Bay of Sighs
Page 78

She turned the page. There birds pecked at flaps of blackened skin while mirrored walls of stone showed the horror Malmon had become. He sat hunched in a corner, wearing a mad grin.
“They say there are some things you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Malmon’s definitely high on the enemy list.” Riley blew out a long breath. “But no, I wouldn’t wish this, even on him.”
“She denied him a clean death, and that’s a cruelty. But—” On a pause, Doyle studied the final sketch, coolly. “This is his true self, isn’t it? This is what he always was inside. She just brought it out, made it visible.”
“Yes. Yes,” Sasha repeated before anyone else could speak. “She recognized the monster inside him. Now he’ll become.” She picked up her glass, took a long drink. “And she’ll rule him. He’s mad—she’s driven him into madness and delusion, but he’s stronger, faster, and more vicious. He’s more dangerous now than before.”
She reached for Bran’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You didn’t have your quiet day of painting.”
“No. But the day’s not over. His life is. All the wealth, the privilege, he traded it for her lies. No, not on even the worst of enemies, but he gave himself to her because the monster already inside him craved more.”
She took another drink, took another breath. “How do we kill him?”
“Demon disposal.” Riley took one last look at the sketch. “Beheading, mythologically speaking again, is tried and true. Otherwise, for some it’s fire, others water or salt or the right incantation. I can look into it. I’m pretty sure he’s on his way to the merphisto, but I’ll find out what I can.”
“I’ll do the same.” Concern in his eyes, Bran kissed the top of Sasha’s head. “You should paint, Sasha. Something bright and beautiful.”
“I will. Annika, would you pose for me?”
“Pose?”
“After this?” She closed the sketchbook. “Bran’s exactly right. I’d like to paint something beautiful, something full of light and joy.”
“You’d paint me? Oh!” Annika crossed her hands over her heart. “I have such a happy.”
“Ah.” With a shake of his head, rubbing the back of his neck, Sawyer said, “That’s actually slang for something else, that being a girl, you can’t have.”
“I can’t have happy?”
“A happy. It’s . . .”
“Jesus, Sawyer, be direct. It’s a hard-on.” Riley pointed to Sawyer’s crotch; he batted her hand away. “When a guy gets hard.”
“Oh! That is happy, isn’t it? I should say I am happy. I would love to pose for you, Sasha.”
“Would you pose in the pool, in the water, a mermaid?”
“Yes!” Instantly, she reached for the hem of her dress.
“Wait, whoa. You don’t just take off your clothes.”
Baffled, Annika lifted her hands at Sawyer. “I don’t go in the water in clothes, and I can’t wear the suit for swimming in my true form.”
“Yeah, but.” He looked directly at Doyle. “Go find somewhere else to be.”
“I like it here.”
“Doyle and Bran have seen me without clothes.”
“What?”
“When we came back, I had no clothes. Doyle gave me his coat so I wouldn’t be cold. You’re too shy,” she said to Sawyer. Walking toward the pool, she pulled her dress off as she went, tossed it on a chair, then dived in.
“She’s already art. And she’s yours, brother.” On a last admiring glance, Doyle rose. “I’ll do more translating while you dig up demons,” he said to Riley.
And to Sawyer’s relief, strolled inside.
Since searching and diving, even training seemed to be off the agenda, Sawyer took the day. It annoyed him to conk out over his own research, but he felt better after the hour’s sleep.
But even after the rest, the compass told him nothing. Part of him worried, despite the reassurances, that using it as he’d used it had cost him the right to it.
Braced for that, he took his phone, walked outside. Annika sat—more lounged—on the steps of the pool, wet hair sleek and not quite covering her breasts. Her tail glistened, a thousand small, bright jewels. She turned her head, just a little, smiled at him.
“I’m supposed to stay still for a few minutes more. Sasha says I can’t see until she’s finished.”
But he could, and circled around to where Sasha stood at her easel. He saw she’d pinned up several quick sketches, different poses, expressions. And on the canvas she’d captured joy and beauty.
“It’s great. It’s . . . amazing.”
“So many tones and shades and hues.” Sasha mixed more paint on her palette, dabbed at the canvas with a thin brush. “And the way they all catch the light.”
“You could come in the pool, and talk to me. Sasha says I can talk.”
“Maybe later. I need to make a call.”
“Will you paint Sawyer, Sasha?”
“She doesn’t want to—”
“It’s on my list.”
“What? Really?”
“I want to do a painting of each of us, and one of all of us together. I just have to . . . find it. Like this with Annika. I’ve done Bran’s, from memory. At night, with the power on him, like the jewels in Annika’s tail. Bright, brilliant, and marvelous. But I need to find it, and find the right time. Today was Anni’s.”