“Yes. Why?”
Struck, she thumped a fist on his chest. “Do the math! Three hundred and thirty-three years ago. Three-three-three. Three’s a number of power.”
“I don’t see how that—”
“Three.” Snapping out the number, Riley circled her hands in the air. “How the hell did I miss that?” She grabbed his arm, pulled him toward the stairs. Stopped halfway as Bran and Sasha had started up. “Doyle’s three hundred and fifty-nine.”
“He holds up so well,” Sasha began.
“And he was cursed in 1683. Three hundred and thirty-three years ago.”
Now Bran angled his head, laid a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Now how did we miss that?”
“See!” Riley jabbed a finger at Doyle. “We didn’t think about the exact number because, hey, immortal to round things off. But it has to apply.”
“You’ve lost me.” Sasha glanced back as Annika and Sawyer stepped up.
“Three,” Bran repeated. “A magickal number, one of power. As we are. Three men, three women, in search of three stars.”
“Created by three goddesses,” Riley finished.
“Next year it’ll be three hundred and thirty-four.”
“Now is what matters. Don’t be a blockhead.” Dismissing him, Riley waved the others back so she could come down. “This time, this year. Three, three, three. And this place—Ireland, Clare, where the house sits. You were born there, right? In the house?”
“The birthing center at the local hospital was full up at the time.”
On a roll, Riley just slapped the back of her hand on his chest. “Maybe it ends where it began. Or Doyle began, and the clock started on the day he was cursed.” Riley demanded. “What month? When in 1683?”
“January.”
“Do you hear that click? Sasha, when did you first start dreaming of us, of the stars, of this?”
“You already know, because I told you. In January, right after the first of the year.”
“Exactly. Click, click. You started being pulled into this when Doyle hit his triple threes as an immortal. And you pulled us all together.” She looked at Bran now. “It’s not nothing.”
“It’s not, no. Signs are meant to be heeded.”
“There’s a graveyard—stones—back at the house. Sorry, man,” Sawyer added.
“Where we’ve been living,” Doyle pointed out, “training, walking for weeks now.”
“But not looking, or digging.” Riley held up a hand at the flare in Doyle’s eyes. “I don’t mean digging literally.”
“We would never disrespect your family,” Annika added. “Is it possible your family helps protect the star? Is that the possible Riley means?”
“That’s exactly the possible. Look.” Now she turned to Doyle. “What I do, even the literal digging, is because I respect and value who and what came before. I don’t desecrate, ever, or support anyone who does, even in the name of science and discovery. We need to check this out. We just go back and check it out for now. Okay?”
“Fine. We’ll get out of this filthy weather. And tomorrow, as the chances of the last star popping out of my mother’s headstone are thin, we dive, whatever the weather.”
Since she figured everyone was entitled to mood, and she wanted to think, Riley said nothing as they trooped back to the car, squeezed in.
She spent the drive back using her phone to gather more data on the number three.
“Three divisions of time,” she mused aloud. “Past, present, future. From the first three numbers, all the others synthesize. What makes up a man—or woman—mind, body, spirit. Three. Most cultures use three as a symbol of power or philosophies. The Celts, the Druids, the Greeks, Christianity. Art and literature.”
“You had to say Beetlejuice three times,” Sawyer commented.