Bay of Sighs (4 page)

“Only for a moment. It was so beautiful. It—” She pressed a hand to her heart, then cupped it out. “It made my heart big. There was the wind, and the colors and light. It's very exciting. Then the songs, just music with words I couldn't hear all the way. And sighs, but not sad ones—or not all sad. Sweet, but with some sadness. A little sorrow with the joy. Is that right?”

“Mermaid ears, maybe?” Riley speculated. “Water Star, mermaid. Interesting.” She took another bite of pasta, smiled. “We're going to need another boat. I'll get on that.”

L
ater, when the house was quiet, when all her friends slept, Annika stepped out on the terrace outside her new room. The sea drew her—she was of it, from it. She wished she could fly down to it, wished she could swim inside its heart for a little while.

But the sea must wait.

She had the legs, and she prized them, though now that she'd told the others what she was—she'd had no choice—her time with them was a ticking clock.

So she wished on the moon-slice over the sea that she might sing
and sigh inside Sawyer's heart, in the time she had left. She wished he might feel what she felt, if only for a single day.

Duty came first, and she would never shirk it. But she could hope inside her heart that she would do her duty, fulfill her legacy.

And know love before she returned to the sea forever.

I
n the morning, Annika woke early. She chose one of her pretty dresses that swirled around her legs—a lovely reminder she had them—and hurried straight down to the kitchen.

She wanted to make the coffee. She'd learned how in the villa on Corfu, and liked doing things ordinary people did. But this new house had a different machine, and would take some time to figure out.

She liked figuring things out, too.

Today she wanted real flowers for the table, so she wandered outside and down toward the garden. And saw the pool. The pale blue water under the first soft beams of sunlight.

The sea was too far for a morning swim, she thought, but this. Well, it was right here. Trees flanked the yard, making a kind of green wall. In any case, she didn't understand the human fuss about bodies. They were as natural as hair and eyes, as fingers and toes, and no one made a fuss about hiding them.

Besides, she longed for the water, and saw no reason to go back
to her room and find the suit to swim in. Instead, she pulled off the dress, tossed it onto a chair. And dived in.

The water embraced her, gentle as a mother, sweet as a lover. She skimmed along the bottom, her sea-green eyes open and lit with pleasure. Delighted, she swam the length of the pool, back again, then, pushing off the bottom, let her legs spear up into the air and sun.

And slice down into the water again as a tail.

Sawyer, a cup of coffee in his hand, stopped dead on the skirt of the pool.

He'd come out to see who was up, who'd put the coffee on. He'd known it was Annika the instant her legs had come up and out of the water—long, dusky gold, and perfect.

Then color had swirled around those legs, winking, flashing like precious gems, gems that went to shimmering liquid before they'd become the mermaid's tail.

It took his breath. Knowing her for a mermaid and seeing her transform were two different things. And it simply took his breath. Even before he caught it again, she flew up, long black hair streaming, arms outstretched, tail sparkling, her face bright and beautiful.

She arched in midair—and Jesus, she wore nothing
but
the tail—then slid backward into the water again.

His body reacted, and it didn't matter he reminded himself he was a man, and what man wouldn't go hard watching a gorgeous, naked mermaid. He tried to think of her as a sister, got nowhere. Did better listing her firmly as a teammate.

Most of all he had to stop her from swishing that amazing tail around. They had neighbors here.

She came up again, laughing, flipped back to float. He ordered himself not to look at her breasts—too late—but managed to shift his gaze to her face. She had her eyes closed, a quiet smile on her face as she floated, with the only movement the gentle flick of her tail fin.

“Annika.”

Her eyes opened; she smiled over at him. “Sawyer, good morning. Do you want to swim with me?”

Oh, yeah. Oh boy, yeah.

Couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't.

“Ah, not right now. And you can't, ah, you know, be right out here with the tail. Without the legs. And naked. Somebody could spot you.”

“There are the trees, and it's so early.”

“Windows over the trees—if somebody happened to look out just the right way at the right time.”

“Oh.” With a little sigh, she lowered the tail into the water. And now he saw her legs lightly kicking. “I didn't mean to, but it felt so good I forgot.”

“It's okay, just don't . . . No, don't get out.”

He actually felt panic as she glided toward the shallow end, stood. That body—willowy and perfect and . . . wet. Water sparkled on her skin, diamonds on gold dust.

She was killing him.

“I—I'm going to get you a towel. Don't get out without any . . . Just wait.”

He hurried back inside. Coffee wasn't going to do much for a throat that had gone bone dry at the way her hair slicked over those really, really pretty breasts.

He tried counting backward by threes from a thousand, and still had to take a minute, adjust himself—only human—when he grabbed a pool towel from the utility room off the kitchen.

When he came out again, she'd stayed obediently as she was.

“You need to . . .” He wound a finger in the air. “Around. Then the dress.”

He didn't see anything but the dress, which meant she wouldn't
be wearing anything under the dress. And it wasn't smart to think about that either.

He stared at the lemon trees as he held the towel over the pool.

“Why do women always cover their top half, and men don't always?”

“Because we don't have . . . and you have.”

“The breasts,” she said as she stepped out of the pool, wrapped the towel around herself. “Sometimes the maids wear shells over the breasts. But this is for fashion.”

He risked a glance, relieved she'd covered everything. “Mermaid fashion?”

“Yes. We like adornments, too. I made coffee.”

“Yeah, good. Thanks.” He picked it up from the table, took a sip. She'd made it strong enough to fight the champ, but he had no problem with that. “If you're going to swim, you really need to wear a suit and keep your legs on.”

“I apology.”

“No. No, don't be sorry.” He risked another look. Now she stood in the dress, long hair wet and sleek as a seal. “It's amazing. It's beautiful. It must feel weird for you to swim without it.”

“I like the legs.”

“Yeah, they're pretty great. Once we score a boat, we should be able to go out far enough, or you deep enough to tail it out when you want. But in the pool, broad daylight, it's better if you don't.”

“For a few moments it was just morning, with the little pool of water in the sun, and the smell of the trees.”

“One day it will be just morning.”

She looked at him then, into his eyes. “You believe?”

“Yeah. I believe.”

“Then I can't be sad. I'll help you fix the breakfast, and I can set the table. What will you make?”

“The way we're supplied right now? Pretty much anything. What do you want?”

“I can pick?”

“Sure.”

“Can you make—it's not the pancakes because you . . .” She made a rolling motion with her fingers. “And put something delicious inside.”

“Crepes.”

“Yes! Can you make those?”

“You got it.”

She liked working in the kitchen. So many smells and colors and tastes. Sawyer said they'd make eggs and bacon, too, and the crepes would have peaches in them and honey over them so they'd be sweet.

She helped him mix, and he showed her how to make the crepe, let her try one all by herself. As she did, Sasha came in.

“Good timing. Everyone's stirring around. God, it smells good in here.”

“I'm making a crepe.”

“Fancy.” Sasha walked over, put an arm around Annika's waist, watched a moment. “And you're doing a good job of it.”

Sasha reached for a coffee cup. “Should I set the table?”

“The table! I forgot to get the flowers. We need the plates and the glasses and the napkins, and—”

“Why don't I take out the plates,” Sasha said.

With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Annika nodded as she carefully slid the crepe onto a plate. “Did I do it the right way?”

“Looks perfect,” Sawyer told her.

“I need to get the flowers now.”

As she dashed out, Sasha leaned back against the counter. “Never a boring tablescape with Annika.”

“Maybe you can sort of explain to her about swimming naked, at least in the daylight.”

“Was she?”

“Unless you count the tail.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No harm I could see, and she just got caught up. I think she got what I was telling her about it, but maybe, you know, another woman. I think, on Corfu, she went down to the beach early every morning, swam out, and under, way under, to give herself that . . . ritual, I guess it is. But here . . .”

“I'll make sure she understands. Do you need any help here?”

“No, I've got it.”

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” Riley mumbled as she staggered in. She poured a mug, inhaled the scent, took a gulp. “Bang!” she said. “That's coffee.”

“It'll put hair on your chest,” Sawyer said. “Oh, right, you just need the moon for that.”

“You're a riot.” She grabbed Annika's crepe, folded it into her mouth, said, “Good,” around it.

“Give me fifteen minutes, you'll get better than good.”

Sasha took plates outside, came back in for glassware, got caught up in a kiss as Bran came in. By the time she went back out, Annika was at work.

She had the plates in a semicircle around a little tower of empty flower pots. From the top one spilled napkins in bright colors with folds and ripples. At the base of the flower blossoms and leaves, a few pretty stones formed a pool.

“It's a rainbow waterfall,” Sasha guessed.

“Yes! And its water feeds the little garden. It's water that blooms, so you can swim in the flowers.”

“That's a beautiful thought.”

“It's a happy place. The dark can't go there. There should be a place, I think, where the dark can't go.” She looked down at the bracelets circling her wrists—the magick Bran had fashioned for her. “A place where no one has to fight.”

“We'll push the dark back, Anni. It may be all we can do, but it matters.”

“Yes, it matters. Friends matter. We friends will have a pretty breakfast on our first day of our quest for the Water Star.”

With a rainbow waterfall.

T
hey spoke of practical things over the meal. Getting the lay of the land—and the sea. Divvying up the household chores.

“We're not as isolated here,” Bran pointed out. “We could use a basic cover story. Friends on holiday?”

“Say a working holiday for me.” Riley scooped up eggs. “Sticking close to the truth always helps. I'm an archaeologist, doing a paper, some research. So questions I might ask are covered there. I've got more Italian than Greek, and can talk the talk. Anybody else?”

“Io parlo italiano molto bene.”
Doyle cut into a crepe.

Riley's eyebrows arched. “Oh, yeah?”

“
Sì
. I've had considerable time for languages.”

“That'll be handy if we need another interpreter. I'm going to make some calls, tug some lines. We're going to need a boat and diving gear.”

“You wheel that deal,” Sawyer told her. “You're good at it.”

“One of my specialties.”

“It wouldn't hurt to have a car or van on tap,” Bran pointed out. “We may need to go farther afield.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Might as well leave my bike inside where it is, unless we need it. I'll set up a training area in the grove. We can use the trees for cover,” Doyle speculated. “Plenty of hills for hiking.”

“I like hiking.” Annika ate the last of a honey-drizzled bite of peach. “Can we hike down to the beach?”

“Maybe later,” Bran told her. “I have some work if Sawyer can help Doyle set up the training area.”

“I'm on it.”

“Annika, you could help me while Sasha and Riley deal with the cleanup here. We want to replenish the medicines. You'll make your calls,” Bran said to Riley, “work your own brand of magic.”

“We need to go over the maps for this area,” Doyle pointed out. “And work out some strategy.”

“Agreed. Could you do another assignment chart, Sasha?”

“Right after KP.”

“Okay, go team.” Riley clapped her hands together. “Let's get started.”