Stars of Fortune
Page 82

“Yes, please.”
He lifted a hand, and formed a dark, spinning ball just above his palm, then sent it into the air. Then taking her arm, bent at the elbow, turned it toward the ball. “To start, you have to think, to aim, to be deliberate. But then it’ll be instinct. Deflect the ball.”
“Deflect?”
“Your light, Annika, against the dark. Use it.”
He helped her this time, this first time. The thin beam of light shot from her cuff, struck the ball.
“I feel it,” she murmured.
“That’s right. Do it again.”
She surprised him, lifting her other arm, and sent the ball wheeling.
“You’re a quick one.”
“I feel it,” she repeated. “But what if I make a mistake? What if it strikes someone? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“It only harms the dark, or someone with dark purpose. It comes from me as well, and I have a vow. Sacred to me. To harm no one. What I am, what I have, I won’t use to harm any but the dark.”
“It’s my vow, too. I take it with you. I will fight the dark.” She lifted her arms, shot out light from both so the practice ball winged right, then left.
“Yes, a very quick one. Destroy it.”
“Destroy?”
“I’ll give you another. Destroy this one.”
This light, brighter, sharper, struck the ball, and with a flash it vanished.
“If the things come back, attack us, I can do this. They’re evil, so I can do this.” Her eyes went hard, grim. “I can do this and break no vow.”
“You do this, as I do, to keep one. To destroy the dark, to find and protect the stars.”
“These are more than a gift. Even more than a weapon. You gave me purpose.” Those sea-witch eyes, usually so full of fun, met his with intensity and strength. “I won’t fail you.”
“I know it.”
“I like that they’re pretty.”
“Sasha designed them for you.” He conjured another ball. “Practice. I’ve got kitchen duty.”
“I’ll work very hard. Could you make a second, now? The evil doesn’t come alone.”
“Good point.” He made three, gave her a pat on the shoulder, then left her to it. He could hear the snap and sizzle from her light as he crossed the lawn.
Sawyer stood on the edge of the terrace, his hands in his pockets, a baffled grin on his face.
“You made her freaking Wonder Woman.”
“Sasha’s idea. It suits well, I think.”
“Are you kidding? Look at her go.”
Bran glanced back, watched Annika do a running forward flip, firing at one ball from midair. Striking the other two on landing.
“Makes me feel like a git for ever thinking she needed to use a gun.” As he had with Annika, he gave Sawyer’s shoulder a pat, and went to the kitchen.
*   *   *
Annika showed off her new moves before dinner, proving herself a tireless as well as a quick study.
“I wouldn’t mind a pair of those.” Hands on hips, Riley watched Annika flash the trio of balls while executing a series of tumbles.
“Three nights a month you’d need four.”
She sent Sawyer a sidelong look. “Har-har,” she said and took his beer. “Are you sure she can’t miss and zap one of us?”
“Very.” As instructed, Bran slid the fish from grill to platter. “You’d feel something—like a bit of static electricity.”
“Does that include wolf form?”
“It’s still you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. Maybe we should test it out anyway. Sawyer can be the target.”
“And a har-har back.”
“No joke, we should—” Riley broke off as her phone signaled. “Hold on.”
Sasha brought out a bowl of sautéed vegetables in pasta and a round of bread on the cutting board.
“That’s dinner,” she announced.
Sawyer gave a whistle of approval when Annika blasted all three balls out of the air. “Talk about dead-eye.”
Riley shoved her phone away as she sat. “The word from two sources is Malmon is currently in London—so something we shouldn’t have to worry about for now.” She looked out, judging the position of the sun and her time. “I like to sleep in, when I can, after the last night. I guess that’s not happening.”
“We drill at dawn.” Doyle heaped food on his plate.
“I like to drill.” Annika plopped into the chair beside Sawyer. “Some of it’s like dancing.”
*   *   *
Through the globe Nerezza watched them. It infuriated her that the images were blurred, as if through layers of gauze.
The witch, she thought, had drawn a curtain, and had more power than she’d bargained for.
Not enough, not nearly enough, but infuriating.
She set the globe aside, picked up her goblet to drink.
Let them think they were protected. Let them feast and laugh. For when she was done, the laughter would be screams.
She called one of her creatures so it perched on the arm of her chair while she skimmed her fingertip over the rough ridges of its face. She could send an attack, just to watch them scramble like ants, but it seemed wiser to let them have that feast, to let them believe they’d won some battle.
And let them lead her to the Fire Star.
When they did— if they could—she would take it. She would rip them to pieces, crush their bones to dust, paint the sea with their blood.