Bay of Sighs
Page 30

“Not only respect. Depend on. And love.” Bran took Sasha’s hand, brought it to his lips. When he lowered it, Sasha held a rose, yellow as sunlight. Bran smiled at Annika’s audible sigh. “With love comes concern.”
“I don’t see you kissing our hands, Irish.”
Now Bran laughed, gestured to Riley. “Give it over.”
“Maybe later.”
“Meanwhile, I think I’ve worked out how to fulfill Doyle’s suggestion for the weapons. For that, I could use your help, fáidh.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
“Once it’s ready to test, I’ll need everyone.”
“For magicks?” Annika asked.
“For magicks.”
With a flick of his fingers, Bran produced a rose as pink as candy, another as white as ice. Offered the pink to Annika, who beamed over it. The white to Riley.
“And while we scouted out the grove, and the areas beyond for placing the light bombs, Sawyer had a thought.”
“You had a thought?” Riley smirked at him.
“It happens once or twice a year. We’re talking defense, offense, strategy, holding our ground against attacks. And I figure we’re going to be dealing with Malmon now, too, and his mercs. The human element. As a fellow human, if I wanted to storm the castle, I wouldn’t come at it from below. I’d . . . Can I?”
When he reached for the sketch pad, Sasha nudged it toward him.
“So we’re here. Grove here, road there,” he said as he drew a rough map. “Closest neighbors here, here. Bad strategy to send troops up from the road. Maybe a few as a distraction, but it’s wasting men and effort. You come from the flanks, but the real vulnerability is west and above. The ground keeps rising. Rough terrain, mountainous. They couldn’t come fast, but—”
“Long-range weaponry,” Riley put in, got a nod. She rose, walked back from the pergola, looked up. “Some pretty decent cover. We’d have our own cover in the grove, and with the house itself to some extent, but a good sniper—and he only uses good—could pick us off.”
“He doesn’t want us dead,” Sasha began. “Or not all of us.”
“Tranquilizers.” With her hands in her pockets, Riley continued to scan. “He knows what we are, knows he can’t kill Doyle anyway. And he’d want me and Annika alive. We’re worth a lot more to him alive and captured. Bran, Sasha, maybe he’d be curious enough to want them alive and incapacitated, but Sawyer? All he wants is the compass. Shooting you in the head’s the easy path there.”
“Don’t say it,” Annika murmured.
“Sorry, but he’s already tried to kill Sawyer once. He’ll try again.”
“For all the good it’d do him. He kills me, he still won’t have the compass. You can’t just take it,” Sawyer explained. “It has to be given. You know, presented. Otherwise, it’ll just go back to my grandfather.”
“Hmm.” Riley walked back to the table. “Does he know that?”
“He should, but he was pissed off enough in Morocco to send an assassin. Could be he hasn’t dug deep enough to know how it all works.”
“Yeah, Malmon and his anger issues. What’s the plan?”
“We’ll need to scout out the area before Malmon gets here. I don’t guess your contact’s gotten back to you on that.”
“Not yet, but she will,” Riley assured Sawyer.
“Doyle knows the terrain.”
Riley raised her brows at Doyle. “It’s been a couple hundred years. Is your memory that good?”
“It’s good enough. Since it is, we’ll be heading up tomorrow instead of out to sea. We can’t find the star if we’re dead or in a cage.”
“Can’t argue. And once we’re up there—more climbing than hiking—and figure out what would be their best vantage points?”
“We set traps.”
Riley shot a finger at Sawyer. “Now you’re talking.”
“We can’t use the light bombs,” Bran pointed out. “We can’t risk an adventurous tourist or a local setting one off, being burned.”
“My bracelets wouldn’t hurt them.”
Bran nodded at Annika. “Exactly so. So I have to conjure something similar, something that will harm only evil or one with evil intent. I’ve some ideas on it.”
“Then you should be relieved of household chores this evening.”
“I’ll do Bran’s tasks,” Annika said.
“Thanks for that. I’ll need Sasha’s help, and I believe she’s down for head chef tonight.”
“I’ll cover it.” Sawyer shrugged. “No big.”
“Then we’ll get started.”
“The rest of us will get in some training in the grove,” Doyle said as Bran and Sasha rose.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Doyle glanced at Sawyer. “An hour, then there’ll be beer.”
Though Annika didn’t like beer, she trained for the hour. She didn’t like the bruises Doyle gave her when he showed her how to defend against what he called holds and grips.
But he reminded her she’d like a cage much less.
She liked wine and helping Sawyer make dinner, so enjoyed both. She got to make something he called bruschetta—cutting the long bread in half, toasting it—while he cooked chicken for the dish he called alfredo.