by Nora Roberts
“We just got here. We should have a little time to set things up before she comes at us again.”
“Sawyer said she kicked back at him hard during the shift—and you could see how hard. But he also said she weakened, and aged, before he let go.”
Riley nodded, sipped coffee. “That follows. We put that gray streak in her hair, those lines on her face after we busted her ass in Corfu. Maybe we’ll be dealing with an old crone who can barely work up a bitch slap this round. And no,” she added, “I don’t really believe that.”
“We have two of the stars, and we beat her twice. We’ll find the third.”
“Optimistic’s good.”
Sasha looked over at Riley. “Aren’t you?”
“I won’t diss positive thinking. It’s a good tool—as long as you’re willing to back it up.” Riley gestured. “We’ve got some room out there to train. More in the front, the forest side, but either way. We could set up a decent target range out there. Then there’s the woods. Gotta be at least five, six acres of them from what I ran through last night. Quiet, private. It’s Ireland, so we’re probably going to do a good chunk of training in the rain.”
When Sasha said nothing, Riley shot her a glance. “And we just got here. We all need to take a breath. I’m revved up,” she admitted. “Big, bloody battle, the moon, the shift.”
“Was it different, traveling in wolf form?”
“Exciting in its way, and weird, at least at first because I was healing as we flew, and I couldn’t really focus. The landing was fast and hard, and knocked me back.”
“I hear you.”
“Then I had to run it off. Mostly I like knowing my ground before the moon, so I can judge where’s safe for a run. But I had to work it off. Lucky, like I said, there are acres of private woods. You hooked a big magick fish, Sash.”
“You helped.”
“Me? I don’t remember casting out any lures for you.”
“You were my friend. The first friend I ever had who knew what I was, what I had, and accepted me for me. You gave me advice, you listened, you cared. And all that helped me be smart and strong enough to, well, cast those lures myself.”
“Boy, you owe me.”
Sasha laughed, gave Riley a one-armed hug. “I do. I’ll pay you back, in part, by making breakfast. Since we’re in Ireland, I’ll go with Bran’s specialty of a full Irish.”
“I’ll take it. I want to shower first. Didn’t have a chance after the war.”
“No rush. I want to walk and wander around the house first. I barely took anything in last night.”
“Does Bran play the piano?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“He’s got a beaut. Viennese parlor grand, mid-nineteenth century.”
“Do you know everything?”
“Pretty much. He’s also got a cello, violins, violas, flutes, and an exceptional collection of bodhran drums. He must play some of it.”
“It’s never come up, so I’ll have to ask. Do you play anything?”
“Piano, sure, though it’s been a while. And he’s got a game room area over there that kicks major ass. And one small cathedral of a library.”
“I think you’ve seen more of the house than I have.”
“I didn’t have sex.”
“There is that.”
Sasha turned as Annika—flowing hair, flowy dress, bare feet—came in.
“Riley!” As if it had been years, Annika dashed over, threw her arms around Riley.
“Yeah, good morning to you, too.”
“We were worried. Doyle said not to, because you’d come back. But we worried. Now you’re here! Good morning.”
“How can you look like that first thing? Without coffee?”
“I don’t like the coffee. But I like the mornings. Sawyer will rest a little longer, but he feels much better. He felt rested enough to mate, and I was very gentle.”
“Sex.” Riley shook her head. “It’s always about sex. Tell me more—no, tell me more after I get that shower.”
“I like sometimes to be above—on top,” she corrected. “On top when it should be gentle and slow. Then I can have many orgasms.”
“Right.” Riley let out a breath. “This may be a longer shower than initially planned.”
When Sasha laughed and Riley hurried out, Annika offered a puzzled smile. “I don’t understand. Does she need to get more clean?”
“No, she meant . . . I’ll explain, but I’m going to need more coffee.”
• • •
The next best thing to a hot shower was a hot meal. By the time Sasha—with an assist from Annika—put the meal together, the team had gathered in the kitchen.
Riley caught the scent—bacon!—heard the mix of voices as she wound her way back down.
“I keep a car here,” Bran said. “It’ll take all of us, but not comfortably.”
“I’ve got my bike,” Doyle put in. “And I can take one pillion.”
“True enough. I can arrange for a van, a kind of backup, in the event we want or need to go any distance in one vehicle. And there she is,” Bran added when Riley stepped in. “Sasha tells us you’ve healed and rested. And you found a room that suits you?”
“Yeah, thanks. I took one with a good-sized desk, facing the woods. It’s a lot of house, Irish,” she said as she snagged more coffee.
“It is. I thought, why go small? And when I have my family here, it fills up quick enough. We should eat, then I’ll show everyone around the place.”
“I hear the eating part.” Sawyer pulled a platter of eggs and fried potatoes out of the warming oven, left someone else to grab the platter of meat and stack of toasted bread.
The table snugged in the rainy window showed Annika’s handiwork with napkins shaped into hearts, wooden skewers arranged in a tepee with tiny flowers draping down and a single white rosebud spearing out of the top. Tea lights formed another heart, its center filled with rose petals.
Bran lit them with a flick of a finger, and made her clap.
“Your gardens are so pretty in the rain,” she told Bran. “I think if I lived in this castle by the sea, I would never want to leave.”
“I like knowing I can come back to it.”
“She likes the rain, too.” Sawyer heaped food on his plate. “I’ve gotta say, I’m going to miss the island sunshine.”
“I’m ready for the rain.” Sasha passed a platter to Doyle. “It’ll give us a day to regroup.”
“It’s Ireland,” Riley reminded her. “We’re likely to get more than a day of wet. But yeah, a little regrouping’s earned, considering. Any clue where you dumped her, Sawyer?”
“Not one. But she was hurting when I did.”
As he ate, he filled her in as he had the others.
“It fits. We hit her where it hurts, she loses ground, her grip gets slippery. It should give us some time. What about Malmon? Or the thing Malmon’s become?”
“Slipped through,” Doyle said. “He’s stronger, faster than he was.”
“Can he stay that way without her?” Riley wondered. “That’s a question. I’m going to assume you’ve got this place locked down, Bran.”
“You assume correctly.”
“So the stars are here, and safe.”
“They are. I’ll show you, as you’ll want to see for yourself. I’m thinking you chose your room for the work space, and will likely use it. But there’s another area you might find useful as well.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“The north tower. We’ll have a look at it after breakfast.”
“Can you dig we’ve got a north tower?” Grinning, Sawyer ate more bacon. “A south one, too. And check it.” He jerked a thumb at the pinball machines in the lounge area.
“Caught that. I’ll kick your ass on them later.”
“You will try,” Sawyer told Riley. “You will fail. We need a new assignment chart.”
Sasha nodded. “I’ll take care of that this morning, but since Annika and I handl
ed breakfast, I hereby assign Riley and Doyle to KP. I’ve had a look at the food and cleaning supplies, and we’re more than set there for now, so that puts off shopping for a while, on the domestic front.”
“I would like to shop in Ireland.”
Riley arched her eyebrows at Annika. “If shopping was an Olympic sport, you’d have all the medals. But at some point, she’s going to need some rain gear.”
“Some extras there in the mudroom,” Bran said, “but we’ll want to get out and about. I know the land here, and villages, but I’ve never looked at either with the quest in mind.”
“We’ll need more ammo,” Doyle pointed out.
“Something else I haven’t had in mind while here.”
“I’ve got some contacts.” Riley shrugged. “I’ll make some calls.”
“And that’s as big a surprise as Annika shopping. We lost some bolts in the last battle,” Doyle continued. “And plenty of bullets.”
“I’ll take care of it, and once I unpack my books and maps, I’ll start working on—”
“Can we take a moment?” Sasha interrupted. “I know we can’t let up. I know we need to take advantage of the time we might have before Nerezza comes at us again. But can we take a moment to just be? We’re all here, around this table, in this place, after facing what seemed like almost impossible odds against survival, much less success. But we’re here, and so are two of the stars. That’s a miracle, I think. It was hard won, but still a miracle.”
“You’re right.” Bran met her eyes, then scanned the table. “We’ll take our moment, and be stronger for it.”
“Works for me.” Doyle spoke casually, then glanced at Sasha. “When you’re doing that assignment chart, just make time and room for daily training. Including calisthenics.”
Sasha heaved a sigh. “That’s cruel, Doyle.”
“Hey, I need my moment, too. You’ve toughened up, Blondie, but that was in Sawyer’s island sunshine. Let’s see how you handle fifty squats and push-ups in the rain.”
“I may have an alternative to that. If we’re finished here,” Bran continued, “I can show you all. And the stars as well. KP can wait a bit, I’d think.”
“It can wait for eternity in my world.”
“Your world is eternity,” Sawyer reminded Doyle, but took Annika’s hand and rose. “I vote for full house tour.”
“Let’s start at the top then.” When Bran rose, he held out a hand for Sasha’s. “I’ve a lot to show you.”
They trooped up the back stairs, followed Bran’s lead as he made a turn on the second-floor landing and veered up to the right.
“Access to the roof area,” he explained. “The views are spectacular from there, even on a wet day.”
He wasn’t wrong, Riley thought once Bran opened a thick arched door, and she stepped out into the rain.
The wide, flat area of the roof afforded a three-sixty view.
The angry chop of the steel-gray sea and its violent slap on rock and cliff. The thunder of it boomed and crashed below dense layers of clouds, sluggishly sailing in a brooding wind.
As she turned, she could see the faint shadows of hills curtained behind the gray mist of sky, and around to the forest, deep and shadowed and green. Beyond where she’d run the night before, she saw now a cottage or two, and fields dotted with sheep, the thin plumes of smoke from chimneys where hearths burned on a wet summer day.
“It’s a good situation.” Doyle spoke from behind her. “Even on a day like this, we could spot an attack from a half mile or more. And it’s high ground, with cover close.”
He moved over, looked down from the crenelated wall. “It’ll be useful.”
“I can smell the sea,” Annika murmured.
“And hear it,” Sawyer put in. “Taking a boat out on that’s going to be tricky.”
“I’ll score us a dive boat and the equipment,” Riley said absently. “We’ll handle it. Is that a graveyard? At about ten o’clock? How old do you figure . . .”
She remembered, belatedly. This had been Doyle’s family’s land. Cursing herself, she turned to him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“The first would have been my great-grandmother, who died in 1582, in childbirth with her sixth child. So old enough. Though archaeologists usually want to dig deeper than that, don’t they?”
“Depends.”
“In any case,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “it’s a good, strategic situation.”
“And before we all drown in the rain, let me show you what else should be useful.”
As Bran led the way back in, Sasha rubbed a hand down Riley’s arm. When Riley mimed pointing a gun at her head, firing, Sasha shook her head, gave that arm a squeeze.
Then they both moved more quickly when they heard Annika’s shout of delight.
They followed the sound, made a turn, and came into a third-floor area spread under a half dozen skylights.
“Hot damn!” Riley didn’t do handsprings—as Annika did in front of the wall of mirrors that obviously delighted her—but she did rub her hands together.
The excellent home gym had bamboo floors the color of raw honey, a full circuit of machines. Two treadmills and a pair of elliptical machines faced the rain-splattered wall of windows, as did a recumbent bike. A TRX dominated one corner; a full-sized, glass-fronted refrigerator—already stocked with water and energy drinks—another.
It boasted weight benches, free weights, a rolled stack of yoga mats, kettlebells, medicine balls, balance balls.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Riley said, and immediately plucked a ten-pound weight from the rack.
“Good enough, I’d think, for those calisthenics if the weather doesn’t cooperate.”
Doyle shrugged at Bran’s comment. “Battles happen in foul weather as much as fair. But . . . It’ll be useful. Hmm. Chin-up bar.”
“Oh, hell,” Sasha muttered, and made him smile.
“Why don’t you try it out, Blondie? Show us what you’ve got.”
“I’m still having my moment.”
“Tomorrow then. First light. I can work some circuits into the training, and the weights are welcome. But we run outside, rain or shine. A machine doesn’t give you the feel of the ground under your feet.”
“The walls are so shiny!” Annika executed a graceful and perfect handstand in front of the mirror. “I like to see how it looks.”
“So would I, if I looked like you.” After a few biceps curls, Riley replaced the weight. “Free to use anytime, Irish?”
“It’s yours as it’s mine.”
“Solid. I’m going to grab some gym time later. That’ll be my moment,” she told Sasha.
“It takes all kinds. I intend to set up my easel.”
“Speaking of easels, and paintings . . .” Riley turned to Bran.
“That’s next. I should tell you there’s a wet area through those doors.”
“Wet?” Annika said, coming neatly to her feet.
“A steam room, a Jacuzzi, a shower, and a changing area. I regret the lack of a pool.”
“Oh, it’s all right. The sea’s so close.”
Smiling, he gestured toward the door. “There’s some storage on this level,” he began as he led them out. “More bedrooms, a sitting area.”
“How big is this family of yours?” Sawyer asked.
“Including cousins?” With a laugh, Bran paused at a door in a rounded wall—a door of dark wood that looked ancient and had no knob, no hinges. “Well over a hundred, I’d think.”
“A . . . hundred?”
He laughed again at Sasha’s reaction. “Too late for you to back out now, mo chroí.”
Bran held his hand to the door, palm out. He spoke in Irish, had Doyle shooting him a look.
For me and mine only, open.
At the words, the gesture, a bolt of lightning scored down the wood, glowed and pulsed blue.
And the door opened.
“Better than a police lock, riot bar, and guard do
g,” Riley said.
“It will only open for one of us. As will the doors on the second and the first level to this tower. What’s held inside is safe from any who try to take.”
Bran gestured them in.
Riley didn’t gasp, but it was close.
His workshop, she thought, or magick shop. Sorcerer’s den. Whatever the term, like the rest of the house, it rang all the bells.
It towered inside the tower—which shouldn’t have been physically or structurally possible.
Then again, magick.
Floating shelves held bottles, jars, boxes. She recognized some plants—under eerily glowing lights—the chalices, the ritual knives, the cauldrons and bowls.
Balls and spears of crystal. Books with leather covers, some probably centuries old. Mirrors, candles, charms, statues.
Brooms, she noted, and bones, runes, and tarot cards.
And above a stone hearth, Sasha’s paintings.
Here, of course, Riley thought. Magicks within magicks within magicks. Safe from evil, within the light.
“I told you I bought the first of your paintings before I met you, before I knew you.” Bran put an arm over Sasha’s shoulders as they studied them. “I saw it in a gallery in New York and wanted it. Needed it,” he corrected.
“My path through the woods, one I knew so well, leading here. Though only I knew it led here. I often walked that path, toward that light you painted so beautifully, and I thought to hang the painting at my flat in New York to remind me of this. But I brought it here, even then. I placed it here, in my most precious place.”
“I dreamed it.” Alone, and so long before she’d ever met him. “I dreamed the path and the trees and the light, but I couldn’t see the end of the path. Not until now.”
“And the second, its companion, you painted from visions as well, visions that guided us here. Not just to home, but to the third star. We’ll find it here.”
The end of the path, Riley thought, the magnificent house where they now stood, glowing under soft light, festooned with gardens, rising over a turbulent sea.
Things came in threes, she thought—not only the stars, but other things. Would Sasha paint a third?
“Inside your visions, inside your art, the stars shine safe.”
Bran lifted both hands. The paintings shimmered, an overlay of color. Red on the path, blue on the house. And they slid out of that world into his hands, closed in clear glass, bright and bold as truth.
“Ours to guard,” Bran said. “And the third, the Ice Star, to find.”
“And when there are three—fire, water, ice—in the hands of the guardians, the