Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

And to Sawyer’s relief, strolled inside.

Since searching and diving, even training seemed to be off the agenda, Sawyer took the day. It annoyed him to conk out over his own research, but he felt better after the hour’s sleep.

But even after the rest, the compass told him nothing. Part of him worried, despite the reassurances, that using it as he’d used it had cost him the right to it.

Braced for that, he took his phone, walked outside. Annika sat—more lounged—on the steps of the pool, wet hair sleek and not quite covering her breasts. Her tail glistened, a thousand small, bright jewels. She turned her head, just a little, smiled at him.

“I’m supposed to stay still for a few minutes more. Sasha says I can’t see until she’s finished.”

But he could, and circled around to where Sasha stood at her easel. He saw she’d pinned up several quick sketches, different poses, expressions. And on the canvas she’d captured joy and beauty.

“It’s great. It’s . . . amazing.”

“So many tones and shades and hues.” Sasha mixed more paint on her palette, dabbed at the canvas with a thin brush. “And the way they all catch the light.”

“You could come in the pool, and talk to me. Sasha says I can talk.”

“Maybe later. I need to make a call.”

“Will you paint Sawyer, Sasha?”

“She doesn’t want to—”

“It’s on my list.”

“What? Really?”

“I want to do a painting of each of us, and one of all of us together. I just have to . . . find it. Like this with Annika. I’ve done Bran’s, from memory. At night, with the power on him, like the jewels in Annika’s tail. Bright, brilliant, and marvelous. But I need to find it, and find the right time. Today was Anni’s.”

“It’s . . .” He really didn’t have the words. “You’re going to love it,” he told Anni. “I’m going to take a walk, make this call.”

He chose the grove for the quiet, the shade, the scents. He took out the compass again, considered simply traveling to his grandparents’ home. But with his energy still on the low end, it wouldn’t be smart. And more, he didn’t want to worry his family.

He settled for the phone.

“Dedushka.” Even the sound of his grandfather’s voice lifted him. “Kak pozhivaesh?”

He kept it casual initially, sliding from Russian to English and back again, catching up on family news.

“Zolotse.” His grandfather’s use of the affectionate term, and the gentle tone stopped Sawyer’s rambling. “Chto sluchilos?”

What’s wrong? Sawyer thought. Where do I start?

“Dedushka. I’m afraid I’ve . . . Let me tell you what happened.”

Bran walked into the grove. He looked for Sawyer, as Sasha had some mild concern. Apparently Sawyer had been gone nearly an hour.

He found him, sitting on the ground, back resting against a tree pregnant with lemons. And the compass in his hand.

“I hope you haven’t taken any recent trips.”

“What? Oh, hey. And no, no. I’ve been right here. I just talked to my grandfather.”

Bran joined him on the ground, stretched out his legs. “Is he well then, your grandfather?”

“Yeah. Since that scare a while back, he’s stronger than ever.”

“It’s good to speak with family. I spoke with my mother only yesterday.”