As they walked, Sawyer drew maps in his head. He was good at maps—had learned at his grandfather’s knee. The compass—a gift, a charge, a legacy—required knowledge of place and time. The hand that held it, the traveler, needed more than luck and magicks.

They passed groves of olives, of lemons, and he added them to his mental guide. The gardens, the houses with shuttered windows, the ones with windows open to the air.

From their high view, Riley pointed toward the mainland.

“Capri used to be part of the mainland, and was peopled during the Neolithic age. Colonized by the Teleboi, then the Greeks of Cumae. The Romans took it over in 328 BC.

“But Augustus—ninth century—developed it. Temples, gardens, villas, the aqueducts. Tiberius, who came after him, built more. And the remains of his villa are on top of Monte Tiberio. We’re heading that way, though it’s a hike yet.”

“Have you been there?” Sasha asked her.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. I came with my parents. Hell of a place, Villa Jovis, even now, and more than worth exploring if that’s what we’re after.”

“A god might enjoy having her own HQ in what remains of a Roman emperor’s villa,” Bran speculated.

“Yeah.” Riley thought of it while they continued the steep climb. “It’s got some grandeur left, but it’s a long way from private. You see people going up, like us, people coming down? That’s likely the destination. It’s a big draw on the island.”

“The island’s potholed with caves,” Doyle pointed out.

“It is.” As she walked, Riley sent him a curious glance. “Have you been here before?”

“I have. Longer ago than you. Petty wars. The English and French wanted Capri, fought over it.”

“In 1806—French occupation overthrown by the English. In 1807, French take it back. Which side were you on?”

“Both.” He shrugged. “It was something to do. It’s changed in two hundred years. The roads, the houses, the funicular. But the land takes longer to change. I know some of the caves, the grottos.”

“The Grotta Azzurra.” Annika beamed. “It’s so beautiful. I, too, visited with my family to bathe in the water and the light.”

“The Blue Grotto seems like a slam dunk for a Water Star,” Sawyer imagined. “Which is probably why it won’t be.”

“Its light burns blue only after it’s lifted. Now it waits, cold and quiet.”

They stopped, turned to Sasha. Bran laid a hand on her arm. “What else do you see?”

“Her. I see her, through the smoke and broken mirrors. Nerezza, the mother of lies. She’ll make her palace in the dark, of the dark, and there forge a new weapon against us. Promises of power seeded on thirsty ground. She waters with blood. A new dog for a new day.”

Sasha fumbled for Bran’s hand. “How did I do?”

“You did well. Headache?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I let it come. I can’t bring it, but I can let it come.”

“Your face is pale.” Digging in her pack, Annika took out a water bottle. “Water helps.”

“It does.”

“So does food, and there’s some up ahead. I smell pizza,” Riley said.

“Wolf nose,” Sawyer commented.

“That’s exactly right. I vote lunch.”

Riley’s nose proved accurate. In under a quarter mile they sat outside a little roadside trattoria.

“Have you got your sketch pad?” Sawyer asked Sasha.

“Never leave home without it.”

“Can I borrow it a minute? I want to get something down while it’s fresh.”

Intrigued, Sasha pulled out her pad, a case of pencils. “You never said you drew.”

“Not like you.”

As the vote for pizza rounded the table, as beer and wine were served, he sketched out his map from memory. The curve of the land, the sweep of sea and beach, the rise of hills. He added the road they’d traveled, positions of houses, groves, fields.

Riley leaned over to study the work. “That’s pretty damn good, cowboy.”

“You gotta know where you are. Which is here—or the house is here. We came up this way, over, and now we’re here.”

He drew a compass rose at the bottom of the page.

“What do we have if we go back and down?”

“You’d end up at the Piazzetta—or as it’s known by locals, chiazz. The square—little, as the name indicates—is the social center and tourist haunt. Cafes, bars, and, fanning out from it, the narrow streets, the shops—”

“Shopping?” Annika interrupted Riley’s explanation. “We can shop?”

“We’ll need to eventually. Supplies, ammo. You’ll get trinkets,” Riley assured her. “Up here, that’s the Marina Grande.”

“Got it.” Sawyer penciled the name in.

“We’ll pick up the boat—another RIB—our equipment there in the morning. We have a van on tap if we need it, but I don’t recommend driving here—van or bike—unless we have to. Public transpo’s good, plus we have Sawyer if we need to get somewhere fast. The funicular goes from Capri town to the marina if we need that. It’s just getting there. Bus is probably the best way to get to the marina from the house.”