Bay of Sighs
Page 86

“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.”