Stars of Fortune

by Nora Roberts

  “Now?”

  “I’m in Greece and I’m looking out at Albania—so close it looks as if you could swim to it. It’s more than anything I could imagine.” She closed her eyes, breathed deep. “Even the air’s exotic. But if she drove here, stopped here hoping I’d have some sort of vision, it’s not happening.”

  “I think it won’t be so easy.”

  She thought of the visions she’d had. Blood and fear and pain and the dark. “No, it won’t be.”

  “We need to find a place, Riley had the right of that. A place the three of us can spread out, study up, plan. A kind of HQ.”

  The idea made her smile. HQs seemed as far removed from her world as swimming to Albania. “HQ.”

  “Exactly. And as I don’t know that the other three you’ve drawn will just walk up to us, as we did to each other, we’ll need to ramble about like we are today.”

  “We have to come together. Until we do, we can look but we won’t see; seek, but not find. Not a vision,” she said quickly. “Just a kind of knowing.”

  “Which strikes me as the same.”

  “Maybe. I want to sketch while we’re here.”

  “We’ll need to get you a chair. We can rent one, I expect, or . . . There’s a taverna right over there. How’s that view?”

  “That would be fine.”

  Once they had a table, and she’d angled her chair, he studied the view as she did. “Want a beer?”

  “Oh, no, thanks. Maybe something cold.” Pulling out her pad, she began to draw the flowing sea oats and long slice of beach.

  He ordered a Mythos for himself, and the Greek juice that was a combination of orange, apple, and apricot for Sasha. As she sketched, he took out his phone to check his emails.

  Even as he dealt with work he watched her, those slim, pretty hands conjuring a scene with paper and pencil.

  She left out things that were there, he noted. The people. Her beach was deserted but for birds winging over the sea.

  She flipped to another page, began another. He supposed she’d term them rough sketches, but he found them both wonderfully lean and fluid. It was a kind of magic, he thought, that she could with quick, sure strokes of a pencil create her vision.

  She started a third—a different perspective, he saw. Not quite the beach spread in front of them, and hers with a moon, not quite full, floating through a drift of clouds over a sea where waves tossed.

  A woman stood at the edge of the sea, facing it, her dark hair a tumble to her waist. Her skirts billowed around her knees. To her right, high, sheer cliffs rose, and on them stood the shadow of a house where a light glowed in a single window.

  When Sasha stopped, turned back to finally pick up her drink, he set his phone down.

  “Will she go into the sea or back to the house on the cliff?”

  “I don’t know.” Sasha blew out a breath, sipped again. “I don’t think she knows either. It’s not here. I don’t know why I looked out there and saw this so clearly.”

  “Maybe we’re close. She’s the only person you drew. In the other sketches of this beach, you left out the people.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “It’s more peaceful without them. I don’t usually draw people. Or I didn’t. When I was studying and we used models, I’d end up reading them. It’s the focus, and it always felt so intrusive. I learned how to block it out, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. I like the mystery of a scene empty of people.”

  She propped her chin on her fist, smiled at him. “You like scenes full of people.”

  Conversations—something she’d avoided tucked away in the mountains—took a different tone, had a new appeal, when she had them with someone who knew what she was, and accepted.

  “And how would you know?”

  “Clubs,” she explained. “You own clubs, and perform, so you must like people. And audiences who marvel at your magic tricks.”

  “I can appreciate an empty beach as well. But . . .” He held up a hand, empty palm toward her, closed it into a fist, flashed out his other hand. Then offered her a curved white shell from his once-empty palm. “I like the marvel.”

  She laughed, shook her head. “How do you do that?”

  “Nothing up my sleeve.”

  “And no smoke and mirrors around either.” She traced the edges of the shell. “How did you learn to do magic?”

  “You could say it’s a family tradition. My mother actually taught me my first . . . bit.”

  “Your mother. Does she perform, too?”

  “In her way.” Because he liked her laugh, he took a deck of cards from his pack, fanned them out. “Pick a card, any card.”

  She drew one out, glanced at it. “Now what?”

  “Back in it goes, and you take the deck. Shuffle it up. We should reward ourselves with a swim at the end of the day. Which would you pick, sea or pool?”

  “The sea.” If no one else was on the beach, she added to herself. “How often will I have the chance to swim in the Ionian? Is that enough?”

  “It is, sure, if it feels enough for you. Set the deck down again, and fan it out yourself.”

  She did as he instructed, leaned forward, eyes sharp.

  “Now where do you suppose your card might be. Here?” he tapped a card. “No, no, maybe here. Ah, here comes our Riley.”

  “Playing cards and drinking beer, while I’ve been sweating over a hot cell phone.” She dropped down, picked up what was left of Bran’s beer, and drained it.

  “He’s doing a card trick, but I don’t think it’s working out for him.”

  “Such lack of faith and wonder.” Bran sighed. He ran a fingertip along the fanned cards. “Not here or there at all, it seems, because . . . Do you mind?” he said to Riley and took the hat from her head, turned it over. “Your Queen of Hearts is in Riley’s hat.”

  Sasha’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible.”

  “And yet it is.” He held up the queen between two fingers, turned his hand at the wrist, and held nothing.

  “I’ve gotta say,” Riley commented as Sasha gaped. “That’s some of the best close-up magic I’ve seen. I also have to say I’ve done some magic of my own. We’ve got a place if we want it.”

  “How did the card get in Riley’s hat when she wasn’t here?” Sasha demanded.

  “But she is here, and she’s polished off my beer.”

  “But . . .” Then with a laugh, Sasha held up her hands in surrender. “I want to see you do it again when— Did you say you found a place?”

  “Yeah, and that earns me a beer of my own. But I’ll wait until we get there, take a look at it. It’s not far. Just outside of Sidari.”

  “I saw Sidari on the map—west of here.”

  “You got it. I had some luck.” Now Riley reached out, took a long sip of Sasha’s juice. “Friend of a friend of an uncle. It’s his villa, and he’s in the States on business for the next few weeks. His lucky day, too, as the couple who was caretaking the place had to leave just yesterday. Guy took a bad fall, broke his leg. So the friend of a friend of an uncle says we can use the place if we do the caretaking thing.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Bran asked.

  “Yard work, gardening, maintaining the pool—did I mention there’s a pool? There’s also a dog—so feed and water—and chickens.”

  “Chickens?” Sasha repeated.

  “Feed and water again, and help ourselves to the eggs. We take care, we stay for free until he gets back in about four weeks. Sounds like a hell of a deal to me.”

  “We should certainly have a look.” Bran put his cards back in their case. “Ready for it?”

  Nodding, Sasha got to her feet. “I think I could live with staying at a villa on the Ionian Sea. It’s just when things sound too good to be true . . .”

  “There’s usually a catch.” Bran stood, took her hand. “Why don’t we go find the catch, see if we can live with whatever it might be.”

  The road west was nearly straight, until it wasn’t. The
n it was a quick series of curves and loops Riley drove with the same careless speed.

  Sasha saw clearly why Sidari was billed as the top resort area in the north. Its situation right on the bay, its spectacular views. Too many people was her first thought, far too many filling the streets, the beaches, the shops.

  The noise of them made her head ache, stretched her nerves wire thin. But the jittery feeling didn’t pass, even when they’d left the town behind, turned onto a narrow road. She shifted her gaze to the sea again, trying to recapture that sensation of being in the moment.

  She saw it, knew it, understood the feeling now. The promontory rose up from the sea, high and proud. She’d stood there with him, in the night wind of an oncoming storm. He had lightning in his hand, and she a terrible burning in her heart.

  Her painting.

  She hadn’t shown them, either of them, and yet the road had brought them here.

  Dimly she heard Riley’s voice talking about coves and inlets, caves, both above and under water.

  “It’s going to get bumpy,” Riley added. “House is up, on the cliff. Views ought to be killer.”

  She didn’t look, not yet. She already knew what she’d see. Instead she concentrated on the wildflowers, blooming heroically along the side of what was now no more than a track, even blooming in the track itself.

  The jeep banged and bumped, forced Riley to at last slow down, then stop when they came to a set of iron gates.

  “I’ve got the passcode.” She leaned out, punched the code into a keypad. “He said he had a neighbor come by this morning to feed the dog, do the chicken deal, check on things. And claims the dog’s friendly.”

  The road smoothed out a bit, then made a sweeping turn.

  “Just let me say score!” With a little war whoop, Riley arrowed toward the villa. “Not the kind of digs I usually bunk in.”

  In rich cream against blue sky, the villa rose on its high perch. It angled toward the sea, offering that sweep of view from front and back. The impressive front boasted enough room for a swath of flowering bushes, a few fruit trees, and a verdant lawn before the stone wall. And there the land dropped off as if cleaved by axes. Even the rough steps leading down to the beach made Sasha think of muscular gnomes or trolls with primitive tools hacking at the stone. It owned a majestic set of doors, jutting terraces, wide expanses of glass.

  More flowers, more trees graced the side of the house where a stone pathway wandered. Even as Riley turned off the car, a big white dog, a fuzzy polar bear with a long, feathered tail, came strolling out of the shady trees toward the car.

  “He’s huge.” Sasha forgot her nerves long enough for new ones to shove in. “You said friendly.”

  “He’s just a big boy. Hey, Apollo—his name’s Apollo.” Fearlessly, Riley got out of the car, crouched, held out a hand.

  The dog stopped, stared into her eyes. The moment stretched so long Sasha considered jumping out, pulling Riley back in. Though she wondered if a dog that big could simply eat the jeep, with them in it.

  Then he walked over to Riley, tail wagging, and nuzzled her outstretched hand.

  “You’re a good boy.” She straightened, set a hand on Apollo’s head when he sat. “What are you guys waiting for?”

  “Just waiting to see how big a chunk he might take out of you.” Bran launched himself out of the jeep and, just as casually as Riley, stroked a hand down the dog’s back.

  “Come on, Sasha, read him if you’re worried. You should be able to read a dog,” Riley pointed out. “They have feelings. What’s he feeling?”

  “Happy.” Sasha sighed and got out of the jeep. “He’s feeling really happy.”

  “Pack animals.” Riley bent down, kissed the dog’s head. “Need a pack, and that’s going to be us for a bit. I’ve got the alarm code, too, and it seems the caretakers left the keys in the potted palm by the cliff wall, so . . .”

  Riley, striding confidently in worn boots, the dog at her heels, walked over to the wall. “Wowzer view. Have a gander.”

  Sasha made herself walk over to the stone wall, and there, far below, was the beach she’d drawn at the table at the tavern, when the image of it had overlaid the other.

  “It’s only missing the moon and the woman,” Bran said quietly.

  “Say what?”

  “I drew this while we were waiting for you at Acharavi,” Sasha told Riley. “I didn’t know where it was. Now I do. She was there, down there at the edge of the water. The woman we haven’t met yet. And the villa was a silhouette on the cliff.”

  Pleased, Riley fisted her hands on her hips. “Excellent. So this is where we’re supposed to be.”

  “I guess it is.” The dog bumped his head under Sasha’s hand, looked up at her with appealing dark eyes, radiating the happiness she’d just felt from him. It made her smile again. “This is where.”

  “Then let’s go check it out. I call first pick on bedrooms.” Riley set off at a run, and with a joyful bark, Apollo raced behind her.

  “We can flip a coin for second pick,” Bran offered, and Sasha felt her balance return.

  “As if I’d flip a coin with a magician. I call it,” she announced, and ran after the dog.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sasha believed herself to be a creature of order, of practical routine. When she elected to do something outside that routine, it was after careful thought and deliberation.

  Or it had been until she’d flown to Corfu.

  Now, roughly twenty-four hours after she’d checked in, unpacked her bags, she was packing them again, preparing to check out, to move into a villa with two people she’d known less than a day.

  And no matter how many times she questioned the sanity of it, she knew it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do if she wanted real answers.

  The villa was beautiful, spacious, and even a woman who considered herself practical couldn’t deny the thrill of walking through it, considering she’d live there for . . .

  However long she did.

  Tumbled tile floors, she thought as she carefully packed, wide, wide stretches of sparkling glass, the soaring entranceway and double curves of stairs leading to the second floor. Where, Sasha recalled, Riley had arrowed toward.

  Her new friend chose the master with its massive bed, one Riley had bounced on gleefully before bulleting into the en suite and crowing in triumph over the freestanding stone tub—big enough for a party—and the equally generous shower.

  For herself, Sasha had studied several options, all lovely, but had fallen for the four-poster with its domed and pleated canopy of sea-blue linen. Like the other bedrooms, it opened to a terrace, and she imagined herself painting there.

  Even when she realized her view would include the promontory, she couldn’t persuade herself to select a room facing away.

  She closed her suitcases, checked the room twice to be sure she’d left nothing behind, and was about to call for a bellman when someone knocked at the door.

  She opened it to Bran.

  “Are you set then?” he asked.

  “Yes, just now. I was going to call for a bellman.”

  He glanced in at her suitcases, pack, tote.

  “We should be able to handle it.” He hooked her tote around the handle of one suitcase, slung her pack over his shoulder. “Can you manage the other?”

  “Sure, but can we handle your bags, too?”

  “I’ve already taken them down, loaded them. Of course, I’ve about half of what you’ve got here.”

  “Of course you do. You’re a man.” Sasha walked out behind him without giving her room a backward glance.

  “I am that. I’ll just check on Riley, and we’ll— Well, no need,” he added as Riley stepped out, rolling a single wheeled duffle behind her.

  “That’s it? Your backpack and a duffle?” Sasha demanded.

  “Got everything I need and room for more.”

  Sasha looked at her own luggage, actually felt Riley’s smirk. “I have my art supplies,” s
he began.

  “Uh-huh.” With the smirk still in place, Riley headed for the elevator.

  “I do! And my travel easel, several small canvases, a spare sketchbook, not to mention paints, brushes.”

  “Your brushes aren’t going to make it in this elevator on this trip.”

  “You two go,” Bran suggested. “I’ll take the stairs.”

  “That case is heavy,” Sasha began.

  “It’s the spare sketch pad.”

  Sasha gave Riley a scowl, then laughed. “Oh, shut up.”

  She maneuvered her case into the elevator, turned to thank Bran. But he was already gone.

  By the time she’d checked out, they had her luggage loaded, and everything strapped in with bungee cords out of Riley’s duffle.

  Sasha eyed them doubtfully, thought of her painting supplies. “Will those really hold?”

  “Haven’t let me down yet. Kick-ass villa, here we come.”

  Riley roared off just as she had that morning. This time, Bran shared the backseat with luggage.

  “You should have the front.” Sasha swiveled around. “I didn’t think of it. I’m smaller than you, and wouldn’t be as crowded.”

  “Oh, we’re fine here, me and your paintbrushes. And the way Riley drives, we’ll be there long before my legs have time to cramp.”

  The speed—outrageous—seemed slightly more exhilarating than frightening this time. Sasha took in the blur of sea and flowers, cars, sun-washed buildings while she half listened to Riley and Bran debate whether to stop somewhere for lunch or just get where they were going.

  She didn’t care either way. It was all so surreal, and reckless. Prior, the most reckless thing she could remember doing had been hacking off her hair when she’d been twelve. An act of anger and defiance she’d regretted before the last snip of the scissors.

  Clearly, this reckless act carried more risk and weight—and yet, just at the moment, it felt absolutely right.

  She’d unpack first, she decided. She wouldn’t feel settled until she did. And then she’d set up her easel . . . maybe outside, try a chalk study of the gardens. Or try a watercolor. She rarely used that medium, but—

  “What’s your vote?” Riley demanded.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Food or destination? You’re the tie breaker.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Tie breaker,” Riley insisted. “It has to matter. Bran’s for getting there. I’m for food.”

  “I don’t want to be the tie breaker.”

  “You’re stuck with it. He’s all ‘there’s food in the villa’—the caretakers had it stocked and we’ve got the green light to use what we want, but we have to get there, then throw something together. Can anybody cook?”

  “Of course I can cook,” Sasha began, and immediately saw her mistake. “I’m absolutely not going to be in charge of the kitchen.”

  A big, beautiful kitchen, she remembered, and she wouldn’t mind making a meal