee-high clay pot that showed a sacrificial scene of a victim’s beating heart being ripped out, and which currently served as Anna’s trash can, Jade slumped down and let her long, straight hair fall forward around her face. It obscured her view of the trim jeans and upscale, low- heeled sandals that would’ve looked casually elegant on Anna, but on her just blended. As she slouched, she swore she heard Shandi’s voice in her head, chiding,
Sit up straight, Jade. The members of the harvester bloodline are always dutiful, diligent, and decorous
. The three “D”s. Even before she’d known she was a Nightkeeper, or that her last name of Farmer was a modern take on her bloodline, she’d been hearing about duty, diligence, and decorum, along with the familiar remonstrations: Walk, don’t run; listen, don’t talk; speak, don’t shout; follow, don’t lead; blend, don’t stand out.

Gack.

Tucking her hair behind her ears and straightening her spine—because she wanted to, not because of her
winikin
’s remembered chidings, dang it—Jade glanced at the black, tattoolike bloodline glyph she wore on her inner forearm, along with the scribe’s talent mark that tagged her as little more than a glorified librarian. Bared by the soft white button-down sleeves she’d rolled up past her elbows, the marks stood out in sharp relief against her pale skin, which refused to tan despite her otherwise dark coloring of sable hair and light green, almost sea-foam eyes.
Ten bucks says Shandi never expected that the “duty” part of the three “D”s would come down to something like this
, she thought snidely. Really, though, she had zero problem with what she was being asked to do. Her problem was that Strike had been the one doing the asking.
Damn it, Lucius.

“You could bail.” Anna leaned back in her desk chair, toying with the thin metal chain that disappeared at her neckline. The king’s sister was a striking woman in her late thirties, wearing a moss-colored lightweight sweater that counterpointed her dark, russet-highlighted hair and the piercing cobalt eyes she and Strike had both inherited from their father, King Scarred-Jaguar. Despite her heritage, though, Anna had recently stepped up to head the human university’s ancient civilizations department. Of the scant dozen Nightkeepers still living, she was the only one who had refused to take up residence at Skywatch and commit to the Nightkeepers’ war against the
Banol Kax
and the fast-approaching zero date. Although Jade knew that Anna’s decision had caused—was still causing—problems back at Skywatch, she considered herself lucky that the other woman had stuck to her guns, not just because the university connection gave the Nightkeepers access to high-level information on the ancient Maya and the world at large, but because the campus itself had turned into a landing spot for magi looking to get away from Skywatch without being totally out of the loop . . . like Rabbit, who’d needed to escape the compound’s isolation and memories of his borderline sociopathic father, and Jade, who’d needed . . . Hell, she didn’t know what she’d needed. Space, maybe. Perspective. A cooling-off period, and some new skills that didn’t rely on magic.

Now, though, she was being called back to Skywatch. Back to duty. And back to a man who . . .
Shit
.

Jade took a deep breath. “Sure, I could back out.” As she turned her palms up, her forearm marks flashed a stark reminder of duty. “But then what? We need access to the library; Lucius isn’t getting it done on his own, and the others haven’t managed to trigger his powers using rituals and blood. Besides, we’ve got plenty of proof that sex magic trumps blood sacrifice. Strike and Leah used it to drive the
Banol Kax
back to the underworld; Nate and Alexis used it to repair a breach in the barrier; and Michael and Sasha used it to defeat Iago and his Xibalbans.” Although that last point was somewhat debatable.

Sure, the Nightkeepers’ earthly enemies, the members of the Order of Xibalba, had been quiet since the winter solstice, but the last time the Nightkeepers had laid eyes on the Xibalbans’ leader, Iago, he had been in the process of summoning the soul of the long-dead—and seriously bloodthirsty—Aztec god-king, Moctezuma. Iago had been trying to create an
ajaw-makol
: a powerful human-demon hybrid that retained its human characteristics in direct proportion to the degree of evil in the host’s soul. But the transition spell had been interrupted when the Nightkeepers had breached Iago’s mountain lair, making the outcome far less clear. The few hints Jade had found in the Nightkeepers’ archive suggested that an interrupted
makol
transition could go one of two ways. Most often, the human host-to-be slid into a comalike stasis for weeks or months while the demon spirit fought to integrate itself—or not—with the host’s brain. Which was what the Nightkeepers suspected was happening with Iago. Less often, both the demon and human consciousnesses could coexist while the host remained conscious, with the two souls fighting for dominance . . . which was what had happened to Lucius. The Nightkeepers had eventually managed to rescue him and banish the
makol
, but that hadn’t actually been their goal. What they’d really done was offer his soul to the in-between in an effort to turn him into the Prophet: an incarnate conduit capable of channeling badly needed intel from the metaphysical plane. Lucius’s exorcism and survival had been a side benefit, which galled Jade at the same time that it forced her gratitude.

Now she tried not to notice how Anna was just sitting there looking at her, the way she did with her Intro to Mayan Studies students.
Keep going
, the look said.
You’ll see where you went wrong in a minute
. “Three times now,” Jade continued doggedly, “sex magic has turned out to be the key to unlocking the larger powers necessary for successful high- level magic: Godkeeper magic in Leah’s and Alexis’s cases, the Volatile’s shape-shifting ability for Nate, and the balanced matter and antimatter of Michael’s and Sasha’s talents. So it seems logical that sex magic could be the key that triggers the Prophet’s power in Lucius.”

Granted, he wasn’t a Nightkeeper. But despite the ongoing debate among the Nightkeepers, particularly the members of the royal council, Jade didn’t think the problem was his humanity, his former demonic connection, or the fact that he’d retained his soul when the library spell had called for its sacrifice. Her instincts said he just needed a jump start, with an emphasis on the “jump” part—as in, he needed to get himself jumped. And if that was bound to make things complicated between them, so be it. She’d made herself scarce for the past five-plus months since his return to Skywatch; she could leave again afterward if she had to. It wasn’t like anyone was begging her to come back. And didn’t that just suck?

“There’s one big difference between your situation and the other cases you’re talking about.” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Unless there isn’t?”

And there was the crux of another major debate. Was it the sex magic itself that unlocked the bigger powers, or was the emotional pair- bonding of a mated couple the key, with sex magic as a collateral bonus?
Hello, chicken and egg
. Of the three couples Jade had named, in the aftermath of the big battles they’d been instrumental in winning, two had gained the
jun tan
marks signifying them as mated, soul-bound pairs. And although Michael’s connection to death magic prevented him from forming the
jun tan
, he and Sasha had gotten engaged human-style, diamond ring and all. Which suggested it wasn’t just the sex magic that was important; it was the emotions too.

Jade had heard the argument before—ad nauseam— but it pinched harder coming from Anna, who had become a good friend in the months since Jade had fled from Skywatch to the university for a crash course in Mayan epigraphy and some breathing room . . . And Anna’s relationship with Lucius went a good six years farther back than that—she’d been his boss, his mentor, and briefly his bond-master under Nightkeeper law.

“I don’t think it’s a question of love,” Jade said, glancing past Anna’s shoulder to the shelf beyond, where a crudely faked statuette of Flower Quetzal, the Aztec goddess of love and female sexuality, seemed to be smirking at her. Doggedly, she continued: “I think in each of the prior cases, the couples were struggling with identity issues, trying not to lose their senses of self to the magic or their feelings for each other. That won’t be a problem for Lucius and me. I don’t have much in the way of magic, and we’re not . . . Well, we had sex once; that was it.” And oh, holy shit, had that been a disaster. Not the sex, but the way she’d flubbed the aftermath. “We’re just friends now,” she finished.
Sort of
.

“The
jun tan
the others earned through sex magic doesn’t symbolize friendship . . . and neither does what Strike wants you to do.”

“It’s just sex.” Jade glanced at her friend as a new reason for the cross-examination occurred. “Unless you think he’s still too fragile?” Even with his grisly wounds on the mend, thanks to Sasha’s healing magic, Lucius had been badly depleted in the weeks following his return to the Nightkeepers. He’d been disconnected and clumsy, as though, even with the
makol
gone from his head, he wasn’t at home inside his own body. More, he’d been deeply ashamed of the weakness, thanks to a childhood spent as the weakling nerd in a family of hard-core jocks. Had his condition deteriorated?

“Fragile is
not
the word that comes to mind.” There was an odd note in Anna’s voice.

“Then what’s with the ‘don’t do it’ vibes?”

“I think . . .” Anna trailed off, then shook her head. “You know? Forget I said anything. It’s not fair for me to say on one hand that I want Strike to deal me out of the hierarchy, then on the other go running around trying to subvert the royal council’s plan.”

Jade winced at learning the should-Jade-jump-Lucius discussion hadn’t just been a three- way of her, Strike, and Anna, as she’d thought, but had also included the other members of the royal council: Leah, Jox, Nate, and Alexis. Michael had probably been involved too, as he was practically a council member; and if he knew what was going on, then so did Sasha. Shandi had also likely been in on the conversation, though the
winikin
probably hadn’t added much beyond, “Whatever you think is best, sire.” Jade was determined not to let any of that matter, though. For once, she was the one taking action while the others hung back and played supporting roles. The harvester bloodline might have traditionally produced shield bearers rather than fighters, and she might be the only living Nightkeeper aside from Anna who didn’t wear the warrior ’s talent mark, but this time she was on the front lines, ready to take one for the team.

So to speak.

Anna touched her chain again. Though Jade couldn’t see the heavy pendant it held, she could easily picture the yellow crystal skull. Handed down through the maternal lineage, the quartz effigy was the focus of an
itza’at
seer’s visionary gift. Normally Anna blocked her talent, which was glitchy at best, but Jade thought she caught a faint hum of power in the air as Anna said, “I’m not sure. . . .” She trailed off, eyes dark and distant.

Jade straightened. “Are you seeing something?”

“Gods, no.” Anna self-consciously dropped her hand from her throat, pressing her palm to the solid wood of the desk. “It’s just a feeling, probably coming from the fact that I care deeply about both of you, and hate that I can’t be there for Lucius without breaking promises that I’ve made to people here.”

Jade didn’t bother pointing out that vows made to humans were pretty far down in the writs when it came to the list of a mage’s priorities. Anna was forging her own path, which wasn’t necessarily the same one set down by the First Father and the generations of magi since. “Will it help if I promise to be gentle?”

Anna made a face. “Again. Ew.”

Jade laughed, but the humor was strictly on the surface. Underneath it all, she wanted to press further—about whether Anna was having visions, about how Lucius had looked when she’d last seen him . . . and whether he’d asked about her. But, just as Jade had cut off Strike and Anna whenever they had tried to tell her about Lucius’s progress before, she didn’t ask now. In the end, what mattered most were the results. Besides, she’d given her word to her king, and according to the writs, a vow made to him was second only to a promise made to the gods. Since the gods were currently incommunicado, thanks to Iago’s destruction of the skyroad . . .

She had a booty call to answer.