Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy, #1)(60)

And she thought how pleased her mother would be that she was enjoying her . . . holiday. And making friends.

Once sent, Sasha grabbed the exercise bands Riley lent her, used them as instructed for biceps curls, triceps kickbacks, lateral raises, shoulder raises.

She thought there was more, but couldn’t quite remember—and since her arms felt like rubber, called it a session.

She grabbed her bag, her hat, and took the terrace doors out.

The sun, brutally bright, had her lifting a hand to shield her eyes as she dug with the other for her sunglasses. When she reached the base of the steps, pushed them on, the world went night-dark.

“There,” she said, and lifted an arm to point out toward the sea. “Her black dogs come, malformed curs riding the night on bat wings. Formed for death, no more, no less. Steel to slice, to tear. But fire, red as bloodshed, hot as the hell her hounds spring from, must burn and burn and burn. Red is the star, fire is its heart. Fire will shield it. The time of transformation is here. The bright, white moon, and the bright, white magick with it, with the chosen six and all they are. Against this she strikes. Against her we to the life or to the death. For this we were born, for this we were joined. And worlds wait, for their fates are in our hands.”

When she swayed, Bran slid an arm around her waist to support her.

“God, my head.”

“You will fight it still,” he said softly and eased her down at the table to sit.

“It’s automatic. Habit.”

“Some juice.” Annika crouched beside her. “Do you want water instead?”

“No, thanks. This is good.” Shaky yet, Sasha sipped at the juice.

“Do you remember what you said?”

“Don’t poke at her!” Riley snapped at Doyle.

“I’m asking a question.”

“It’s all right. Yes, I think so. I could see. It went from day to night. Like a switch flipped. And I could see them flying in from over the water. Like the bats in the cave, but bigger.”

“You called them dogs,” Bran prompted her.

“Yes, sort of. Like . . . gargoyles. Twisted bodies, oversized heads. Claws, fangs. Attacking.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. It’s not clear. Night. Tonight? Tomorrow night? Next week? I don’t know. She’s with them, and when they bleed, or we do, it feeds her. Like a vampire. Blood and death feed her.”

“You spoke of fire. As a weapon and a shield for the star.”

“I wish I knew what it meant.”

“Bright magick.” Bran stroked a hand down her hair. “White magick. We fight her with it as she fights against it. But something more, or something more through that. I can work on it.”

“And meanwhile?” Doyle asked. “This time of transformation? What’s that?”

“I’m not looking for Optimus Prime,” Sawyer put in. “But we’re transforming, in a way. From each of us going on our own to working as a unit. We’re not all the way there, maybe, so we’ve still got some work to do on it.”

“Maybe so, but while that transforming’s going on, we’ve got a fight coming. Sooner or later,” Doyle said. “It seems to me we’re leaning too heavy on witchcraft.”

“When I’m going up against a homicidal god, I like having a witch in my corner,” Riley tossed back.

“Not saying different. But since we’re going up against a homicidal god, we ought to have some battle plans.”

Riley nodded. “I’ll give you that. We should eat, get going, and we can start working on those plans on the boat. Cold breakfast’s still breakfast,” she said as she sat.

Bran waved a hand over the platter of bacon and eggs. “Now it’s hot.”

“See that?” Happily Riley piled food on her plate. “Having a witch around’s handy.” She rubbed Sasha’s thigh under the table with one hand, scooped eggs onto Sasha’s plate with the other. “Even if you’re a little queasy, it’ll settle you—and it’s going to be a long workday.”

She’d carry her weight, Sasha promised herself. And despite being a little queasy, picked up her fork and ate.

* * *

Sasha worked on her nerves on the way to the first cave. She’d done all right on the dives the day before—even enjoyed part of them. But the morning vision left her shaken and uneasy. She hoped the cool, damp wind, the flashing sun off the water would clear out those nerves. When they didn’t, she dug out her sketchbook.

“We’ll be fine.” When she glanced over at Bran, he tapped a finger on her temple. “You don’t have to be a seer to see. You’d do better to relax. We’re here for a purpose, and it isn’t to lose when we’ve barely begun.”

“I could smell the blood,” she said quietly. “Hear the shrieks those things made as they poured out of the sky. And feel the madness in them. Her creations, Bran, formed of nothing but hate and madness. Their only purpose is death.”

“Ours is life. I believe life, if it’s willing to fight for it, wins. Trust life. Trust yourself and what’s in you.”

“I’m working on it.”

When they geared up, Sawyer hooked on a camera.

“I picked this up in the village yesterday. Depth rated to two hundred feet. I figured we should start documenting.”