CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In the chamber inside the palace inside the mountain, what had been Malmon ran up the wall, across the ceiling, down the wall, over the floor—a monstrous hamster on a wheel.

He ran for hours, occasionally snagging one of the birds in a clawed hand, consuming it. Often more for amusement than hunger.

More rarely than that, as he ran, chortling, something would flash inside his mad mind. Images of colorful rooms, plush beds, of a man with golden hair in a dark suit staring back at him in horror, as if through a fogged glass.

The flashes made him scream, and the screams echoed off the polished stone.

Whenever she came, his queen, his goddess, his world, he would drop to the bulbous knobs of his knees. Tears of fear and joy and crazed love filled his slitted eyes when she stroked his head. He would call out to her in a guttural grunt when she left him again.

Then he would go back to the wheel.

On the day she came to him, took him by the hand, led him out of the chamber, he trembled. His small, spiked tail twitched.

She guided him through a maze of stone hazed with smoke from sputtering torches. Bats and birds perched among the flames, eyes glinting, watching. He saw a creature with wings and three heads shackled, saw the bones and blood scattered around it.

Then they entered a large chamber, alight with candle-glow, glinting with gold and silver and jewels. Like his, the walls were mirrored and reflected the throne on a gilded floor that rose on three silver steps.

She released him, ascended, sat. Then gestured with long fingers ringed with rubies. “Pour us wine, my pet.” When he neither moved nor spoke, she inclined her head. “Don’t you remember how?”

Words grunted out of him. “Remembering hurts.”

“I wish for you to pour the wine. Do you not want to give me whatever I wish?”

“Yes! All you wish. All!”

“Then give me what I wish.”

His hands shook. The man with golden hair flashed again, and the pain spiked in his head. But he picked up the glass bottle, poured the red liquid into a goblet studded with the bloodred rubies she favored.

The claws of his feet clacked against the silver steps as he carried it to her.

“And for you.”

“For me?”

“We’ll have wine together, my pet. Pour the wine, and sit.” She gestured to the steps at her feet.

Quaking—such joy, such fear!—he did as she bid. He wanted to lap at the wine in the goblet, but remembered, painfully, drank with his long sharp teeth clicking against the silver.

“And now, Andre—”

Hearing the name had the pain erupting inside him. He cried out, spilled wine, red on silver.

“You needed to forget,” Nerezza continued, “so you could become. Now you are become, and must remember. Remembering will be useful.”

“It hurts!”

“Do you love me?”

“I love. You are my worship.”

“Then you will bear the pain for me. There is a man’s mind inside you still, and I will have need of it. I will have need of you . . . Andre. You failed me once, but I show mercy. You sit at my hand and drink wine. You live, and with speed and strength no human can match. How will you repay my mercy?”

“As you command me.”

“Yes. As I command you.” She smiled, sipped wine. “Do you remember the guardians? The six?”

His breath burned his throat; his clawed hand dented the silver goblet. “Enemies.”

“Which of them would you choose to kill first?”

“Sawyer King! Sawyer King! Sawyer King!”

“Ah, yes, he who outwitted you. I will allow you to take that life. But not first. I need the death of the seer. As she dies, I can drain her. She’s powerful, and that power is . . . young. It will feed me, and she will no longer guide the others.”

“I will kill her for you, my queen.”

“Perhaps.” She picked up the Globe of All. Frustrated mists swirled inside, hiding much from her. “If she dies by your hand, you may take the one you want, do what you want. You must prepare now, Andre, for the battle.”

And if he failed, she thought, even if he died in the attempt, there would still be blood.

Setting aside the globe, she picked up her mirror. Saw the white streak through her beautiful black hair, the signs of age on her beautiful face.

They had caused this. The guardians had marred the perfection of her beauty.

But when she drank the seer’s blood, she drank the power. With it, she would restore her endless youth.

As he felt the connection again, strongly, Sawyer spread out his maps, laid down his compass. When it glowed, he expelled a breath—relief and gratitude—watched it glide over the maps. It settled on the map of Capri, then lay still.

“Yeah, yeah, I got that part. But where?” Scowling, he sat back. “Why does everything have to be so damn cryptic? Just once, why not give a clear, exact, no-bullshit answer?”

He continued to scowl when Riley sat across from him under the pergola. “No luck?”

He shook his head. “You?”

“I’ve broken my never-nag rule and left yet another urgent voice mail, sent another urgent email to this Dr. White—Jonas White—my source claims is the expert on the Bay of Sighs. The retreat ended this morning, so he should be connected to the damn world by now, but nothing.”

Like Sawyer, she stared at the compass. “Does that do any good?” she wondered. “Staring at it?”

“No.”

“Figured. Like it’s not doing any good, right now, for me to keep trying to dig up more on this mythical bay. I hit bottom, and have to suck it up and wait. I hate sucking it up.”

“At least we’ll dive tomorrow. And maybe that’s the way it has to be. Just keep looking. Suck it up.” He looked at her now. “Because it’s not showing me where this bay is, and it’s sure as hell not giving any handy hints of where we’d go next—when we do find it. And that’s going to be important.”

“Vital, once we find the Water Star, so it’s hard to hold that no-nag rule where Sasha’s concerned.”

“Nerezza will know when we find it, and come hard.”

“You’ve got to figure.” Thinking it through yet again, Riley twirled her sunglasses by the earpiece. “First order, when we do, is getting it to safety. I guess Bran will hide it where we have the first. Then we’re going to have to book or be ready to kick her ass here.”

“We’ll be ready. But it doesn’t feel like here.”

Intrigued, Riley propped her chin on her fist. “No, it doesn’t. I keep thinking that. It doesn’t feel as if we’d have a big, final showdown with the bitch god in a lemon grove outside a nice house in Capri. A showdown, sure, but the big one?”

“Water Star, so maybe the big one comes when we’re in or on the water.”

“Yeah, I’ve played with that one, too. And with the fact that we’ve gotten pretty relaxed around here the last couple days, so it just doesn’t feel like Fight Club. I guess it doesn’t matter when or where, as long as we’re ready.” Riley glanced up. “Bran’s in his magick shop doing what he does.”

“Where’s everybody else?”

“You mean Annika, so you should say Annika. I think she’s up working with Bran so Sasha has time to paint. Because we’re all hoping she’ll paint something we need to know. And Doyle is in the kitchen cleaning his weapons.

“Anyway, the next—if we leap forward—is ice. So maybe Iceland or Greenland or the fricking Arctic. We may look back on the sun and heat fondly before much longer.”

“It’s a big leap until we find the Water Star.” He noted she stared at her phone, as he’d stared at the compass. “Let’s go shoot something.”

“What?”

“Target practice. Sitting here trying to will the compass to move or your phone to ring? I’m getting jumpy.”

“Neither of us needs practice there, and we shouldn’t waste the ammo. Knife-throwing contest.”

“You’re on.”

He took the compass; she took her phone, and together they killed an hour and a few targets.

“Tiebreaker,” Riley said, but he shook his head.

“Let’s leave it as a tie. I’m dinner chef tonight, and I should get started.”

“It’s early.”

“It’s the first night of your three, right? You need to eat before sundown. I’m going for beef manicotti. I figure you could use the red meat.”

“Yeah. Appreciate it.” She pulled the phone out of her pocket as they walked back. “Watch this White call after sundown, when I can’t talk to him.”

“Told you. Bark in Morse code.”

She elbow-punched him, then split off to head up to her room. She wouldn’t sleep that night, so a nap wouldn’t hurt.

Later, they ate a quiet meal, each of them preoccupied. Since the next day’s agenda was already set, it came down to waiting.

“That should hold me till morning.”

“You still have time,” Sasha said when Riley rose.

“Yeah, and I’m going to try to contact this White guy again. Push some other buttons that may get through to him. The harder it is to reach him, the more I think he’s got some answers. If I crap out on that, I’ll just see everybody in the morning.”

“Stay out of the neighbor’s chicken coop,” Sawyer advised, and earned a narrow stare.

“I’ll take her turn,” Annika said when Riley went inside.

“Turn?” Distracted, Sasha rubbed a small ache at her temple. “Oh. Oh, the chart. It’s Riley and Doyle on cleanup.”

“I don’t mind. Maybe she’ll find the Dr. White, and learn what we need. And after we clean up, if there’s time, I can take her some of the gelato that comes in the box.”

“Right.” With some reluctance, Doyle rose when Annika did. He’d solved his cooking duties—he bought pizza—but had yet to figure a way out of cleanup when his turn came around.

“It’s nice to make things clean again,” Annika said after they’d carted dishes inside.

“It’s nice to have them clean.”

“You cleaned your guns today, and polished your sword, even your knives.” Content enough, she went to work at the sink. “This isn’t so different.”

And she liked filling the big sink with water and the suds, liked the smell of the suds when she scrubbed the pots Sawyer had used.

“The meal was very good.”

“Yeah, the man can cook.” Doyle clattered dishes into the dishwasher. Since he knew what it was to try cleaning a pot or plate in a fast stream, he figured he shouldn’t complain.

“I can cook a little now. It’s fun. You’ve lived so long, but don’t cook.”

“I can get by.” He pulled out a dishcloth, started drying the pots. “I learned to cook over a fire, on hunting trips.”

“You’ve seen the wonders come. Riley let me look at some of her books. Once land people walked or rode horses. Then they learned to make cars, and motorcycles like yours. And there was no phone like Riley so enjoys, or the movies Sawyer likes to watch.”

“Things change. People not as much.”

“But things can’t change themselves. People can. Sasha has changed so much in hardly one turn of the moon. She’s stronger and she’s learned to fight. And she can do six pull-ups where she could not do one.”

“You’ve got a point. And I’m betting she’ll get up to ten before we’re done with this.”

“And we’ve all seen wonders, of dark and light.”

For a while they worked in silence.

“I have a hard question,” Annika began. “I want to ask when it’s just you.”

“All right.”

“You’ve lived a long time. You’ve had people who . . .” She touched a hand to her heart. “Matter, who mean much.”

“After a while, you try not to let that happen.”

“But it does. We matter to you, not just as guardians, as warriors. We matter to you.”

He looked at her, the stunning mermaid, thought of the others, one by one. “You matter, yes.”

“How do you say good-bye?”

He set down the cloth because he understood she needed a real answer. “I’ve never found an easy way. If it’s easy, they didn’t matter.”

“Is there a way to make it easy for the one you leave?”

“Convince him he doesn’t matter. But that’s not going to work for you, Gorgeous. Not going to work with Sawyer.”

“No, I couldn’t pretend that. It would make what we have nothing.”

“He’d never believe you anyway. And he’s never going to forget you.”

“I think how it would be best if he did, then I know if he could, I would just fade away. So, I have to hold on to the wonder.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

“You’re my very good friend.” She turned, hugged him. “I’ll be sad to say good-bye to you. But I have two turns of the moon before . . . Oh, it’s nearly sunset. I have no time to take Riley the gelato. There are still dishes to put away. Cookies.”

Inspired, she pulled a bag of fancy cookies from the pantry. “I’ll finish if you could take these to her. She has enough time for a cookie. And they could be in her room in the morning when she’s hungry and tired.”

“I don’t think she wants—”

“Please.” Smiling, Annika held out the bag.

Doyle thought there wasn’t a man alive who could say no to that smile. “Fine.”

He carried them upstairs. At least the chore got him out of tubbing up leftovers or washing off counters—all on the duty list.

He heard Riley’s voice, caught the quick interest in it.

“Yeah, if you could do that, even better.”

He stepped into her room—one where books were piled everywhere, and where she’d put a nightstand into service as a small desk, which she used now to scribble notes.

Spotting Doyle, she twirled a finger in the air, jabbed it, in a sign he took to mean she was wrapping things up, to wait.

“Yeah, agreed, Atlantis is a whole different kettle. I’m happy to do that, and will first thing in the morning. Uh-huh, right. I just need a little time to put it all together for you first.”

Doyle opened the bag of cookies—it was right there—pulled one out. She kept talking while he ate, while he wandered her room, looking at the books, the maps stuck to the walls, the notes only organized by her eye.

They’d had a few words on her lack of system, but she could, indeed, put her hand on any and everything she wanted in seconds, so he’d lost that round.

The room smelled of her soap—just a faintest hint of vanilla—and the flowers Annika insisted on putting in every bedroom. Including his own.

He ate another cookie, bent over a new translation she must have worked on by herself, lost track a bit until her voice cut through his thoughts again.

“I’m grateful, Doctor. This is a big help. I will absolutely do that. Thanks. Yeah, thanks. Bye.”

She clicked off the phone, did a little dance in place. Her dark gold eyes read smug. For some strange reason, he liked them smug.

“You’ve had good news.”

“Bet your fine ass. He forgot to turn his phone back on, never turned on his computer. White—my source. And he gave me—”

The phone slipped out of her hand, bounced on the bed as she gasped. “Oh, fuck it, fuck it, I waited too long. Get out, get out, get out!”

She dropped straight to the floor, began to fight with her bootlaces.

And Doyle realized he hadn’t paid attention either. The sun was setting in a fiery red ball.

Her breath came fast and harsh, and her fingers fumbled over the double knots in her laces.

He started to back out, then tossing the bag of cookies aside, crouched down. “I’ve got these. I’ve got them.”

“Get out! Oh, shit.”

She grabbed the bottom of her tank, yanked it over her head.

“I’ve got it.” He dragged off her boots, the socks, and when she threw her head back, when he saw the change glint in her eyes, gritted his teeth, pulled her belt open.

“Hold on.”

“I can’t.”

She moaned, and he heard bones begin to creak, shift.

“Riley.” Sasha stopped in the doorway.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Don’t fucking bite me.” While her spine arched, Doyle flipped open the button of her cargo shorts, yanked them and the panties beneath down her legs. Then hooked his fingers in the sports bra she wore, and dragged it over her head and clear.

Naked, she twisted away, rose on all fours.

Her shoulders bunched, and the muscles bulged. Her hands curled, with nails lengthening, going sharp, as skin became pelt.

Again, she threw back her head, and somehow caught between wolf and woman, howled. And the woman was gone.

The wolf growled low, then ran for the terrace doors. In one spring she landed on the stone rail, in another she leaped into the night.

“Oh, my God. Riley.”

Sasha dashed to the terrace, ran out a step behind Doyle. And saw the wolf land neatly, impossibly on the lawn on the other side of the pool. With one glance toward them, she turned and loped into the grove.

“I didn’t know she could . . . It seems an impossible jump.”

Magnificent—he couldn’t block the reaction—fierce and magnificent. “Apparently not for her.”

“She needs to run,” Sasha remembered. “She told us she needs to run right after the change. All that energy. Why were you . . .” She glanced at the scattered clothes, cleared her throat. “Not my business.”

“And not like that. Annika asked me to bring her up some bloody cookies, and she was on that bloody phone of hers. With the guy she’s been after. She wasn’t paying attention, and neither was I. She was excited, whatever he told her got her juices running, and she started the change while she was still dressed.”

“You helped her.”

“She couldn’t get her damn boots off, then . . .”

Sasha laid a hand on his arm. “You helped her. Even if she’s embarrassed by that, and snarls—ha—a little tomorrow, she’s grateful for the help.”

On a sigh, she turned back into the room. “I’ll pick up her things so she doesn’t . . .”

Doyle turned to her when she trailed off, saw the sight come into her eyes. More magnificence, he thought. He’d never known three women more compelling.

“They’re coming. She sends him, transformed as one of us has transformed. For me, for my blood, for my blood to feed her.”

“She can forget it.” Firmly, Doyle took her shoulders. “Get Bran, get your bow. I’ll tell the others.”

“While we’re five, and weaker, she watches.”

“Let her watch. Go!”

He unclipped Riley’s holster from her belt, clipped it to his own, and called the others to arm as he ran down the steps for his sword.

Inside, Sawyer grabbed more clips, shoved them in his pocket. He could admit, at least to himself, he wanted nothing more than one clear shot at Malmon. He shoved a spare knife in his boot and hurried out to join the others.

“In the grove?”

“No time.”

Bran pointed to where Sasha’s gaze was locked. It resembled a cloud, dark and boiling, spewing out of the sky and filled with storms.

“Riley.” Quickly Annika took his hand. “She—”

“Sun’s down, moon’s up. Let’s make sure they can’t get to her, wherever she is. We’ve got this.” He gave her hand a squeeze, released it. Drew both guns.

He took out the leaders, one shot, and the light flared, flamed them.

“On your six!” Doyle shouted, and Sawyer whirled. A second cloud rolled over the west.

“Sasha and I have the west.” Though he’d armed himself, Bran left the gun holstered. Lightning bolted from his extended hands. “Sawyer and Annika the east. Doyle—”

“Some of each.”

Sawyer emptied both clips, dodged a razor swipe of claws as he reloaded. However much he trusted Annika’s skill, he kept her in sight, ready to defend, protect while she shot charges, flipped to kick, spun to shower the light through the dark.

But he saw nothing of Malmon.

“Come on, fucker,” he muttered, ignoring the backwash of blood and ash splattering from Doyle’s whirling sword. “Show yourself.”

Something rushed past him; he caught the dark blur, felt the sudden shock of pain from claws raking his arm.

He turned, tried to follow the blur, hold it in his sights, but it moved like Bran’s lightning, and erratically at that.

But his heart bounded to his throat as he realized that blur was a zigzagging arrow aimed at Sasha.

She released a bolt, struck her target, drew another.

“Sasha! Move, move.”

She hesitated only a second at Sawyer’s shout, retreated two quick steps to the side. He saw the blood bloom on her arm, heard her quick cry of pain.

Because his gun was useless—she was too close—Sawyer ran toward her even as Bran yanked her behind him. Sawyer moved to block her from attack, but the attack changed directions so fast Doyle’s sword cleaved down, met only air.

Now blood seeped from Sasha’s leg.

“Take her in, get her inside.” Sawyer laid down suppressing fire. “We’ll hold them off.”

“No, there’s too many.” Shaking off Bran’s hold, Sasha fired another bolt.

Sawyer saw the blur, the leap of it. Fired. Missed. He saw Bran once again yank Sasha behind him, knew in that instant Bran would go down.

The wolf all but flew out of the dark, its howl fierce and as deadly as its fangs. Another instant, the blur took form, hideous form, raw red skin, bumpy with scales, wild yellow eyes in a long narrow face crowned with nubs.

The wolf sank those fangs into the demon’s shoulder—Malmon’s shoulder—and its scream shattered the air. The demon struck out, its face contorted with rage and pain. The blow sent the wolf tumbling through the air. When it struck the ground, it lay still.

“Keep them off her.” On a one-handed handspring, Doyle flipped to the wolf, sweeping his sword out to destroy the birds that swooped low to attack the fallen.

In seconds the five circled the wolf, forming a wall of defense. Sawyer caught one last glance of Malmon, took aim, but the dark swallowed the demon and the birds.

And the night went still with the silent moon gliding overhead.

“Riley.” Sasha fell to her knees. “Oh, God, Riley. Bran.”

“Let me see her, let me see. You’re bleeding, a ghrá.”

“Riley. How bad is Riley?”

Blood ran down her arm, onto fur as Sasha laid her hands on her friend. “She’s alive. I feel her heart.”

“Stunned, at least. We’ll get her inside.”

“I have her.” Sheathing his sword, Doyle crouched, lifted the unconscious wolf.

With a nod, Bran lifted Sasha. “You’re losing blood, as is Sawyer. Annika.”

“I’m not hurt. I’ll get what you need.”

“I’m all right. Riley first.”

“You’re not all right, no, but you will be. Lay Riley on the table, Doyle, and get towels.”

“Let me check for breaks.” After he laid Riley down, Doyle ran his hands over her, checked legs, worked over her body. “A couple of ribs, it feels like, but Christ, they’re knitting. I can feel the breaks fusing. Heals fast as a wolf. I feel a little . . .”

“Yeah, me, too.” When his legs buckled, Sawyer simply sat on the floor. “There’s a burning, and a weakness.”

“Poison, no doubt. Get the towels, Doyle, and water. Annika,” Bran said as she rushed in. “Help me here. I need to clean out the wounds, but we’ll want the potion, six drops for each. You’ll do that now, and quickly.”

He chose another bottle out of the kit as Annika measured the potion. “It will hurt,” he murmured to Sasha. “I’m sorry for it. Look at me, open for me.”

She gasped as the liquid met the gash, then simply closed her eyes. “It’s better.”

“Almost. And I’ve your leg to do as well. A few moments, just a few more. Sawyer, go ahead and drink that. There now, there, fáidh, they’re clean, and purified. The balm will soothe.”

“Sawyer first.”

“I’ve got him, finish her.” Doyle took the bottle, crouched by Sawyer. “Ready?”

“Go for it. Shit, shit, fucking shit.”

Annika pressed a kiss to his head as the burning seared the gashes on his arm, and he felt Sasha—partner in pain—take his hand.

“He would have done worse, much worse, if you hadn’t warned me.”

“I couldn’t get a clear shot. He’s too fast, and then you were too close.”

“He wanted my throat. I had an instant to feel that from him, but you’d shouted and he missed the mark. You saved my life, then Riley saved Bran’s, which is the same to me. Please, Bran, please, see to Riley. She fell so hard.”

“Just another moment. Annika, you’ll treat Sawyer with the balm.”

“Yes, I know how. The wound is clean. It’s deep, but it’s clean.”

“Yeah, it is, I can feel it. And I can stand.” Steady again, Sawyer got to his feet. “You must have something in the magick box for Riley.”

“Nothing broken.” Once again Doyle ran his hands over her. “The ribs are healed already.”

As he spoke, the wolf’s eyes opened, tawny and clear, met his. The low growl had him lifting his hands, holding them palms out. “Take it easy.”

“You were hurt,” Sasha said as Riley shifted and jumped nimbly to the floor. “Will you tell me if you have pain? Let me in?”

Their eyes met, and Sasha’s lips curved. “He wasn’t copping a feel. Will you take some medicine? But the fast can’t mean . . . All right. At sunrise. Go rest awhile.”

The wolf gave Doyle one last, long stare, then stalked out of the kitchen.

“You were talking to a wolf. I mean, sure it’s Riley, but—”

Grinning, Sawyer shook his head. “A wolf. Like Dr. Dolittle.”

“She’s got some pain, not severe, and she’ll sleep awhile. It’s rare for her to sleep when in wolf form, but it will help the healing. It’s not really talking,” Sasha explained. “It’s more she can let me read her feelings, and they more or less translate into words. She understands us perfectly well, and I can get the gist of what she wants me to know.”

With a sigh, she looked down at the blood on the floor. “We need to clean this up.”

“I will clean it. I wasn’t hurt. You should rest, and you, Sawyer. It helps you heal, too. Is that right, Bran?”

“It is, and they will. We’ll talk about all this in the morning.”

“There’s a question I’d have liked to ask before she walked out on us.” Doyle glanced at the doorway. “That was Malmon, I take it.”

“It was,” Sasha told him. “But not Malmon any longer.”

“So man into demon. And a demon who was just bitten by a werewolf—or lycan, as she prefers. Will the demon be turned by the bite?”

“Good question,” Sawyer said. “And would that be good or bad news for our side?”