Stars of Fortune, Page 22

  “Push-ups,” he said.

  The first rumble of thunder sounded as she started up the stairs.

  By the time they’d all gathered around the kitchen table, the sky hung dark and broody. With the quickening flashes of lightning, the thunder rolled closer on a hard wind.

  “Nothing like a good storm,” Riley said. “Unless it’s pizza.”

  “Even bad pizza’s good.” Sawyer lifted a slice, bit in. “And this ain’t bad.”

  Watching him, Annika picked up a slice, took a careful bite. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Best pizza? Where?”

  “New York,” Bran said immediately, and Riley shook her head as she chowed down.

  “This little mom-and-pop in a little hillside village in Tuscany. Amazing. Sash?”

  “I had some really nice pizza once in Paris.”

  “French pizza?” Sawyer snorted. “Forget about it. Neck-and-neck between New York and this trattoria in Florence. How about you?” he asked Annika.

  “This,” she said, and took another bite.

  “Kildare,” Doyle said when everyone looked at him.

  “Irish pizza?” Riley grabbed another slice as she laughed. “That’s below French pizza.”

  “In a restaurant run by Italians,” he added. “It wins because it was unexpected.”

  “Speaking of winning,” Sasha put in. “We should talk about the idea that we won last night because Nerezza was testing us. Doyle brought up the need for battle plans, for training.”

  “Training?” Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

  “Bran does what he does.” Doyle took another slice from the same pie as Riley—the one loaded with sausage and pepperoni. “That’s a specific skill set nobody else here can train for. But Sasha had it right. We went into last night individually. We can’t risk that again. We need to know what Bran has . . . up his sleeve.”

  “You’re right on that.” Bran nodded, poured wine. “And you’ll know from here and on. We need strategies and plans. If we only react, more, react individually, we’ll lose.”

  “No argument, but what training?” Riley continued. “I’m already working with Sasha and Annika on hand-to-hand, defense. And after today, we know Sasha’s a regular Daryl Dixon with a crossbow.”

  “Crossbow?” Sawyer paused with a slice halfway to his plate. “How did I miss that?”

  “Who’s Daryl Dixon?” Sasha asked.

  “The Walking Dead,” Sawyer supplied. “You can handle a crossbow?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Handle, my ass. It was thwang!” Riley mimed the shot. “Bull’s-eye. I’d stick with her in any zombie apocalypse.”

  “I appreciate that, but I think Doyle means we need to start working, and training, together. We’ve made noises about being a team. We need to train like one. Bran’s teaching me about what he uses to make medicines, so I can help there.”

  “I could learn,” Annika said. “I like to learn.”

  “You should all know the basics. What potion, what salve, what tincture for what injury. You all know basic first-aid of the ordinary sort,” Bran added. “But we’re not dealing with ordinary.”

  “And if you’re injured, we wouldn’t know what to use. Okay,” Riley agreed. “We take time for some magickal medicine lessons.”

  “Other skill sets have to play. You and Sawyer?” Doyle shook his head, reluctant admiration. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen better shots, and you both keep a cool head. You start target practice with the others.”

  “I don’t like the guns,” Annika said quickly.

  “You don’t have to like them, gorgeous, you just have to learn to handle one. And you’ve got some moves.”

  “I’d pit her against Black Widow. I’m going to buy a shitload of graphic novels for you guys,” Sawyer said when both Annika and Sasha looked blank.

  “You need to teach Sasha, refine Riley—you’ve got moves of your own, but Annika’s faster, smoother.”

  “Yeah? And what about you? Bran, Sawyer?”

  “We’ll all work on it. And on hand-to-hand. Training,” he repeated. “We need to put a couple hours a day, at least, into it. Sasha can make a schedule.”

  “I can?”

  “You started it, Blondie. You were right, now you follow it through.”

  Riley polished off her second slice. “You’ve got a lot to say tonight, McCleary.”

  “Because I’ve got something to say.” Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed hard behind it, causing Apollo to belly under the table until his head lay on Riley’s feet. “I’ve fought with you twice, and what I’ve seen is a lot of skill, and no unity.”

  “So we hone the skills, and unite,” Sawyer finished. “I’m behind that. On the united front, I think—”

  “Sorry.” Riley pushed up. “I’m going to have to eat and run.”

  “Run?” Sawyer looked toward the window as the rain started in a gush. “Where?”

  “To my room to start. It’s nearly sundown, and since I’d as soon not strip down here in the kitchen, I’m going up.”

  “You can come back,” Sasha told her. “You don’t have to stay closed in your room.”

  “Yeah, I get it, appreciate it. I’m going to need to run. Storm or no storm, I’ll need to run off the initial energy. I’ll be back. If there’s any pizza left over, I’ve got dibs on it at sunrise.”

  She grabbed a third slice and headed out with Apollo close to her side.

  Bran looked after her, then back at Sawyer. “You were saying?”

  “Ah . . . I lost track. I guess . . . unity. I’m all in on weapons training. Where’d you get the crossbow?”

  “Doyle,” Sasha told him. “He has two.”

  “Ever used one?”

  Sawyer shook his head at Doyle. “But I’m all about it. After last night, I’m going to need more ammo. I expect Riley could use more. Looks like we need a supply list, and what we could call a supply officer. I’d nominate Riley there. She has the most contacts.”

  “Supplies are more than weapons. It’s food,” Sasha pointed out. “Household supplies.”

  “I could nominate myself. Or you. What about your kind of supplies?” Sawyer asked Bran.

  “I’m taking care of it. There would be some things we can acquire as easily as household supplies, but some I’m sending for. We’ve picked up most of the duties around the house and grounds, but I suppose we could be more organized about it.”

  “I don’t mind switching off dinner prep with Sawyer, but it’s nice to have a night off.”

  “Pizza night.” Sawyer grinned. “Once a week.”

  “Done.” Bran toasted the idea. “And as Sasha and Sawyer handle dinners otherwise, I propose they’re exempt from getting pizza. The rest of us can alternate that as well.”

  “I like pizza.” Annika, after savoring the first, chose a second slice.

  “I pity those who don’t. As for strategies . . .” Bran cocked an eye at Doyle.

  “I figure the three of us can hammer some out.”

  “Meaning the three of you. Men.”

  Doyle shrugged at Sasha’s statement. “Ever fought a war, Blondie?”

  “Not until now.”

  “Ever play war?” Sawyer asked. “As a kid?”

  “Well, no.” Since Annika didn’t appear to mind being dismissed, Sasha felt the burden of female pride rested fully on her shoulders. “I bet Riley did.”

  “And I’d wager she’s been in more than a few skirmishes. We’ll see what she has to say about it.”

  Now Doyle shrugged at Bran. “Fine.”

  “But we have to search.” Annika looked from one to the next. “We can’t stop.”

  “We won’t be stopping,” Bran assured her. “But it looks as if we’ll have more regimented days, at least for now.”

  “I’ll make out my end of the supply list.” Sawyer rose. “But first I’m going to start a fire in the other room. The storm’s probably dropped the temps, and we’re going to have a co
uple of wet . . . canines.”

  “I’ll help you.” Annika rose with him. “And I’ll do the dishes. It should be my turn.”

  Happy to pass that duty off, Sasha sat back with her wine. “And what’s my assignment?”

  “You’d be the best to keep track of needed household supplies. And I think Doyle will agree you can be trusted to write out tasks and schedules in a fair way. We never followed through there. And I’d say the training schedule should be yours, Doyle.”

  “We’ll want an early start, as one of us has one more day that ends at sundown.”

  “What sort of early start?” Sasha wondered.

  “Sunup. Calisthenics. You want to beef up, that’s how you start. Then breakfast—plenty of carbs for you. I’d say we need a day here, forming those strategies, starting weapons training—before we go back out to dive. When Sawyer finishes building his fire, we could start outlining some basic plans. Attack as well as defense.”

  Doyle got up. “I’m going to take a walk first.”

  “It’s storming,” Sasha reminded him.

  “I don’t mind getting wet.”

  “He’ll go up,” Bran said after Doyle walked out, “and get his sword as well as his coat. And he’ll walk the perimeter, we’ll call it. And do the same again around midnight.”

  “There’s a soldier in him.”

  “Oh, without question.”

  “But he’s not ready to tell us about it. Sawyer’s ready. He had something to tell us before Riley interrupted and had to go.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I’m sure of it. I don’t know what, but he’s ready to tell us the something more. Bran.”

  He smiled. “Sasha.”

  “There’s another kind of training I need, and I think you can help me. Not that,” she said with a laugh when he grinned at her. “Well, that, too. We can call that training. But I need to learn how to open more to what I have.”

  “You already are. I knew about the crossbow because I watched you. Not a moment’s hesitation in you. You took it, and used it. Because you knew.”

  “Not deliberately. I didn’t know deliberately, and that’s what I want. I don’t think I’ll ever control this, not completely. I don’t think I’m meant to. But if I’m to really do my part in all this, I need to have some control. I’ve spent so many years trying to suppress it, and now I want to use it. Can you help?”

  “I think I can.”

  “Good. I’m going to go up, work out the supplies, the assignments. And leave you men to your war council.”

  He grabbed her hand before she walked by, kissed it. “There’ll be six sitting on that council before this is done. This is only the start.”

  “So we’ll start with the soldier, the sharpshooter, and the magician. It would be stupid to object.”

  “Add the lycan, because I think you’ve the right of that.”

  And it mollified. “Should I wait in my room or yours?”

  “Make your choice. I’ll find you.”

  When she left, he thought he’d already found her. And that, like Doyle’s exceptional pizza in Kildare, was unexpected.

  She went to her room, changed into loose cotton pants. She decided she’d do an actual chart for the task schedule, with names, days of the week, and appropriate chores and errands.

  Before she got started she walked to the terrace doors, opened them to the sound of the storm.

  And saw the shadow of the wolf.

  She caught the scream, swallowed it back. “God. You scared me, Riley.” She took a deep breath because her voice had trembled. “I don’t know if you understand me. That’s a question we should’ve asked.”

  And when the wolf strolled into her room, she swallowed again.

  “I guess that answers that. I’d offer to towel you off, but that just seems really strange. Stranger. Ah, Sawyer started a fire for you downstairs. He’s sweet that way, and thought of it.”

  The wolf simply stood, watching her. Unnerving, Sasha thought, to look at the wolf—sleek and wet and fierce—and see Riley’s eyes. “You should try to get some sleep tonight—I don’t know if that’s how it works, but if you can, you should get some sleep. Doyle called for calisthenics at dawn.”

  At this, the wolf growled low.

  “Okay, you definitely understand me. It actually makes sense, as a whole. I’m going to do a household supply list, and task assignments. And we’re going to start the training—by skill set—tomorrow. The men are going to get together down in the kitchen, talk battle strategies.”

  The growl came again, and now the wolf paced.

  “Yeah, I had the same reaction, except you’re invited onto the war council.” When the wolf stopped pacing, Sasha nodded. “Right. We figured you had some experience where Annika and I don’t. But we will. We’re going to take tomorrow, seeing as you have to make it a short day, to start putting the training together. See, it makes sense.”

  She wasn’t sure if the sound the wolf made was agreement or resignation, but it wasn’t quite a growl.

  “You should go down, get warm and dry. You might not be able to add anything to the strategy session, but you can listen.”

  The wolf walked to the door. Sasha followed, opened it.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She closed the door quietly on what she decided was the strangest conversation she’d ever had.

  Suddenly, it struck her. Could she sense Riley’s feelings—in wolf form? Feelings echoed thoughts. So if she could, there could be more of a conversation.

  She’d ask Riley if she was open to trying it.

  But for now, with the storm blowing out to sea, she got her supplies, and began creating a chart.

  She did a draft, edited it, re-edited it. It took longer than she’d imagined. She finished it, perfected it, then wrote out a supply list with a lot less fuss.

  Done, she forced herself to put in fifteen minutes with Riley’s bands, and tried some push-ups. She would get stronger.

  Still alone, she slid into bed with her sketch pad.

  And fell asleep with a half dozen sketches of the wolf on her page.

  When Bran slipped in beside her, she sensed his warmth, turned to him.

  “It’s late.” He brushed his lips over her brow. “Sleep.”

  So she slept on, and dreamed of a room lined in gold and silver, studded with jewels, mirror-bright.

  She dreamed of the god who sat on her golden throne, staring into those jewels, her beauty dark and unearthly.

  The reflections, dozens and dozens, covered those walls, and were wizened, hideous, twisted.

  On the god’s scream of rage, the jewels shattered.

  And the walls ran with blood.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rising at dawn was one thing. Rising at dawn for some yoga stretching was actually rather pleasant. But following that rather pleasant stretching by being whipped into squats and lunges changed the entire complexion.

  She kept up, well enough, but squats, lunges, jumping jacks with Annika smiling, even letting out an occasional laugh, as she herself struggled through them—without even a single hit of coffee—made Sasha want to try out her right jab on her friend’s beautiful face.

  Then came the dreaded push-ups.

  She was the only one of the six who couldn’t manage more than two. One and a half if she was honest. Even with her knees down in what Riley called (with a definite sneer) girl push-ups, she struggled.

  She would get stronger.

  Pull-ups—not even one. Crunches until her abs screamed. More stretching—thank God—then a jog down the cliff steps, along the beach, then back.

  Where she just collapsed on the grass in a gasping heap.

  “I hate you.” She could barely pant it out. “Especially Doyle, but all of you.”

  “That’s a start. Who’s on breakfast detail?” Doyle asked.

  “The chart’s in my room. Someone who can still walk should go get it.”

  “
I’ll get it.” Annika, barely winded, dashed off.

  From her prone position, Sasha bared her teeth. “Maybe I hate her even more than Doyle.”

  Moaning, she rolled over, made herself stand on wobbly, vibrating legs. Actively scowled when Annika bounced back with the chart.

  “I cook with Sawyer today. I can make the coffee. I know how. It’s so pretty!” She turned the chart around for all to see.

  Sasha had color-coded it, and since she’d been in a fine mood before this morning’s torture, had illustrated the chart.

  Pretty little drawings of pots and pans, a lawn mower, a garden, pecking chickens, the pool, and so on—along with sketches of everyone beside their names.

  “I want that,” Sawyer said immediately. “I want that when we’re done. It goes in the kitchen for now, but I’m calling dibs. Let’s go cook, Annika.”

  “Can I break the eggs?” she asked as they headed toward the villa. “It looks like fun.”

  “There’s a woman who makes her own fun. Let’s find out if she can make coffee.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Doyle said to Riley. “You got any Tai Chi?”

  Riley tapped her right fist to her open left palm. “Sure.”

  “Take Sasha through a beginner’s session.”

  “What! Why? No.” Though it shamed her, Sasha was weak enough to look at Bran for help. But he only smiled, gave her arm an encouraging pat.

  “It’ll help with your balance and centering,” Doyle said. “You want to catch up with everyone else, you need a little extra. Twenty minutes should do it. How about you show me some of what you’ve put together,” he said to Bran, “while they’re cooking.”

  “All right.” Bran took Sasha’s face, kissed her lightly. “Twenty minutes,” he repeated, and left her.

  “I want coffee,” Sasha insisted. “I want to sit down. I think I want my mommy.”

  “There’s no whining in Tai Chi. Feet slightly apart, knees loose. Breathe from here.” She slapped a hand on Sasha’s aching abs.

  “Oh, God.”

  “You wanted a unit, Sash. Looks like you’ve got one.”

  “It hurts.”