Island of Glass, Page 25

  “Right.” He walked with her, in silence, into the tower.

  Riley rolled her eyes as conversation stopped, everyone turned. “Excuse the delay. We were just . . . Holy shit.”

  The painting glowed. Riley would have sworn it pulsed almost as visibly as the miracle of the star still in her hand.

  “That’s . . . breathtaking. Sasha.”

  “I don’t know how much I can actually take credit for.”

  “All,” Bran told her. “All.”

  She touched a hand to his cheek. “I was explaining, it came on around midnight. I’d prepped a canvas, just in case, and that was a damn good thing, as the need to paint this just blew through me. I didn’t just see it. I was in it. I could smell it, touch it, hear it. Every other vision or image I’ve had of it was pale, indistinct compared to this.”

  “I just have to say it, okay?” Sawyer gestured elaborately toward the canvas. “Behold, the Island of Glass.”

  On a gleaming indigo sea beneath a star-struck sky that held a wild white moon, it floated. Floated as if free to go and come on the wind. Its beaches shimmered white, diamond dust against the frothed edge of the sea. Its hills rolled, shadowed green with blurred color from wildflowers blooming.

  On one such hill stood a palace, shining silver. On another a circle of stones, gray as the fog they swam in.

  Small details came to life as Riley studied the painting. A gentle curve of a stream, the long spill of a waterfall, gardens lit as if with faeries in flight, a fountain where a winged dragon spewed water rather than fire.

  “We have got to get there. And when we do, they have got to let me have a couple of samples. Some pebbles, some sand, a little dirt. There must be fossils. I mean—”

  “Take it easy, Indiana.” Sawyer gave her a poke. “Star first.”

  “Yeah, star first, but later.” Riley looked down at the star, up at the painting. “It makes you realize why, doesn’t it? They need to go back, need to be protected. It all does. The world gets screwed up regularly, routinely. But this one. It holds together. Maybe because it does, the rest of us don’t go off the edge.”

  She held the star out to Bran. “Your turn, magick man.”

  As he had with the other two, Bran enclosed the star in glass. They formed the circle, performed the ritual as guardians, to send the star safely into the painting. Away from Nerezza’s grasp.

  “Now, gee, all we have to do is find the island, get there—with the stars—destroy the evil psycho god, and . . .” Riley shrugged. “Then the first round’s on me.”

  “Hold you to it,” Sawyer said.

  Riley frowned toward the window when thunder cracked. “You’re sure this is just a hissy fit?”

  “I’m sure,” Sasha told her.

  “Then I’m going to work on the next step. I’m damn well going to find the island. It’s what the hell I do.”

  • • •

  The ugly weather continued, so holing up in the library surrounded by books near a snapping fire wasn’t a hardship. Riley understood the patience required to meticulously sift through layers, but frustration tightened her shoulder blades.

  They’d fought, they’d bled, they’d searched, they’d found. And none of it mattered if the island remained out of reach.

  She sat back, rolled her shoulders to release the tension, scanned the walls of books. So much here, she thought, so many avenues. Any one of them might hold the answer, or at least a signpost toward the answer. But how long would it take to find that answer? How much time did they have?

  She glanced toward the window as thunder cracked. And how long could six people camp inside one house—even a pretty spectacular house—without wanting to punch each other?

  They’d need action, movement, progress.

  She rose, wandered the shelves, reached for a book at random.

  Doyle walked in.

  “I got nothing,” she told him. “Nothing I didn’t have two hours ago. Two days ago, for that matter. If you want to dive in, be my guest. Maybe we should start a book club—and everyone takes a book each day.”

  She paused, frowned. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

  “We’ve got the stars.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t have the island.” Riley gestured toward the window with the book she held. “It’s a pretty sure bet Nerezza can keep that temper tantrum going, and fighting her now, without an exit plan, doesn’t make sense.”

  “We fight when we need to fight.”

  “No argument, but tactically it’s going to be to our advantage to find the route to the island before we take her on. What?” Riley rubbed a hand over her face as if brushing at a smudge. “What are you staring at?”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “You’re not the first.” But she understood, and set the book down. “Do you really want to get into this? Doesn’t seem like your style.”

  “We have the stars,” he repeated. “But we’re not finished. We have to work together, fight together, plan together.”

  “Yeah, that’s no problem.” She arched her eyebrows. “If it’s one for you, that’s your damage. My feelings are my feelings. The fact that they’re out there doesn’t change anything. And like Bogart said, more or less, the issues of two people don’t much mean dick in the big picture.”

  “That’s wildly paraphrased.”

  “And true.” She let out a sigh, sat on the arm of a sofa. “Not everybody gets what or who they want. That’s just reality. We may be dealing with gods and magick islands and stars, but every one of us understands reality. Do I look like somebody who’s going to screw up something this important—or worse, pine away—because some guy from the seventeenth century doesn’t love her back?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because I’m not. Get this, okay? I own what I am, who I am, what I feel. You do the same, and we’re square. Clear enough?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got you.”

  As he turned to leave, she got to her feet—slowly. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What did you say?”

  “I said it’s clear.”

  “No.” Her heart began to thud as she walked toward him. “You said, ‘I’ve got you.’”

  “Same thing.”

  “No.” She took a risk, lowered her defenses long enough to look at him, really look. And saw. “You asshole!” Her short right jab landed hard, center chest. “You complete dick. I’ve got you, ma faol. You said that to me when I was half conscious, bleeding, broken, and you carried me out of the forest. I’ve got you—my wolf. Your wolf?” She punched him again, added a shove.

  “You were hurt,” he began.

  “That’s right, that’s right.” Now she jabbed a finger in his chest, drilled. “And when Bran worked on me, you held me.” God, it flooded back now, over and through the memory of pain. “You told me to be strong, to come back. Come back to you. In Irish. Teacht ar ais chugam, ma faol. You coward.”

  The word dripped with derision.

  “You said those things to me when you thought I was out of it, but you can’t say them to my face?”

  He caught her fist in his hand before it connected. “Hit me again, and we’ll see who’s the coward.”

  “Emotional midget work better for you? You’re in love with me, and you can’t say it when I’m conscious because you’re afraid. That’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.”

  Temper hot and visible, he hauled her to her toes. “Watch yourself.”

  “Screw that. I say what I feel, remember? You’re the one who lies about it.”

  “I haven’t lied to you.”

  “Let’s just test that. Are you in love with me?”

  He dropped her to her feet. “I’m not getting into this any deeper.”

  “Yes or no. That’s simple. If you’ve got the balls.”

  “It doesn’t matter what—”

  “Yes or goddamn no. Pick one.”

  “Yes!” And the word bellowed like the thunder. “But it doesn’t—”


  “Yes works,” she cut him off. “So good.” She opened the door for him, gestured to show him he was free to leave.

  “It can’t go anywhere.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, it already has. And if you’re going to fall back on the immortal’s lament, it doesn’t fly. Yeah, I’m going to die. Could be today.” She flicked a hand toward the storm outside the window. “Could be fifty years from now. Could be next week or I could live to be a hundred and four. Five of the six of us have that to face, and it sure as hell isn’t stopping Bran and Sasha or Sawyer and Annika from grabbing what they have for as long as they can have it.”

  “None of them have stood by and watched the other die.”

  “But they will.”

  “It’s not the same, not remotely.”

  “Grief is grief, but you hold on to that if you need it. I’m not asking or expecting you to hang around should I hit a hundred and four. I just wanted the truth. However long it works, it works.”

  “Marriage is—”

  “Who said anything about marriage?” she demanded. “I don’t need pledges and rings and white dresses. I just need the respect of the truth. Now I’ve got it, and we’re back on even ground. That’s enough.”

  She sighed, and this time laid her palm on his heart. “That’s enough, Doyle, for me. Give me the truth, and stick with me as long as it works, and that’s enough.”

  He closed his hand over hers. “I swore I’d never love again.”

  “That was before you tangled with me.”

  “It was. There’s no other like you. Your eyes lured me, your mind fascinates me, your body . . . didn’t hurt a thing.”

  She let out a half laugh. “You forgot my sparkling personality.”

  “It doesn’t sparkle. I’d rather the edge than the shine.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  She moved into him, rose to her toes, felt his hands grip her hips. And heard someone running down the swirl of stairs.

  “You need to come!” Annika clasped her hands together. “To the top. I have to get Sawyer. You need to come.”

  With no questions asked, they raced up.

  Bran stood beside Sasha, a hand on her shoulder as she stared through the wet glass of the terrace doors.

  “A vision?” Riley asked.

  Even as Bran shook his head, Sasha spoke. “Not exactly. It’s . . . Something’s out there, but I can’t see it or hear it. I just know it.”

  “Nerezza?” Riley walked up to stand at Sasha’s other side.

  “She’s close—too close, but that’s not it. In the sea, through the storm or beyond it. I can’t tell.”

  “There’s more.” Bran turned to where the three paintings stood on the mantel.

  They pulsed with light. A deep strong red through the painting of the path through Bran’s forest, a pure rich blue through the painting of the house, a clear brilliant white from the Island of Glass.

  “It’s— I think it’s their hearts,” Sasha said. “The heart of the stars beating. And there’s something out there we can’t see. In the heart of the storm.”

  “Wait.” Riley pressed her fingers to her temples as Sawyer and Annika hurried in. “In my notes . . . Let me think. I’ve got references. The heart of the stars, heart of the sea, heart of the storm.”

  “I’ll get your notes.”

  “Just—” She held up a hand to hold Doyle off. “References to the stars’ resurrection—the fall and the rise. Silent breath, blah, blah, beating hearts. They pulsed when we found them, so I put it down to that, but there’s references to the heart calling to heart, leading them home. And . . . ah . . . when the stars wake full, the storm breaks, land and sea. Ride the storm to its heart, and there the heart of the sea, the heart of the worlds waits.”

  “The Island of Glass?” Sawyer moved closer to a window, peered out.

  “It’s a theory. And Sasha talked about the storm, riding it. We sure as hell have the storm.”

  “Ride it to where?” Sawyer wondered. “Visibility is complete crap out there.”

  “We wouldn’t be the first to follow a star. And we have three.” Bran scanned the faces of his clan. “Do we trust in the fates, in the stars?”

  “If I’m going to ride into that, it would be with the five of you, and with them.” Doyle looked at the paintings. “The fates are bastards, but I’m in.”

  “I would be in, too.” Annika reached for Sawyer’s hand. “If it’s with all of you.”

  “I say go for it,” Sawyer agreed.

  “Yes.” Sasha turned from the window. “Yes. Riley?”

  “Let’s make us a plan, and do it.”

  • • •

  In the deep twilight, while the storm screamed, Sasha and Annika walked outside toward the seawall. They might have been patrolling, and the black slickers turned them to little more than moving shadows.

  Sasha took Annika’s hand, squeezed hard. Then, wrenching her bow off her back, shot a bolt high. It exploded with light, illuminating the swarm streaming silently across the blackened sky.

  From both towers gunfire erupted. On the parapet Bran hurled lightning.

  Agile and quick, Annika ran to place the vials of light where Bran instructed, leaping to avoid keen wings and vicious beaks. Doyle charged to clear her path, sword lashing.

  And the ground began to quake.

  From her position on the battlement, Riley reloaded, fired, fired. She hissed when black lightning struck a tree at the verge of the forest, exploded it. As shrapnel rained, the ground burst open to swallow it.

  Damned if Nerezza would destroy this place. Damned if she would. Eyes fierce, she took out a swath of flying black death.

  She caught the blur of movement to her left, swung around. What had been Malmon grinned at her even as she shot him.

  Thick green liquid trickled down his chest.

  “She made me stronger. She gave you to me.”

  Her next shot missed as he seemed to vanish from one spot, appear in another. Before she could shoot again, he closed a hand around her throat, choked off her voice, her air.

  “She is Nerezza. She is my queen. She is all. Give me the stars for my queen, and you may live.”

  Riley managed to choke out, “Fuck you,” when he eased his grip.

  Now he squeezed harder, lifting her off the ground so her heels drummed the air. “She gave me my pick. I chose you.” Those reptilian eyes barely blinked when she plunged her knife into his belly. “I can take you back, feed off you. I have hunger.”

  His tongue snaked out, slid horribly over her cheek.

  “The others die here, and the immortal—”

  “Hey, asshole.”

  Malmon’s head swiveled, front to back. As he blinked, as his clawed fingers loosened fractionally, Riley sucked in air.

  Sawyer shot him between the eyes.

  “That’s for Morocco.” Dead center of the forehead.

  Choking, Riley lifted her gun again, saw there was no need.

  “And for Riley.” As Malmon stumbled back, eyes clouding, claws clicking, Sawyer took aim once again. “And that, you son of a bitch, is for Annika.” The last shot simply blew away the face of what the man had become.

  Sawyer gripped Riley’s shoulder as she wheezed air in and out. His face was stone, his gray eyes hard as flint. But his voice soothed. “Works for zombies, so you had to figure.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Malmon didn’t go to ash, but seemed to dissolve, scale, blood, bone, to simply melt into a stain on stone.

  Riley swallowed, winced. “I gotta say ick.”

  “I’ll go ditto. Okay?”

  On a long breath, Riley nodded. Then looked up. “Shit, shit, here come the big guns.”

  Nerezza rode the sky on her three-headed beast. Her hair, streaked with gray, flew in the roaring wind. Armed with sword and shield, she sliced the air with black lightning that turned to a rain of fire. Bran hurled his own as Riley and Sawyer ran down to the others.

  The
ground sizzled, gardens burst into flame. Beneath them, the quaking ground cracked, opening with fissures where fire spewed.

  “Come on, Bran, come on,” Riley urged as she dodged tongues of flame, fired her sidearm. “We’ve got to get her away from here. Sash!” She leaped, grabbing Sasha’s arm and propelling them both aside as the ground split.

  Above their heads, like a shield, the coat of arms burst. Blue, white, red in flames to mimic the stars. Fiery rain struck against it, sputtered out.

  “That’s our cue. We gotta go.”

  Sasha shook her head at Sawyer, watching as Bran stood atop the parapet, drawing Nerezza’s wrath. “Bran.”

  “He’ll make it. Trust him.” Riley gripped Sasha’s hand, nodded to Sawyer. “Go.”

  Riley kept her hand gripped on Sasha’s during the shift. She knew love now, and knew the fear that came with it. When they dropped into the boat, Doyle moved fast to take the wheel. All around them the wind and rain lashed. The roar of the storm masked the roar of the motor as he aimed from shore to sea.

  “He’ll make it,” Riley repeated. “He’s just keeping her off us until we can—”

  Bran landed lightly on the boat, his arms filled with glass-shielded stars. Sasha threw her arms around him.

  “Are you hurt? Bran.”

  “Just a bit singed here and there. Take the stars, fáidh. If they’re to guide us, it would be in your hands.”

  The boat reared up on a wicked wave, crashed down. Wind and water whipped and churned.

  “I can swim if I need to,” Annika shouted. “But—”

  “Hold on.” Sawyer held on to her as the next wave threatened to swamp the boat.

  Riley fought her way to the wheelhouse where Doyle stood, feet planted, muscles straining. “Get back with the others, and hold the hell on.”

  “I’m with you.”

  He glanced at her, saw the raw marks on her throat. “What the hell—”

  “Later.” She braced herself as the sea tossed them like rags.

  “She’s coming!” Sasha shouted. “And the stars . . .”

  Not pulsing now, Riley realized as the next wave drenched her. Beating faster and faster, and beams of light shot from them like beacons.

  To show them the way. And showing them would show Nerezza exactly where they were.

  “Ten degrees starboard,” she told Doyle.

  “Christ. Do you see what’s out there?”

  A waterspout, swirling up, black against black. And the rain again turned to flames. Arrows of it sparked in the air, hissed like snakes in the sea.

  As Bran lifted his arms to form the shield, Nerezza dived out of the sky.