Doyle stepped over to the table. “Through the painting to the coast of Clare.”
“Where your people were from.” Bran gave Doyle a long, cool study. “I think that’s not without purpose either.”
Doyle looked up into Bran’s eyes, then shifted his gaze to Sasha. “Trust comes hard, but you have mine for this.”
“We’re six, all linked to each other, to a purpose, to a quest,” Bran added, brushing a hand over Sasha’s. “We must all agree.”
Sawyer scanned the room, nodded. “So say we all.”
“Then.” Bran walked over, lifted the star in its shielding globe. He set it gently on the painting, in the glow of light at the end of the path. “If so say we all, each lay a hand on the globe, and say this. Together:
“To protect this bright fire, this pure light, I send it safe where no eye can see, no hand can touch, no darkness shadow.”
As they echoed his words, Bran lifted his own hands up, seemed to draw power out of thin air. It swirled around the globe.
As he lowered his hands, fingers spread over the hands of the others, the star began to sink into the painting. Its fire sparked and simmered on that quiet path in sudden and brilliant reds and golds.
Then it poured toward the light, illuminated all.
And went quiet.
“I could feel it.” Riley lifted her hand, turned it over. “The heat—it’s all yours, Bran—the power of it. And now—nothing.”
“It’s safe.”
“But the painting’s a kind of portal to it, right?”
Bran nodded at Sawyer. “So, as I sent for the painting, I’ll send it back. And it will be beyond her as well.”
“Maybe what we should do next is get ready to get out of here,” Riley began. “In the opposite direction.”
“I don’t think we’ll get anywhere without a fight,” Doyle put in. “Even if Sawyer was up to another group trip this quickly.”
“It’s more than that.” Bran looked at Sasha. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s not—or we’re not—done here yet. I don’t know why. And I don’t know where we look next, or which star we’re supposed to look for. I can’t see or feel. I . . . Maybe the six of us were only meant to find and protect the first.”
“Don’t buy that.” Sawyer shook his head. “Not for a minute.”
“You trust, but doubt yourself too easily.” Obviously irritated, Bran held his hands over the painting, vanished it.
“I can’t call it up the way you do.”
“I say we take a break. Take an hour.” Riley set a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “One thing, we have to get that boat out of the yard.”
“I think we wait for dark there. I can ease it back to the marina, but I don’t want to give people a heart attack. An hour’s good.” Sawyer got to his feet. “Since we’ve got time, let’s recharge a little. I need to let my family know the status. Maybe somebody’s got an idea how and where we go from here.”
“And when she comes?” Doyle demanded.
“I’ll bring the wrath of a thousand lights down on her,” Bran said. “From the high point. I can give her fear, and perhaps some pain. And give us time to go where we’re meant to go.”
“I’ll spend some time with the maps,” Sawyer said.
“I’ll make some calls.” Riley followed him out of the room.
As Sasha rose to clear, Annika nudged her aside. “No, I can do this. You could rest.”
“I could, thanks. It might help.”
“You should go with her,” Annika suggested to Bran when Sasha left. “She’s still upset. She stood for you. You should stand for her.”
On a sigh, Bran leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I think you may be the best of us.”
“Go ahead.” Once again, Doyle turned to the door. “I’ll stand watch.”
* * *
When he got upstairs, she stood at the open terrace doors, her back to the room.
“I don’t know why you’re angry with me. I can’t just snap my fingers and know the way you can snap yours.”
“I’m not angry. You’re mistaken.”
“I know what I feel.”
“Maybe it’s your own anger.”
She whirled around. “I can feel yours, and yes, it makes me mad. I’m doing the best I can, the best I can even after watching people I care about being slashed and bitten while you shield me so I barely get a scratch. I won’t be the weak link.”
“You’re the only one who thinks you are, and you’re wrong.”
“Then stop being pissed because I can’t pop out a vision at will. God.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I’m tired of fighting.”
“Good, as fighting’s not at all what I had in mind.”
With a wave of his hand, he slammed the terrace doors, shuttered the glass. The sound was explosive enough to have her taking an instinctive step back as he strode to her.
He dragged her to him, pulling her head back by fisting a hand in her hair. Crushing his mouth to hers with such heat, such force it stole her breath.
“Does that feel angry?”
She pressed a hand on his shoulder as much to push him away as for balance. “Yes.”