“She comes to him.” Again, Sasha turned a page. “He weeps bloody tears. She could destroy him, such is her rage. And there’s a madness in her, as in him. But she’s still canny, and he’ll be useful. She makes him beg, grovel, supplicate himself, but she gives him back his sight, and she takes him to her palace inside the mountain, to a chamber already prepared. It didn’t matter if he’d failed or succeeded, this was always his fate. The mother of lies promised riches, power, eternal youth. Instead he’ll live as she wills, as long as she wills, and have only what she wills.”
She turned the page. There birds pecked at flaps of blackened skin while mirrored walls of stone showed the horror Malmon had become. He sat hunched in a corner, wearing a mad grin.
“They say there are some things you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Malmon’s definitely high on the enemy list.” Riley blew out a long breath. “But no, I wouldn’t wish this, even on him.”
“She denied him a clean death, and that’s a cruelty. But—” On a pause, Doyle studied the final sketch, coolly. “This is his true self, isn’t it? This is what he always was inside. She just brought it out, made it visible.”
“Yes. Yes,” Sasha repeated before anyone else could speak. “She recognized the monster inside him. Now he’ll become.” She picked up her glass, took a long drink. “And she’ll rule him. He’s mad—she’s driven him into madness and delusion, but he’s stronger, faster, and more vicious. He’s more dangerous now than before.”
She reached for Bran’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You didn’t have your quiet day of painting.”
“No. But the day’s not over. His life is. All the wealth, the privilege, he traded it for her lies. No, not on even the worst of enemies, but he gave himself to her because the monster already inside him craved more.”
She took another drink, took another breath. “How do we kill him?”
“Demon disposal.” Riley took one last look at the sketch. “Beheading, mythologically speaking again, is tried and true. Otherwise, for some it’s fire, others water or salt or the right incantation. I can look into it. I’m pretty sure he’s on his way to the merphisto, but I’ll find out what I can.”
“I’ll do the same.” Concern in his eyes, Bran kissed the top of Sasha’s head. “You should paint, Sasha. Something bright and beautiful.”
“I will. Annika, would you pose for me?”
“Pose?”
“After this?” She closed the sketchbook. “Bran’s exactly right. I’d like to paint something beautiful, something full of light and joy.”
“You’d paint me? Oh!” Annika crossed her hands over her heart. “I have such a happy.”
“Ah.” With a shake of his head, rubbing the back of his neck, Sawyer said, “That’s actually slang for something else, that being a girl, you can’t have.”
“I can’t have happy?”
“A happy. It’s . . .”
“Jesus, Sawyer, be direct. It’s a hard-on.” Riley pointed to Sawyer’s crotch; he batted her hand away. “When a guy gets hard.”
“Oh! That is happy, isn’t it? I should say I am happy. I would love to pose for you, Sasha.”
“Would you pose in the pool, in the water, a mermaid?”
“Yes!” Instantly, she reached for the hem of her dress.
“Wait, whoa. You don’t just take off your clothes.”
Baffled, Annika lifted her hands at Sawyer. “I don’t go in the water in clothes, and I can’t wear the suit for swimming in my true form.”
“Yeah, but.” He looked directly at Doyle. “Go find somewhere else to be.”
“I like it here.”
“Doyle and Bran have seen me without clothes.”
“What?”
“When we came back, I had no clothes. Doyle gave me his coat so I wouldn’t be cold. You’re too shy,” she said to Sawyer. Walking toward the pool, she pulled her dress off as she went, tossed it on a chair, then dived in.
“She’s already art. And she’s yours, brother.” On a last admiring glance, Doyle rose. “I’ll do more translating while you dig up demons,” he said to Riley.