Free Skykeepers by Jessica Andersen Page B

even she heard the lack of conviction in her words, the weakening of her resolve in the face of what had to be drugged smoke. “Seriously, what’s in the smoke? Some sort of aphrodisiac?”
    His eyes glittered. “If you’re growing horns, it’s magic, not drugs. The man who called us to come get you was the one who cut your palms, hoping to trigger the healing powers of a mage. Seems like it worked.”
    “No . . .” Her voice had gone whisper thin. “This isn’t real.” Everything she’d experienced over the past year, and everything that was going on now . . . it was all part of an elaborate, expensive sham constructed around a fantasy world in which Mayan demons menaced the earth and mankind was under the protection of Nightkeeper magi. Which was nuts.
    Right?
    He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And given that the healing magic worked, I guess it’s no surprise that you’re picking up on the sexual aspects of the power too.”
    “I dreamed you,” she blurted. She didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until she saw his eyes go blank with shock for a second, then fill with roaring heat underlain by deep wariness.
    “Sasha . . .” His expression softened and he took a step toward her, only to stall abruptly, his eyes losing focus as he touched his ear, where he wore a small receiving device. “Come again?” He paused, grimacing. “Shit. Copy that.”
    Swallowing hard, she said, “Problem?”
    “A delay.” He hesitated, as if trying to figure out how much to share. “The others are cut off, and there’s a Xibalban search party headed this way.”
    Dread prickled, cutting through the sensual haze. “If they open the door to this room, we’re toast.”
    His mouth flattened. “I might be able to shield us.”
    “How?” She gestured around the empty room. “Not much to hide behind.”
    “It’s called a chameleon shield,” he explained, watching her carefully. “It confuses perceptions.”
    “You’re insane.” Just like Ambrose .
    He stared at the doorway as though weighing his options. “I’d offer you a demonstration, but I can’t risk casting the spell until they’re actually here. There’s a chance they’ll be able to sense the magic.”
    She shouldn’t, absolutely shouldn’t believe him. The fact that she almost did just supported her suspicion of drugs in the smoke. This whole conversation was part real, part hallucination, and she couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other began.
    She looked past him to the door. What if it was all lies? What if this was another, more devious method of torture, whether from Iago or another group?
    “Don’t,” he said, following her eyes. “Please. Trust me.”
    “How can I?” Her voice cracked on the question, though she hadn’t meant to let it. “How am I supposed to know what to believe?” She’d been on her own for so long, had had her trust betrayed so many times.
    He hesitated a moment, then held out his hand, palm up, baring the elegant black tattoos on his vein-roped forearm.
    “I don’t—” she began, then broke off with a strangled gasp as a small glitter of bluish white light kindled in his palm, like a tiny piece of Saint Elmo’s fire trapped inside it. “Oh,” she said aloud. Hallucination , she said inwardly. But when she reached out and touched the tiny fireball, she felt its warmth. And his. “I thought you couldn’t risk a demo.”
    “It’s my weakest magic,” he said, voice husky, eyes guarded. “And worth the risk if it keeps you from knee ing me in the ’nads and taking off.” He closed his fingers over his palm, extinguishing the small flame.
    “Special effects,” she said faintly, trying to hang on to what she knew about how the world was supposed to work.
    “What about your dreams?”
    She wished she hadn’t said anything about the dreams, wished she weren’t thinking of them now. But what else could she think of when it seemed that those fantasies were coming true? The