“Albania,” Sasha repeated, both giddy and astonished. “Imagine that.” A family water park where she could hear squeals as kids came down the slides on one side, and the coast of Albania on the other.
Was that really any more amazing than a star of fire?
Acharavi bustled with its wide array of shops lining the main street. April had barely begun but holiday-goers thronged the resort town, wandering the shops or enjoying lunch at one of the pavement cafes.
“Spring break,” Riley commented, and turned off the main road. “A lot of Brits and Americans, I’d say, because I see a lot of pale skin that’s going to burn. Hope you stocked up on the sunscreen, Irish.”
“I’m covered there, thanks.” The minute she stopped, he boosted himself out, rolled his shoulders. “You picked a good spot to stretch things out.”
“Aim to please.” She pulled out her phone. “If you two want to walk down to the beach, I’ll catch up.”
Golden sand, sea oats, blue water, and the boats on it, some trailed by skiers. And Albania shadowing the horizon.
Sasha grabbed her pack. She wanted ten minutes—maybe twenty—just to sketch.
“You’re going to want to get yourself a hat,” Bran told her. He took his own, dark gray with a wide, flat brim, and dropped it on her head.
“If I’d been wearing one, it would’ve blown off in the first five minutes.”
“She can drive.” He hoisted his own pack on his shoulder as they walked. “So, did anything strike you along the way? I’m thinking she’s doing this coastal tour to see if something does.”
Of course, Sasha thought. Not just a wild ride along the coast—but another kind of search.
“I should’ve thought of that. No. It’s all beautiful, even at the speed of sound, but I didn’t feel anything. I don’t even know if it works like that. I’ve never tried.”
“Why not?”
“Having something unusual, it separates you, makes you feel like the odd man out, I guess. I used to want to fit in, so much, then I finally realized, well, that’s not going to happen. I’ve just focused on my work, at least until all this started. And now . . .”
“Now?”
“I’m in Greece and I’m looking out at Albania—so close it looks as if you could swim to it. It’s more than anything I could imagine.” She closed her eyes, breathed deep. “Even the air’s exotic. But if she drove here, stopped here hoping I’d have some sort of vision, it’s not happening.”
“I think it won’t be so easy.”
She thought of the visions she’d had. Blood and fear and pain and the dark. “No, it won’t be.”
“We need to find a place, Riley had the right of that. A place the three of us can spread out, study up, plan. A kind of HQ.”
The idea made her smile. HQs seemed as far removed from her world as swimming to Albania. “HQ.”
“Exactly. And as I don’t know that the other three you’ve drawn will just walk up to us, as we did to each other, we’ll need to ramble about like we are today.”
“We have to come together. Until we do, we can look but we won’t see; seek, but not find. Not a vision,” she said quickly. “Just a kind of knowing.”
“Which strikes me as the same.”
“Maybe. I want to sketch while we’re here.”
“We’ll need to get you a chair. We can rent one, I expect, or . . . There’s a taverna right over there. How’s that view?”
“That would be fine.”
Once they had a table, and she’d angled her chair, he studied the view as she did. “Want a beer?”
“Oh, no, thanks. Maybe something cold.” Pulling out her pad, she began to draw the flowing sea oats and long slice of beach.
He ordered a Mythos for himself, and the Greek juice that was a combination of orange, apple, and apricot for Sasha. As she sketched, he took out his phone to check his emails.
Even as he dealt with work he watched her, those slim, pretty hands conjuring a scene with paper and pencil.
She left out things that were there, he noted. The people. Her beach was deserted but for birds winging over the sea.
She flipped to another page, began another. He supposed she’d term them rough sketches, but he found them both wonderfully lean and fluid. It was a kind of magic, he thought, that she could with quick, sure strokes of a pencil create her vision.
She started a third—a different perspective, he saw. Not quite the beach spread in front of them, and hers with a moon, not quite full, floating through a drift of clouds over a sea where waves tossed.
A woman stood at the edge of the sea, facing it, her dark hair a tumble to her waist. Her skirts billowed around her knees. To her right, high, sheer cliffs rose, and on them stood the shadow of a house where a light glowed in a single window.
When Sasha stopped, turned back to finally pick up her drink, he set his phone down.
“Will she go into the sea or back to the house on the cliff?”
“I don’t know.” Sasha blew out a breath, sipped again. “I don’t think she knows either. It’s not here. I don’t know why I looked out there and saw this so clearly.”