That is, as long as Cang and whoever was behind him were not lurking around.
He heard Jen’s voice again, splintering his thoughts. He caught himself straining to hear her, but all he caught were random words as she talked with her friends.
He wrenched his mind back on track.
Reasons to leave: first, the phone call from home, reminding him of the near crisis there. Second, he was far too distracted by Jen Carlsen.
Reasons to stay: first, his suspicion as to the nature of what was in that oracle stone. Second, Petra and Cleo were enthralled with the Pacific.
He could order the girls to leave today, and he knew they’d obey—especially if he told them about the phone call reporting that two spies of the gorgon who was threatening the island had been caught trying to infiltrate their stronghold. Except that in the same phone call, he’d been assured that his two leading hetairoi, Bryony and Mateo, were doing an excellent job of running things in his absence. His guards were doing everything right.
As for Jen Carlsen, he’d been distracted before, and he knew how to handle distractions: by keeping his focus on his responsibilities.
The foremost of those at this moment was arguably the oracle stone.
He had only caught what seemed to be a reflection of something he knew to be impossible: a Transfer Gate. There was only one Transfer Gate left in the world, in the possession of the celestial empress. Using it, she could send anyone anywhere, between one step and the next, as long as the destination was known. If there was any chance whatsoever that another such Gate existed, it must not fall into evil hands.
But he couldn’t trust that fleeting impression. He had to find a way to get closer. Make sure, before spreading what might be false news.
His attention splintered again when people began moving about. Doris cut slices of the cake, and Jen, Mikhail, and his wife carried dirty dishes to the kitchen, trailed by the white-haired little elder they called Godiva. He got up to help. Petra and Cleo also jumped up and looked around, and seeing nothing left to pick up, Cleo reached for the tray Godiva was carrying.
“We can take that,” Petra said.
“Thank you,” Godiva said.
Cleo only got only a few steps toward the door when Jen appeared. “Where do we take this?” Petra asked.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Jen said. “Thanks for helping. Why don’t you get some cake before it gets eaten up. It won’t last long!”
As the girls turned away, obviously glad for the invitation, Jen’s gaze lifted and met his. Then she looked away.
The mate bond is not complete when the woman obviously doesn’t want me, he said inwardly to the still-silent unicorn.
A thundering snort issued forth from the vault. Nothing is obvious except that she’s as skittish as a yearling. But the bond is THERE. And the lofty voice managed to hint that its lack of completion was his fault, before withdrawing with an actual inner boom.
Nikos sighed, watching as the girls joined Doris, who was handing around the pastry.
Then Mikhail beckoned to Nikos, who—relieved at the interruption from that still-echoing boom (and how did his blasted unicorn even manage that?)—joined him at the edge of the terrace overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Mikhail said in Persian, the language they both had been studying when they first met, “When we were at the cave, you changed from mind-speech to spoken. Did you perceive someone listening on the mythic plane?”
“No. I used actual speech because at least I could see who was listening, and while I can’t tell you for certain what that oracle stone contains, I’m convinced it’s rare. Powerful.”
Mikhail gazed out to sea, his expression thoughtful. “Some are adept at closing out all listeners but those they choose to speak to. Joey is one of these. I’m not as skilled.”
Nikos said, “Nor I. Mostly we don’t need to be. But this situation warrants extra caution, of that I’m convinced.”
Mikhail paused, and Nikos was distracted by Jen walking by to join those around the cake table. His gaze traveled down her length as he relished the quiet confidence in her walk, the easy swing of her hips. Stop that.
Boom.
Then Mikhail spoke, shattering the inner struggle: “Numbering among Joey’s many university friends are archaeologists, who have access to a variety of digging equipment. Tomorrow he’s going to see if he can borrow some tool that can bore down toward that trapped cavern, without raising inquiries. As it happens, the area is still under the jurisdiction of his university.”
Joey stepped up on Nikos’s other side. “It should only take a day, at most, if I can arrange for a suitable vehicle. That, and find the right way to frame the question.” He flashed his innocent grin. Though his face was round, his hair a mix of blonde and silver, he still reminded Nikos of a fox as he added, “Mentioning anything about ancient treasure is certain to bring out the lookie-loos who think along the lines of golden cups and King Tut’s tomb. But if I say we need to measure particulate matter in the surface dust and compare it to the composition of rock below, or perhaps something about fungi—nobody ever wants to stand around watching people dig for fungi—we should be able to work distraction-free.”
Nikos couldn’t prevent a grin. Joey was definitely a fox. “And of course you will turn in a report on rock composition and the rest of it.”
“Absolutely. There is always a geologist or two who gratefully receives such data,” Joey said with his bright, innocent smile that was the essence of fox. “You can leave that part to me. I’ve got several students, shifters all, whose studies conveniently overlap with our mission.” He turned to Mikhail. “If you can meet me at my place at seven tomorrow morning, and drive me to Jacob’s . . .”