“She might have, as she’s no idiot, but I steered her in another direction. I suggested the two of you’d gone so he could find her a new dress, maybe some earrings. A present.”
“Good thinking.”
“It mollified her, as did the half a torturous hour she spent in the little shop that sells various trinkets.”
“I’d say I owe you for that, but considering recent activities, I claim paid in full. I’m going to grab a shower, then head down to finish the amends by helping with something domestic.”
When he made no move to join her, she went into the bathroom, closed the door.
Closed her eyes.
He’d shaken everything inside her, she realized. Shaken it, tossed it in the air so it fell back in an order she didn’t understand.
She’d figure it out, she assured herself. Whatever the puzzle, the problem, the code, she figured it out eventually.
She took off the shirt, realized it smelled of both of them, a mix of them. A blend.
And folding it onto the counter, she felt ridiculous because she knew she had no intention of tossing it away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After days of quiet, the routine of training and diving, Doyle calculated it was time, past time, to mix things up. He tracked Bran down in the tower, stood a moment watching as his friend wrote in the thick spell book.
It wasn’t all whirlwinds and calling the lightning, he thought. Some of magick was—well—toil and trouble, and more was, apparently, as pedestrian as pen and paper.
Bran set the pen down, studied what he’d written. Then he laid his hand on the page. Light flashed, held. Dissolved.
And a great deal, Doyle considered, was sheer and stunning power.
“Got a minute?” he asked when Bran glanced over.
“I do now. Things must be written down and the magicks sealed. For ourselves, and for those who come after.”
Curious, Doyle walked over to see what Bran had written.
“In the old tongue.”
“The language of my blood—and yours. Of the old gods, of the old powers.”
“A kind of locator spell,” Doyle said, translating. “Using the coat of arms as . . . a homing device.”
“More or less. Let’s have some tea.” He rose, leaving the book open, and walked over to plug in an electric kettle.
“You don’t need electricity and teapots.”
“Well now, the gods help those who help themselves, we could say. No point in being lazy about basic practicalities.”
“Others would.”
“And have. It’s not how I was taught. The spell,” Bran said, winding back to it as he measured tea leaves. “I thought of what happened to Riley, and again what she and Sawyer did. So this will find any of us who might become separated. I’ve given it some work since Annika and Sawyer were taken in Capri, but other matters bumped ahead of it until now.”
“Because we’ve had a little more time on our hands in the last few days.”
“For as long as it lasts. Impatient?”
“Brother, I may have all the time in the world, but if this is the time—and we all believe it is—we shouldn’t waste it.”
“I’ll agree, though I’ll tell you it’s been pleasant having Sasha settle in here, have that time to paint without being plagued day and night with visions.”