Gasping, she pressed her hands to her lips. “A ring. Is it mine?”
“Made for you. We designed it—we all had a hand in that. Riley helped me find the stones, and Bran, well, made the magicks. The blue stone—”
“I know this stone. It’s precious. It holds the heart of the sea.”
“You hold mine. Always. Marry me.”
“Sawyer.” She laid a hand on her heart, her other on his. “Will you put it on, the way Bran put Sasha’s on?”
“I take that as a yes.” He slipped it on her finger.
“It’s more beautiful, more precious than anything I have. Except you. I will be your mate, always.”
She slid into his arms to seal it with a kiss, held tight, tight. “I thought I already had the biggest happy, but this is bigger.”
“And that’s our Anni.” This time Riley elbowed Doyle aside. “Show it off.”
“It’s so beautiful. It holds the sea, and the pink is for joy, and the bands are for all, for family. Thank you for helping.” She kissed Riley’s cheek. “Thank you.” Then Sasha’s, then Doyle’s. “And you, for the magick.” She hugged Bran, swayed.
Then swung away, holding her ring hand high. “Look! It’s so, so pretty. It’s the best of any surprise.”
She leaped into Sawyer’s arms, laughing as she took his mouth.
“Mmm. Sasha will finish the—” She jumped back when the timer buzzed. “The balls!”
“Brother.” With a shake of his head, Doyle lifted his glass. “You’ll never have a dull moment in the rest of your life.”
Sawyer watched Annika whip the cloth off the dough, like a magician completing a trick. “I’m counting on just that.”
• • •
They ate soup, drank wine, talked theories.
“Interesting,” Bran considered. “The idea the star might be in, or even of, the house.”
“Your builders might have mentioned it,” Doyle commented.
“He’s had three centuries to hone his skeptic creds.” Deciding to ignore Doyle, Riley tore a chunk off her bread bowl, enjoyed it. “The hypothesis, like this quest, like everyone here at this table, is founded on the unarguable fact that alternate realities, para-realities, exist. Accepting that, we move to other facts. Doyle was changed in January three hundred and thirty-three years ago. In January, Sasha began to have visions about the Stars of Fortune, and about us. Conclusion, that’s the kickoff.”
“We were all drawn to Corfu,” Bran continued. “Three of us met on the day we arrived, at the same hotel. Within days the six of us fought together, for the first time, against Nerezza. In our time there, a bond was formed.” He lifted Sasha’s hand to kiss. “Of varying degrees.”
“A bond,” Sasha repeated. “And each one of us came to the point where we were able to share our own heritage. I think, I really do, we’re where we are now because of that bond. It didn’t exist in January. It didn’t exist when Bran built this house, or when Doyle was cursed. But . . . the potential of it did.”
“Yes.” Delighted, Riley slapped a finger on the table. “That potential began the minute the stars were created, and evolved. The stars fell, and the research on when’s sketchy, but indicates they fell before Doyle was born. His birth—and the mystical rebirth from the curse? Another step in the evolution. The rest of us fill in. And don’t you have to wonder at the mix? Witch, mermaid, immortal, lycan, seer, shifter. Why not six witches, six immortals?”
“The diversity brings strength,” Bran surmised. “And challenges to overcome.”
“You’ve got to admit—you said it yourself,” Sawyer added as he looked at Doyle. “The closest you came to finding Nerezza was in that cave on Corfu, with us.”
“I’ll buy the timing mattered, the six of us mattered. It’s the idea the Ice Star is behind the baseboard that doesn’t ring for me.”
“If we follow the dots.” Lifting her wine, Riley spoke to the table at large rather than Doyle specifically. “What holds the most weight is the stars can only be found by the six of us—and couldn’t be found until the six of us came together. Ergo, the Ice Star might have been hidden in the house where Doyle was born, and might be hidden in or around this one now. The house is stone, and the data and the visions speak of stone. And the sea, which is right out there.”
“The man sees the boy, the boy sees the man. No, not a vision,” Sasha said quickly. “Just remembering. A mirror, a glass?”
“Now you’re thinking. And the bit about the name. Maybe something written down, something in a book.”
“A painting. The signature of the artist,” Sasha explained, “or the person in the painting.”