He was doing his damnedest to keep the thing away from the sacred chamber, trying to give his old man and Strike a chance to save the world, but he was losing steam. His breath burned in his lungs, and his legs were on fire as he bore down and widened the gap, running with muscle and heart and a touch of magic, a litany of, Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit, sounding in his brain.

The boluntiku screamed, sounding like a thousand fingernails scratching down a mountain-size blackboard.

‘‘Fuck!’’ Rabbit accelerated away from the scream, careened around a corner, and nearly slammed into Alexis.

‘‘Go!’’ She shoved him toward a cross-tunnel. ‘‘Shield yourself!’’ When the boluntiku appeared around the corner, she waved her arms. ‘‘Hey, over here!’’

Realizing she was trying to tag-team the lava creature— and oh, holy hell, hoping it worked—Rabbit stumbled into the cross-tunnel and cast as much of a shield spell as he could muster in the magic-damping confines of the tunnel system.

Behind him, the boluntiku screamed, spurring him on, but Rabbit’s foot snagged on something and he went sprawling on top of one of the other Nightkeepers, who was lying in the middle of the tunnel. Shit! Flipping onto his back, he checked behind him, but the heat was dimming as the boluntiku moved off, following Alexis.

Rabbit hissed and turned to see whom he’d stumbled over. ‘‘For fuck’s sake, what are you—’’

He broke off and screamed. It was his old man.

Stone dead.

Throat sliced open.

Rabbit’s breath whistled out and he didn’t suck another in. Gods, he thought. Gods-gods-gods. Oh, gods. No, gods, please, no.

‘‘Rabbit!’’ Alexis’s shriek was scant warning as the air crackled with sudden heat and the boluntiku morphed up through the floor just beyond his father’s body.

It glowed red-orange, painting Red-Boar’s slack features in sharp relief and making the jagged cut across his throat gape dark and obscene. The lava-creature hissed and reared back, extending a scaled arm and flaring its six-clawed hand for a swipe.

Rabbit knew he should run, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t leave the old man. He stared down at the body, tears dripping off his chin. ‘‘Dad?’’ His voice cracked, and he didn’t care.

The boluntiku attacked, going solid at the last possible second.

Gunfire chattered, and a hail of bullets hit the thing in its scaled chest and gaping maw, driving it back. The creature screamed in pain and puffed to vapor, and the next volley went straight through, cutting off prematurely when Alexis’s MAC jammed.

‘‘Damn it!’’ She worked fast, jettisoning the mag and slapping another home, but it was too late. The boluntiku hissed and went for her, going solid before she could rack the first round. It swung for her. . . .

And bounced off a shield when Nate appeared out of nowhere and threw up a block at the last moment. He dropped it almost instantly and put himself between Alexis and the creature. ‘‘Rabbit,’’ he snapped, ‘‘get behind me!’’

But Rabbit still couldn’t move. He could only bow his head as the fiery creature rose above him and screamed fingernails-on-blackboard. It slashed at him, popping to solid as it did, and—

Thunder cracked inside the tunnel. Lightning. A terrible wind howled through the narrow confines, driving the boluntiku back, sucking it up in a funnel of golden light. The few remaining makol were sucked up as well, pulled from the tunnels where they’d hidden while the boluntiku did its work. A howling, rushing noise rose to a horrible crescendo, so loud that Rabbit plugged his ears with his fingers and hunched down, waiting for it to pass. Power sang through him, the gold of the gods, and he knew that it was somehow traveling through him, racing through stone to the world beyond the tunnels.

The noise died away a moment later, ending with the high, clear note of a trumpet and the smell of copan. A single crimson feather, nearly the length of Rabbit’s arm, drifted down to the tunnel floor.

Nate watched it land. ‘‘They did it.’’ He shook Alexis, whom he was holding in a loose embrace, though neither of them seemed to have noticed. ‘‘They fucking did it!’’ He turned and started tugging her up the tunnel. ‘‘Come on!’’

‘‘Wait.’’ She held him back and pointed. ‘‘Look.’’

Nate saw Red-Boar and cursed. He came close, crouched down, and laid a hand on Rabbit’s shoulder.

Rabbit ignored him and kept staring at the old man, thinking about all the times he’d said it wouldn’t matter if Red-Boar up and died, for all the attention he paid.

He’d been wrong. It did matter. It mattered a shitload.

‘‘We’ve got to go,’’ Nate said. ‘‘Strike and Leah might need us up on the surface.’’

‘‘I can’t—’’ Rabbit’s voice broke, so he coughed and tried again, not caring that there was a sob hitched among the words. ‘‘We can’t leave him here. Not like this.’’

‘‘We’ll take him with us,’’ Nate said. ‘‘But we have to go now. We have a job to do.’’

Was that how the old man had approached each day? Rabbit wondered. Yeah, that was about it. His existence had been a chore, his son an afterthought, his whole being concentrated on what might’ve been.

Hell. Rabbit sniffed and swiped at his face. Then he climbed to his feet, scooped up his MAC where it’d fallen when he tripped, and nodded. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

They carried the body out so they could bring it back to Skywatch for the proper rituals. But really, none of those things were necessary, were they? Finally, the old man was where he’d wanted to be all along.

He was with his family.

Strike zapped them to the surface as the golden serpent blasted through the tunnels and out into the open sky. Anna staggered and nearly fell from the teleport sickness, and he caught her on the way down. That left Leah on her own for a second, without his power or blood link, but that was okay. She stood apart, her feet braced on the leafy ground and her face turned up to the sky.

Part of her watched the winged serpent gain altitude, sweeping over the pyramid that bore its name. She saw the glitter of golden scales in the moonlight, and the darker hue of brilliant plumage that would be bright red in the daylight, but looked black against the darkness of night. She saw all that, just as she saw Strike settle Anna on a crumbling carved wall nearby, and felt him take her hand, linking his power with hers through the bond of their love.

She saw and felt all that with part of her consciousness. But another part of her soul flew with Kulkulkan.

She felt the joy of flight and freedom, the burning need to drive the demon back to its hell. An exultant cry burst from the god, a clarion call of trumpets that echoed in the night sky above Chichén Itzá. A battle cry. A challenge.

For a moment, there was no response. The sky seemed empty.

Then the winged crocodile appeared from behind a cloud, screeching a banshee wail that spoke of death and the flames of Xibalba. The god Zipacna, son of the underworld’s ruler, was full of hate and anger and pride, his sole purpose to kill the feathered serpent and clear the way for the rest of his kind to come to earth.

Screeching again, the winged crocodile twisted in midair and dove, with his fearsome claws extended and his giant mouth open in attack.

Leah grabbed onto Strike as the god swerved and spun and slapped at the demon, scoring a deep line in the crocodilian scales and then dropping down and raking razor-sharp talons along Zipacna’s back, creating bloody furrows that had the demon arching with a scream of pain as the god beat feathered wings to flit away.

Kulkulkan dodged and slapped again. And again. Blood ran from the winged croc’s armored hide, raining down on the forest below and flaming as it hit. But through her connection to the entity Leah could tell that its time was running out. The barrier was thickening as the equinox ebbed, leaving only minutes more to push Zipacna back through the intersection, or risk giving the Banol Kax free rein on Earth.

‘‘He needs help,’’ Leah said. ‘‘We have to help him!’’

‘‘We will,’’ said a new voice. It was Alexis’s voice, Leah realized, and suddenly the others were there, all of them cutting their palms and linking up, and offering their joined power to their king. Strike took the link, then turned to Leah and touched his lips to hers.

Heat sparked and power blasted, a door opening in the barrier, channeling through the young magi and into Strike, from him to Leah, and through her to Kulkulkan.

The god screamed exultantly as the golden mists flared sun-bright with the power of the Nightkeepers. The flying serpent snapped its wings taut and thundered up into the sky, trumpeting the attack as it slammed into Zipacna, raking and clawing at the croc’s softer underbelly. God and demon beat their wings together, fighting the air to stay aloft, fighting each other to stay alive.

But Zipacna was no match for the combined might of the god and his Nightkeepers.

The demon faltered and keened a dying cry, and as he did so, golden mist expanded and wrapped around both of the creatures, enfolding them, then beginning to rotate, spinning faster and faster, creating a vortex of energy that sucked them inexorably down, toward the mouth of the sacred tunnels.

‘‘Leah,’’ Strike said, his voice going urgent. ‘‘Pull out.’’ But she was caught up in the vortex, caught up in the power and the golden light as the feathered serpent trumpeted victory and the winged crocodile Zipacna fought his fate, fought the barrier that sucked him in, seeking to bind him to hell.

Strike grabbed her and shook her. ‘‘Leah. Break the connection before he takes you with him. Remember what almost happened with Anna and the nahwal!’’

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,