He cracked an eye and took stock. He was in his bed in the pool house, and it was well past dawn. He was naked save for a pair of cutoff shorts—Jox’s idea of sleepwear?—and Leah was sitting in a chair beside his bed, her head pillowed at the edge of his mattress on one folded arm. Her other hand was holding his. The sight of her face smoothed out in repose and their fingers intertwined atop the covers softened the edge of anger that rode him for no good reason.

‘‘Hey,’’ he said quietly, wincing at the crack in his voice, and again he remembered the events of the night before.

She opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment, unblinking. Then she straightened and slid her hand from his, trying to make it seem like no big deal. But the withdrawal was intentional, he knew. And it stung.

Worse, he deserved it.

‘‘You were right,’’ he said before his mood could take over and make him say something stupid. ‘‘About me hiding in the archive, about us needing something to rally behind. You were right about all of it. And the name is perfect. The motto’s perfect.’’ He levered himself up and swung his legs over the side so they were sitting facing each other, knees bumping. Leaning in, he caught the hand she’d just reclaimed. He raised it to his lips, then pressed it against his cheek even though he was about a day and a half past needing a shave. ‘‘Thank you.’’

Her eyes filled. ‘‘You took off. I felt like an idiot.’’

More than that, he realized, she’d felt rejected. And why wouldn’t she? It wasn’t as though he’d bothered explaining what had been going on inside him. What still was going on inside him, he knew, feeling the anger roil within. He glanced at his arm, at the mark of the flying serpent, and wished he knew what the hell it all meant. It was probably a reference to the creator god Kulkulkan, but beyond that he was clueless. Worse, he couldn’t settle his brain enough to think it through.

How was he supposed to lead the others when he could barely control himself?

‘‘I’m sorry.’’ When she tried to pull away, he pressed his hand over hers on his cheek, which was as much of a hug as he dared give her until he got said what needed to be said. ‘‘Over the last few days I’ve been having . . . moods, I guess you could call them. Anger attacks. Only it’s not my anger, not really me, like it’s coming from outside me.’’

Her eyes sharpened. ‘‘From the barrier?’’

‘‘Or something.’’ He wasn’t yet ready to verbalize his deepest fear: that somehow the Banol Kax had gotten a foothold inside his head. Looking at his forearm, he said, ‘‘And then there’s this. The flying serpent.’’

‘‘Jade couldn’t find that specific mark in the archive, and none of the winikin remember having seen anything like it before,’’ Leah said before he could ask. ‘‘Red-Boar thinks it probably means you’re bound to the creator god Kulkulkan through your Godkeeper mate.’’ She paused. Grimaced. ‘‘You know, the Godkeeper mate you don’t have because one, the god didn’t come through the barrier during the solstice because I’m ‘only human’ ’’— she emphasized the phrase with finger quotes—‘‘and two, because neither of us is sold on the predestined-mates thing.’’ Her grin went a little crooked and she didn’t meet his eyes. ‘‘I’m not looking for long-term, and we both know that a couple of dreams and some hot sex does not necessarily a lasting relationship make. And besides—’’

He touched a finger to her lips, cutting her off. ‘‘Don’t,’’ he said, as a whole bunch of messy emotions crowded around inside him. ‘‘Don’t talk yourself out of believing in what’s happened between us.’’

To his surprise, her eyes filled. ‘‘Why not? What good does it do me to keep thinking about something that’s going nowhere? You’re afraid that if we’re lovers then the gods—the prophecies, whatever—are going to demand me as a sacrifice. I get that. I even appreciate it, because I’m nobody’s sacrifice. But if that’s the case and we can’t even talk to each other, never mind sleeping together, what’s the point of me being here at all?’’ Her voice went thin. ‘‘It sucks going to bed alone every night, knowing you’re right across the pool deck, and knowing that you’ll buck tradition by having me here, but you don’t want me enough to take it all the way.’’

‘‘That,’’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘‘is bullshit.’’ The anger fought to come, and he fought equally hard to hold it back, though he wasn’t sure anymore how much of it was him and how much wasn’t.

‘‘Is it?’’ Color rode high in her cheeks. ‘‘Then why—’’

He cut her off again, this time with his lips, shifting his grip from her hands to her hips, and bracketing her knees with his, blocking her escape.

There was no finesse to the kiss, no soft question or coaxing. It was all about the anger that had ridden him for days now, and the raw need he’d been holding in check for far longer than that. Don’t tell me I don’t want you enough, the kiss said. Don’t even think it. It was because he wanted her so much, needed her so much, that he’d stayed away from her for so long. Only now she was right there in front of him, in the place where he slept, and he was near the breaking point.

But when he broke, she was right there with him.

She didn’t resist the kiss, didn’t shove him off and ask what the hell he thought he was doing, didn’t blast him for the mixed messages. No, she met him head-on, leaning in and grabbing on, one hand in his hair at the nape of his neck, the other wrapped around his upper bicep, fingers digging in. She opened her mouth beneath his, a demand rather than an invitation.

Their tongues touched and slid, and the taste of her raced in his veins. He crowded closer, or maybe she did—he wasn’t sure who moved first—but they twined together, her hands streaking across his bare shoulders and back, her T-shirt-covered breasts brushing against his naked chest.

He went hard against the fabric of his cutoffs, the material a rough contrast to the silk of her skin when he slid his hands beneath her T-shirt. She made a soft, urgent sound at the back of her throat, one that called to everything primitive and male within him. He wanted to drag her across his body and press her down on the bed, wanted to take her, to possess her, to brand himself across her skin so there would be no question that she belonged to him and he to her, and nothing else in the world mattered.

Which was the problem.

Shuddering with the rampant need that rode him, locking horns with the logic that told him he had to stop now, he forced himself to end the kiss. He couldn’t make himself pull away, though. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers so they were leaning into each other, holding each other up. ‘‘It’s not that I don’t want you enough to risk the prophecy,’’ he said, his voice rasping. ‘‘It’s that I want you so much, when I’m with you the other stuff fades. You could become so much more important to me than the others.’’ He paused as a tremor within warned that maybe she already had, that their relationship was already clouding his judgment the way his father’s love for his family had altered the decisions he’d made as king. ‘‘I can’t let that happen,’’ he said. ‘‘Not if we’re going to win this war.’’

He expected her to argue, almost hoped she would. Instead, she said softly, ‘‘Then let me go. I can protect myself now . . . and you’d be a teleport away if I got in trouble. I think it’d be better, easier for both of us.’’

She wasn’t asking for permission, he knew. She was asking him to end it, to release her from their nonrelationship, or at least give her the distance to regain her footing in the rational world.

But he couldn’t. ‘‘Stay,’’ he said, a single word that held both command and longing, even to his own ears.

She drew away so they were no longer supporting each other. ‘‘You don’t need me here, and the others don’t want me here. Why should I stay?’’

Because you’re safer here than on the outside, he wanted to say. Because my gut tells me the gods aren’t finished with you and me, despite what Red-Boar says; and because you were right last night when you said we need an outside perspective, and that I need the occasional kick in the ass. But while all of that was true, he knew it wasn’t what she was asking. So he said, ‘‘Because I want you to. Please stay, at least through the conjunction.’’

Her eyes went dark. ‘‘And then?’’

‘‘And then we’ll see.’’

He expected her to press. Instead she nodded. ‘‘Until the conjunction, then.’’ She touched his arm, tracing each of his marks with a fingertip in a light caress that let him think about nothing but the softness of her skin and the taste of her breath on his lips. ‘‘Where did you go?’’ she asked, tapping the last mark, the one he’d gotten the night before.

It took him a second to refocus, another to answer. ‘‘I zapped myself into the barrier.’’ He didn’t mention that he’d jumped blind, and that he might’ve ended up totally in limbo if the nahwal hadn’t reached through and given his subconscious mind a destination, as Leah herself had done the very first time he’d teleported. ‘‘When I got there I saw my father, or the nahwal I believe is my father and Red-Boar believes is a figment of my imagination.’’ He paused. ‘‘The nahwal told me that it’s time, but I think he’s wrong.’’ He paused, exhaling heavily with a look toward the mansion. ‘‘They’re not ready for a king.’’

‘‘Are you ready to be king?’’ she asked, still touching his arm, her fingers resting above the serpent’s wings.

‘‘No,’’ he said, shaking his head. Not with what felt an awful lot like a demon rocketing around in his skull. Not until he figured out how she fit into everything that was going on around him, inside him, and whether the thirteenth prophecy would require her death if he took up the Manikin scepter, which was the symbol of the Nightkeepers’ king. ‘‘But I’m ready to be their leader. I’m ready to find out what the flying serpent mark means, and I’m ready for the others to get their talents so we can start functioning as a team. In fact . . .’’ He glanced at the bedside clock radio and winced when he saw it was past ten a.m. already. ‘‘Can you ask Jox to get everyone together for a meeting? You were right last night. It’s time for me to get off my ass and do my damn job.’’

‘‘Not exactly what I said, but close enough for government work.’’ She rose, her expression guarded, as though she’d taken everything that’d just happened, everything they’d just said to each other, and shoved it deep down inside for later consideration. ‘‘I’ll tell them to meet you in the main room for an organizational sit-down, so you can come up with a plan for the days we’ve got left before the conjunction. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to grab a shower and mainline some coffee.’’

‘‘Thanks. And, Leah?’’

She turned back near the door. ‘‘Yeah?’’

‘‘I’m glad you’re staying. And I’m sorry. For all of it.’’ He was sorry for disappearing on her the night before and leaving her to look foolish in front of the others. More, he was sorry for not being the man who could give her the stars and the moon, and all the love she deserved. And he was sorry that, even knowing he wasn’t that man, he couldn’t let her go.

‘‘Apology accepted,’’ she said, though he wasn’t sure which part she’d agreed to. Sending him a small finger wave and a sad smile, she slipped through the door, out into the sun-bright day.

When she was gone he sat there for a moment, staring after her, feeling shaken and stirred up and far more like a man in the grips of obsession than the levelheaded leader he was supposed to become, or the king his people needed him to be. He wished he knew how to balance the two, how to be a better man. But at the same time, he was realizing that something had changed. He didn’t know whether it was because of Leah’s lecture the night before, the motto she’d given to Skywatch, or his trip into the barrier, but for the first time he wasn’t wishing for an escape or an out.

He was trying to figure out how the hell to get it all done without losing himself in the process.

Leah was feeling shaky and achy as she crossed the pool deck to the mansion, squinting in the too-bright sun.

A few of the twinges were from doing the sleeping-sitting -up thing while waiting for Strike to come around, but the vast majority were from that hell-and-gone kiss he’d laid on her, the one that proved she’d been lying to herself when she’d tried to say that being with him hadn’t been as good as she remembered, that she’d fantasized it into something it wasn’t.

Nope. It was all that, and then some.

Which was a problem, not only because he was determined not to let it happen again, but also because she couldn’t be sure how much of the connection was real and how much was a product of the circumstances.

It was a given that what’d happened in the sacred chamber during the solstice had been courtesy of a god, probably Kulkulkan, trying to gain a foothold on earth by going co-op with her gray matter. And perhaps the sizzle the day after the aphelion had been part magic, too. But since then she hadn’t shown a lick of magical talent, and the sizzle was still alive and kicking harder by the day.

Okay, so she was hot for the guy, magic or no magic. But what about him? There was no way she could separate the man from the sorcery or his upbringing, and if he believed the dreams meant the gods intended them to be together, that was the direction his brain was going to go, whether or not they were compatible. And aside from the whole save-the-world thing, she was enough of a girl to want him to want her, not just the woman the gods had shoved at him.

Though she’d ended her share of relationships, she’d heard enough of the old, ‘‘it’s not you, it’s me,’’ to know that it really was her most of the time. She was too much work for not enough payoff, too judgmental, too driven by the job and her own concepts of right and wrong.

Was it so much to ask for a guy who wanted those parts of her, too? One who was willing to fight for her, not just against their common enemy, but against the tenets that said they couldn’t be together?

And that brought her right back to the thirteenth prophecy and the whole, ‘‘I’d love you but then I’d have to kill you’’ thing, which just sucked beyond sucking.

Trying to banish the faint suspicion that his interpretation of the thirteenth prophecy was a cosmic version of, ‘‘it’s not you, it’s me,’’ Leah pushed through the doors leading from the pool deck to the mansion’s great room, intending to hunt up Jox and pass along Strike’s message.

The winikin was waiting for her just inside the door, wearing jeans, a light-colored long-sleeved shirt, a pair of rope sandals, and an expression that said he wished she’d just go away. Permanently.

‘‘Oh.’’ Leah stopped in her tracks, feeling off balance. ‘‘You’re here.’’

‘‘I was headed out to check on Strike.’’ The winikin moved to push through the door.

Leah blocked him. ‘‘He’s fine. Told me to tell you to assemble the trainees for a meeting.’’ Jox just stood and glared and she did the same, and though she hadn’t intended the standoff, she figured they’d been headed there all along. ‘‘Go around me or go through me,’’ she said evenly. ‘‘But I’m not moving.’’

The winikin’s mouth went tight. ‘‘The barbecue was a good idea, as was the name.’’ It took her a moment to realize he’d actually said something nice to her, but he blunted the shock by saying, ‘‘That doesn’t mean I think you’re good for him.’’

That stung—especially given her and Strike’s recent conversation—but she didn’t let Jox see that he’d scored. Instead, she said, ‘‘The trainees, Jox. Now.’’

He held his glare for a five-count before he said, ‘‘They’re in the training hall. I’ll go tell Strike to meet you there.’’

Then he brushed past her, and even though he’d been the one to leave, Leah felt thoroughly dismissed.

Tears prickled at the backs of her eyes, but she refused to give him the satisfaction, keeping her head high as she marched through the mansion and out the other side, muttering imprecations under her breath.

Once she was outside and the double doors were shut at her back so he couldn’t see, she leaned against them and took a moment. ‘‘Damn it.’’

She’d tried to make friends with the winikin, knowing how important he was to Strike and the others. Failing that, she’d tried to negotiate a workable peace, and thought they’d made some progress in that department.

Apparently not, though she wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong. Probably something to do with Strike’s flying-serpent mark and her being human. And there wasn’t much she could do about that, was there?

Shoving away from the doors with a muttered curse, she strode to the steel-span building on the far side of the ceiba tree. Before she’d even entered the training hall, she could hear shouts coming from inside, and as she swung through the door she was figuring on a pickup basketball game. But the trainees weren’t playing, she saw the moment she was inside.

They were working.

Rabbit sat off in a corner, frowning as he kindled a red-orange fireball the size of his head and held it suspended between his hands. Brandt stood nearby, holding his palms up and out, as though he’d been frozen mid-mugging. Then Patience blinked back in, becoming visible standing opposite him with her palms pressed to his. Sven, Alexis, and Nate were war-gaming it in the middle of the football field-size room, spinning and feinting with blunted stone knives, three against one as Michael blocked the attacks with shield magic. The only one missing was Jade.

Holy crap, Leah thought, freezing in place. She’d seen bits and pieces of the magic before. Hell, she’d made a kitchen knife fly. But she’d never seen it all at once like this, couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be when they reached their full powers and learned to link up, never mind what it must’ve been like before, when there had been hundreds of magi fighting as a unit.

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.’’

Leah tensed on a jolt of hope. Had she found a way to track the ajaw-makol?

‘‘Go ahead,’’ Strike said, his voice inflectionless, as if he were afraid to hope.

Jade started to open the top book on her stack, but then the others slid. ‘‘Hold these.’’ She shoved the books unceremoniously into Strike’s arms and took back the volume she wanted, cracking it to a marked page so she could show him what looked like a woodcutting of a male figure with Nightkeepers’ marks on his arm, facing off opposite a naked, human-shaped figure with no nipples or genitalia, and eyes that held no whites or irises, just flat blackness.

‘‘It’s a nahwal,’’ Strike said as the others clustered around to get a look. ‘‘The in-barrier embodiment of each bloodline’s accumulated knowledge, without any of the individual personalities of the dead.’’

‘‘Not exactly,’’ Jade corrected. ‘‘It’s a special kind of nahwal, one that doesn’t connect to any specific bloodline, and isn’t fixed with past and present knowledge.’’

Strike fixed her with a look. ‘‘It’s a precog?’’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘‘I’m not totally clear on that. But there’s a spell called the three-question spell. Once per lifetime, a Nightkeeper can summon this nahwal and ask it three questions that it’s bound to answer truthfully. ’’ She glanced at Leah. ‘‘I don’t know if it’d work for a human, but it might be worth a try, given that you’ve shown Nightkeeper-level magic during prior cardinal days.’’

Leah’s breath backed up in her lungs at the thought, at the spear of hope it brought. If they could get some answers about what’d happened to her, and what was supposed to happen next, they’d be able to make a better plan. Hell, they might even be able to lock her into whatever powers she’d somehow acquired during the aphelion.

She wouldn’t be a Nightkeeper, but she wouldn’t be powerless either. She’d have something to use when she went up against Zipacna, something to bring to war with the others.

Almost afraid to ask for anything more, she glanced over at Strike. Their eyes locked and she felt the punch of heat, of connection. And though she was no mind reader, she sensed the same wish in him, the same seemingly impossible hope.

Maybe, just maybe, they could use the spell to figure out how to circumvent the thirteenth prophecy . . . or use it to their advantage.