“Sorry, but he’s already tried to kill Sawyer once. He’ll try again.”
“For all the good it’d do him. He kills me, he still won’t have the compass. You can’t just take it,” Sawyer explained. “It has to be given. You know, presented. Otherwise, it’ll just go back to my grandfather.”
“Hmm.” Riley walked back to the table. “Does he know that?”
“He should, but he was pissed off enough in Morocco to send an assassin. Could be he hasn’t dug deep enough to know how it all works.”
“Yeah, Malmon and his anger issues. What’s the plan?”
“We’ll need to scout out the area before Malmon gets here. I don’t guess your contact’s gotten back to you on that.”
“Not yet, but she will,” Riley assured Sawyer.
“Doyle knows the terrain.”
Riley raised her brows at Doyle. “It’s been a couple hundred years. Is your memory that good?”
“It’s good enough. Since it is, we’ll be heading up tomorrow instead of out to sea. We can’t find the star if we’re dead or in a cage.”
“Can’t argue. And once we’re up there—more climbing than hiking—and figure out what would be their best vantage points?”
“We set traps.”
Riley shot a finger at Sawyer. “Now you’re talking.”
“We can’t use the light bombs,” Bran pointed out. “We can’t risk an adventurous tourist or a local setting one off, being burned.”
“My bracelets wouldn’t hurt them.”
Bran nodded at Annika. “Exactly so. So I have to conjure something similar, something that will harm only evil or one with evil intent. I’ve some ideas on it.”
“Then you should be relieved of household chores this evening.”
“I’ll do Bran’s tasks,” Annika said.
“Thanks for that. I’ll need Sasha’s help, and I believe she’s down for head chef tonight.”
“I’ll cover it.” Sawyer shrugged. “No big.”
“Then we’ll get started.”
“The rest of us will get in some training in the grove,” Doyle said as Bran and Sasha rose.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Doyle glanced at Sawyer. “An hour, then there’ll be beer.”
Though Annika didn’t like beer, she trained for the hour. She didn’t like the bruises Doyle gave her when he showed her how to defend against what he called holds and grips.
But he reminded her she’d like a cage much less.
She liked wine and helping Sawyer make dinner, so enjoyed both. She got to make something he called bruschetta—cutting the long bread in half, toasting it—while he cooked chicken for the dish he called alfredo.
“Remember how to mince?”
“Cut up, very, very small.”
“Very small, those Roma tomatoes and that garlic.”