CHAPTER TWO

In the morning, Annika woke early. She chose one of her pretty dresses that swirled around her legs—a lovely reminder she had them—and hurried straight down to the kitchen.

She wanted to make the coffee. She’d learned how in the villa on Corfu, and liked doing things ordinary people did. But this new house had a different machine, and would take some time to figure out.

She liked figuring things out, too.

Today she wanted real flowers for the table, so she wandered outside and down toward the garden. And saw the pool. The pale blue water under the first soft beams of sunlight.

The sea was too far for a morning swim, she thought, but this. Well, it was right here. Trees flanked the yard, making a kind of green wall. In any case, she didn’t understand the human fuss about bodies. They were as natural as hair and eyes, as fingers and toes, and no one made a fuss about hiding them.

Besides, she longed for the water, and saw no reason to go back to her room and find the suit to swim in. Instead, she pulled off the dress, tossed it onto a chair. And dived in.

The water embraced her, gentle as a mother, sweet as a lover. She skimmed along the bottom, her sea-green eyes open and lit with pleasure. Delighted, she swam the length of the pool, back again, then, pushing off the bottom, let her legs spear up into the air and sun.

And slice down into the water again as a tail.

Sawyer, a cup of coffee in his hand, stopped dead on the skirt of the pool.

He’d come out to see who was up, who’d put the coffee on. He’d known it was Annika the instant her legs had come up and out of the water—long, dusky gold, and perfect.

Then color had swirled around those legs, winking, flashing like precious gems, gems that went to shimmering liquid before they’d become the mermaid’s tail.

It took his breath. Knowing her for a mermaid and seeing her transform were two different things. And it simply took his breath. Even before he caught it again, she flew up, long black hair streaming, arms outstretched, tail sparkling, her face bright and beautiful.

She arched in midair—and Jesus, she wore nothing but the tail—then slid backward into the water again.

His body reacted, and it didn’t matter he reminded himself he was a man, and what man wouldn’t go hard watching a gorgeous, naked mermaid. He tried to think of her as a sister, got nowhere. Did better listing her firmly as a teammate.

Most of all he had to stop her from swishing that amazing tail around. They had neighbors here.

She came up again, laughing, flipped back to float. He ordered himself not to look at her breasts—too late—but managed to shift his gaze to her face. She had her eyes closed, a quiet smile on her face as she floated, with the only movement the gentle flick of her tail fin.

“Annika.”

Her eyes opened; she smiled over at him. “Sawyer, good morning. Do you want to swim with me?”

Oh, yeah. Oh boy, yeah.

Couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t.

“Ah, not right now. And you can’t, ah, you know, be right out here with the tail. Without the legs. And naked. Somebody could spot you.”

“There are the trees, and it’s so early.”

“Windows over the trees—if somebody happened to look out just the right way at the right time.”

“Oh.” With a little sigh, she lowered the tail into the water. And now he saw her legs lightly kicking. “I didn’t mean to, but it felt so good I forgot.”

“It’s okay, just don’t . . . No, don’t get out.”

He actually felt panic as she glided toward the shallow end, stood. That body—willowy and perfect and . . . wet. Water sparkled on her skin, diamonds on gold dust.

She was killing him.

“I—I’m going to get you a towel. Don’t get out without any . . . Just wait.”

He hurried back inside. Coffee wasn’t going to do much for a throat that had gone bone dry at the way her hair slicked over those really, really pretty breasts.

He tried counting backward by threes from a thousand, and still had to take a minute, adjust himself—only human—when he grabbed a pool towel from the utility room off the kitchen.

When he came out again, she’d stayed obediently as she was.

“You need to . . .” He wound a finger in the air. “Around. Then the dress.”

He didn’t see anything but the dress, which meant she wouldn’t be wearing anything under the dress. And it wasn’t smart to think about that either.

He stared at the lemon trees as he held the towel over the pool.

“Why do women always cover their top half, and men don’t always?”

“Because we don’t have . . . and you have.”

“The breasts,” she said as she stepped out of the pool, wrapped the towel around herself. “Sometimes the maids wear shells over the breasts. But this is for fashion.”

He risked a glance, relieved she’d covered everything. “Mermaid fashion?”

“Yes. We like adornments, too. I made coffee.”

“Yeah, good. Thanks.” He picked it up from the table, took a sip. She’d made it strong enough to fight the champ, but he had no problem with that. “If you’re going to swim, you really need to wear a suit and keep your legs on.”

“I apology.”

“No. No, don’t be sorry.” He risked another look. Now she stood in the dress, long hair wet and sleek as a seal. “It’s amazing. It’s beautiful. It must feel weird for you to swim without it.”

“I like the legs.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty great. Once we score a boat, we should be able to go out far enough, or you deep enough to tail it out when you want. But in the pool, broad daylight, it’s better if you don’t.”

“For a few moments it was just morning, with the little pool of water in the sun, and the smell of the trees.”

“One day it will be just morning.”

She looked at him then, into his eyes. “You believe?”

“Yeah. I believe.”

“Then I can’t be sad. I’ll help you fix the breakfast, and I can set the table. What will you make?”

“The way we’re supplied right now? Pretty much anything. What do you want?”

“I can pick?”

“Sure.”

“Can you make—it’s not the pancakes because you . . .” She made a rolling motion with her fingers. “And put something delicious inside.”

“Crepes.”

“Yes! Can you make those?”

“You got it.”

She liked working in the kitchen. So many smells and colors and tastes. Sawyer said they’d make eggs and bacon, too, and the crepes would have peaches in them and honey over them so they’d be sweet.

She helped him mix, and he showed her how to make the crepe, let her try one all by herself. As she did, Sasha came in.

“Good timing. Everyone’s stirring around. God, it smells good in here.”

“I’m making a crepe.”

“Fancy.” Sasha walked over, put an arm around Annika’s waist, watched a moment. “And you’re doing a good job of it.”

Sasha reached for a coffee cup. “Should I set the table?”

“The table! I forgot to get the flowers. We need the plates and the glasses and the napkins, and—”

“Why don’t I take out the plates,” Sasha said.

With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Annika nodded as she carefully slid the crepe onto a plate. “Did I do it the right way?”

“Looks perfect,” Sawyer told her.

“I need to get the flowers now.”

As she dashed out, Sasha leaned back against the counter. “Never a boring tablescape with Annika.”

“Maybe you can sort of explain to her about swimming naked, at least in the daylight.”

“Was she?”

“Unless you count the tail.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No harm I could see, and she just got caught up. I think she got what I was telling her about it, but maybe, you know, another woman. I think, on Corfu, she went down to the beach early every morning, swam out, and under, way under, to give herself that . . . ritual, I guess it is. But here . . .”

“I’ll make sure she understands. Do you need any help here?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” Riley mumbled as she staggered in. She poured a mug, inhaled the scent, took a gulp. “Bang!” she said. “That’s coffee.”

“It’ll put hair on your chest,” Sawyer said. “Oh, right, you just need the moon for that.”

“You’re a riot.” She grabbed Annika’s crepe, folded it into her mouth, said, “Good,” around it.

“Give me fifteen minutes, you’ll get better than good.”

Sasha took plates outside, came back in for glassware, got caught up in a kiss as Bran came in. By the time she went back out, Annika was at work.

She had the plates in a semicircle around a little tower of empty flower pots. From the top one spilled napkins in bright colors with folds and ripples. At the base of the flower blossoms and leaves, a few pretty stones formed a pool.

“It’s a rainbow waterfall,” Sasha guessed.

“Yes! And its water feeds the little garden. It’s water that blooms, so you can swim in the flowers.”

“That’s a beautiful thought.”

“It’s a happy place. The dark can’t go there. There should be a place, I think, where the dark can’t go.” She looked down at the bracelets circling her wrists—the magick Bran had fashioned for her. “A place where no one has to fight.”

“We’ll push the dark back, Anni. It may be all we can do, but it matters.”

“Yes, it matters. Friends matter. We friends will have a pretty breakfast on our first day of our quest for the Water Star.”

With a rainbow waterfall.

They spoke of practical things over the meal. Getting the lay of the land—and the sea. Divvying up the household chores.

“We’re not as isolated here,” Bran pointed out. “We could use a basic cover story. Friends on holiday?”

“Say a working holiday for me.” Riley scooped up eggs. “Sticking close to the truth always helps. I’m an archaeologist, doing a paper, some research. So questions I might ask are covered there. I’ve got more Italian than Greek, and can talk the talk. Anybody else?”

“Io parlo italiano molto bene.” Doyle cut into a crepe.

Riley’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, yeah?”

“Sì. I’ve had considerable time for languages.”

“That’ll be handy if we need another interpreter. I’m going to make some calls, tug some lines. We’re going to need a boat and diving gear.”

“You wheel that deal,” Sawyer told her. “You’re good at it.”

“One of my specialties.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have a car or van on tap,” Bran pointed out. “We may need to go farther afield.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Might as well leave my bike inside where it is, unless we need it. I’ll set up a training area in the grove. We can use the trees for cover,” Doyle speculated. “Plenty of hills for hiking.”

“I like hiking.” Annika ate the last of a honey-drizzled bite of peach. “Can we hike down to the beach?”

“Maybe later,” Bran told her. “I have some work if Sawyer can help Doyle set up the training area.”

“I’m on it.”

“Annika, you could help me while Sasha and Riley deal with the cleanup here. We want to replenish the medicines. You’ll make your calls,” Bran said to Riley, “work your own brand of magic.”

“We need to go over the maps for this area,” Doyle pointed out. “And work out some strategy.”

“Agreed. Could you do another assignment chart, Sasha?”

“Right after KP.”

“Okay, go team.” Riley clapped her hands together. “Let’s get started.”

She liked working with Bran, not only because of his patience, but the delight of his magicks. She had no skill as a witch, but he’d shown her during their time on Corfu how to crush leaves or petals, how to measure.

He could and did make weapons, like the potions of light and power that had defeated Nerezza and her beasts on Corfu. He could call the lightning and use it as skillfully as the others used gun or bow or sword. She had witnessed what he could do, and believed his power greater than any witch she’d known. Even greater than the sea witch or sorcerer.

But he would spend much time on the healing arts as well. Though she understood some felt fear or illness at the sight of wounds and blood, Annika saw a need. And felt pride when Bran told her she had a skill for healing.

She had no wish to be a warrior, though she accepted the war. Her weapons were her speed and agility—in and out of the water. And the bracelets that shot power or blocked it.

When Sasha joined them, Annika made an excuse to leave them. Because they were in love, and time between lovers was precious. She wandered the house, familiarizing herself with its chambers—rooms, she corrected.

Following Riley’s voice, she stepped into one flooded with light, where Riley paced and talked very fast on the phone in a mix of English and Italian.

“Che cazzo, Fabio! What kind of deal is that? Two weeks minimum, and likely four or six weeks. Stronzate. Don’t try to hose me. I could go to a stranger and get a better rate. Okay, that’s what I’ll do. Oh, and I’ll be contacting your mother while I’m here. She and I really need to have a nice chat because I find my memory about that night in Naples is coming back. Same to you, amico.”

She listened, listened, her smile going sharp and satisfied. “Quanto? Better, some better, but . . . I really miss talking to your mother. Oh, that’s for two weeks? Now you’re talking. That works, you keep the deposit either way. What’s that?”

Riley threw back her head and laughed. “Baby, you wish I was squeezing your balls. Four-week minimum’s a deal. We’ll pick it up tomorrow. She’d better be seaworthy, Fabio, or remember how I pulled your ass out of the fire in Naples? I’ll be shoving it right back in. Ciao.”

She swiped off the call, swaggered over to Annika. “High-five.”

When Annika looked toward the ceiling, Riley laughed again. “No, no, slap my hand. It’s a high five. It’s a fucking A. We’ve got a boat, and I wrangled the cost down.” She rolled her shoulders. “I did squeeze the little asshole’s balls.”

“What kind of balls?”

Riley pointed at her crotch. “Those kind.”

“Oh, yes. I know those kind. But how did you squeeze his balls when . . . It’s an expression.”

“You’re catching on. The diving equipment was easy. Fabio’s cousin Anna Maria’s in charge of that, and she’s giving us rock-bottom rate. I’d have taken Fabio’s next-to-the-last rate if he hadn’t tried to squeeze my balls first. Anyway.” She shoved the phone in her pocket, dusted her palms together. “Done. And I’ve got the sister of a friend’s boyfriend who’ll lend us his van for gas and beer if we need it.

“So, where’s everyone else?”

“Sasha and Bran are up the stairs making magicks. I think Sawyer and Doyle are still in the grove for the training part.”

“All right then. You need to put on pants.”

“Pants.”

“Yeah, those ones that hit about here?” Riley tapped the flat of her hand just above her knee. “The ones with all the pockets. And the tank you can tuck into them. I want to work on some of my moves, and you’ve got the best. And we’ll work on your hand-to-hand. But you can’t go doing flips in that dress, especially since there’s nothing under it.”

“I like dresses better than pants.”

“Maybe so, but when you go commando and do handsprings and flips, you’re flashing.”

“Flashing?”

“The girl parts, Anni. The parts we tend—right or wrong—to think of as private. Maybe we’ll get you some bike shorts. You could wear them under a dress.”

“Bike shorts.”

“We’ll look into it. But for now, go ahead and change. I’ll see if Bran can spare Sasha. She needs the work.”

“She does better.”

“Yeah, she does,” Riley agreed as they started upstairs. “You’re a good coach.”

“Thank you. I like to help.”

Pleased, even if she had to wear pants, Annika went to her room to change, and wound her hair into a long, thick braid.

She left her windows open, and though she would go outside, took a moment to lean out, drink in the air, the fragrance, her view of the sea.

On the narrow road below, she saw people walking up the steep, steep hill in boots and shorts. Maybe they were bike shorts, but she knew what a bike was, and they didn’t have one.

She saw bushes and trees full of blooms, and, farther out, people on the sickle of beach, boats plying the blue water.

Sometimes she liked to swim beneath boats, look up at their shadows and try to guess where they would go.

But today she saw a woman walking slowly up the steep road and pushing a fat-cheeked baby in a . . . walker, runner . . . Stroller! A stroller. Plastic bags hung heavily off the sides of the stroller, and another bag crowded into its little basket.

The baby laughed and clapped her chubby hands as the woman sang.

Annika wished she could paint like Sasha. She would have painted the woman and the baby, laughing with the long, high road still ahead of them.

The woman looked up, caught Annika’s eye. So Annika waved.

“Buongiorno,” the woman called out.

She had bits of languages, because she liked to listen and learn. “Buongiorno,” she called back. Not sure how to make the sentence, she mixed her languages together. “You and your bambina are bella.” Annika held out her hands. “Bella.”

The woman laughed, angled her head. “Grazie, signorina. Grazie mille.”

And singing again, the woman and her baby continued the steep climb.

Her mood buoyed by them, Annika danced downstairs and outside to train for war.

She saw Sasha and Riley on the strip of lawn between the pool and the lemon grove. Pretty plants and bushes added color at the edges, and the tall, slim trees formed a green wall.

Not so much room, so they’d have to . . . practice smaller.

Still she enjoyed watching Riley work with Sasha on the hand-to-hand. A punch, a pivot, a kick. Like a dance.

After a short run, Annika executed a double handspring, landed soft, and mimed punching both of her friends with the backs of her fists.

“Show-off.” Sasha grumbled it.

“There’s not so much grass, but it’s very nice. You can practice your rolls, Sasha.” Annika rolled her hands to demonstrate. “Then the jump up.”

“Double roll,” Riley decided. “Come up, side kick, backhand.”

“Seriously?”

“You need to start combining the flips and tumbles with the rest. You’re wicked good with a crossbow, pal, but we all know you can’t always fight at a distance. Agility, mobility, power. Right, Anni?”

“This is right.”

“Make her do it first.” Sasha jabbed a finger at Riley.

“You want me to do it first? I’m first.”

Riley slapped her hands together, rolled her shoulders, flexed her knees a few times. Then she sprang forward, landing on her hands, tucked into a roll, a second roll, then pushed up, kicking one leg out to the right, her arm with its fisted hand to the left.

Annika applauded.

“Don’t encourage her,” Sasha mumbled.

“You can do it, Sasha. Remember. Tight, tight.” Annika tapped a hand on Sasha’s belly. “Power there, power in your legs.”

“Okay.” Shaking her arms, Sasha blew out a breath. “Okay. Tight, tight, power, spring, roll, kick. Oh, God.”

She gave herself a short, running start, threw her body over for the handspring.

Annika nodded, then winced, because while the spring was very good, the roll went off-center, the second roll more off-center. So when Sasha tried to heave herself to her feet, she landed on her face.

“Damn it!”

“Ten out of ten for the face-plant,” Riley decided.

Sasha rolled over, gave Riley the beady eye.

“You did the handspring very well.” Annika crouched down, rubbed Sasha’s shoulders.

“Right.”

“No, I think left. This is left, yes?” Holding up her left hand, Annika wiggled her fingers. “You did the handspring, but then you tipped to the left on the roll, and more left on the next. You had no center, so no balance. I’ll show you, slower than Riley.”

She stood, didn’t bother with the running start but seemed to fold over like water from a pitcher.

“Tight, tight in the center,” she said as she tucked, rolled. “Keep tight, knees go loose to push up.” Fluidly, she flowed up to her feet, shot one leg out, one arm. Held the pose like a statue.

“Can I just throw rocks at the bad guys?”

“Sometimes.” Annika smiled. “But you can do this. I’ll help you. Tight, tight,” she repeated. “Like squeezing. Try.”

This time, though she stayed on her feet, Annika moved with her—gave Sasha a tiny nudge on the roll. “Squeeze! Tight! Tight, tight, and push!”

Sasha landed—wobbled, but landed. Regained her balance, executed the kick and backhand.

“Good! So good.” Annika applauded again.

“I tipped left again. I could feel it.”

“But not so much as before.”

“You pulled it off,” Riley told her. “Do it again.”

“Okay. Okay. Don’t help me this time. If I fall on my face, I fall on my face. But I’m going to get this bastard.”

“That’s the spirit.” Riley slapped her on the shoulder.

She did it again, wobbled again, nearly overbalanced, but pulled back.

“Together,” Annika decided. “All three.”

“Oh boy, okay.”

“Tight. A fist in the belly.”

Riley nodded. “On three. One, two, three!”

Sawyer stopped at the edge of the lemon grove. “Check it out.”

With Doyle, he watched the three women spring, roll, spear up. “The brunette’s got speed and form,” Doyle commented. “The blonde’s got game, and she’s coming along. But the mer-girl? Makes it look like a stroll on the beach.”

“You’d think there’d be an adjustment for her—moving in water, on land. But either way, she just flows.”

“Great legs.”

Doyle started forward again as the three women discussed something with Annika gesturing with her hands. And stopped to watch when Riley shook her head, but backed up. And laced her hands into a basket.

Annika ran toward her, jumped to hit one foot in that basket, and as Riley pushed up, flew into a perfect backflip to land in what Sawyer thought of as the Superhero Lunge. Low, one knee bent, the other leg cocked out, one hand resting on the ground.

“I should be taking videos,” Sawyer added.

Then Annika spotted them, leaped up to run forward.

“Come practice with us!”

“I could practice the rest of my life and not pull that off.”

“I can teach you.”

“Bet you could,” Doyle put in, “but we need to take a hike, get a better sense of where we are, our position, our weak spots.”

“Agreed.” Riley nodded, then looked up at the wide blue sky. “But that’s a big weak spot.”

“We’ll need to be ready for it.”

“Bran’s working on it, and could probably use a break from that. I’ll go tell him we’re heading out. Ten minutes?” Sasha asked.

“Works for me.” Sawyer smiled at Annika. “You’ll need shoes.”

They set out with light packs, taking the narrow road up its steep incline first. The day, already warm, offered a baking sun over their bird’s-eye view of sea and sand, of houses jogging down the long slope in their soft roses and whites and umbers.

As they walked, Sawyer drew maps in his head. He was good at maps—had learned at his grandfather’s knee. The compass—a gift, a charge, a legacy—required knowledge of place and time. The hand that held it, the traveler, needed more than luck and magicks.

They passed groves of olives, of lemons, and he added them to his mental guide. The gardens, the houses with shuttered windows, the ones with windows open to the air.

From their high view, Riley pointed toward the mainland.

“Capri used to be part of the mainland, and was peopled during the Neolithic age. Colonized by the Teleboi, then the Greeks of Cumae. The Romans took it over in 328 BC.

“But Augustus—ninth century—developed it. Temples, gardens, villas, the aqueducts. Tiberius, who came after him, built more. And the remains of his villa are on top of Monte Tiberio. We’re heading that way, though it’s a hike yet.”

“Have you been there?” Sasha asked her.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. I came with my parents. Hell of a place, Villa Jovis, even now, and more than worth exploring if that’s what we’re after.”

“A god might enjoy having her own HQ in what remains of a Roman emperor’s villa,” Bran speculated.

“Yeah.” Riley thought of it while they continued the steep climb. “It’s got some grandeur left, but it’s a long way from private. You see people going up, like us, people coming down? That’s likely the destination. It’s a big draw on the island.”

“The island’s potholed with caves,” Doyle pointed out.

“It is.” As she walked, Riley sent him a curious glance. “Have you been here before?”

“I have. Longer ago than you. Petty wars. The English and French wanted Capri, fought over it.”

“In 1806—French occupation overthrown by the English. In 1807, French take it back. Which side were you on?”

“Both.” He shrugged. “It was something to do. It’s changed in two hundred years. The roads, the houses, the funicular. But the land takes longer to change. I know some of the caves, the grottos.”

“The Grotta Azzurra.” Annika beamed. “It’s so beautiful. I, too, visited with my family to bathe in the water and the light.”

“The Blue Grotto seems like a slam dunk for a Water Star,” Sawyer imagined. “Which is probably why it won’t be.”

“Its light burns blue only after it’s lifted. Now it waits, cold and quiet.”

They stopped, turned to Sasha. Bran laid a hand on her arm. “What else do you see?”

“Her. I see her, through the smoke and broken mirrors. Nerezza, the mother of lies. She’ll make her palace in the dark, of the dark, and there forge a new weapon against us. Promises of power seeded on thirsty ground. She waters with blood. A new dog for a new day.”

Sasha fumbled for Bran’s hand. “How did I do?”

“You did well. Headache?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I let it come. I can’t bring it, but I can let it come.”

“Your face is pale.” Digging in her pack, Annika took out a water bottle. “Water helps.”

“It does.”

“So does food, and there’s some up ahead. I smell pizza,” Riley said.

“Wolf nose,” Sawyer commented.

“That’s exactly right. I vote lunch.”

Riley’s nose proved accurate. In under a quarter mile they sat outside a little roadside trattoria.

“Have you got your sketch pad?” Sawyer asked Sasha.

“Never leave home without it.”

“Can I borrow it a minute? I want to get something down while it’s fresh.”

Intrigued, Sasha pulled out her pad, a case of pencils. “You never said you drew.”

“Not like you.”

As the vote for pizza rounded the table, as beer and wine were served, he sketched out his map from memory. The curve of the land, the sweep of sea and beach, the rise of hills. He added the road they’d traveled, positions of houses, groves, fields.

Riley leaned over to study the work. “That’s pretty damn good, cowboy.”

“You gotta know where you are. Which is here—or the house is here. We came up this way, over, and now we’re here.”

He drew a compass rose at the bottom of the page.

“What do we have if we go back and down?”

“You’d end up at the Piazzetta—or as it’s known by locals, chiazz. The square—little, as the name indicates—is the social center and tourist haunt. Cafes, bars, and, fanning out from it, the narrow streets, the shops—”

“Shopping?” Annika interrupted Riley’s explanation. “We can shop?”

“We’ll need to eventually. Supplies, ammo. You’ll get trinkets,” Riley assured her. “Up here, that’s the Marina Grande.”

“Got it.” Sawyer penciled the name in.

“We’ll pick up the boat—another RIB—our equipment there in the morning. We have a van on tap if we need it, but I don’t recommend driving here—van or bike—unless we have to. Public transpo’s good, plus we have Sawyer if we need to get somewhere fast. The funicular goes from Capri town to the marina if we need that. It’s just getting there. Bus is probably the best way to get to the marina from the house.”

“Just how do we get weapons on a bus?” Doyle demanded.

“I’ll come up with something,” Bran assured him.

Since the pizza came out then, hot and bubbly, it blocked an immediate argument. But sensing one coming, Sawyer took a stab.

“We could hike it. Public transpo when and if, legs otherwise.”

“A reasonable compromise,” Bran declared. “We can see how it goes. I’ll deal with the weapons either way, and we can consider the hike to the marina part of our morning calisthenics.”

“I like calisthenics,” Annika said. “I like pizza, and this wine is very nice. I can hike to shop.” She gave Sawyer an under-the-lashes smile. “You could go with me.”

“Ah—”

“We should walk off lunch,” Doyle put in, “and get in an hour’s weapons training. I bet there are shops around the marina, Gorgeous. You’ll get your chance.”

“I like my weapons.” She studied her bracelets, smiled at Bran and Sasha. “They’re pretty. It’s nice to have a day together. To practice, yes, to train and to plan. But just to walk in the sun with all the flowers and trees. To eat pizza. To just . . .”

“Just be?” Bran suggested, and plucked a starry little flower out of the air.

With a laugh, Annika tucked the flower behind her ear. “Yes. To just be together. Here, where Sasha said to come. Where Sawyer brought us. Where here”—she laid a hand on her heart—“I know we are meant to be.”

“Seventh daughter of seventh daughter knowing?” Riley asked.

“Yes, it may be. But I know. And I feel, I feel so strong that we’ll find the Water Star, that whatever weapon is forged against us, it will never be enough. The dark cannot win, so the light must.”

“You’re a light, Anni,” Sawyer told her, and made her heart swell.

“One of six. It’s good to be one of six. Can I have more pizza?”

Sawyer took a slice, slid it onto her plate. “All you want.”

They hiked back for weapons training. Annika liked using her magic bracelets, and liked even more practicing with them in the lemon grove. The floating balls Bran conjured for her could slide and bob behind trees, try to hide, so she had to be quick and clever to deflect.

And careful not to destroy so he didn’t have to stop his own training to make her more.

She didn’t mind sharing the grove—it smelled so nice!—while the others practiced with bows. But when the time came for the guns, she couldn’t pretend not to hear that awful sound.

Bran said he blocked it so it couldn’t reach outside the grove, but inside, the sharp, brutal sound boomed and echoed until she slipped away.

She would practice more, alone, but she wanted to be away from that sound, from the stink the guns made.

Because they excused her from using guns, she’d make up for it, be useful somewhere else.

She missed the dog, and the chickens they had in Greece—for the company and for the tending. But though the garden here wasn’t as big, it still required weeding. The house still needed order.

Sawyer had shown her how to make the sun tea, so she searched the kitchen for what she needed. She learned well, she reminded herself, and could do this small task alone. She was here to learn as well as to fight and to find.

She was here to help. She knew the water in the pot had to boil, and this took time. While she waited, she gathered laundry. Some clothes had the blood and gore from the last battle on Corfu. She would make them clean again.

This also took time, considering the machine that washed clothes wasn’t the same as the machine in the villa. She did what she thought was right, put the big glass jar in the hot water. She forgot the word Sawyer used, annoying herself. But this step was to make sure no bad things got into the tea or jar.

Because Bran had taught her about herbs, she went outside, cut some as she’d seen Sasha do.

She cleaned them, put them in the big glass jar. Once she’d added the water, put on the lid, she carried the jar out into the sun.

Now the sun would do the work.

And she could weed the vegetables and harvest the ripe ones, as she’d been taught.

It would be so pretty, she thought, to live this way, without the training, the fighting. To tend a house, a garden, to make tea with the sun. To find a dog who liked to play. A house by the sea, so the water was always close. A place she could live with her friends, where she could share Sawyer’s bed.

Oh, how she wanted to learn what it was to mate with him.

She could dream, she told herself. It hurt no one to dream. To dream of a house by the sea where she lived with her one true love and her friends, and all the worlds were safe from the dark.

She knew most of it could never be. She had only three turns of the moon before the legs were no longer hers, and the sea once again her only home.

But she could dream, and do all she could to beat the dark.

She straightened when Sasha crossed the lawn, put the basket of tomatoes and peppers on her hip.

“These were ready.”

Sasha took a look, nodded. “They sure are. You’ve kept busy.”

“The sun’s making the tea. I used the mint and the plant that smells like lemons, and the chamomile.”

“Very nice combination.”

“It looks pretty already, but it needs more sun time.”

“Maybe, but when the rest come, they might not give it more. It’s thirsty work. I think they plan a pool break. Gardening’s thirsty work, too. I bet you’d like a swim.”

“Always. Um . . . I have laundry in the machine, but it’s not the same machine. Can you make sure it’s right?”

“I’ll look on my way up.”

“For your suit.”

“No, actually, I’m taking a different break. I need to paint.”

“A vision?”

“No, I just need to paint. The way you need to swim.”

Her smile soft, Annika nodded. “Because it’s what you are.”

“Exactly. But you know, I may bring my easel down here. I don’t need alone as much as I did.”

“Then I’ll bring out the glasses and the ice.”

Sasha led the way inside, turned into the small laundry.

“I did the soak with the salt for the blood. And the little bottle Bran made to help purify.”

She went through the steps she’d taken as she pulled clothes out for Sasha’s inspection.

“You did everything just right.”

“When they’re dry, I can fold them like you showed me. After the break. I can get my suit and swim.”

“And after the break, Bran wants everyone to help, the way you did at the villa, with protection. Drawing the curtain, and security.”

“There are brooms.”

“Good. This time you can help teach me, as I slept through the last round. And after that, when we’re curtained and protected, we’ll hold our first war council on Capri.”

“The men and Riley.”

“They’re the most experienced, but you and I, too, Annika. We’ve fought, we’ve bled. We all sit on the council now.”

She set the table with glasses, a big bucket of ice, clipped the mint as Sawyer showed her and made it into a bouquet in a little vase. She formed slices of lemon into a flower on a small plate. And because someone was always hungry, created a display of fruit and cheese and crackers.

Pleased, she ran upstairs to change into the suit for swimming. She’d only asked for one before she’d started this quest. It made so little sense to swim in clothes she had only thought to need one. Now she decided she would take some of her shopping money and buy another. Or perhaps two more.

Clothes were fun and pretty, and one of the best things about having legs. She stepped out of her room as Riley opened the door to hers.

“Pool time,” Riley announced. “Sawyer and Doyle are already down there.”

“Oh! Can I see?”

Riley shrugged, gestured to the terrace doors. “Go ahead.”

She dashed over, saw Sawyer and Doyle sitting by the pool, facing each other in talk. On the lawn, Bran stood with Sasha as she set up her easel.

Simple joy radiated in her voice as she called out. “Hello!”

Sawyer looked up, smiled—she loved his smile, so quick, so bright—and waved at her.

Leading with that joy, she leaped onto the rail, dived.

She heard Sawyer shout something, did an easy, happy roll, and slid blissfully into the pool.

“Merda!” He jumped in, ready to drag out her unconscious body when she surfaced, laughing. “Christ, Anni, you could’ve broken your neck.”

After slicking back her hair, she blinked in curiosity. “How?”

“It’s not that deep, and from that height, you could’ve hit your head on the bottom.”

“Why would I do that? My head knows where the bottom is.”

“Looked like fun.” Riley leaned on the rail above.

“It is fun.”

“Humans might know where the bottom is,” Sawyer told her, “but they can’t slow their descent or pull up when they hit the water the way you can.”

Annika looked up at Riley. “You shouldn’t dive from there.”

“Got it.”

Annika took Sawyer’s hand, tugged him in a little deeper. “We can have a race. Racing is fun.”

“Yeah, like any of us has a shot against you.”

“I would swim backward.”

“And still,” Sawyer said as Doyle let out a snort. “But okay, challenge accepted.”

He went back to the end, waited for her to roll onto her back. “Ready? Go!”

He gave it some power, counting off seconds in his head. And when he slapped the other end, she was already sitting on the side of the pool, casually squeezing water out of her braid.

“Show-off.”

“Showing off is fun.”

He thrilled her by pulling her back into the pool.

Mmmm, bare skin. His hands, for just a brush, on her hips. His eyes laughing into hers, then not. Like the brush of hands, only a moment, not laughing, but looking deep.

And his face close, close enough for lips to meet.

Then he let her go, let the water separate them.

“Leg race next time—on land.”

“My legs are very strong, and very fast.”

“Yeah, we’ll check that out, Aqua-Girl.”

When he sank below the surface, she swam over him, then down to skim along the bottom until she could quiet the longing. When she surfaced, she stretched out to float.

She heard the voices, the splash of Riley diving in.

It was like her dream, she thought. All her friends together with the sun and the water. And that was enough for the day.

Even the work was like the dream. All her friends together with Bran’s magick. His magick was so pretty, so bright and strong. They swept away all the dark, laid light with the powdered crystals and bespelled water. Then, with a shield from human eyes beyond the wall of trees, he rose up to spread the protection from the top of the house to the ground below.

“I didn’t know it would be beautiful,” Sasha murmured, gazing up at him.

“Irish has style.” Riley draped an arm around her shoulders. “We did all this in Corfu, but I’ve got to say, it doesn’t get old. Okay, inside or out for war council?”

“We’re as protected out here as in there, and it’s too nice to sit inside, even for war.”

“Agreed.”

“I need to finish the new chart—for chores. I’ll do that tonight. But I’ll take dinner. It would be nice to have war talk over, as much as it ever is, before we eat.”

“I’ve got some maps upstairs.”

“I can fold the laundry now,” Annika said. “Should there be wine?”

“Baby.” Riley swung her arm away from Sasha, over Annika. “There should always be wine. Let’s get started.”

Annika sat while the others pored over the maps. Riley pointed out caves she knew, or had researched. Doyle showed them others he remembered from long ago.

“Do you know any underwater caves, Annika?” Sawyer asked. “Any we don’t have marked?”

“We only came here.” She reached out to touch a spot on the north of the island. “The Grotta Azzurra. It’s tradition to bathe in the blue light. But we didn’t stay or seek other places. So many people, you see. There are other places not so . . . inhabited?”

“Did you hear the sighs or the songs when you came with your family?” Sasha wondered.

“No, but I didn’t listen. I was young, and it was beautiful and exciting. I had no purpose. I could look, from the sea.”

“Not alone.” Reaching over, Bran touched her hand. “No one ventures alone. We know she’ll come, and send her dogs. The attacks will come on land, from the air, in the water, as they did before. We have to prepare for that. No one ventures alone.”

“We’re more closed in here than we were at the villa.” Doyle looked around, scanning trees, rooflines. “Advantage and disadvantage. We have less area to defend, but less room to maneuver. The light bombs took out swarms of the dogs. Actually, calling them dogs is an insult to dogs.”

“I like Sasha’s minions.”

“Minions then,” he said with a nod to Riley. “She’ll send them again. Losing them means nothing to her. She’ll just send more. Can you use the light bombs on the bolts, on the bullets and blades?”

Bran sat back, arched his eyebrows. “That’s interesting. I can work on that. Sure, I can work on that.”

“You wounded the— Was it a Cerberus, Riley?”

“Three-headed hound of hell. Sure looked like one.”

“You wounded it,” Sasha continued. “And hurt and frightened her. Aged her. I can’t see what weapon she’ll forge, but she needs something to combat what you can do at full force.”

“What we could do,” Bran reminded her. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough without you.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to do without me. Still, it took all we had to hold her off.”

“And kick her ass,” Sawyer added. “She ran. You beat a god. We beat a god and her minions. And it’s not cocky to say we’re going to do the same thing here, whatever she brings. But I wouldn’t say no to a load of magick bullets.”

“There’s good cover in the grove,” Doyle pointed out. “We make our stands there rather than out in the open.”

“Add some surprises in the open. Take some of them out,” Riley calculated.

“She spread that mist on the ground. It bit.” Now Sasha judged the distance to the grove. “We can set off the light bombs from there—bolt, bullet, blade, magick.”

“I can do this with my bracelets,” Annika pointed out.

“It’s a plan.” Riley reached for her wine. “Covers land and air. Now water.”

“Harpoons, knives—a magick assist?” Sawyer added. “And mermaid.”

Annika smiled. “My bracelets also work well in the water, and I’m faster there than anywhere else.”

“We’ve never asked,” Sasha began. “How do you communicate with your family? With others like you?”

“Oh. It’s . . .” Annika touched her head, her heart.

“You think. You feel.”

“We can speak, but it’s often without voice.”

“I see where you’re going.” Riley leaned toward Annika. “How about other sea life? Fish, whale, that sort of thing?”

“We have understandings. They don’t think as we do, though the whale can be wise, and the dolphin is smart and clever. But fish? They forget quickly.”

“Dory.” When Annika looked blank, Sawyer explained. “From a movie. We’ll stream it sometime. They’re wondering if you can maybe sense the bad guys—underwater?”

“Oh. I don’t know. They are not fish, not mammal, not people. They’re other. But I can try. I will try.” She set her jaw. “It would help.”

“An early-warning system. Otherwise, we do what we’ve done?” Sawyer glanced around the table. “Buddy system, stick together, do the work. If things get too dicey, I can shift us. We should have a secondary location. If we have to travel from the water, we’d come here, but if we have to travel from here?”

“How about Monte Tiberio?” Riley suggested. “High ground.”

“If that works, I’ll get the coordinates. Meanwhile.”

Sawyer took out the compass, opened the bronze case.

When he set it on the map, it glowed, shimmered in place on Capri. But didn’t move.

“Gotta work for it,” he said, and pocketed it again.

“I’ll start just that.” Bran rose. “Bullets, bolts, and blades. And bracelets. Interesting.”

“I’ll dig into research. See if I can find out anything about sighs, songs, more underwater caves.” Riley pushed to her feet. “Do you want the map?” she asked Doyle.

“Maybe later.”

“I’ll get dinner started.” Sasha pushed a loose pin back into her bundled-up hair. “Can you help, Annika?”

“Yes, I like to help.”

When Sasha and Annika went inside, Doyle leaned back with his beer, looked at Sawyer. “Happiest siren I’ve ever seen. Nobody would blame you for moving on that.”

“She doesn’t . . . I don’t think she gets that. It. It’s like hitting on somebody’s little sister. From Venus.”

“Looks all grown-up to me, but your call. How about we take a walk, past the grove. See what, if anything, we might want to fortify.”

“Good thought.”

While they ate under the stars, Andre Malmon adjusted his formal tie. He expected the evening ahead to be a tedious bore, but duty called. He rarely answered when duty called, already regretting doing so now.

Still, there was a potential for new contacts at this dull charity affair. Contacts were never boring. He wanted something new, something exciting.

So little excited him these days.

What hadn’t he done, after all? What hadn’t he seen? What couldn’t he have simply by flicking his fingers?

His last two adventures—he never called them jobs, though he charged exorbitant fees for his services—had barely amused him. So little challenge.

The woman he was currently seeing had begun to annoy him just by existing, as did the whore he used for more inventive play. He expected he’d dispose of them both very soon.

He had offers pending, of course, but none stirred his juices. Murder? Easily done, but he no longer killed for a fee—unless the kill offered him personal pleasure.

Theft? Sometimes intriguing, but again why steal for someone else? He’d rather steal for himself—and couldn’t, at the moment, think of a single thing worth the effort.

Kidnappings, brainwashings, mutilations. Ho-hum.

Of course there was the standing offer of fifty million for a unicorn, or its horn.

Money couldn’t buy sanity.

If he got bored enough, he might take the time and effort to have a fake horn fabricated. But that was scraping the barrel clean.

He passed a hand over his hair—gilded blond, perfect waves around a handsome face with a sharply sculpted mouth, a thin nose, and deceptively quiet blue eyes.

Perhaps he’d kill Magda—his current amore. Not the whore, whores weren’t worth the killing. But Magda, the heiress with the hint of royal blood. Magda, the beautiful and serene.

He could stage a murder/mutilation, add touches of the occult and sexual perversion. Such a scandal!

It might perk him right up.

He scowled at the knock on his bedroom door, turned when it opened.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malmon.”

“You’ll be sorrier.” His voice, cold and British, carried a whip of temper. “I expressly told you not to disturb me.”

“Yes, sir. There’s a woman here to see you.”

He stepped forward. “What does ‘not to disturb’ mean to you, Nigel?”

“She’s waiting in the drawing room.”

Nigel, stoic and discreet, offered a card. Incensed, Malmon started to strike it away, but the look in his butler’s eyes stopped him.

Blank. Next to dead. He merely stood, staring, the card held out.

Malmon snatched the card, the glossy black rectangle with the bold red lettering of a single name.

Nerezza

“What does she want?”

“To speak with you, sir.”

“She got past the gate, past Lucien, past you?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I serve refreshments?”

“No, you bloody well won’t serve refreshments. Go hang yourself, Nigel.”

And pushing past the butler, Malmon started down to the parlor.

He felt annoyed, certainly. But he was also curious. He hadn’t been curious for days.

He checked the derringer up his right sleeve. He never went anywhere, not even inside his own homes, unarmed. And since Lucien appeared to be as useless as Nigel, walked into the parlor.

She turned. She smiled.

She was a vision. He couldn’t have said her beautiful, but beauty blinded him. Dark hair swept in coils over her shoulders, made all the more striking by a streak of white bolting through the black.

And black were her eyes, black and wide and mesmerizing against pale white skin. Lips red as blood curved knowingly.

She wore black as well, a dress that molded her tall, stately form.

“Monsieur Malmon.” She walked toward him, glided without a sound—and her voice, faintly exotic, caused his heart to trip. “Je m’appelle Nerezza.”

“Mademoiselle.” He took the offered hand, touched his lips to her knuckles, and felt a thrill like no other.

“Do we speak English? We are in England, after all.”

“As you wish. Please, sit, mademoiselle.”

“Nerezza, please.” With a slither of skirts, she sat. “We will be good friends, you and I.”

“Will we?” He struggled for aplomb, but his heart raced, his blood pounded. “Then we should begin our friendship with a drink.”

“Of course.”

He walked to the bar, poured whiskey for two. Taking charge, taking control—he thought—by not asking what she’d prefer.

He came back, sat across from her. They touched glasses.

“And what brings you to me, Nerezza?”

“Your reputation, of course. You’re the man I need, Andre.” She sipped, watching him. “You will be the one I need. And for my needs, when fulfilled, I can offer you more than anything you’ve had. Dreamed of having.”

“I have much, have dreamed of more.”

“If it’s money, I have all you require. But there are things worth more than gold and silver.”

“Such as?”

“We’ll speak of that, but tonight we’ll speak of stars. What do you know of the Stars of Fortune?”

“A myth. Three stars, fire, water, ice, created by three goddesses to honor a young queen. And cursed by another.”

Her lips curved into a smile sharp enough to slice bone. “What do you think of myths?”

“That many are uncommonly real.”

“As these are real, these stars, I assure you. I want them. You will find them and bring them to me.”

Her eyes were bottomless, lured him into the black. But pride demanded he resist. “Will I?”

“You will. Six stand in your way.”

“No one stands in my way for long.”

“So I have seen, or I would not waste my time, or yours. If you accept the challenge, if you wish to know what I will give you in return, come to the address on my card, tomorrow at midnight.”

“There’s no address on the card.”

She smiled, rose. “Come there, and know your own fortune. Until then.”

She glided out before he had the wit to stand. But when he strode to the doorway, she was gone. As if she’d vanished.

He pulled the card out of his pocket, saw he’d been wrong.

An address was clearly printed on the card.

Fascinated, baffled, more than a little unnerved, he pressed the house intercom. “Lucien.”

“Sir?”

“Where did she go?”

“I’m sorry, sir, where did who go?”

“The woman, the woman in black, you idiot. Who else? Why did you let her in without permission?”

“Sir, no one has come to the house tonight. I let no one inside.”

Furious, he strode away, calling for Nigel. His anger grew until he stormed downstairs, following temper into the butler’s apartment.

When he saw Nigel hanging from his parlor chandelier, he stopped dead.

And laughed.

He was no longer bored.