Bay of Sighs by Nora Roberts Page B

tether on you.” Riley walked over. Slapped a mug in front of Doyle, sat with her own.
    â€œNothing like that.”
    Annika brought cups, the pot, the little strainer for the leaves. “It has to . . . It’s not step.”
    â€œSteep,” Sawyer supplied.
    â€œSteep. Then I’ll pour it for you.”
    â€œThanks, Anni. All right.” Sasha took a breath. “There was a room, lit by what seemed like hundreds of candles. The furniture struck me as antiques, wealthy, and European. Except for the chair. Nerezza’s chair—that thronelike chair I saw her sitting in, in the cave.”
    â€œBut it wasn’t the cave,” Riley prompted.
    â€œNo. No, I’m sure it wasn’t. There were windows—elaborate window treatments—I could see some sort of garden, mostly in shadows, outside the windows. Trees. She sat in the chair, and a strange blackbird perched on the arm. Not like one of the things that attacked us. Smaller, but something lethal about it. Eyes more like a lizard than a bird. And there was a man—he seemed human. Late thirties, early forties, I’d guess. Attractive, in a dark suit.”
    Pausing, she pushed back her hair, tumbled from sleep. “She got up, poured something into wineglasses, but I know it wasn’t wine. Even in the dream I could smell it—blood and smoke, and something cloying. But he drank.”
    She shuddered. Annika jumped up immediately, poured the water through the little strainer. “You need tea.”
    â€œI’m still cold. I can still smell whatever she gave him.” Grateful, Sasha picked up the cup, warmed her hands. “I couldn’t hear what they said—it was like insects buzzing. But she showed him the Globe of All, and I could see each of us in it, as clearly as I see all of you now. Riley turning into the wolf under the full moon, Annika with the mermaid tail sparkling in the sun. Bran, lightning in his hands, Doyle coming back from the dead, Sawyer with the compass. Myself, dream-walking. She knows all of it, and now he knows. Fear was like a hand squeezing my throat. Flames rose up, everywhere around them. I could see through the fire, see them, but there was no heat from it. It burned so cold. I wanted to get out, away. I couldn’t get out. The bird screamed, and flew across to them. It raked its beak over the man’s throat.”
    Sasha lifted her fingers, traced a line down the side of her throat.
    â€œHe barely blinked. He just stared at her, at Nerezza. I could feel his lust, his greed. Even when she took a snake, a silver snake, and held it to the wound, he didn’t move.”
    â€œEntranced,” Bran said.
    â€œIt seemed so. It drank the blood. Hissing, coiling around her finger, it drank the blood. He took it from her, used it like a pen, pressing its head, its fangs onto a kind of parchment.”
    To steady herself, she drank tea. “She stood up, and her clothes fell away. His lust was huge. I know he signed his name—I couldn’tsee what he wrote, but I know. And what he signed burned into the parchment, oozed blood, spewed smoke. The blood went black like the smoke; the smoke red like the blood. Then . . .”
    She closed her eyes a moment, carefully drank tea. “Then, the smoke coiled up like the snake, and it slid, slithered into the wound on his throat. He made a horrible sound, and his body convulsed and twisted—impossibly—and the room shook, so violently that I fell. But he only sat there.
    â€œShe leaned toward him, licked the blood from his throat. The wound closed—left a scar, but closed. And closed in whatever had gone into him. She has a mark here.” Sasha laid a hand on her heart. “A symbol in dark red. A bat with the head of a snake. I swear it moved when she led him out of the room, spreading its wings. The bird swooped over me, screamed my name, dived down. And I woke up.”
    Riley