CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When Sawyer reached out his cuffed hands for the compass, Malmon kicked him sharply in the ribs. In the tank, Annika slammed her tail into the glass.

Yadin turned, wagged a finger at her.

“Do you think I’ll just hand it back to you?”

“I have to hold it. It’s the only way to pass it to another. I . . .” He bought time, mind spinning, through a coughing fit. “The first traveling has to be done with me. It’s the only way to pass it, and give someone else the right to use it. Fuck it, Malmon, I don’t make the rules.”

He looked up then, so far into the pain he’d moved beyond it. “All I’m asking is you don’t hurt her. You’re going to kill me, once you’ve got the compass. That’s the way it goes. But you’ve got no reason to hurt her. She’s caught.”

Malmon leaned down, gripped Sawyer by the throat. Nails longer, sharper than they should have been pricked through the skin. “Where is the Fire Star?”

“I don’t—”

“Hit her again, Yadin.”

“No, no, no. Bran’s hidden it with magick. I can take you to where it is, but I swear to God, I don’t know if I can get to it, actually get to it. I can take you, show you. For fuck’s sake, Malmon, I’m telling you the truth. I’ll do anything you want. Don’t hurt her.”

“So it’s the witch? Bring Berger in, and send for Commander Trake,” he ordered one of the men, and rose to walk to the tank. Staring at Annika, he spoke to Yadin. “Put a hole in him—nonlethal, of course.”

Annika beat on the glass as Yadin chose a knife. Her eyes pleaded.

“Is he telling me the truth? If you lie . . .” Malmon watched her face as Sawyer choked off a scream. “I’ll have his thumbs removed next.”

She kept her eyes on Malmon’s, on those dark glasses, pressed both hands to her heart as if swearing.

“That’ll do.”

Malmon turned; Yadin slid the knife out from between Sawyer’s ribs. And another man strode into the cave.

He stood tall, straight, with Viking blue eyes and close-cropped hair so blond it read nearly white.

He studied Annika. “So it’s true.” His voice was brisk, lightly accented. “The world is full of mysteries. Will you fuck her?”

“No need to be crude, Franz.”

“Just curious. I would, just to see how it could be done.” He shifted, looked down at Sawyer. “Messy business. A bullet in the brain’s more efficient.”

“I prefer my way.”

After a shrug for Yadin, Berger gave Malmon his attention. “The remaining targets just arrived back at their base.”

“Riggs, the seer. You have her description.”

“I do. The blonde. The quite fetching blonde.”

“You can put a bullet in her brain.” Malmon watched Annika’s reaction, pleased when she curled up to weep. “And the sorcerer—wounded only.”

“Do you have a preference where?”

“You’re the expert. Commander,” Malmon continued as Trake came in. “Mr. Berger is about to do his work. Take a strike force, wait for Berger to complete his task, then move in, capture the survivors. I want Gwin and Killian alive. Damage this McCleary however you need, and see that he’s well restrained.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And search their villa. I want whatever computers, notes, maps, all their papers, taken to my villa.”

Malmon dismissed them simply by turning his back and walking to Sawyer. “Get up.”

Gritting his teeth, Sawyer managed to get to his feet.

“What are the coordinates for the Fire Star’s location?”

Sawyer gave him longitude, latitude. Malmon walked to a computer, keyed it in. “An island in the South Pacific? How ordinary.”

“It’s uninhabited, and the star’s hidden, shielded. He did a spell. I don’t know how it works. I can take you, but I don’t know if that breaks the spell. You don’t have to kill Sasha. Listen, listen, she can be useful to you. Nerezza wants her gift. You can—”

Malmon hit him with a backhand that knocked Sawyer back ten feet. “I know what Nerezza wants. You’re not fit to speak her name. Speak it again, and I will give the mermaid more pain than any mind can survive.”

“I’ll do what you want.”

“How long will it take, to go to the star, to come back?”

“The traveling itself? Two minutes.”

“You’ll have ninety seconds. You.” He gestured to one of the men. “You’ll take him there, and back.”

“But—”

“Do you really think I’d allow you to take me? To attempt whatever plan you might have working in your fevered brain, with me? If you take more than ninety seconds, if you attempt to escape, to take the compass, she dies in agony.”

“Ninety seconds isn’t—”

“It’s what you have.” Malmon consulted his watch. “Yadin.”

Though something like disapproval crossed his face, Yadin sent the current into the tank.

“Again.”

“Stop! Goddamn it, I said I’d do what you want.”

“Now you know the price if you don’t. Turn up the current for the tank, be prepared to switch it on. Draw your weapon, you moron, and I’d advise a sturdy headlock.”

The man stepped behind Sawyer, hooked a beefy arm around his scored throat, held the gun at Sawyer’s ear.

“Excellent. Ninety seconds. Beginning now.” He put the compass in Sawyer’s cuffed hands.

Sawyer kept his eyes on Annika, said her name. And vanished.

At the villa, Bran treated Riley’s wound while the others gathered weapons.

“Has to be the cave, right? It’s where Sasha warned Sawyer and Annika. I know he could have them at the villa, but—”

“We can’t be sure. It’s more difficult to transport two wounded and unconscious prisoners into the hills. You have to be still until I’ve done this.”

“It’s a fucking scratch. We need to move.”

“It’s more than a fucking scratch, and we need to know where to move.”

“I said we’ll get them back.” Doyle walked in, guns strapped at both hips, the sword on his back, a knife in his boot. “I’ve been a soldier more than a couple of lifetimes. I don’t leave fellow soldiers or friends behind.”

“We’re not getting them back fussing over a little cut.”

“If not for Bran, you’d need a dozen stitches, at least, on that little cut.” Sasha walked in with a crossbow, a quiver of bolts, and the gun she’d only fired at targets holstered at her hip.

“Okay, all right. Then I say it’s time for that chain reaction.”

“I’m with the doc on this.”

When Bran said nothing to Riley or Doyle, Sasha sat down. “And if we’re wrong, we’ll have wasted the trap. I need to see. No one’s said that, but everyone’s thinking it. Do you think I can’t feel it?”

“It’d help, sure, but, Sash, we all know you can’t force it.”

“Why can’t I?” she snapped back at Riley. “Why can’t I pull it in when it’s needed? At a time like this, when two of us are— Why don’t you tell me what to do?” she demanded of Bran. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s yours, a ghrá.” He took her shoulders, kissed her brow. “Because it’s only you who can demand it.”

“Then I will, I do! Cast a circle, cast a spell. Help me.”

“With all I have, but there’s no spell. It’s your gift, your mind and heart. Only you can open it.”

“I need air. I need room. I need to breathe.” Desperate, she rushed outside, struggled to calm herself, to settle. When Bran followed, she pressed her fingers to her eyes.

He drew them away. “Trust yourself, as I do.”

“As we do,” Riley corrected, and glanced behind her at Doyle.

“Yeah. We do.”

“Help me.”

Bran brought the hand he held to his heart. “Feel me, open to me.”

“Love, trust, faith. Bran.”

“Open to yourself, fáidh. Let it come. You’re so strong. Set the fear aside, for everyone. And just open.”

She felt his heart beat under her hand, steady. Steady. Closed her eyes and counted the beats. His. Hers. Theirs. Hers. Hers.

“Oh, they’re hurt. The pain. It’s horrible, and the fear is worse. She fears for him, tries to fight, but they hurt him. He fears for her, tries to fight. They hurt her. Trapped, she’s trapped. Water surrounds her, but it’s cruel. He enjoys hurting them. He knows how. And Malmon—he’s not just a man. His eyes, his eyes, he hides them, but . . .”

“Where, Sasha? Where are Annika and Sawyer?”

“In the cave. Blood and death in the cave. Locked in a tank of water, hurt, losing heart. Weeping. Sawyer, so much blood. One chance, he feels one chance. I can’t see it, not all. So many, and so much pain. Sawyer . . . Wait, wait. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

“Dead. No, no, no.”

She shook her head at Riley. “Gone. Somewhere else. I don’t—”

As she spoke, a light, bright as noon, burst in the hills, and the thunder followed.

“Sniper’s nest.” Doyle grabbed Riley’s arm. “Inside, get inside.”

“Time for that chain reaction, Mr. Wizard.” Riley rushed inside, grabbed her weapons. “And time for us to move.”

“They’re coming.” Filled with her power, Sasha picked up her bow. “Men, Malmon’s men. They’re coming here. They mean to take us.”

“They won’t.” Bran lifted fisted hands, beat his fists together.

The hills above the villa bloomed with light.

One chance, Sawyer thought, and prayed he’d timed it right. He might not live through it, but he had one chance to save Annika. He felt the gun against his head, the arm tight at his throat. And did something he’d never done.

He let go.

The arm dropped away, and there was nothing. Not even a sound. He gripped the compass, brought Annika into his mind. He’d never tried a shift within a shift, but he’d already counted off sixty precious seconds.

He had to make it back to her. If he couldn’t get her away, at least she wouldn’t be alone.

In the tank Annika lay still, eyes closed. She would fight again, beat and beat against the glass when she found the strength again. Now her body was weak, shaken. Only will kept her from simply drifting away.

She hoped they would kill her. They meant to kill Sawyer, she understood that. He would die if he came back, and he would come back.

He had too much honor to leave her behind.

She knew he hadn’t told Malmon the whole truth—he still protected the star. She believed he had a plan, would try. But he was hurt, bleeding, all but broken.

With all her heart she wished he would travel on, be safe. Then she heard something like thunder. The water in the tank trembled.

When she pushed herself up, her vision went gray, but she saw Malmon rush out of the cave, shouting. Saw Yadin reach for the controls.

Then Sawyer was with her—like a dream—in the water. He lifted his bound hands up, put his arms around her.

Light flashed to blinding. The tank rocked and shook as if by a giant’s hand. She heard screaming, such terrible screaming. Then they flew.

She wrapped her arms around him, felt his blood, wet and warm on her skin.

“I’ve got you,” he said in her ear.

“You came for me.” Before she could weep, they tumbled to the floor.

She heard gunshots, shouting, saw more lights flash. Felt Sawyer go limp under her. She managed to lift her head, look at him. His face, white, bone white under the blood and the bruising. And from his shoulder, his side, more blood seeped.

She wanted to stand and fight, but had no strength left, not even to bring the gift of her legs. So she did all she could, and tried to shield his body with hers.

Now she did drift, for a moment, for an hour—she couldn’t know. Dimly, she heard a voice. Riley.

“Fuckers won’t try that again anytime soon. Now let’s get this rescue party— Jesus, Jesus Christ. Bran!”

Hands on her, lifting her.

“No, no, Sawyer. He’s hurt. They hurt him. Sawyer.”

“Bran’s got him, Gorgeous. We’ve got him.”

“Doyle, take her out, into the pool. She needs the water. Riley, more towels. We need to stop this bleeding so Bran can work on him.” Sasha dropped beside Bran. “How bad?”

“Very. He’s lost a lot of blood. I think his cheekbone’s shattered, and his eye . . .”

“Let me help. I can take some of it.”

“It’s too much, Sasha.”

“I can do it. I can help.” She laid a hand on Sawyer’s cheek. Gave a shocked cry. “Oh, God.”

“Stop. It’s more than you can do.”

“It’s not. Work through me.” Desperation, pity, love all tangled in her. “You said you trusted me. Trust me now.”

Riley hurried back, took one look at Sasha’s pale, sweaty face, at Bran’s utter focus. She dropped down, pressed a towel to the wound on Sawyer’s side.

“Come on, Dead-Eye, come on. I’m damned if you’re going to bleed out on this kitchen floor.” She looked up at Doyle. “You shouldn’t leave her alone.”

“She’s doing better, and asked me to see Sawyer. She’ll do better yet if I can tell her . . . Good Christ, the bastards worked on him.”

“That’s enough there, Sasha.”

“A little more. I can do more. Doyle, tell her he’s going to be all right, then get Bran’s big kit. Riley?”

“Blood’s slowed, but I can’t stop it.”

“Bran will. He will. I see us, together. All of us. On a hill with a circle of stones, and the sea is blue. I see it, and we’re six. Get the kit, Doyle, and tell Annika he’ll be all right.”

“I’m here.” She came in, naked, legs shaky. “I believe.”

“Here you go.” Doyle swung off his coat, wrapped her in it. “You’re cold.”

“He came for me. He tricked them, and he came for me. He risked all for me, for us, for the stars. He is courage.” Tears streamed as she knelt down. “Let me help.”

Malmon crawled. The light, the terrible light, had blinded him. All he saw was the dark. And the pain! Even now, with the screams and thundering dropped away into a brutal silence, his body burned.

He smelled his own smoking skin and hot blood.

But he lived, so he crawled over the scorched, stony ground. He craved water, cool, cool water, for his body, for his throat. He would have given half his wealth for a cup of water.

Then he heard her voice, and trembled.

“You failed me.”

“No, my queen. No. We were ambushed, tricked, but even now soldiers are taking them. You will have all six. Please, they hurt me.”

“Your soldiers failed, and are gone from this world as all the others you brought here.”

“Please, my love, my queen, the light burned me. My eyes. Help me.”

Full of pain, he crawled toward the sound of her voice, and was struck back.

“Why should I help one who failed me? I gave you a gift, and what have you given me?”

“All I am, all I have.” Blindly, he reached up.

“You are nothing. You have nothing but what I grant you. You had two tasks, my pet. The stars, the guardians. For these two tasks, I would have given you eternal life, eternal youth, and all you could wish for. You have none of them.”

“I will. I swear it, I won’t fail.”

“You’re blind. Weak. Nothing but a broken shell.”

“Help me.” Though every inch burned, he crawled again. “Help me see, help me heal. I’ll bring you the stars. I’ll bring them bathed in the blood of the guardians.”

“You want to see?”

“Restore my eyes, I beg you. I can’t find the stars, can’t kill those who stand against you if I can’t see.”

“You want to see?” she repeated, and the laugh in her voice made him tremble. “And if I grant you this, you will pledge yourself to my service?”

“I am your servant. I will be your servant. Have mercy.”

“Mercy is a weakness. I am strength. I’ll give you sight again, my pet. I’ll let you see.”

His eyes seemed to boil in his head. He screamed, screamed until his throat bled, covered his burning eyes as he tried to claw his way back from the pain.

The tears he wept were bloody.

Through the screams, through the agony, he heard her laugh.

And through the dark, he began to see.

Her hair flew around her face in coils, and on her face lived a mad satisfaction as he writhed and shrieked. Still, the man and what that man had nearly become held out its hands to her.

A supplicant.

“Never ask for mercy.” She smiled at him, almost kindly. “And do not fail me again. There, crawl back in your hole.” She gestured toward the cave. “And await my pleasure.”

“Don’t leave me. Take me with you. Take me with you so I may serve you.”

“You wish to go with me?” As if considering, she circled him where he lay, her long black gown rustling like wings.

“I’ll grow strong again. I’ll bring you the stars. I’ll bring you the heads of the guardians.”

“Words and promises mean nothing. Get me what I want.” She leaned down toward him. “Or the pain they gave you will be as nothing to my displeasure.”

“I will heal. I will give you all you want. Take me with you, my queen.”

“Very well. Take my hand.”

Shaking with gratitude, he reached out. The hand he put in hers was blackened, the skin peeling in sheets, and the nails an inch long, thickened, yellow, curved like claws.

“If you were not what I made you, what you’re becoming, you would be gone like the rest of those you brought here, those who failed. Remember that. My pet.”

Pain came again, a shock of it, as if he’d been ripped out of fire into ice. The cold nearly shattered him. His bones seemed to crack and hiss.

Then came the dark, complete.

When he blinked, he could see dimly. Some sort of room or chamber, with chains and shackles hanging from walls of stone.

The birds that weren’t birds hunched on perches, eyes glinting yellow in the darkness.

“You will bide here. When you have become, I will have use for you.”

“The dark. The cold.”

“Ah, yes, there is still some of that in you, some that yearns for light, for heat. Very well.”

Candles and torches burst into flame. On their perches, the birds that weren’t birds shrieked and fanned their wings. The walls, stone polished to a gleam, shot out dozens of reflections.

Nerezza, in her black gown, a bloodred ruby at her throat. The birds, yellow eyes glinting, wings folding in.

And someone—something—crouched on the floor. Its skin rawly red and scorched black, peeling in sheets and flaps to reveal . . . something else beneath. Hands and feet like claws, hair burned away to a scalp where glistening nubs rose. Eyes, yellow like the birds, slitted like a snake, that stared back in abject horror.

It moved when he moved. It rose on clawed feet when he rose.

“What am I?”

“Between, for now.” Nerezza flicked a finger at a flap of his skin. When it dropped away, fell to the floor, birds swooped down to fight over it.

“I . . . I’m a monster.”

“A demi-demon, and in my service. Remember the pain, my pet. Remember who restored your sight. Remember your oath.”

“I’m a man.”

“You’re mine, and will be for eternity or until I end you.” She walked to a door he hadn’t seen, opened it. “You’ll know when I have use for you.”

He tried to run to the door, stumbled and fell. Once again he tried to crawl, but there was no door, no way out, only the stone, polished like glass. Polished like mirrors that showed him his own image everywhere he looked.

Malmon crawled into a corner, hunched and hunkered there with all he’d become staring back at him.

He began to laugh and laugh, until the chamber echoed with the sound. And the sound was madness.