“Oh.” Riley pointed at him. “Serious bonus points for the paraphrase of Buffy.”
“I like to rack them up. He said I was it, and I’d know I was on the right path when I met five other seekers.” He plucked a couple of grapes from the bowl. “Looks like three out of five so far. Dedulya—and it shouldn’t sound any more weird than the rest of this—he’s sort of psychic.”
“And was that passed down, too?” Bran wondered.
“Not to me.”
“Why here?” Sasha asked. “Why Corfu?”
Since they were there, Sawyer dumped more chips on his plate. “I’ve been at this awhile, hitting dead ends, but gathering some information. Separating the obvious bullshit from what might not be is the key. I was on Sardinia—hell of a place—and traced a lead. This story about Poseidon—not Neptune, so Greek not Roman, and I’m in Italy. Anyway, Poseidon and Korkyra.”
Pleased, Riley, took a handful of grapes for herself. “The beautiful nymph he loved, and who he brought to an unnamed island. He named it Korkyra, for her.”
“Right, and that became Kerkyra.
Corfu. The story talked about a Fire Star, gone cold, hidden between land and sea, and waiting to flame again. So, I followed the lead.”
“Same lead I picked up.” Riley popped a grape in her mouth.
“You?” Sawyer gestured to Bran.
“Mine spoke of the land of Phaiax.”
“Poseidon’s and Korkyra’s son, so the island inhabitants were once Phaeacians, and Corfu the island thereof.”
“You know a lot about it,” Sawyer commented.
“She has a doctorate,” Bran told him.
“No shit? Well, Dr. Gwin, did I pass the audition?”
“You’ve got my vote.”
“Sasha dreamed of you, with us,” Bran pointed out. “So there’s no question, really.”
“I have one. I just wonder,” Sasha began, “what you do? How you support yourself while you search?”
“I’m a traveler, and I fix things.” He held up his hands, wiggled his fingers. “When you’re handy, you can always pick up work.”
“And one more? You spoke of your grandfather in the present tense, so he recovered.”
Now Sawyer grinned. “Yeah. He’s tough.”
“I’m glad.”
“What about you guys?”
“Seer, magician, digger,” Riley said, pointing to each in turn.
Sawyer studied Sasha. “I figured that, with the dreams and the drawing.”
“I’m an artist.” If she could have, Sasha would have shrugged the term seer off like an itchy sweater. “The other is just what it is.”
“Okay. So what’s a digger?”
“Archaeologist, mythology a specialty.”
“Huh. Indiana Jones. Fits. And magician.” The grin came back. “Like: Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat?”