“Riley.” Sasha rolled her eyes. “Different rules for different people. Or not rules so much as . . . sensibilities, and it’s not always easy to explain.”

Riley ticked off on her fingers. “Willing, available, clean.”

“An important foundation,” Sasha agreed. “We really need a little more time and privacy,” she added as they passed people on the road.

“But you’ll explain, so I’ll learn.”

“We’ll do that.”

“Thank you! Then Sawyer and I can have sex like you and Bran. I’m sorry you can’t have sex,” she said to Riley.

“You and me both, sister.”

CHAPTER NINE

They focused on the eastern side of the island, diving the inlets and deep caves. Annika heard no sighs, no songs. Only once did she feel something in the water large enough to be human or shark.

But it was only another pair of divers—a man and a woman—more interested in each other, it seemed to her, than in the sea life.

After the second dive, she led the way back to the boat. She would be vigilant now until they had passed through Sasha’s painting, and all come out whole and safe again.

She pulled herself up, as always happy to take off the flippers, so awkward and odd, she had to wear when she had the legs.

Sasha came up behind her, then Sawyer. To be useful, Annika opened the chest with cold drinks. Sasha would want water, but Sawyer and Riley like the Cokes, and—

As she took out bottles, a bird swooped down to perch on the rail. She glanced over, smile ready.

Then carefully set the bottles down again, straightened.

“You aren’t a bird.”

Sasha, busy unzipping her wet suit, looked over. “Sorry, what?”

“This is her creature.”

The bird didn’t stir, though it turned its deformed head, stared with glinting yellow eyes as Sawyer reached into his pack for his gun.

“Don’t shoot it.” Sasha spoke in a whisper. “Wait for Bran, wait for the others.”

As Riley pulled herself on board, a second bird dropped onto the rail. “We’ve got company.” Riley pulled her knife from its sheath.

The birds were the size of pigeons, but with bodies sinewy, almost shriveled, and wide heads that turned front to back like owls’. The pair sat silently, and a third slid down to perch beside them. Their eyes, sickly yellow, stared unblinking. Oily black feathers remained tucked tight.

Bran dropped down on deck, angled his head as, behind him, Doyle pulled his knife.

“She sends this?” Dark amusement moved over Bran’s face as he studied the birds. “Her harbingers? To strike fear in us? This is what comes from her?”

Sasha turned, pressed a hand to her head, held the other out, a signal to wait. “Come and see. So it says on the book of your god. And I looked, it’s written, and behold a pale horse: And his name that sat on him was Death, and hell followed with him. So I send a pale horse and a rider. This is your death to come. This is your hell to follow. My birds will pick clean your bones, and my dogs will lap your blood.”

She shook her head fiercely as Bran started toward her. “Wait. Wait.” Eyes shut, she breathed deep, and when she opened her eyes again, they burned like fired crystals. When she spoke, her voice came strong to echo over the water.

“And we say, you will never hold the stars. Send your horse, your rider, send your worst, and we will bear it down, all down. And you with them until you age and whither and weaken. We are your death, your destruction. Come and see!” Sasha threw her head back, shot her arms down, fingers spread. “Come and see!”

The birds screamed, spread wings, and flew toward Sasha.

Annika threw up an arm, shielding Sasha’s face, blasting out with her bracelet even as Bran threw bolts of hot blue at the remaining two.

Their bodies went to fetid black smoke.

“I hurt her.” On a shaky, bewildered laugh, Sasha once again pressed her fingers to her temple. “I hurt her. I felt her pain. I hurt her as much as, no, more, more, than she hurt me.”

“Your nose bleeds,” Annika murmured, and dabbed gently with a towel.

“It’s okay. It’s all right.” With eyes glittering with tears and triumph, Sasha looked at Bran. “It’s all right, so’s hers. I did it.”

“Fáidh.” Overwhelmed, and not a little shaken, he pulled her to him, held her close. “A ghrá. Sit now, sit.” Even as he spoke, he drew her down to cradle her on his lap. “She needs water.”

“I’m all right.” The laugh came again, a little steadier. “Can’t you see? I’m all right. I heard her scream in pain, in fury. And maybe, yes, I could use something for the headache, but I beat her. I beat her back, Bran. I was in her head.”

“Here now, let me take this.” Gently, he laid his fingers on her temples, ran his hands over her skull. “Give me the pain, and it’s gone.”

“Drink a little.” Kneeling, Annika urged water on Sasha, then took her hand, pressed it to her cheek. “You were so strong, so brave.”

“I felt strong. I let her in. I knew it was time, knew I could do it.”

“Do you think I doubt you?” Bran kissed her. “You took a few years off my life, but I don’t doubt you.”