“We’ll find out when the time’s right. This is for Woody.” More, it was a way for the rest of them to say good-bye.
As they waited, Patience kept close tabs on Harry and Braden. Although they were far more aware of death than the average human, they were still five-year-old boys who had lost the man who had stood in for their father over the past two years. So far they seemed okay; Harry was watching the funerary bundle intently, as if trying to convince himself that Woody was actually inside. Braden was off near the steps leading to the training hall, fencing against an invisible enemy with a leftover piece of wood, but he kept darting glances at Hannah, his parents, and the pyre, keeping his own tabs on the members of his family.
The adults hadn’t yet told the boys that they would be leaving after the funeral, but Patience suspected that on some level they knew. Hannah and Woody had always been very up front with them about why they couldn’t live at Skywatch with their parents, and although the boys seemed to have bounced back remarkably well from their brief captivity, the experience—and watching their parents fighting to save them—had made a major impression. Patience ached that she wouldn’t be there to talk them through the inevitable nightmares, and that they would all have to readjust to the separation.
But the twins would have Hannah and Carlos. And each other.
Brandt took her hand, threaded their fingers together, and squeezed. I’m here, the gesture said. I’m not going anywhere.
And she believed him.
Hearing footsteps, she turned to find Strike coming up the pathway alone. Aware that he was instantly the center of attention, he said without preamble, “Anna regained consciousness earlier this morning.” When an excited murmur started, he held up a hand. “Unfortunately, there seems to be . . . she’s . . .” He cleared his throat. “The doctors don’t know if the damage is permanent or if she’ll improve with time. She’s going to need time, rehab . . .” He trailed off, then said softly, “. . . prayers.”
Leah crossed to him and leaned her cheek against his arm, just above his hunab ku. “She’s a jaguar.
She’s too stubborn to give up.”
He nodded. Voice strengthening with disgust, he said, “Her husband called to tell me he wanted to sign her over—those were the words he used, too, the fucktard—to me as her closest blood relative.
He wants out.”
“Gods,” Brandt muttered. “He really is a dick.”
“Give him what he wants,” Lucius said flatly. His face was dull with anger and a disgust that mirrored Strike’s own. “He doesn’t want her. We do. It’s as simple as that.” Except they all knew that it wasn’t that simple, because she didn’t want them. Or she hadn’t before.
But Strike nodded. “That’s the plan. We’ll move her to a rehab facility in Albuquerque and go from there.”
“I want to see her,” Sasha said, voice thick with tears. “I might be able to help her now that she’s conscious.”
“I’ll take you after the funeral.” Strike paused, then looked over at Patience and Brandt, then beyond them to Hannah. “There’s something else.”
Patience’s stomach clenched. What else could there be?
“What?” It was Brandt who asked, his grip tightening on her hand.
“Mendez is also awake. From the looks of it, he came around at almost the exact same time as Anna.” He paused a moment to let the ripple of response die down. “Now, here’s the thing. . . . He seems to have come back with not only the Triad magic but with a whole new perspective on life.
According to him, when his ancestors got a look inside his head and saw what his winikin taught him —most of which was lies and twisted versions of the truth—they kept him under long enough to straighten out some major misapprehensions. I’ve got Rabbit confirming his story right now, but if it’s true . . . well, let’s say it’d be a far better outcome than I was expecting.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Patience asked. Granted, it’d be huge to have Mendez work out, not just as a Nightkeeper, but as a second Triad mage. But that would impact the team in general, not her, Brandt, and Hannah.
“When we told him where everyone was, he asked if he could come out for the funeral. He doesn’t want to take attention away from Woody, but he’d like to show his respect for Wood’s sacrifice.”
Strike paused. “Either he’s talking a really good game, or his ancestors did a hell of a job reprogramming him.”
Patience looked up at Brandt. “Your call.”
He nodded. “Yeah, let him come on out. Woody would like knowing there might be one more of us.”
Strike palmed his cell and made the call. A few minutes later, Mendez appeared on the pathway, walking slowly between Rabbit and Jox, not entirely steady on his legs yet. Awake, he looked pretty much the same as he had when he arrived—huge even by Nightkeeper standards, with sharp features, a Mayan nose, and a punch of edgy charisma that was notable even among the magi—with the addition of a pair of pale hazel eyes that seemed to be trying to take in everything at once.
When the small group joined the funerary circle, Rabbit took a moment to look at the pyre and make a gesture of respect, and then sent the twins a finger-wiggle. Finally, he gestured to Mendez and said, “He believes what he’s saying, and it checks out as far down as I can go.”
Strike nodded. “That’ll do for starters.” To Mendez, he said, “Consider yourself on probation. I believe you’re familiar with the concept.” He and Mendez exchanged a long, charged look before Strike glanced at the others. “Okay, everyone . . . this is—” He broke off, glancing back at the newcomer. “Mendez? Snake?”
After a pause, the big man said, “I go by Dez.” His voice was surprisingly smooth for his bulk, more rich baritone than bass. He scanned the crowd. “It’d be ridiculous to say ‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ so I won’t. Instead, I’ll say thanks for having me, and I look forward to meeting the rest of you after the ceremony.” He was looking at Brandt as he finished, as if he had recognized him as another Triad mage, and from there made the connection to Woody.
Brandt tipped his head. “Glad to have you.” Patience was pretty sure he meant it too.
For her part, she couldn’t get past the feeling that there was something a little too easy about Dez’s conversion. Then again, Triad magic was powerful stuff. She supposed it was possible.
As Strike had implied, they would let time tell on this one. Still, her fingers itched for her star deck.
She wondered what she would get if she asked about Dez. Would he be the Chuen trickster, sent to shake them up, or would she draw the Oc card, which symbolized breakthroughs and new beginnings?
Or something else entirely?
Strike began the funeral rites, and she focused on the ceremony as he invoked the gods and his kingship, and then ritually praised Woody for his strength and sacrifices, both those he had made in his life and the ultimate sacrifice of his death.
As Strike spoke, Harry and Braden joined the circle, fitting themselves between her and Brandt.
Braden kept looking up at Brandt to see if he was doing things right. Harry, on the other hand, had his eyes fixed on the mortuary bundle.
What do you see? Patience wanted to ask him, certain somehow that he was perceiving something more than human-normal. She wished she could spend longer with him, with them both, but that time would come. One year, three hundred and sixty-five days, she thought, only then realizing that she had started to count, not to the zero date, but to the day after that, when the new cycle would—gods willing—begin and life would go on.