Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy, #1)(13)

“You’re right there. And I trust you’re not telling us everything about Bran Killian.”

“I’m not, Dr. Gwin.”

On a laugh, she toasted him with her coffee. “Googled me?”

“I did.”

“Only fair. I did the same with you. That club of yours—or clubs, because you’ve got another in Dublin—looks pretty kick-ass.”

“I like to think so.”

“I’ll have to check it out, next time I’m in New York or Dublin. But right now, we should probably get a table. Sasha strikes me as the timely type. Plus I’m starving.”

Rising, they strolled toward the open-air buffet with its billowing white curtains. “You got any ideas on who was at her window last night?”

“A few.”

“Funny, I have a few, too.”

After telling the waiter they’d be three, they got a table, waited for the coffee refill. Riley took a notebook out of one of the pockets of her cargo pants, tore off a sheet.

“You write down your first choice, I’ll do the same. And we’ll compare.”

“I don’t have a pen on me.”

“You can use my pencil in a minute.” Riley scrawled a name on her sheet, tossed him the pencil.

“Is this to make certain I’m not winding you up?”

“Let’s say it’ll show if either of us is full of shit.” She held her sheet out to him between two fingers, and he did the same.

“Nerezza,” he murmured.

Riley set his sheet down beside her, nodding to Sasha as she walked to the table. “Nerezza.”

“She’s the mother of darkness.” Sasha stared at the billowing white curtains. “She is made of lies.”

Bran rose, took her arm, felt her shudder. “Sasha.”

“Yes.”

“Sit down now. Will you have coffee?”

She slid into the chair, nodded. “Yes.” She picked up the two sheets of paper. “I know this name. I’ve heard it in my head. This was who came to the window. She was outside the window, a third-floor window. It wasn’t a dream, not really a dream. How can that be? Who is she?”

“It’s more what,” Bran said, shifted his gaze back to Riley. “Have you ever taken on a god before?”

“Can’t say I have. This should be fun.” She stood up. “I’m hitting the buffet.”

Sasha watched Riley stride off to one of the loaded buffet tables, lift the lid on a chafing dish, and begin to pile on food.

“If I had a million dollars, I’d give every cent of it to have her confidence.”

“You’ve got your own,” Bran told her. “You’ve just tucked it away here and there. We’d best get some breakfast before Riley eats all there is.”

* * *

Riley’s jeep, a rough, rusted-out red, was battered and battle-scarred and roofless. After a long study, Bran climbed in the back.

“Where did you get this thing?”

“I have contacts, worked a deal. Figured I’d need transportation.” She got behind the wheel, tossed a folded map at Sasha. “Shotgun navigates.”

“All right, but it’s helpful to know where we’re going.”

“North along the coast to start. It’s a big island, but my research leads me toward a coastal location.”

“Why?” Even as the question formed, Riley hit the gas.

It might have looked like it hovered one step out of the nearest junkyard, but the jeep had enough kick to leap forward like a panther.

“Why?” Riley shouted over the engine’s roar as she punched down a narrow road, the shops a blur at the edges, toward the coast. “What makes an island an island?”

Sasha wondered if a crash hurt less if the eyes stayed closed. “It’s surrounded by water.”

“So why choose an island to hide treasure if you’re just going inland? The coast—bays, inlets, caves. Most translations of the legend talk about the Fire Star waiting to light again, that it sleeps in the cradle of land beneath the sea. Some mythologists figure Atlantis.”

“That follows, as Atlantis is a myth.”

Riley flicked Sasha a look. “You’re here looking for a fallen star created by a moon goddess, but dissing Atlantis?”

“And hoping I don’t die in a car crash.”

“That’s what the roll bar’s for. I have a colleague who’s been searching for Atlantis for nearly twenty years now. I’m leaving that one to him.”

The road was like a speedway where every driver seemed determined to cross his personal finish line before the rest. Riley drove like a maniacal demon, barely slowing when they zipped through a village.

“Kontokali, if you’re checking the map,” she said. “It’s got one of the oldest churches on the island, and a castle ruin I’ll check out if I have spare time. How you doing back there, Irish?”

He’d angled sideways, propped his feet up on the second seat. “You drive like a hellhound, Riley.”

“I always get where I’m going. Seeing as there are three of us now, I had a thought. We can each keep shelling out separately for a hotel room, or we could pool it, rent a place. It’d be cheaper all around.”