Island of Glass
Page 59
When he’d put the bow in the cauldron, he turned to Annika, who wordlessly held out her arms. He took the cuffs, added them.
In full trust, Riley gave Bran her guns, even the knife at her hip. Sawyer did the same, then pulled out his compass.
“You should take this, too.”
“Are you certain?” Bran asked him.
“Yeah. Passed to me, hand to hand.”
Adding it, Bran turned to Doyle, took his bow. “Will you, again, trust me with your sword?”
“You, and all within this circle, as I’ve trusted no others in three hundred years.”
Bran lowered the sword, impossibly, into the cauldron.
“We fight for light, our might for right. All we are in body, in spirit, in mind bound beyond the stars we find. On this night, by this mark, we are clann, and under this symbol united stand.”
The mist above the cauldron stirred and formed the symbol of the coat of arms.
“Do you will this to be?”
Rather than speak, Riley took Sawyer’s hand, then Doyle’s. And all six joined around the circle.
“Then by our wills, so mote it be.”
In the smoke, the replica of the coat of arms burned bright, flashed into flame, then lowered into the cauldron.
And all went still.
“Wow. Can I hear an amen?” Sawyer asked.
Riley blew out a breath. “Amen, brother. You got some major chops, Irish.”
“Well, we do what we can.” Bran drew out Doyle’s sword, held it to the moonlight. Just below the hilt, the coat of arms was etched into the steel.
“It’s ours,” Annika murmured. “Our family.”
Bran lifted out her cuffs, slipped them back on her wrists. She traced her fingers over the new symbols. “They’re only more beautiful now.”
“And potentially more powerful.” Bran handed Riley the guns. “Unity is strength, and I believe that will translate.”
Sawyer took his sidearms, studied the symbol on the grips, like Riley’s. “It’s a good thing.” And took his compass, now bearing the coat of arms. “A real good thing.”
Let her come, Riley thought, and searched the sky. Let her come and test the Clan of the Guardians.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nerezza didn’t come that night, or the next. She sent no vicious creatures to attack when they dived the cold waters of the Atlantic to search.
Nothing lurked in the forest, hovered in the sky.
Sasha had no visions.
Riley used the time to her advantage. She drilled, she practiced, she worked out until her body began to feel like itself again. She spent hours with books, computers, notes.
And hours more with Doyle in bed. Or on the floor.
She went with Sawyer to Dublin, using a trip for supplies as cover. Leaving a sulking Annika behind. Since they were there, she replaced the ruined sweatshirt.
And since they were there, she dragged a somewhat shell-shocked Sawyer into a pub for a pint.
“Maybe I should’ve just bought a ready-made.”
“This way means more.”
“Yeah, but . . . then it would just be done.”
Riley settled back to enjoy her Guinness, as to her mind there was nothing quite like a well-built Guinness, savored slowly in a dimly lit Irish pub.
Add a plate of chips still hot from the fryer and drizzled with salt and vinegar? Perfection.
“Getting cold feet?”
“No. No, it’s just . . .” Sawyer took a fast, nonsavoring pull from his own pint. “I’m going to get engaged—ring and everything. It’s a moment.”
Happy to drink to that, Riley hefted her pint. “Here’s to the moment.”
“Yeah.” He clinked glasses with her, glanced around as if he’d forgotten where they were. “It seems weird to be here—all these people—just sitting here having a beer. Nobody knows what the fuck, Riley, except you and me.”
Biting into a chip, Riley looked around herself—the buzz of conversation, the energy and color.
Low lights on a day when the sun couldn’t make up its mind, air smelling of beer and fried potatoes and pureed vegetable soup.
Voices—German, Japanese, Italian. American, Canadian, Brit, Irish accents.
She’d always considered a good European bar a kind of mini UN.
“I missed people,” she realized, “and that’s not usually true for me. But I’ve missed the noise and the vibe. The faces and voices of strangers. It’s good they don’t know what the fuck. They can’t do a damn thing about it. So it’s another moment, just sitting here like normal people, having a normal beer in a normal pub.”
“You’re right. You’re right. At the bottom it’s what we’re fighting for.”
“A world where anybody can have a beer at four o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“Or get engaged to a mermaid.”
“That might be stretching it for most anyone but you in this pub, or in Dublin. But yeah, I can drink to that.” She glanced over at the waitress, a young, fresh-faced girl with deep purple hair. “We’re good, thanks.”
“When I’m done, and this world is dark, I’ll drink your blood.”
The girl had a quick smile, a pretty lilt in her voice. And her eyes were blind and mad. Riley slid a hand under her jacket, snapped open her holster.
“Don’t,” Sawyer whispered, gaze fixed on the waitress’s face. “She’s innocent.”
In full trust, Riley gave Bran her guns, even the knife at her hip. Sawyer did the same, then pulled out his compass.
“You should take this, too.”
“Are you certain?” Bran asked him.
“Yeah. Passed to me, hand to hand.”
Adding it, Bran turned to Doyle, took his bow. “Will you, again, trust me with your sword?”
“You, and all within this circle, as I’ve trusted no others in three hundred years.”
Bran lowered the sword, impossibly, into the cauldron.
“We fight for light, our might for right. All we are in body, in spirit, in mind bound beyond the stars we find. On this night, by this mark, we are clann, and under this symbol united stand.”
The mist above the cauldron stirred and formed the symbol of the coat of arms.
“Do you will this to be?”
Rather than speak, Riley took Sawyer’s hand, then Doyle’s. And all six joined around the circle.
“Then by our wills, so mote it be.”
In the smoke, the replica of the coat of arms burned bright, flashed into flame, then lowered into the cauldron.
And all went still.
“Wow. Can I hear an amen?” Sawyer asked.
Riley blew out a breath. “Amen, brother. You got some major chops, Irish.”
“Well, we do what we can.” Bran drew out Doyle’s sword, held it to the moonlight. Just below the hilt, the coat of arms was etched into the steel.
“It’s ours,” Annika murmured. “Our family.”
Bran lifted out her cuffs, slipped them back on her wrists. She traced her fingers over the new symbols. “They’re only more beautiful now.”
“And potentially more powerful.” Bran handed Riley the guns. “Unity is strength, and I believe that will translate.”
Sawyer took his sidearms, studied the symbol on the grips, like Riley’s. “It’s a good thing.” And took his compass, now bearing the coat of arms. “A real good thing.”
Let her come, Riley thought, and searched the sky. Let her come and test the Clan of the Guardians.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nerezza didn’t come that night, or the next. She sent no vicious creatures to attack when they dived the cold waters of the Atlantic to search.
Nothing lurked in the forest, hovered in the sky.
Sasha had no visions.
Riley used the time to her advantage. She drilled, she practiced, she worked out until her body began to feel like itself again. She spent hours with books, computers, notes.
And hours more with Doyle in bed. Or on the floor.
She went with Sawyer to Dublin, using a trip for supplies as cover. Leaving a sulking Annika behind. Since they were there, she replaced the ruined sweatshirt.
And since they were there, she dragged a somewhat shell-shocked Sawyer into a pub for a pint.
“Maybe I should’ve just bought a ready-made.”
“This way means more.”
“Yeah, but . . . then it would just be done.”
Riley settled back to enjoy her Guinness, as to her mind there was nothing quite like a well-built Guinness, savored slowly in a dimly lit Irish pub.
Add a plate of chips still hot from the fryer and drizzled with salt and vinegar? Perfection.
“Getting cold feet?”
“No. No, it’s just . . .” Sawyer took a fast, nonsavoring pull from his own pint. “I’m going to get engaged—ring and everything. It’s a moment.”
Happy to drink to that, Riley hefted her pint. “Here’s to the moment.”
“Yeah.” He clinked glasses with her, glanced around as if he’d forgotten where they were. “It seems weird to be here—all these people—just sitting here having a beer. Nobody knows what the fuck, Riley, except you and me.”
Biting into a chip, Riley looked around herself—the buzz of conversation, the energy and color.
Low lights on a day when the sun couldn’t make up its mind, air smelling of beer and fried potatoes and pureed vegetable soup.
Voices—German, Japanese, Italian. American, Canadian, Brit, Irish accents.
She’d always considered a good European bar a kind of mini UN.
“I missed people,” she realized, “and that’s not usually true for me. But I’ve missed the noise and the vibe. The faces and voices of strangers. It’s good they don’t know what the fuck. They can’t do a damn thing about it. So it’s another moment, just sitting here like normal people, having a normal beer in a normal pub.”
“You’re right. You’re right. At the bottom it’s what we’re fighting for.”
“A world where anybody can have a beer at four o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“Or get engaged to a mermaid.”
“That might be stretching it for most anyone but you in this pub, or in Dublin. But yeah, I can drink to that.” She glanced over at the waitress, a young, fresh-faced girl with deep purple hair. “We’re good, thanks.”
“When I’m done, and this world is dark, I’ll drink your blood.”
The girl had a quick smile, a pretty lilt in her voice. And her eyes were blind and mad. Riley slid a hand under her jacket, snapped open her holster.
“Don’t,” Sawyer whispered, gaze fixed on the waitress’s face. “She’s innocent.”
