by Nora Roberts
“You don’t know what it’s like to have something in you that takes you over.”
“And you don’t know what it’s like to embrace it, to learn to use it instead of trying to deny it so it uses you.”
“My own father walked away because he couldn’t live with it, with me. Every time I’ve tried to get close to anyone, this gift has pushed through and ruined it, so I have no one.”
“You have us. And we won’t be walking away.” He spoke briskly, without a hint of sympathy. “But it’s you who does the walking, from what I can see. Away from yourself.”
“We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t come.”
“Now that’s exactly right. You should think about that, deal with that instead of weeping over what brought you.”
Too shocked and angry for words, Sasha shoved away from the table and walked away.
“You might go after her,” Bran said to Riley. “See that she takes something for the headache she’s brought on herself.”
“Yeah.” She rose. “Take a swipe at me like that? I hit back.”
“You might be the one to teach her to do the same.”
“Maybe I am.”
When she walked off, Sawyer shook his head. “That was harsh, man.”
“I know it.” And left him with a hint of a headache himself. “It’s harsher yet, to my mind, for her to make herself ill. We are what we are, don’t you think, mate?”
Sawyer considered his second shot. “For some, maybe most of some, being different from everybody else is tough.”
“Is it?” Bran smiled, lifted his own glass. “I find being unique is something to celebrate and respect. Until she does, what she has only hurts her.” He turned the little glass of limoncello in his fingers, drank it. “We’d best clean this up, and do it right, or we’ll be unlikely to get another meal out of her.”
“She matters to you, beyond what she is, and what we’re after.”
With considerable care, Bran set the little glass down again. “She’s a beautiful woman with a damaged heart and a bright courage she doesn’t recognize. Yes, she matters, beyond, or I wouldn’t have spoken to her as I did.”
“Okay then.”
Once they’d dealt with the dishes, set the kitchen to rights, Bran went outside, did a couple of circuits around the house. A kind of border patrol, he thought. But he saw nothing but moon and stars and sea, heard no whispering of bat wings, only the rush of water against land and rock.
Pausing, he looked up at Sasha’s room, saw it was dark, her terrace doors closed. He hoped she slept, and peacefully. And hoped to Christ she didn’t come knocking on his door in the night looking beautiful and dreamy. It had been one thing to share her bed, in sleep, the night before. But he accepted doing so again would severely test his will.
She was far too appealing, in all manner of ways.
He considered options, discarded them. And knowing sleep wouldn’t come calling soon, he went back in. There was work he could do while the others slept.
* * *
Sawyer sent long, detailed emails home as he did whenever he was able. He tried reading, gave it up, and tried to work. But he was far too restless.
A walk on the beach, he decided. Alone.
For a man who enjoyed companionship, he was often alone and knew how to occupy himself and his mind. He pulled on a jacket, as the night was cool, went out through the terrace doors and down. He could appreciate the fragrance in the air, the way the clouds sailed over stars and moon, the steady heartbeat of the sea.
And could be grateful those clouds were thin, and the moon bright enough to light the cliff steps.
He considered his companions, as he’d written about them.
Riley, sharp, solid, and smart. A traveler, somewhat like him, and a woman who could handle herself. A scholar, but far from fusty. They shared a passionate attachment to science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels.
Bran? Clever, charming when he wanted to be, and plenty mysterious. Protective. He might’ve been hard on Sasha after dinner, but he’d been truthful when he’d said she mattered. Sawyer sensed Bran would do whatever needed to be done to protect someone who mattered.
And Sasha. Talented—gifted—and conflicted. Unsure of her footing, but she still walked the walk. So he’d give Bran points for insight. She had courage she didn’t recognize. And, Sawyer thought, was certainly the magnet that had drawn them all together.
He wasn’t entirely sure where he fit. After ten years of traveling, he could tell them where the stars weren’t. But the world was a very big place.
He had theories, and he’d come to them through trial, error, and experience. Having someone like Sasha should give them better direction. Maybe.
The other two? They had secrets. But then again, so did he.
A few hours, some drinks, and a couple of meals together didn’t build the sort of trust it took to share secrets. He wasn’t sure, yet, what would.
So, it was wait and see.
He liked the deserted beach, the moonlight floating on the water, the whoosh and whisper of waves. Those waves tempted him to take a quick swim. He’d freeze his ass off, but it might finish clearing his head so he could sleep.
He decided to walk back, and if the urge was still there, strip down and dive in—closer to the cliff steps, the house, and the warmth.
And he saw her, standing on the edge of sea and shore. She looked out at the water, the thin white dress she wore swirling around her knees in the night wind. What seemed like miles of dark hair tumbled down her back.
The sketch, he thought. Sasha’s sketch, alive and in person.
He shouldn’t have wondered, but he did. Shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He started up the beach toward her, kept his eyes on her in case she vanished like a dream.
Instead, she turned toward him, and he saw her face in the splashing moonlight. One of the six in the sketches, one who had stood beside him in the first sketch they’d shown him on the side of the road.
A face made out of dreams, he thought as she smiled and walked toward him. Stunning. Beyond beautiful. Wide eyes tipped just a bit at the corners, a wide, full mouth curved now in what seemed to be both delight and welcome. Skin that looked soft, smooth, and pale gold in the moonlight. Tall and willowy in a thin white dress that flowed in the breeze.
He stopped a foot away from her because with all he’d seen, all he’d experienced, he’d never looked on anything like her.
She said, “Hello,” with a hint of a laugh on the word.
“Yeah, hi. Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been here, for a little while. And you came.” Reaching out, she took his hand. “I hoped you would.”
“Do you know me?”
She only smiled. “I don’t know your name.”
“Sawyer.”
“Sawyer.” She repeated it, carefully. “My name is Annika. I come— I came,” she corrected, “to help you find the stars. Will you take me with you?”
Just like that, he thought.
“Yeah, I think I’d better. We’re up there.” He pointed up to the villa, where—as in the sketch—a single light glowed.
“I have some things.”
“Where?”
“I’ll get them.”
She ran up the beach, the movements almost like a dance, then with a swirl of white dress and long dark hair, she disappeared behind the rocks.
“Wait. Shit.” He ran after her, cursing himself for being so dumbfounded he’d frozen.
But she came out again, carrying two large bags.
Not luggage, exactly, he noted, but two sacks, he supposed, both brightly patterned with trees, flowers, birds, and secured with the sort of clasps you might see on treasure chests.
“Let me get those.”
“You take one, I take one, and the weight is half. The steps are wonderful!” With her one bag, she raced for them. “They go so high. We’ll be closer to the sky.”
“Be careful, they’re st
eep.”
“Someone always says be careful.” She beamed at him as they started up. “Annika, you are too reckless. But I don’t think so. I only want to try everything.”
Not reckless, he thought, going off with some strange guy in the middle of the night? If not reckless, then way too trusting.
“Oh.” At the top of the steps she paused, laid a hand on her heart. “This is home for you? It’s very beautiful.”
“It’s borrowed. I mean we’re just staying here for a while.”
“I can smell the flowers.” She trailed her hand along flowering shrubs. “And the trees, and the grass. Look at this.”
She stopped to trail her fingers over a low-hanging lemon. “It’s so cool and smooth.”
“A lot of lemon trees around here.”
“Lemon,” she repeated, as she had his name.
“I didn’t bring a key, so we’ll go around and up the back.”
She looked at everything as they walked, went up the terrace steps with him without protest.
Since the light remained on in Bran’s room, Sawyer gave a rap on the terrace doors.
Still in his jeans and T-shirt, Bran opened one of the doors.
“Look who I found.”
“Hello.” Annika smiled at him.
“Annika, this is Bran Killian.”
“Brankillian, hello.”
“Happy to meet you, Annika.”
“I like happy.”
“Sure and who doesn’t? Best take her down—the kitchen, I guess, as this may call for either wine or coffee. I’ll get the others.”
“I like wine,” she said as Sawyer led her down the terrace toward his open doors. “Will I have some?”
“Yeah, we’re loaded.”
“Oh, this is very pretty. All the pictures and the little things. And the bed. Is the bed soft?”
She dropped her bag and sat on the side of it, bounced, then flopped back, arms spread. “It is!”
She flung her arms back over her head, wiggled down. The gesture went straight to his loins. Down boy, he ordered.
“We should go on down.”
“Down?” She sat up, and for the first time looked distressed.
“Downstairs,” he explained. “So you can meet the others.”
“The others, yes.” She bounced off the bed, offered her hand.
He led her out, started down the stairs while she tried to look at everything at once.
“I had the same reaction when I first got here. It’s a hell of a place.”
“Hell of a place,” she repeated, her tone awed.
When they got to the kitchen, she released his hand, ran hers over the refrigerator. “It shines.” After tugging on the handle, she let out a long ahh.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes! It’s very cold inside.”
“Professional grade. We’ve got some pasta left over from dinner. It’s good stuff.” He pulled out the container. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll heat it up.”
“Thank you very much.” She sat at the table, running her fingers over the top. “This is very pretty, too. Everything is.”
She watched him dump the pasta onto a plate, stick the plate in a microwave, punch buttons.
Before she could speak, the others came in, so she said, “Hello.”
“And then there were five,” Riley said. “Annika?”
“Yes! Hello.”
Riley reached in the wine fridge. “I guess this calls for a bottle. Riley. Riley Gwin. What’s the rest of yours?”
“The rest of mine?”
“Name. Your full name?” After a long beat of silence, Riley dug out the corkscrew. “As in first and last. Riley, first name, Gwin, last name. And we have Sasha.”
“Riggs.” Studying the newcomer, Sasha selected wineglasses. “And you met Bran.”
“And Sawyer.” Annika beamed at him.
“King.”
Her eyes went huge, her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “You’re a king?”
As Riley snorted, Sawyer looked into those wide eyes, sea green, flecked with gold. “My last name’s King.”
“I’m Annika, first name . . . Waters, last name. Annika Waters,” she said more definitely. “Hello.”
“I think she’s a little high,” Riley said to Bran in an undertone.
“We climbed the steps to the house. It’s very high.”
“Good ears. You been doing some drugs, Annika?”
“No. Am I supposed to?”
“No.” Sasha sat across from her, set the portfolio on the table. “Where are you from?”
“My—family—we go many places.”
“Originally? Where were you born?”
“I don’t know. I was only a baby.”
Laughing now, Sawyer set the plate in front of Annika. “Got you there, Sasha.”
Annika picked up the fork, turned it to study, and very carefully stabbed a piece of penne. She slipped it into her mouth, then pressed her hands to her lips as she laughed. “Warm.” She speared a piece of cherry tomato, then a black olive. Closed her eyes a moment as she ate, then opened them, and ate more.
“It’s good stuff,” she said. She lifted the glass Riley had given her, sipped. “It’s good stuff,” she repeated. “I like wine, and this food. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Sasha opened the portfolio, took out the sketch of all six, then slid it across the table.
Annika let out a delighted gasp, traced her finger over her own face, then Sawyer’s. “It’s a picture. This is I, and this is Sawyer. Riley, Sasha, Brankillian. Bran,” she corrected. “Everyone is so pretty! But this one isn’t here?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know. Do you know him?”
She shook her head. “I like my hat. Where did I get it?”
Rolling her eyes, Riley sat. “Why are you here?”
“Sawyer brought me.”
“No, Annika, why are you here, on Corfu. Why did you come with Sawyer?”
“Because Sawyer is . . . the one who came. I’m here to help find the stars.”
“You know about the Stars of Fortune?” Bran asked.
“Yes, everyone does.”
“Everyone?” Riley demanded.
“In my . . . family. And the one who reads fates told me I would help find them. If I was—” She broke off, ate more pasta. “Willing. It’s a search. That’s not the word, but like it. It’s a . . .” She circled a finger in the air. “Qu-qu-”
“Quest?” Bran suggested.
“Yes! Thank you. It’s a quest of danger, so I must be willing. I am. I came. They must be found, and taken back.”
“Taken back?” Riley repeated. “Where?”
Annika blinked in surprise. “Why, to the Island of Glass.”
“That’s a myth.”
“I’m apology. A mist?”
“Myth. A fable,” Riley added. “Usually a traditional story regarding the history of a people, and often containing supernatural beings.”
“I like stories. May I have more wine?”
“I’ve never heard of this.” Sasha looked around. “I can see everyone else has. What is the Island of Glass?”
“A mythical island that appears when and where it wills,” Bran told her. “A place out of time. A world to itself.”
“Like Brigadoon?”
“No.” Riley shook her head. “Brigadoon appeared every one hundred years like clockwork, same place. While in Brigadoon only a day would pass. I like a good myth—obviously—and there are a lot of great stories built around the Island of Glass. But it doesn’t exist.”
“It is real. And it is always there, but only a few have seen it, only a few have been allowed. The one who reads the fates does not lie. When we find the three stars, we must take them back to the place they were born.”
“You’re saying the stars were created on the Island of Glass.” Riley narrowed her eyes.
“Yes. By the goddesses t
hree. Celene, Luna, Arianrhod, as gifts for the new queen, who is Aegle, the radiant.”
Riley leaned back, drummed her fingers. “Where did you study?”
“I studied very hard.” Annika’s face lit like the sun. “Many places. I like to learn new things, and old things, and all things.”
“Who’s Nerezza?”
“You should not speak her name in the night.” Annika looked toward the windows. “Or risk summoning her.”
“Bunk. Who is she?”
“She is the dark one, the mother of lies. She must never have the stars. I don’t like to fight, but I would fight with you to keep them from her. We are together.” She pointed to the sketch. “And you are Sawyer’s friends, so you are mine.”
“Just like that?”
“You are very curious.” Annika leaned toward Riley. “I am very curious, too. So we will be friends. And I will help. This has been foretold.”
Riley glanced at Sasha. “I can’t piss on foretelling. But we’ll see what we see. How—”
“Riley,” Sawyer interrupted. “Give it a rest. Do you have any questions, Annika?”
“I have so many. My mother says I’m made of questions. But it’s enough to be here for now. I’m very tired. Can I sleep in the soft bed?”
“Still a couple to pick from. I’ll take you up, and you can decide which room you want.”
“I won’t sleep in your bed?”
“What? No.” Sawyer caught Bran’s amused look, rubbed the back of his neck.