“Up yours, Riley.”
“That’s the way. Plus, as it turned out, you were only the warm-up act.”
“What?” Sasha nearly bobbled the eggs she’d pulled out. “What happened?”
“Bran happened.” She leaned against the counter, crossed her ankles. “You know, I’ve seen all sorts of rituals, ceremonies, and seen some wild stuff in my line, but he topped all of it. We got bacon?”
“Yes. For God’s sake, Riley.”
“I’m hungry. No reason you can’t do the breakfast thing while I talk.”
“Can you work a juicer?”
“I can figure it out.”
“Oranges.” She pointed to the bowl. “Juicer. Talk.”
While bacon sizzled and the juicer whirled, Riley filled in the details.
“He . . . flew?”
“More floated. Annika and I are on broom detail—I confess I straddled mine once, just to see if it would take off. No luck. But every once in a while, one of us would hit, like, this little pocket of . . . dark. Just something like a shadow, but more tangible, then we’d hit it with the broom, and poof. All gone. And the other guys are sprinkling water, and this white vapor would puff up for a second. Wild stuff. All the while Bran floating up there with his bowl, and the vapor’s drifting down over the house. Like the curtain you said we needed.”
Riley poured herself a short glass of juice to test. “Good stuff. You really missed it, Sash. And my take? He’s got a lot more than he’s shown us.”
Sasha hesitated, glanced toward the doorway. “I’ve dreamed about him.”
“Yeah, you said.”
“I didn’t . . . not everything.” She’d spoken—or prophesized—about the need for trust, then didn’t give her own. “Out there, on the cliff, Bran and I. Standing there, in a storm. Lightning, thunder, the wind, the sea crashing. He called the storm. He holds the lightning like reins. And we’re together. I don’t just mean on the cliff together.”
“I get what you mean. Why does that worry you? Being with him?”
“Because I’ve never been with anyone.”
“I admit it’ll give you a minute thinking about sex with a sorcerer but . . . Whoa.” Riley stopped herself, turned fully around. “Anyone? Ever? At all?”
“Every time I came close—had feelings, thought I was close to someone—I’d do or say something that ruined it, and they’d step back.”
“First lesson—like the jab. Why are you to blame? Some of the time, sure. We all screw up. But every time it’s you? That’s bullshit and it’s annoying.”
“I’d be the one saying or doing it. I’d forget to be careful, and something would slip. Then I’d be an oddity instead of a person. Or at least an oddity as well as a person. And I’d feel their feelings shift away.”
“That’s on them. I’d say picking the wrong guy’s on you, but you’ve got to try a few on to see what fits. So, maybe you should try him on. You’re no oddity to any of us, and certainly not to Bran.”
“This doesn’t seem like the time to . . . try anyone on.”
“More bullshit. We could lose. I don’t intend to, but you’ve got to factor it in. Do you want to go out not knowing? Think about it,” she said as she heard bootsteps approach. “And cut yourself—and from where I’m standing him—a break.”
* * *
She could think about it, Sasha decided. She wasn’t sure which brought more stress. Thinking about being with Bran or thinking about riding in an inflatable boat, then diving under the water. They both gave her the jitters.
After breakfast, eaten in shifts, she packed sunscreen, an extra shirt, her sketch pad. Then stopped stalling and went to Bran’s terrace doors.
He glanced up from studying the contents of one of his cases.
“Ready, are you? I’m nearly.”