Because she gestured toward him—it—he had to fight an urge to cross hands over his groin. “I haven’t . . . It’s not that I— Rules.” He jumped on that concept. “There are rules. Lots of complicated rules. We should talk about them. Later. We need to go.”

“You’ll explain the rules?”

“I . . . Yes, probably. Later.” He grabbed his pack, opened the door. But oddly still couldn’t suck in a full breath. “But now, we have to go. Lost stars, worlds in peril, the evil mother of lies. You know, the usual.”

“When I know the rules, we can lie together in my room. My bed is larger.”

“Well, that’s an idea all right.” Hastily, he slung the pack over his shoulder, and careful to keep one hand on the open door, grabbed hers with the other. “Let’s go.” He pulled her out of the room, kept going until they were outside where the rest waited.

He managed to separate himself enough to mutter to Sasha. “Distract her. I need to talk to Doyle and Bran.”

“Well, I—”

Since Sawyer already moved ahead until he caught up with Doyle’s faster pace, Sasha slowed a bit, pointed. “Oh, look. A butterfly.”

The comment brought a puzzled look from Riley, but caused Annika to stop and admire long enough to give Sawyer some distance.

“Listen,” he said to Doyle, “it wasn’t all about hands.”

“I don’t need to hear about the rest of your body parts.”

“Not what I mean. I need to talk to you and Bran—and the other women—about this harebrained idea Anni had about the painting, and how we need to watch her in case I didn’t talk her out of it.”

He glanced back, casually, gauged he had enough room if he made it quick. And signaled to Bran.

Annika didn’t mind walking with her two friends. She thought, perhaps, women would be less shy and nervous about sex.

“Can you tell me the rules of sex?”

“Rules?” Riley responded. “What rules?”

“I don’t know them, not here. Sawyer says there are many, and complicated rules. I don’t see why they should be complicated, but I can learn them. I like to learn.”

“Complicated.” Riley snorted. “I say simple. My top three? Both parties willing, available, and clean.”

“Those are very simple.” And very satisfying. “Your rules mean Sawyer and I can have sex.”

“I’m still trying to work out why he hasn’t jumped you yet.”

“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.”