Demonkeepers by Jessica Andersen Read Free Book Online Page A

thereof. The upholstered sofa and chairs, the glossy coffee and end tables, and the kitschy retro Western lamps had been there when he moved in, and were hell and gone more upscale than the hand- me-downs and garage-sale specials of his shared student apartment back at UT. But the leaning piles of books, the drifts of note-scribbled printouts, and the oversize flat-screen jacked into a high-powered laptop were all reminiscent of his student days. So, too, was the image showing on-screen: an enlarged photo of a Late Classic-period Mayan painting. Glorious and vivid, it caught Jade’s attention immediately.
    “Wow.” She let go of him, moved to the TV, and raised a hand to trace the stylized figures of six men arranged in an asymmetrical pattern, two on the left, four on the right. All done in profile, as was the Mayan tradition, they faced a dark sphere that was set off center on the panel. The man closest to it was kneeling in supplication, while four of the others stood near him in postures of protection, or maybe aggression. Those five wore elaborate, feather-worked headdresses made from the skulls of jaguars and coyotes, along with protective shielding that covered only one side of their bodies. There was even more asymmetry in the painting itself, created by the sixth figure, who stood at the far right, apart from the others. Wearing a musician’s loincloth and lacking a headdress, he held a conch shell to his lips. Glyphs emerged from the crude instrument as though they were musical notes, though no such scheme had been identified for the ancient Maya—or, for that matter, the ancient Nightkeepers. The paint colors ranged from pale mauve through rusty red to charcoal black. The earthy hues reflected on Jade’s face as she frowned at the text, trying to parse out the glyphs.
    Lucius shook his head. “Don’t bother; the writing doesn’t make any sense. The current theory is that the artist was illiterate, and just copied a bunch of cool-looking glyphs off nearby inscriptions or whatever else he had on hand. It’s just gibberish.” He didn’t say why he’d been studying the painting, why it was important to him.
    Under other circumstances, with another woman, talking translation would’ve spoiled the mood. With Jade, though, it served only to heighten the sense of intimacy provided by the small, quiet cottage and the rust red light. They shared a love of language, and although he couldn’t honestly say he was more attracted to her brains than her body, the two together had made a hell of an impression when he’d first met her. Or rather, once he’d gotten past her habitual reserve, which came across as shyness, but he’d learned was her way of hiding in plain sight. He’d long ago realized that they each suffered from their own cultural conditioning, though hers had come from a too-demanding winikin and a set of writs rather than family dysfunction.
    “There’s something . . .” She trailed off, still frowning at the glyphs, but then she shook her head and turned back to him, her expression going from intrigue to warmth with a hint of nerves. “Never mind. That’s not what we’re here for.”
    “True enough,” Lucius agreed, trying to keep it casual, because she’d made it clear that was what she wanted. But at the same time this wasn’t just about sex for either of them. There was a far larger goal, one that hung over them, weighing on him as it had for nearly half a year now, though now edged with a sharp sense of anticipation. Determination. He was getting his ass into the library, whatever it took. And if that meant that the Nightkeepers’ needs and his own desire to be part of things wound up getting mixed together with the desire he felt for Jade—had felt for her from the first day they’d worked together—then that was part of the Nightkeepers’ culture, wasn’t it? Sex was magic, magic was power, and power could save the world.
    Reaching out to Jade, he recaptured her hand.