“Problem?” Strike asked, the darkness making his voice seem to come from the air around them rather than from the man himself.
Shaking off the thought—and the quiver of nerves it brought—she said, “Of course not. Which cottage?” There were thirteen of them in two rows of six, with lucky thirteen on the far end, off by itself.
“The very last one; you’ll see the lights. Nate and Alexis are spending the night in the mansion.
With Rabbit and Myrinne at school, you’ll have privacy.” He pressed something into her hand. “Take this.”
Feeling the outlines of one of the earpiece-throat mike combos the warriors used during ops, she didn’t ask why. “Who’s going to be on the other end?” Even knowing that the mike would only transmit if she keyed it on, she couldn’t help picturing a voyeuristic tableau in the great room.
“Either me or Jox. Unless you’d prefer Leah.”
The king was doing his best, she realized, to maintain the illusion of privacy while keeping her safe, letting her know the warriors stood ready to come to her defense if the sex magic went awry and Lucius’s dark tendencies once again drew the attention of the Banol Kax, or even opened him up once again to makol possession. Which had been just one of the numerous daunting possibilities that had been thrown around, only to be set aside because the Nightkeepers were running out of options.
“Whatever you think is best,” Jade said, just barely managing not to tack on “sire” at the end. I’m not following orders this time. This was my idea. My choice. Raising her chin, she said, “Don’t worry about me. I know Lucius.”
The king’s answer was slow in coming. “You know, becoming the Prophet has . . . changed him.”
Anna had said something along those same lines earlier, when Jade let her know the booty call had come through on schedule. Now, as then, Jade waved off the concern. “He’s not the Prophet yet. If he were, you wouldn’t need me. Would you?”
Strike didn’t have an answer for that one, and that fact pinched somewhere in the region of her heart. With the information in the archive virtually exhausted, her value as a librarian was almost nil.
Given her inability to tap her scribe’s talent, she didn’t bring much in the way of a unique skill set to the Nightkeepers . . . except in the matter at hand. She and Lucius had a history, and she was the only female mage who remained yet unmated. More, in the wake of her and Michael’s failed affair, she’d proven that she could be sexually involved with a man and not lose her heart. She and Lucius ought to be able to return to the friends-with-benefits arrangement they’d had previously, and use the generated sex magic to trigger the Prophet’s powers.
That was the theory, anyway.
Realizing that Strike was waiting for her to make her move, she inhaled to settle a sudden flutter of nerves, and said, “Okay. Wish me luck.”
She halfway expected him to come back with something about getting lucky. Instead, he said, “Remember, you can bail at any point. I wouldn’t have called you today if you hadn’t volunteered, and if I didn’t think this might be our answer. Still, I want you to promise me that you’ll stop if it doesn’t feel right.”
Pulling back in surprise, she glanced at his dark silhouette. “But the writs say—”
“Fuck the writs,” he interrupted. “They might be a good rule of thumb, but they’re not perfect by a long shot, and over the past couple of years we’ve certainly proved that they’re not immutable. So now I’m telling you—hell, I’m ordering you—to make your own decision on this one. Take me and the others out of it. This is between you and Lucius.”
Jade drew breath to Whatever you say, sire him, but then stopped herself, thought a moment, and said, “With all due respect, that’s bullshit. There’s no way I can possibly take out all the other variables. I’m here right now because we’re out of other options. If we don’t get our hands on the library soon, we might not even make it to 2012, and we sure as shit won’t have enough firepower to defend the barrier. So you don’t get to tell me to take all that out of the equation, just so you can feel better about what I’m about to do. If it doesn’t bother me, then it shouldn’t bother you. And if it does, that’s not my problem.”
There was a moment of startled silence; then Strike said, “Huh.”
Jade didn’t know if that meant he was offended, taken aback, or what, but told herself she didn’t care. “What? You didn’t know I have a spine?”
“I knew. I wasn’t sure you did.” He made a move like he was going to touch her, but then stopped himself. Letting his hand fall, he said only, “Good luck, then. And remember the radio in case . . . well, just in case.”
Without another word, he spun the red-gold magic and disappeared in a pop of collapsing air, leaving her standing there thinking that the ’port talent was a hell of a way to get the last word in an argument. Not that they had been arguing, really, because they were both right: She couldn’t separate the act from the situation, but it was her choice. Strike had called only to tell her that the other magi and their winikin were out of ideas, and that a midday blood sacrifice channeling nearly the power of the full equinox had failed to trigger the Prophet’s power. Her response to the information was her responsibility. “So why are you still standing here?” she asked herself aloud.
“Perhaps because you’re wondering whether Strike and Anna were right to try to talk you out of this,” a familiar voice said from the doorway of the training hall, which was a pitch-black square against the building’s dark silhouette.
Jade’s pulse skittered at the sound, then started pounding hard and heavy as she heard the rasp of clothing, the pad of approaching footsteps. Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry mouth, she said, “Eavesdropping, Lucius?”
“Considering that you’ve been discussing my sex life, or lack thereof, with the royal council, I’m not feeling very guilt-ridden.” The timbre of his voice was deeper and richer than she remembered, as though experience had lent new layers to the tone. The difference sent a fine shiver racing along the back of her neck.
It’s just Lucius , she told herself, as she’d been doing since she’d initially broached the sex magic idea to the royal council. For the first time, though, she wondered whether she’d sold herself on a lie.
Granted, human beings didn’t fundamentally change, not at their core. But what if the human being wasn’t entirely human anymore? Did the same rules apply? And what if he truly wasn’t interested in her any longer? Some of the things he’d said to her the night before she left for the university had dug in and taken root, continuing to sting long after the fact. She’d told herself he’d been lashing out, confused from the Prophet’s spell and stressed over the new pressures . . . but what if he’d meant every word?
Reminding herself that she could do this, that she had to do this, she said, “Part of me is glad you overheard. It saves me from explaining why I’m back. Although I can’t imagine the idea comes as a surprise.”
“I’d certainly prefer trying sex before ritual sacrifice,” he said, his tone carrying a very un-
Luciuslike bite. “And I understand the math. So, what does that make you . . . the Nightkeepers’ sacrificial victim?”
“Don’t be a dick. I’m a volunteer, not a victim.” But heat rushed to her face, and she was grateful that he couldn’t see her blush in the darkness. “I’m trying to help here, Lucius. If you want to turn me down, do it. But don’t make me into the bad guy because I’m offering.”