Island of Glass, Page 8

  He dressed quickly and, considering the start of the day, grabbed his sword before going on. He knocked briskly on Riley’s door, remembered the sun had yet to rise—any moment now—and just shoved the door open.

  The wolf stood in front of a fire gone to embers, quivering. And let out a low, warning growl.

  “Save it,” Doyle snapped. “It’s Sasha. No, she’s fine,” he added as the wolf poised to spring out of the room. “She’s painting. Bran’s with her. She—”

  He broke off as the wolf threw back her head, let out a long moan. The eyes stayed fierce, locked on his, anger striking out. But under it was a helplessness that had him stepping back. Though he considered witnessing the transformation fascinating, he closed the door, gave her privacy.

  He heard the howl, pain and triumph, as he hurried away to wake the others.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As he saw no point in waiting for the others, Doyle went straight into the master suite in the tower. It opened into a gracious sitting room where the doors stood open to the sea terrace.

  Bran glanced back at him.

  “She woke—or came out of sleep—only a few minutes before you stepped outside. She said she needed her easel. I barely managed to get the shirt on her—it’s so cool—before she was coming down here and starting.”

  He gestured Doyle closer, then to a table on the terrace. “She’s done those already.”

  Doyle studied the charcoal sketches in the backwash of light. Another of Arianrhod, this in warrior garb, a sword at her side. The others would be Celene and Luna. One a dark beauty, also dressed for battle, holding a bow, the other lovely as sunrise, a dove on her shoulder, a sword in her hand.

  He saw something of his sisters—the oldest and the baby—in the dark one, felt that old, hard twist. And his lost brother in the other, so sweet of face, kind of eye.

  Projecting, he told himself. Projecting as his family’s stones projected from the ground. He stepped back as he heard Sawyer and Annika come in.

  “Has she said anything?” Sawyer, his hair still tousled from sleep, moved in to look over Sasha’s shoulder.

  “She’s deep in the drawing,” Bran told him, “as you can see.”

  With Annika, Sawyer turned to the table.

  “Oh!” Annika clasped her hands together. “It’s my mother. I mean, it’s my mother as this is Doyle’s. This is how my mother looks.”

  “Some mother,” Sawyer noted. “You look like the other one.”

  “I do?”

  “The eyes. You have the same eyes as the blond one. And, I’ve got to say, the blonde looks a lot like my grandmother—or photos I’ve seen of her when she was young. She was hot.”

  “Then your granny and my mother are twins,” Riley said from behind Sawyer. “I’d say my theory’s been as confirmed as it can be. Each one of us—because when Sasha’s finished, one of these will ring for her—came from one of them.”

  “I think it’s more.”

  Riley glanced at Doyle. “More what?”

  “This could be a drawing of two of my sisters—not as exact as the Arianrhod to my mother, to Bran’s grandmother, but it’s striking. And this? The one who rings, as you call it, for you and Sawyer? My brother Feilim.”

  “Interesting. I say we take a close look, in better light, when Sasha’s done.” So saying, Riley picked up one of the sketches. “And see if there’s more crossover.”

  “What?” Sawyer scratched his head. “We’re all cousins?”

  “Considering it’s been maybe a millennium since this family tree took root? Yeah, I’m going with the crossover.”

  “This is so nice.” Annika hugged Riley, then Doyle. “We’re even more family now.”

  “We are of the blood.” Sasha spoke as in the east the sky bloomed with light. “Conceived and born on the Island of Glass, suckled and nurtured by the mothers, by the gods, and sent from one world to another. Conceived with the stars, born with the moon, gifted and given. Wherever taken by the winds of fate, brought together, blood of the blood, a millennium plus two since the fall.

  “The star waits, the Ice Star, frozen in time and place. Its day comes when the worlds still for five beats of a heart. Fire to see, water to feel, ice to fight, to take their place when the Tree of All Life blooms once more.”

  Drenched in visions, Sasha lifted her hand to the eastern sky. “And she waits, weak and cold, tended by her creature. She waits and gathers powers dark to strike at the heart, the mind, the body. This world will quake from her wrath. Seek the past, open the heart.”

  Now she lowered that hand, pressed it to her own heart. “Follow its path. Its light is your light. It waits. Worlds wait. She waits. Reach into yesterday, and bring them home.”

  Sasha lowered her arms, swayed. “I’m okay,” she said when Bran put his arms around her. “But I could sit down for a minute.”

  “You’re cold. Damn it. Inside with you. Annika, there’s water in the wet bar over there.”

  “Wet bar?”

  “I’ve got it.” Riley dashed inside, pulled open the small cooler in back of the angled bar while Bran half carried Sasha to a chair in front of the fire he set blazing.

  Annika pulled a deep green throw off a sofa, tucked it around Sasha’s legs.

  “Thanks. I’m really okay. It just kept going, stronger and stronger, then dropped away so fast.” She took the water with another thanks, sipped. “Honestly, I’d kill for coffee. Why don’t we go— Oh.” When a thick mug appeared in Bran’s hand, she smiled, her voice melting with love as she touched his cheek. “Bran. Don’t look so worried. I’m fine.”

  “Your hands are cold,” he told her, and wrapped them around the mug.

  “It all felt so urgent. I had to get the images down. I swear I heard their voices in my head, telling me to show them to you, to all of you. I saw them as clearly as I see all of you. And . . . I felt, I almost felt I could reach out and touch them.”

  She sipped coffee, sighed deep. “Your mother, you said, Anni, the brunette with the bow.”

  “It’s so like her. She’s very beautiful.”

  “And my grandmother—like Bran and Doyle’s connection. I didn’t know her—my mother’s mother—when she was young. I barely know her at all, really. But I know it. The goddess is Celene, the seer, who created the Fire Star, to gift the new queen with sight and wisdom. Riley and Sawyer’s closest connection is Luna—dove and sword—the Water Star, who gifted the queen with heart and compassion. And the last is Arianrhod, the warrior, for courage.”

  “And we six have some of all of them,” Riley said.

  “Yes. They chose a mate, conceived a child, guided, loved, nurtured, and sent the child, on their sixteenth birthday, from their world to ours. I felt their grief.”

  Annika knelt down, laid her head in Sasha’s lap. “My mother wept when I left to come to you. She was proud, but she cried. It would be hard to send a son or daughter away.”

  “It was, and from that time, they could only watch. And to this time, they can only watch, and hope. It’s hard to explain, but we’re their children. They feel we are. We’re their hope, what they began that night.”

  “The last drawing?”

  Sasha looked up at Doyle. “A nightmare.”

  Riley stepped out, lifted the sketch pad, brought it back. “Looks like things are going to get hot.”

  With a weak laugh, Sasha looked at the sketch. They stood between house and cliff, armed in the dark night while Nerezza rode the firestorm. Flames rained from the sky, singeing the ground, the trees, opening fissures in the earth that yawned wide, vomited up more fire. It burned even her winged creatures that dived and slashed at the six.

  On her beast, Nerezza hurled down spears of flame while her hair, black-streaked white, flew behind her. Her beauty calcified, like a sharp gem crusted with mold.

  And the mold was madness.

  “I can’t say when she’ll come like this, but she’ll come. She wants the stars, craves them, but she’d d
estroy us even if that destroys her chances of getting them. When she comes, as she comes here, it’s only to burn us to ash.”

  “I can work with that.”

  All eyes shifted to Bran, who stroked a hand over Sasha’s hair. “I can certainly begin to. The firestorm here is more powerful, more vicious than what we dealt with in Capri. But foretold is forewarned, after all. And we’ll be forearmed.”

  “I appreciate your optimism,” Riley said. “But, you know, even witches burn. Historically anyway.”

  “That simple fact means we like to conjure protections and shields and spells against just that. And as this will be no ordinary fire, it’ll take an extraordinary spell. I’ll work on it.”

  He leaned down, kissed the top of Sasha’s head. “For now, I believe it’s Sawyer’s round in the kitchen.”

  “After training,” Doyle said flatly. “Train, then eat. With the exception,” he said before Riley could speak. “As Riley needs fuel. Grab it quick,” he told her, and looked down at the sketch again. “We’ve a lot of work to do.”

  • • •

  To make it quick, Riley blended an energy smoothie—added in a couple of raw eggs. Not the tastiest, and certainly not what her appetite yearned for—but it would do the job.

  He’d already started them on warm-ups—stretching, light jogging—by the time she stepped outside. Standing back for a moment gave her a different perspective of her team. Sasha looked a little washed out—small wonder—but game. Annika—well, Annika was Annika, laughing her way through squats and lunges. Bran and Sawyer? They’d both been in excellent shape when this whole deal started, but now? Ripped City. You had to admire it.

  Doyle? The man had started out the sheriff of Ripped City. Though he looked a little rough around the edges to her eye, as promised, he began to work everybody’s ass off.

  She joined in, determined to work her own ass off. Fiery fissures in the ground, flames raining from the sky, and a very pissed-off god with psychotic tendencies served as one hell of a motivation.

  Calisthenics followed by a five-mile run, and Riley broke a good sweat. She didn’t complain when Doyle ordered them up to the gym. Hell, she was just getting started.

  He split them into groups. Free weights, bench presses, pull-ups, switched them off, switched them again.

  “How much can you handle?” he asked Riley when she lay on the bench.

  “One thirty-five.”

  He gave her a dubious stare. “That’s more than you weigh.”

  “I can press one-three-five. Five sets of ten.”

  He set the weights. “Show me.”

  She set, regulated her breathing, began. By the last set her muscles burned like acid, and the sweat ran like a river. But she did her fifty.

  “Not bad. Towel off, hydrate. You’re up, Blondie.”

  “You’re actually going to make me do that?”

  “You’re stronger than you think.” But he adjusted the weights, dropped them down to ninety pounds. “Try that. Three reps to start. Rest, three more.”

  Guzzling water, Riley watched Sasha struggle through—grit and guts, and yeah, more muscle than she’d had a couple months before.

  “Three more.”

  “You’re a bastard, Doyle.”

  “You’ve got three more.”

  She had three more, then let her arms fall. “Can it be over?”

  “Good work. Stretch it out. Hit the showers.”

  “Thank God.” Sasha crawled off the bench, sat on the floor.

  Riley took her a bottle of water, sat beside her. “You couldn’t have done one rep of ninety the day you walked out on the terrace of the hotel in Corfu.”

  “I never dreamed of doing one rep of ninety. Ever. I like yoga, maybe some Pilates.”

  “Both excellent, in most circumstances. We’re going to need to get in some tumbling practice with Annika later.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me wallow in this pool of my own sweat for a minute.”

  Riley poked a finger at Sasha’s biceps. “You got guns.”

  Lips pursed, Sasha flexed. “I kind of do.”

  “Not kind of do. Girl, you are cut.”

  Sasha tipped her head to Riley’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’d trade all of it for a two-hour nap followed by a gallon of coffee. But thanks.”

  “Come up.” Rising, Riley held out a hand. “We’ll hit those showers, get that coffee. I could chew the beans by this time.”

  • • •

  By the time she’d showered off the night, the workout, dug out a sweatshirt, cargoes, pulled on her beloved Chucks, the smoothie was a distant memory. She needed food, and plenty of it. Coffee—enough to swim in.

  She smelled the coffee as she jogged down the back stairs, followed that siren’s song. Sawyer stirred something in an enormous bowl while Annika stirred something else in a smaller one.

  Riley scowled at Sawyer. “I figured you’d have it fried up by now.”

  “Needed to shower.”

  “Sex in the shower is so nice,” Annika said with an easy smile. “But it takes a little time.”

  “Great. A woman could starve to death while you’re doing the slippery slide.”

  She dumped coffee in a mug.

  “Pancakes, bacon, sausage, yogurt-and-berry parfait.” Sawyer turned to the stove. “Set the table and you’ll eat faster.”

  Riley grabbed plates, knowing if Annika could manage it, she’d add plenty of flourishes to the traditional setting. For herself, she was a lot more interested in bacon.

  The minute Sawyer transferred some from pan to platter, she grabbed a slice, tossed it from hand to hand to cool it. The first bite burned her tongue, but it was worth it.

  And when he flipped a pancake off the griddle, she rolled it like a burrito, chomped in. By the time the others wandered in, her pre-breakfast had cut her hunger down to tolerable.

  Bran studied the table and the three bud vases Annika had added to it. She’d put a rose in each one—white, red, yellow, draped the vases in white napkins, tied at the “waist” with ribbon, added a wooden skewer for a sword.

  “The three goddesses.”

  “I thought they should join us.”

  Bran gave Annika a grin. “The food looks fit for gods.”

  As she considered it more than fit for her, Riley sat, loaded her plate. “I’m going to dig back into the tower library. Anything specific in there on the stars, or the island?”

  “The fact is I haven’t read a fraction of what’s in there, but I do know of a few. Various languages,” Bran added. “I’ll show you after breakfast.”

  “Weapons training at noon.” Sawyer sampled his pancakes, approved.

  “I’ll be ready for the break. I’m on lunch today. It’s going to be sandwiches.”

  “Hand-to-hand follows that.” Doyle studied the pretty parfait suspiciously.

  “It’s good,” Annika told him, scooping out a spoonful. “Sawyer says healthy, too. I made it.”

  His soft spot for her left him no choice but to try it. “It’s good,” he told her, though personally he could live his immortal life without ever consuming yogurt.

  “I’ll be working on defense and offense—magickally—in the tower, so I’m close if needed.”

  “I’m on maps,” Sawyer said, “so me and my handy compass can get us wherever we need to go.”

  “Annika and I can help Bran, or Riley, or Sawyer—depending on what’s needed.” Sasha glanced over at her chart. “Annika’s in charge of laundry.”

  “I like laundry. It’s fun to fold, and it smells good.”

  “It’s all yours,” Sasha told her. “Since the place is so big, I assigned everyone to different sections for basic cleaning.” She lifted her eyebrows at Doyle. “Team morale stays higher if we live and work in a clean house.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Out loud,” she qualified. “And you’re on dinner tonight.”

  He grunted, glanced at Bran. “Where do I get pizza around he
re these days?”

  “Well now, I’m thinking you’d likely have to go clear into Ennis for it, unless you’re meaning frozen. It may be there’s closer, but none I know of offhand.”

  “Ennis then. I’m past ready to get the bike on the road anyway.”

  “It’s a village? With shopping?” Annika all but bounced in her chair. “I can go with you. I like the bike.”

  Riley didn’t trouble to hide her smirk, and inspired Doyle for his out. “I’ll take you out for a ride after breakfast.” He liked her company, and enjoyed her pure delight in riding pillion. “But if I’m heading all the way to Ennis, Sawyer should go along. We need ammo.”

  “Then you need Riley.” Reaching for the coffeepot, Sawyer missed the looks of annoyance from both Doyle and Riley. “She’s the one with the connections. I did inventory there,” he continued. “Got a list for you. I don’t know if your connections go this far, but I was thinking. The way this place is set up, we’ve got some excellent vantage points from inside. If we had a couple of long guns with scopes.”

  “The towers.” Thinking it through, Riley nodded. A good long-range weapon, a good shooter—yeah, it could be an advantage. “You any good with a rifle, Dead-Eye?”

  “I hold my own. You?”

  “Yeah, I hold my own, too. I’ll make some calls.”

  After breakfast, she flipped through a couple of the books Bran pulled for her. She decided she’d work through the ones written in English first, then tackle the one handwritten in Latin—could be fun. And finish with the two in Gaelic, as she wasn’t as fluent there.

  She set up her laptop, her tablets, pulled out her phone. Started making calls.

  Forty minutes in, Doyle surprised her. She’d figured he’d find almost anything to do but join her in the library venture. With the phone at her ear, she pulled one of the books out of her stack, shoved it across the table, circled her finger.

  “No problem at all,” she said into the phone. “But I’d want to look them over, test them out.” She rose, wandered to the window and back as she listened. “Fair enough. I’ve got a list of ammo. If you can supply us there, it may be we can work out what you’d call a volume discount.” Now she laughed. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, Liam. Sure, hang on.”

  She dug Sawyer’s list out of her pocket, began to read it off. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, picked up her water, drank. “Like I said, we’re a kind of club, having what you could call a tournament of sorts. Reach out to Sean. He’ll vouch for me. No question about that, but he’s no more full of shit than the next guy. Like I said, I worked with him in Meath on the Black Friary, and again about three years ago on Caherconnell in the Burren. Check with him and let me know. Yeah, this number. Later.”

  She hung up, blew out a breath. “We’re going to score there, but it’s going to take another hour or two to confirm.”

  “Another gunrunner connection?”

  “Not exactly, but this Liam’s got connections to certain people who’d supply certain products.”

  “But he doesn’t know you.”

  “Not directly. He’s the cousin of the ex-girlfriend of an associate of mine. My associate, the ex, and the cousin remain friendly, seeing as my associate introduced the ex to her husband, with whom she has two kids, and the cousin is godfather to the oldest. My associate and the cousin hunt together once or twice a year. The cousin also runs a kind of side business, cash only, out of his barn,