“Ambrose?” she whispered.
Michael nudged her forward, whispering, “I’m right behind you.”
Setting her balance through force of will, Sasha lifted her chin and stepped forward to meet the nahwal. Then things got weird, because as it drew closer, she saw that it wore a single earring, a bloodred ruby that glowed dully in the strange gray-green light. The nahwal weren’t supposed to have any distinguishing marks aside from their bloodline glyphs. Except for one . . . and that wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be linked to the royal jaguar—
“Father,” Strike breathed, bringing her brain to a stuttering halt.
Th e nahwal didn’t acknowledge him; it kept advancing on Sasha, its black eyes fixed on her.
Disbelief and panic collided inside her. She wanted to back away, wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t move; they seemed stuck in place, glued by the clinging gray-green fog. She held out her hands in a stop gesture, as though that would deter the creature, even though she was the one who’d called it, who needed to speak with it.
It halted when her hands were nearly touching its leathery, desiccated chest. And incredibly, horribly, it smiled—a too-human expression on an inhuman face. “Welcome home, child,” it said in a voice that was made up of several voices speaking in harmonious descant. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Tears burned her eyes and an unexpected sob welled up in her throat. “Where’s Ambrose?” she asked, knowing instinctively he wasn’t inside the creature she faced.
“His path led another way.” Reaching out a desiccated hand to her, the nahwal folded its fingers around her wrist; it said, “You are the second daughter of the jaguar king. Find yourself. Learn the magic that is in your blood. All else will follow from there.”
The world tilted beneath Sasha, though the barrier firmament itself didn’t move. Confusion battered her. Her eyes locked on the dual marks on the creature’s inner forearm, the jaguar and the royal ju, and her voice shook when she said, “Who are you?” Deep down inside, though, she knew. Maybe she’d always known, had struggled hardest against her destiny because she’d known it would take so much from her.
“I am yours. You are mine.” A strange burning sensation took root where the nahwal held her wrist.
Moments later the burn faded, and the nahwal released her and started backing away, fading into the fog.
“Father!” Strike said.
This time the nahwal looked at him. “Take care of her as I did not.”
“Wait!” Remembering the plan, and what they’d hoped to learn from her nahwal, royal or not, Sasha surged forward, grabbing for the nahwal’s arm as it continued retreating. “Where is the library?
Do you know where Ambrose hid the scroll?”
Michael shouted, “Don’t! Let go of it!” But his voice quavered strangely on the last few words.
Sasha turned back, only then realizing that the nahwal had continued retreating as she’d spoken, that it had pulled her away from the others, though she’d had no sensation of moving. She saw Michael’s mouth move, shaping words, but she couldn’t hear his voice, couldn’t hear anything over the sound of wind that suddenly arose from nowhere and everywhere at once. She tried to let go of the nahwal, but couldn’t, tried to yank away, but couldn’t do that either. Panic slashed through her as the scene wavered and started to fade. She screamed, scrabbling for purchase as she felt herself sliding sideways. She heard the music but didn’t know what to do with it, about it.
Michael shouted something and lunged for her, but he was too late. Just as his fingers brushed her arm, a giant force picked her up and yanked her through the gray-green nothingness.
“Help,” she cried. “Help me!”
The sense of movement accelerated and the wind whipped past her with howls louder than her own.
Her forearm burned. Panic jammed her chest and her pulse thundered in her ears. Then, abruptly, the wind and movement cut out. The air went wet and warm, and she was surrounded by leaves. She hung in midair for a heartbeat before gravity reasserted itself and she slammed down, landing sprawled in a wet, leafy layer of rain forest debris.
She lay still for a second, gasping for breath. There was no magic in the air, no sign of the others.
And even though she knew her body should still be back in the sacred chamber at Skywatch, she had to wonder, because what she was experiencing felt very, very real. The soil beneath her felt real; the moist air smelled real, with the scent of green things and rot. She was in Mayan territory, she knew instinctively, recognizing the feel and smell from her childhood.
With the realization came a burst of excitement and understanding. She was in a vision showing her where the library scroll was hidden. She hoped.
Scrambling up, she stood, shaking. The heavy robe was far too hot, but she didn’t dare take it off, wasn’t exactly sure what it symbolized within the barrier—if she was even in the barrier now. She scanned the scene, saw trees and undergrowth, more trees and more undergrowth—a profusion of greenery and the occasional color-burst of flowers. Parrots called in the canopy, the melody soaring up over a background of monkey chatter. Familiarity settled around her as she caught the white flash of carved stone and recognized the entrance to Ambrose’s temple. She’d been right all along, she realized. The scroll had to be in there, somewhere. But where? How was she supposed to find it?
“By looking around, idiot,” she told herself. Trying to banish the memory of what had happened to her the last time she’d searched the temple, she inhaled a deep breath and headed for the faint trail.
She’d gone barely three steps when something stirred in the middle growth to her right, bending leaves and branches.
Sasha froze, her heart pounding into her throat as she thought of jaguars and other jungle predators.
Her hand slapped for her weapons belt, but it was empty. The magi traditionally wore only their knives into the bloodline ceremony, with the potential mage going unarmed.
Sticking to that particular tradition might have been a mistake.
The branches rustled again, the disturbance man-high, making her think of bandits, Iago, and the entity the others had seen in the so-called haunted temple. They’d described it as looking like a nahwal, but one that spoke with only a single voice, and walked the earth rather than the barrier. It had attacked Anna, nearly killed her. Was that what was coming for her? Sasha wondered. And if so, should she stay put, or run? The latter option wasn’t likely to gain her the answers she needed, but she was also all too aware of the danger she was in. And that she was alone.
For all that the lack of privacy had chafed at times over the past couple of weeks, she’d grown used to the sense of safety in numbers. Now, even that was gone.
Use the magic, she thought, knowing she should be able to do something with the red-gold hum that sounded within her. She managed to kindle a tiny fireball, and the success brought a buzz of magic and rightness, a click of connection within her own soul. This is me, she thought. This is who I am.
But the fireball was of little use there in the rain forest. Why was she there? What was she supposed to be doing? As a last-ditch effort, she tried to short-circuit the jack-in. “Way,” she whispered, which was the spell word that was supposed to take her back to her body. It didn’t work; she stayed where she was. But the flare of magic called something else.