“Oh, I don’t—”
“You do.” Brigid dismissed the protest. “You know how to look, how to see. So see to your sister, and no whining about it.”
Sasha took a breath—shaky—closed her brimming eyes. “There’s still pain, but it’s tolerable. There’s still healing to be done, but it’s progressing. She’s hungry, and that’s a good sign. She needs to eat, carefully for now, and rest another day or two.”
“And the hand?” Brigid probed.
“Ah . . . Will hurt when the bandages come off—Bran treated them,” she told Riley, “numbed the pain. But it’s all healing well. The bandages should come off tomorrow.” Sasha looked over at Brigid. “Is that right?”
“It is. You’ve so much more than you think. She knows better in the head,” Brigid said to Riley, “but she blames herself in her heart.”
“Then she’s stupid. That’s bullshit.”
“Sure it is.” Brigid stroked a hand down Sasha’s hair. “But love is so often full of bullshit, isn’t it?”
“Here’s food!” Bright as the sun, Annika brought over a tray. “Sasha made soup with chicken and noodles and vegetables, and Móraí made brown bread.”
“You sang to me,” Riley said as Annika set down the tray.
“You heard me? Móraí said you would hear in your heart if we talked or sang, and we should lie with you, stay close.”
“I heard.” She turned to Sawyer. “Terry Pratchett.”
“I found Night Watch in your stash. It looked like you’d read it a million times.”
“Close enough.” Riley spooned up some soup. It slid into her like glory. “Oh, my God.”
“Slowly,” Brigid warned. “Else you’ll sick it up.”
“Give me a minute here, then we can do a roundup, but I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.” Riley spooned up more, tried to go slow. “You sent for reinforcements,” she said to Bran.
“I didn’t know enough. We were losing you.”
“I’ve seen dead men on the battlefield with more life than you had.” At the bar, Doyle poured himself a whiskey.
“Way to ease into it,” Sawyer muttered.
“Straight up’s better.” Riley ate another spoonful, sat back. “You’re right. Slower’s better. It was Malmon.”
“You’re sure?” Bran demanded.
“Pretty damn sure. I went outside—it’s a little scattered yet—but I went outside. I needed a break, was going to take a walk. I saw the car. I hadn’t heard Doyle and the others come back, but I saw the car. I saw the supplies, so I started to go over, grab some. Help out. And Sasha—”
She broke off when Sasha sat back on her heels, wrapped her arms around herself.
“Not you, okay? He made himself look like you. Or Nerezza made him look like you.”
“If I’d come out again, it might have been Bran, or Sasha, or you,” Doyle said with a nod to Riley as he leaned against the bar. “The illusion tailored for circumstance.”
“Yes.” Grateful for the clarification, Riley took a careful nibble of bread. “I think . . . I think if I’d just headed into the forest as I’d meant to, he’d have been waiting for me inside. As Sasha, or any of you. But I detoured, started for the car, so he had to lure me in. He said he’d found something I needed to see. I didn’t hesitate, why would I? I went right in. Carvings, something about carvings. On a tree?”
The memories wavered, caused her head to ache.
“Something like that. We walked, and went off the track. Oblivious, I was just oblivious, and he sucker-punched me. I fucking flew. Hit something. A rock, a tree. I felt things cracking and breaking inside me. My arm . . . wouldn’t work. Couldn’t get to my gun, or my knife. I couldn’t fight back, just couldn’t, and he was basically kicking the crap out of me. I thought I was finished. Done.”
“Sasha called us.” Annika brought Riley a mug of tea. “She ran in, said to hurry. Doyle said you needed us, so we all ran out, as fast as we could. But . . .”
“He was gone when we got there,” Sawyer finished. “Doyle was there first. Doyle found you. Saw him. Malmon.”