“I like Sasha’s minions.”

“Minions then,” he said with a nod to Riley. “She’ll send them again. Losing them means nothing to her. She’ll just send more. Can you use the light bombs on the bolts, on the bullets and blades?”

Bran sat back, arched his eyebrows. “That’s interesting. I can work on that. Sure, I can work on that.”

“You wounded the— Was it a Cerberus, Riley?”

“Three-headed hound of hell. Sure looked like one.”

“You wounded it,” Sasha continued. “And hurt and frightened her. Aged her. I can’t see what weapon she’ll forge, but she needs something to combat what you can do at full force.”

“What we could do,” Bran reminded her. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough without you.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to do without me. Still, it took all we had to hold her off.”

“And kick her ass,” Sawyer added. “She ran. You beat a god. We beat a god and her minions. And it’s not cocky to say we’re going to do the same thing here, whatever she brings. But I wouldn’t say no to a load of magick bullets.”

“There’s good cover in the grove,” Doyle pointed out. “We make our stands there rather than out in the open.”

“Add some surprises in the open. Take some of them out,” Riley calculated.

“She spread that mist on the ground. It bit.” Now Sasha judged the distance to the grove. “We can set off the light bombs from there—bolt, bullet, blade, magick.”

“I can do this with my bracelets,” Annika pointed out.

“It’s a plan.” Riley reached for her wine. “Covers land and air. Now water.”

“Harpoons, knives—a magick assist?” Sawyer added. “And mermaid.”

Annika smiled. “My bracelets also work well in the water, and I’m faster there than anywhere else.”

“We’ve never asked,” Sasha began. “How do you communicate with your family? With others like you?”

“Oh. It’s . . .” Annika touched her head, her heart.

“You think. You feel.”

“We can speak, but it’s often without voice.”

“I see where you’re going.” Riley leaned toward Annika. “How about other sea life? Fish, whale, that sort of thing?”

“We have understandings. They don’t think as we do, though the whale can be wise, and the dolphin is smart and clever. But fish? They forget quickly.”

“Dory.” When Annika looked blank, Sawyer explained. “From a movie. We’ll stream it sometime. They’re wondering if you can maybe sense the bad guys—underwater?”

“Oh. I don’t know. They are not fish, not mammal, not people. They’re other. But I can try. I will try.” She set her jaw. “It would help.”

“An early-warning system. Otherwise, we do what we’ve done?” Sawyer glanced around the table. “Buddy system, stick together, do the work. If things get too dicey, I can shift us. We should have a secondary location. If we have to travel from the water, we’d come here, but if we have to travel from here?”

“How about Monte Tiberio?” Riley suggested. “High ground.”

“If that works, I’ll get the coordinates. Meanwhile.”

Sawyer took out the compass, opened the bronze case.

When he set it on the map, it glowed, shimmered in place on Capri. But didn’t move.

“Gotta work for it,” he said, and pocketed it again.

“I’ll start just that.” Bran rose. “Bullets, bolts, and blades. And bracelets. Interesting.”

“I’ll dig into research. See if I can find out anything about sighs, songs, more underwater caves.” Riley pushed to her feet. “Do you want the map?” she asked Doyle.

“Maybe later.”

“I’ll get dinner started.” Sasha pushed a loose pin back into her bundled-up hair. “Can you help, Annika?”

“Yes, I like to help.”

When Sasha and Annika went inside, Doyle leaned back with his beer, looked at Sawyer. “Happiest siren I’ve ever seen. Nobody would blame you for moving on that.”

“She doesn’t . . . I don’t think she gets that. It. It’s like hitting on somebody’s little sister. From Venus.”

“Looks all grown-up to me, but your call. How about we take a walk, past the grove. See what, if anything, we might want to fortify.”

“Good thought.”

While they ate under the stars, Andre Malmon adjusted his formal tie. He expected the evening ahead to be a tedious bore, but duty called. He rarely answered when duty called, already regretting doing so now.

Still, there was a potential for new contacts at this dull charity affair. Contacts were never boring. He wanted something new, something exciting.

So little excited him these days.

What hadn’t he done, after all? What hadn’t he seen? What couldn’t he have simply by flicking his fingers?

His last two adventures—he never called them jobs, though he charged exorbitant fees for his services—had barely amused him. So little challenge.

The woman he was currently seeing had begun to annoy him just by existing, as did the whore he used for more inventive play. He expected he’d dispose of them both very soon.

He had offers pending, of course, but none stirred his juices. Murder? Easily done, but he no longer killed for a fee—unless the kill offered him personal pleasure.