“What! You and Doyle argued? Observe my shocked face.”

She rolled her eyes at his comic expression. “He started it.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Idly, she kicked her feet, splashing up lazy drops of water. “The thing is, this break—you being in recovery—it’s good for all of us. We needed it. Sasha and I had words about that. Nonargumentative, agreeable words. It’s given Bran time to resupply, and her a little time to paint. Physically, Annika needed a break, too. They didn’t just hurt her, they took the shine off her.”

Rage, cold and keen, shot through his belly. “I know it. If they weren’t dead . . .”

“Yeah, I’m with you. But the shine’s coming back—I swear nothing dulls Anni for long. Doyle and I, we got off easy, but—”

“Wait. You got shot. I forgot. Jesus, Riley, you got hit down there.”

She turned to show him the healing wound on her arm—barely a scratch now. “Bran’s balm. Only grazed me—though I’ll tell you it hurt like a mother. But figure this. Grazed my arm, hit your shoulder.”

“They weren’t trying to kill us. Brain’s still working.”

“Panic and debilitate,” she concurred. “Capture might have been the goal, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make us bleed some. Would’ve ruined a good wet suit, too, but Bran fixed that as well. He’s handy. Couldn’t fix yours because we don’t know what the hell they did with it. But I’ve got one lined up for you when we go out again.”

“I repeat, best pal ever. Speaking of mothers, what the hell’s she doing, the mother of lies?”

“Well, we took her down hard in Corfu.”

“Kicked her bitch-goddess ass.”

“Every square inch.” Riley paused long enough for a fist bump. “Then she pulls in Malmon. That was good strategy, gotta give it to her. Let him do the dirty, sweaty work, and she bags the stars along with a demon love slave.”

“And still.” He hefted his glass. “Another swing and a miss.”

“Yeah, both times her plans go—I was going to say up in smoke, but let’s be accurate. Up in light. The thing is, Malmon wasn’t on his game.”

“It hurts to agree, since I’m currently sidelined thanks to that fucker, but no, he wasn’t on his game. Want to know why I figure?”

Tipping down her sunglasses, she met his eyes. “Yeah, then we’ll see if that’s what I figure.”

“She miscalculated. Whatever she did to him, whatever she was making him into, it made him stronger—I can attest. But it dimmed some of the canny lights. He wasn’t smart, Rile, and he’s goddamn smart.”

“Once again, we’re in full accord. He should’ve had Anni on a transport out of here. He’d bagged himself a mermaid, Sawyer, and the Malmon you and I know and hate? He’d have cashed in on that pronto. Using her, risking damaging or killing her to hammer at you? Not smart. Get her to an undisclosed location to work with later, leave you to Yadin. That’s what Malmon, being Malmon, would do.”

“He was all about the compass. Even the stars didn’t seem as important.”

“You got away once before. With those cannies dimmed? I’m thinking he couldn’t see past that. And ordering the hit on Sash? That’s straight crazy dark god, not Malmon. Take us all, bag us all—have Berger do a head shot on Doyle to take him temporarily out of the game, and come in hard on the rest of us. Give Sasha to Yadin, make her his own personal prognosticator.”

In full agreement, he kicked his legs in rhythm with hers. “And because he didn’t play it cool and tight, he loses the two he had. I never expected him to give me back the compass, even with a gun to my head. That was a Hail Mary on my part, but it sucked him in.”

“I also figure if the light bombs hadn’t obliterated him, Nerezza would have. He should be glad he’s dead.”

“He’s not.” Feet bare, hair bundled up, and deathly pale, Sasha walked toward them with a sketchbook.

“Hey, hey.” Sawyer shoved the glass at Riley, pushed up fast enough to make his own head spin. But he hurried to Sasha, took her arm. “You should sit down.”

“Yes, I should. We should all sit down. Bran and Doyle went to the village for supplies. I wish they’d come back. If I’d seen . . . I wish they’d come back.”

“They won’t be much longer.” On her feet now, Riley walked from sun to shade as Sawyer nudged Sasha into a chair under the pergola.

“Where’s Annika?”

“She’s— I think she’s finishing the laundry. She loves doing laundry.”

“I’ll get her.”

“No, sit.” Riley pointed at a chair. “I’ll get her. Water, alcohol, juice?” she asked Sasha.

“Water, just water. Thanks.”

“You said Malmon’s not dead,” Sawyer began, “but—”

“He’s not. He’s alive. What he is now lives.”

“I don’t— Just get your bearings again. Let me go get that water for you.”

“No, let’s just sit here a minute. It’s overwhelming when it comes like that.”

“Headache? You need some aspirin—or, shit, that stuff Bran has for you.”

“No, no headache.” But she pulled pins out of her hair as if even the loose knot squeezed too tight. “It’s like opening a window, expecting a nice breeze, and having a tempest blow in. It just takes a minute to settle down again.”