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putting his own magic into them, but he was too damn woozy. He needed to eat something—
not
more chili dogs—and take some downtime to recharge before he attempted to summon the spirit, or send his own to the dark side of the barrier to speak with her again. And he needed to think things through before he tried any of it.
    His gut said she was the real deal, but the things he’d seen in that vision didn’t line up with what he knew of his old man. Not by a long shot.
    He’d always figured he’d been an accident, something that Red-Boar had kept around as a sort of sacrifice, a penance, just like the brown robes he had worn and the grisly self-sacrifices he had performed on the cardinal days, though he would never say why he was doing penance or what he was praying for. Now, though…
Shit.
He didn’t know what to think, how to feel.
    Even searching for his mother had really been about figuring out the limits of his magic, not finding some sort of model family at the end of the rainbow. But now… Gods, he used to be part of something. He’d had a real family once… and a brother. A
twin,
for fuck’s sake.
    All the times he’d felt jagged and unfinished, or turned to say something to someone who wasn’t there… well, it made sense now, because twins were sacred to the Nightkeepers, powerful.
    The hollow place inside him ached—for himself, for his mother, for Tristan… and, yeah, even for his old man. Because the guy in that vision sure as shit wasn’t the guy he’d grown up with. But at the same time, he knew the past wasn’t the most important thing right now, not with the war coming. Sluggish excitement stirred at the realization that if he could learn to use the stones to summon her again, he might be able to pump her for information about the dark barrier, maybe even the plans of the
Banol Kax
. And maybe, possibly, how he was supposed to become the crossover.
    Dragging himself upright with a muffled groan, he stuck the stones in separate pockets, righted the box, and used an ancient codex to scoop the other, garden-variety stone chips back into it. He knew darn well that Lucius would have an aneurism if he saw the one-of-a-kind-text-turned-dustpan routine, but his instincts were suddenlytelling him he needed to work fast, with his pulse throbbing to a tribal drumbeat of,
Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry!
He was sweating by the time he’d put the box back where it started, stuck the codex back in its folder, and headed for the front of the library, zigzagging like a drunk.
    Beyond the racks, the library opened up to a workspace furnished with stone tables and benches. The walls were carved and windowless, and a single wooden door on the short side led out.
    As he lurched for the door, it swung open and Myrinne stepped through. He jolted at the sight of her, and at the slash of heat that cut through him—as always—when she came into the room. With her dark hair cut in a sassy, asymmetrical bob and her foxy face bare of makeup, wearing embroidered jeans and a pale yellow shirt that flirted up to show a gleam of jade at her pierced belly button, she looked young and fresh, and so damn beautiful his knees nearly buckled the rest of the way.
    Ah, baby
.
    Longing stabbed, not because he wanted her right then and there—he probably would’ve passed out right the fuck on top of her if he’d tried anything—but because he wanted things to be back the way they used to be: the two of them against the world. Now they were just… different. Tenser, even if he couldn’t always put his finger on what was making him tense.
    Her face brightened at the sight of him, showing none of that strain. “Hey! I was just coming to— Gods!” She hurried toward him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
    “I’m… Shit.” He took a step toward her, sagged, and slapped out an arm for balance.
    “Rabbit!” She got her shoulder under his, and managed to prop him back up. Once he was stabilized, she felt his face, then his