“A black widow witch,” Riley said.
“One of the young men was my brother. Barely seventeen when she took him.”
Instinctively Annika wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”
“I hunted her. That was my purpose, my only purpose. To save him, destroy her. I bargained with an alchemist, gave him all I had. He created the sword, to end her. When I found her, my brother was near death, beyond the saving. Seventeen, and dying in my arms, he who had never harmed a soul. My grief was beyond even my rage. He begged me to kill him, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t do what he asked of me. That is a regret I can never undo. So he died in agony while I grieved.
“She smelled it, that grief. Savored it. I fought her, blind with it, beyond feeling that rage, certainly beyond fear. When she knew I would end her, she used it, and cursed me with the spell. I would watch everyone I loved die. I would see them bleed and fall in battle, suffer from disease, wither and fall of old age. I would never know the release of death, but only the death of all I touched.”
He polished off the beer, pushed the bottle aside. “I took her head with the sword, and bore my brother’s body home, to his mother’s weeping. He was the youngest of us, and I the oldest. But I hadn’t saved him, I hadn’t given him what he asked of me at his end. And the curse rooted in me.”
“When was this?” Bran asked him.
“In the year 1683.”
“Man, you’re old.” Even as he said it lightly, Sawyer put a hand on Doyle’s shoulder, squeezed. “Sorry about your brother.”
“You would regret it if you’d given him what he asked,” Annika said. “You would carry that as you carry the regret of not doing so. It wasn’t a battle you could win.”
“It’s done, and long ago.” He looked over at Sasha. “You think I should’ve told you this before. You’re the first I’ve been with, fought with, on this quest. The habit of secrecy is hard to break. I can tell you that after tonight, after the battle, I’d decided to break that habit and tell you, as I’ve told you now. I don’t blame you for not believing that.”
“I do believe it.” She let out a sigh. “And now, we know, each of us, who we are, and what we have. The real unity will come from that. I believe that, too.”
“Can we take a minute?” Sawyer asked. “To just lay this out. We’ve got a witch, a seer, a werewolf—I like the word, okay?” he said with a laugh before Riley could growl at him. “A mermaid, an immortal, and a time and space traveler. Think about it. We’re like the freaking Avengers. That bitch-goddess is going to lose, big-time.”
“On that really excellent note—” Riley handed him a piece of paper. “The coordinates for our digs in Capri. Why don’t we do what we have to do—get that boat out of here, get the jeep back, clean up our mess—and head out for round two?”
“All about it, and you know what? It’s damn well going to work. We’ve got it going,” Sawyer decided. “We’ll close up shop. Next stop, Capri.”
They saw to the practicalities, the duties.
In the deep night with its swimming moon, Sasha looked out one last time, over the sea. Bran took her hand, lifted it to his lips in a way she knew would always make her smile.
“We’ll come back one day, as you said.”
“I’d like that. I’d like to stand on the promontory with you again, under the stars, on a warm summer night when everything’s quiet, and as far as we can see, there’s peace.”
“You’re my light, Sasha. My star and my peace.” He touched his lips to hers. “Are you ready?”
“I am. For everything.”
Together they went down to the terrace to join the others.
“Apollo’s snoring inside. The neighbor’s coming to take care of him first thing in the morning, feed the cluckers.” Riley glanced at her watch. “Just a couple hours now. I’m going to miss that dog.”
“Dawn’s close. If we’re going to do this,” Doyle said, “we should do it now.”
“Bring it in, everybody.” Sawyer gestured for them to move closer. “Grab hands and hold on to your hats. This is going to be a hell of a ride.”
Sasha looked up into Bran’s face, laughed.
And it was a hell of a ride.
In her cave, Nerezza seethed. She’d eased her pain, but no matter how much blood, how much potion, how much will, the streak of gray remained snaking through her dark hair. Lines fanned out from her eyes and mouth.
She broke another mirror, and cursed. And her tears ran like blood down her face.