Then Brandt muttered, “Cabrakan was testing the barrier even back then.”
She nodded. “I think so. Only the massacre had sealed it tight, and kept it sealed for the next twenty-some years, so Cabrakan couldn’t do anything. Then, last spring, a five-point-nine tremor hit, followed by the one the other day. All under Mexico City.” She paused. “I think there must be a weak spot in the barrier right there, maybe one that’s specific to Cabrakan himself.”
Lucius said, “Moctezuma reportedly sacrificed hundreds of thousands of captives, trying to appease the dark gods when the conquistadors arrived. That sort of sacrifice, along with the geologic makeup of the place, with the dry lake bed amplifying even the smallest tremor, could certainly attract Cabrakan. And the map fits: The city was originally an island in the middle of the lake, and the Aztecs built four causeways connecting it to the mainland.”
Brandt turned to him. “Tell me you know where there’s a wall of carved eagles in Mexico City.”
Lucius nodded, suppressed excitement firing in his eyes. “Five centuries of Mexico City are layered over the top of Moctezuma’s palace, but archaeologists started seriously excavating the site in the late seventies. One of the buildings found near the palace has been identified as the barracks of Moctezuma’s warrior elite . . . who were called the Eagles.”
“That’s where we need to be,” Patience whispered.
Gods willing, they wouldn’t be too late.
Mexico City The ruins of Moctezuma’s palace—the Templo Mayor—were set up as a tourist attraction, complete with a museum and clearspan roofing that stretched across the excavated areas, including the warriors’ barracks. Little remained of the original structure except for a long wall that had been intricately carved with bas-relief eagles, repeated over and over again.
The Nightkeepers had detoured to Skywatch in order to drop off Hannah and the boys and grab calories, which meant it was almost exactly fifteen minutes before the moment of solstice when their boots hit the ground near the eagle-carved wall.
The ground hit back.
The earthquake tossed the world around, making the surface beneath them undulate and heave. Out in the street things crashed and people screamed. The Nightkeepers had materialized with Patience’s magic in full force, rendering them invisible to any humans who might be nearby, but although the Templo Mayor and surrounding buildings were popular attractions, the place was deserted. The locals and tourists were far more concerned with either getting out of the city or hunkering down someplace reinforced to ride out the quakes.
Brandt landed and locked his knees, and when Patience nearly went down, he hooked an arm around her waist. They hung on to each other while the quake went on far too long, the earth rippling with unnatural liquidity.
“It feels like the barrier,” Patience said against his chest, and she was right, except that instead of a soft, yielding surface and harmless fog, they were standing on stone slabs that threatened to crack and buckle, and there were steel girders all around them, arching overhead to support the flapping expanse of plastic.
“Hope the roof doesn’t come down on our heads,” he muttered. Even as he said it, a section of clearspan tore free and swung down in a ghostly flutter, to reveal the night sky. The stars seemed unnaturally bright in contrast to the eclipsed full moon. The moonlight was orange red, painting the carved eagles with light the color of old bloodstains.
The solstice-eclipse was almost on top of them. They needed to hurry.
Even when the tremor was past, the ground seemed to hum with a low, tense vibration that put Brandt on edge. The others felt it too; they muttered and traded looks as they started moving into place, forming an uplink circle with their knives at the ready. Rabbit didn’t move, though. He stayed off to one side, bent over with his hands braced on his knees, breathing heavily.
Myrinne bent over him. “What’s wrong?”
“I hope he didn’t use himself up back at El Rey,” Brandt muttered, low enough that only Patience heard him. “We’re all dragging ass, and we’ve still got a demon to fight.” Even without the hellmark, Rabbit was their strongest fighter.
“It’s this place,” Rabbit said, his voice sounding thick and strange. “Gods. What’s with this place?”
“Violence,” Lucius said. “According to some of Cortés’s men, more than a hundred thousand skulls were displayed, and the carved idols in here were fed with hearts and covered with five or six inches of clotted blood.”
“I can smell it,” Rabbit grated. “Shit. I can taste it.” But his color was getting better, his breathing coming back to normal. “Give me another second to finish blocking it out. It’s not dark magic, really, or at least not the way I used to sense it. This is . . . pain. This whole place is soaked with pain.”
“We’ve fought through pain before,” Strike said grimly. “We’ll do it again.”
Working fast, the magi uplinked. Brandt joined the circle last, taking Rabbit’s hand on one side and Patience’s on the other. He felt his powers expanding and deepening, taking sustenance from the solstice-eclipse, the teamwork of the Nightkeepers, and wide-open jun tan bond that linked him and Patience, feeling vibrant and alive.
But it wasn’t enough. The low-throated vibration of old pain and violence threatened to drown out the hum of Nightkeeper magic, and the ground shuddered beneath their feet. Worse, there was no sign of the streaming red lights his ancestors had shown him.
Brandt’s chest went hollow as he forced himself to say it. “In the painting there were dozens of magi near the wall, and more in the distance. Hundreds, maybe.” He paused. “What if there just aren’t enough of us?”
The ground shifted beneath them. In the street, something crashed.
“We’re going to have to be enough,” Michael said bleakly. “We’re all there is.”
Patience squeezed Brandt’s hand. “Try the Triad magic again. There has to be something more, something we’re missing.”
Needing the contact, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, taking her warmth, her strength, as he concentrated on the inner question, How can we fight Cabrakan?
He got only the image of Patience’s face, lit from within with love.
Panic and despair spiraled through him. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Please, gods, help me out here.
He saw Patience again, this time studying a spread of cards. And for all that he had come to accept that the Mayan Oracle wasn’t the crock of shit he had once believed, it seemed odd that he would picture her like that.
Which meant it wasn’t an accident.
Adrenaline kicked. “You’re the answer,” he told her. “You or—”
“Love,” she interrupted. “Maybe love is the answer.” She turned to Lucius. “Neither the Aztecs nor the Xibalbans use sex in their rituals, do they?”
“Not the way the Nightkeepers do.”
She looked back at Brandt. “Which I’ll bet means there isn’t a dark equivalent of sex magic. What if we can use that to break through the layer of pain that’s covering this place?”
“Etznab,” he said, making the connection. At her look of confusion, he said, “Think about how our jun tan works: It creates a feedback loop that lets each of us mirror what the other is feeling. If we can do the same thing with power . . .”