Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

“Sasha and Bran are up the stairs making magicks. I think Sawyer and Doyle are still in the grove for the training part.”

“All right then. You need to put on pants.”

“Pants.”

“Yeah, those ones that hit about here?” Riley tapped the flat of her hand just above her knee. “The ones with all the pockets. And the tank you can tuck into them. I want to work on some of my moves, and you’ve got the best. And we’ll work on your hand-to-hand. But you can’t go doing flips in that dress, especially since there’s nothing under it.”

“I like dresses better than pants.”

“Maybe so, but when you go commando and do handsprings and flips, you’re flashing.”

“Flashing?”

“The girl parts, Anni. The parts we tend—right or wrong—to think of as private. Maybe we’ll get you some bike shorts. You could wear them under a dress.”

“Bike shorts.”

“We’ll look into it. But for now, go ahead and change. I’ll see if Bran can spare Sasha. She needs the work.”

“She does better.”

“Yeah, she does,” Riley agreed as they started upstairs. “You’re a good coach.”

“Thank you. I like to help.”

Pleased, even if she had to wear pants, Annika went to her room to change, and wound her hair into a long, thick braid.

She left her windows open, and though she would go outside, took a moment to lean out, drink in the air, the fragrance, her view of the sea.

On the narrow road below, she saw people walking up the steep, steep hill in boots and shorts. Maybe they were bike shorts, but she knew what a bike was, and they didn’t have one.

She saw bushes and trees full of blooms, and, farther out, people on the sickle of beach, boats plying the blue water.

Sometimes she liked to swim beneath boats, look up at their shadows and try to guess where they would go.

But today she saw a woman walking slowly up the steep road and pushing a fat-cheeked baby in a . . . walker, runner . . . Stroller! A stroller. Plastic bags hung heavily off the sides of the stroller, and another bag crowded into its little basket.

The baby laughed and clapped her chubby hands as the woman sang.

Annika wished she could paint like Sasha. She would have painted the woman and the baby, laughing with the long, high road still ahead of them.

The woman looked up, caught Annika’s eye. So Annika waved.

“Buongiorno,” the woman called out.

She had bits of languages, because she liked to listen and learn. “Buongiorno,” she called back. Not sure how to make the sentence, she mixed her languages together. “You and your bambina are bella.” Annika held out her hands. “Bella.”

The woman laughed, angled her head. “Grazie, signorina. Grazie mille.”

And singing again, the woman and her baby continued the steep climb.

Her mood buoyed by them, Annika danced downstairs and outside to train for war.

She saw Sasha and Riley on the strip of lawn between the pool and the lemon grove. Pretty plants and bushes added color at the edges, and the tall, slim trees formed a green wall.

Not so much room, so they’d have to . . . practice smaller.

Still she enjoyed watching Riley work with Sasha on the hand-to-hand. A punch, a pivot, a kick. Like a dance.